I want to write

To follow a muse, what do you need? To gain a muse, what does it take?

I want to be prophetic, dynamicly wordful, incredibly insightful, an enigma of depth, smarter than smart; basically unforgettable. 

But I can sit here and grovel in my own mind and forget that I exist. So, how can I achieve such high standards? 

Thoughts dissipate like Big Foot. Pictures can be seen of it appearing from the shadows of the forests to spark the imagination into a friendsy. But it's as hard to prove that Big Foot is real as it is to sustain the images of my mind. The blurry photos that appear ever now and again represent the hope that I might stumble upon something magical. All I'm left with is a hoax that gets national attention long enough to elicit hope. The reality leaves you in a fleeting panic for substance. 

Maybe there is none. Maybe substance is only existential. We are not blessed with a muse that eternally sparks our mind. Instead we must search for our inspiration, but what if our search ends in a doctored image that everyone knows isn't real? 

I think from here I could get in to questioning what is real, but that would take a lot of time. I'm more satisfied with understanding that life is what it is. I don't need the answers. But it would be nice to have the words to get by. 

Thinking about tomorrow

I woke up this morning giving a detailed synopsis of the last thirty minutes of the two-hour crossover of Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice. It was actually one of the highlights of my day. I knew names of characters from both shows and what was good and what was bad for the direction of the shows. Now personally, I’m not the biggest fan of Private Practice, but there are plots and characters that have moved over from show to show, so it’s imperative to know both in order to fully grasp Grey’s (that’s what people call it, if they really watch it). Last night’s show was intense and it’s going to continue in to next week and hopefully wrap up the crossover. I really would just rather watch Grey’s, but I understand wanting to do double merchandising for the network.
The reason I gave this synopsis is the reason why it was one of my highlights. I knew around 9:30 last night, which left about 30 minutes of the program, that Elena wasn’t going to make it. She was crashing and there was no stopping her. That’s the way she works. And I love her for it. If she hadn’t dozed during that commercial break, which was only three hours after putting in a 10-hour day at work, I wouldn’t have had one of my highlights. I woke up this morning to, “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stay awake and I bet it was good too!” She followed that with her request of, “Please, tell me what happened.” The smile coming from her face at 6:30 in the morning, three hours before daylight here in Anchorage, is the best way I could ever imagine starting my day.
She was the reason I talked for 15 minutes, or at least it felt like it, about pretty much one of the girliest shows on TV. I mean the lead characters have nicknames like McSteamy and McDreamy. How am I supposed to enjoy that? But I do. I enjoy sitting on our small two-cushion couch in our new temporary apartment that faces snowflakes falling for the majority of the day. I enjoy her being by my side. She makes it worth it. Sharing something that means so little in the long run means so much to me. And it means the same to her.
In fact, the little things continue beyond our Grey’s night. There was this time before she went to South America for three months that she was working at the University of Wyoming bookstore. I was visiting her from San Francisco before she went on her Spanish (immersion) adventure and I would go have lunch with her on her breaks. It was a quick thirty minutes, but it was worth the time that we would get since we wouldn’t be in the same country for my entire spring semester of college. So in her first week of work here it only made sense for me to join her for a bite to eat in her new work facility that is less than a mile away from our place. Despite feeling uncomfortable for bringing Subway in to a facility café that sold sandwiches, our lunch gave me the same feeling from the morning. I couldn’t have been in a better place. Just like being on our couch cushions the night before with her asleep and me watching the drama unfold. My attention to the show was apparently impressive, because at lunch she nodded approvingly, “I can’t believe how much detail you were able to give me this morning. You knew people’s names that I had to even think about to remember who they were.”
Well, I’ve had two years and a lot of Thursdays of watching the Seattle Grace Hospital unfold. That’s a lot of nights that Elena and I have spent on the couch. Yet, even when she’s been out of reach, like those months in South America, that was my way to connect. Lunch was my way to connect. Her falling asleep was my way to connect. This morning when I woke up, I was with the person that I love giving details of something that doesn’t matter at all and yet it matters so much.
Tomorrow is a day when love is supposed to be shown, but my day was yesterday. And it was this morning. My days to show my love were on those lunches in bookstore cafeteria and in the moments when I remembered their names. This morning I woke up with love showing itself to me.

car crashes and the way her boob looked so funny...

It happens in a second and that second couldn't happen faster.... You're talking about World War III and how close you seem to be when you don't realize how close you really are. You remember hearing, "Dude!" but what the fuck does that mean?.... a slam on the brakes and a swerve to the right on the busiest freeway in the state and it's over like that. You're okay. Is he okay? You're fucking car isn't. That's for sure. Your battery's in your lap and the imprint of your forehead is on the windshield. Is there blood? I've gotta get over. They're not letting me. Obviously, they can't see the front of my car. Probably because there really isn't one anymore.
A quick glance off to the side on the most congested interstate in the nation on a weekend afternoon and we're - sorta - lucky we got to see that chick's nasty boob as she swaggered around not very sexy-like. All tall and lanky with a silk top that you could see through the side. You can't help but stare in curiosity at the cup she has over her little tit... I don't like that word, but it fits... My gawking fits. That's me. Couldn't avert my eyes just cause I wondered. The older broads have never had nasty ones like that before.
The side of the freeway wasn't dry anymore after my car sat there for hours on end. The radiator sitting on top of my engine, a good two feet away from where it was supposed to be. The fluid running down the hill that I couldn't stop in time to save my car. But our lives were saved. Guess I wasn't going too fast. You would think people would stop to ask, "Are you alright?" That's not what we got. We got, "Where's the 5?" Doran so smartly replies, "You're on it," and then gives directions to the non-American on how to see Shamoo's new show. I heard it's amazing.
About as amazing as the two guys who fuckin' were hardcore enough to smash their heads in a car accident and then go smash their already bruised bodies at a TBS show... in mother-fuckin' sandals. There was a few ouches, mainly from the other. But he's got toes not stubs, so it makes sense. The watered-down beer dripped from my chin and the tunes from the band that all the songs sound the same was so needed. But I so pleaded for them to be done. "Give me something I know!!" Don't worry there's four of us. We can take 'em. So stop being so cute without the 'e.' Cause I just wanna make them hurt so badly, in the worst way.
God my knees hurt in the worst way as I drowned myself in the shower, seeing that I was okay from the day. But fear struck me when I struck the pillow. You never know what's gonna happen when you go to bed. Living in San Diego, temptation is all around. Too bad it doesn't get the best of me. Someday it will and I still have the chance. I'm living life and it's getting to be its fullest. Empty pockets don't mean much. I'll still manage to put on my seatbelt somehow....

Summer 2006

Moons over My Hammy

Staring up from my back and into the blinding light of the moon, God, I was amazed. The power of this moon was like no other I had seen. There was a cloud cover, but it had no effect on the shine. Instead, when the clouds slid over this particular moon, the light got brighter. The clouds became more of a background. This moon made the clouds as high as itself, which no cloud has ever been that far up. I wish I could do what this moon did. It made the night sky its living room and broke light on every object around. I laid there letting it know that it was okay. It was okay if it took me.

I had just finished a run of about two miles that took me from my street and along the cliffs that peered out into the breaking ocean. Normally I stopped briefly to stretch on a grassy cliff that looked down twenty, maybe thirty, feet on to the beach. This night, I took my time. I rested a hand behind my head and the other on my empty chest. My back felt wet from the dewed grass, but it didnt move me. Not with this moon over my head. I talked to it like it was God. The way God should be. This moon wasn't big, but had all the power in the world. Ive seen some moons that would put this one to shame if you compared sizes. Over the desert I used to call my home, sat frequently the orange moons that took up half the night. But they were nothing like this. The dimmed orange reflection that it gathered from the sun on the other side of the earth was nothing if I had my back turned. It didn't matter what direction I faced this night.

It was right in the middle of the sky and it was calling me. I could hear it. I could hear God. Or at least I hoped he could hear me.

Its okay if you take me.

I repeated this in my head. I swear I could feel Him answering me as a tear ran down my already wet cheek. The exercise gets to me sometimes. Its supposed to relieve stress and anger from your life, but for me, I just get tired and almost more frustrated. With the exhaustion comes the loss of will to fight through the anger. That's why I was letting Him know. Its really funny, almost sad, that I would be turning to Him to make this life go away. I never truly believed that He started it anyway. Yet at that moment, I laid stretched out under His blanket of light, thinking that he was all I had. So I called again with the streams of tears fluidly falling and this time I felt the shadows of something near. I thought that He too knew now that it was okay for me to leave. If He had cast a shadow ominous enough to break a shadow into this light, then its known. It came closer to me as I prepared for what came next. I was anxious and scared and in a way relieved. I wouldn't have to fight anymore. I wouldn't have to put up my walls to keep my left side protected. All these years of feeling like a constant heart attack were finally going to end. Finally. I cried one last tear as a small black bird skidded by my face, brushing the cool air across my tear-stricken cheek.

He didn't listen or it wasn't even Him. I was still here. I could see the bird fly up toward the light of the moon. It still shined so bright, but I could see its flaws now. I picked myself up from the ground. My running pants stuck to my leg and my sweatshirt weighed heavy with sweat and wiped tears. I looked down over the cliff to see the moons power. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my vision and turned to walk back. My run was done for that night, but I had the urge to run again tomorrow. Maybe the moon will be there again tomorrow. Or maybe the next night the clouds will get the best of it, leaving me to question Him as I've always done.

God in Alaska?

I've been trying to reach a little harder to connect with my spiritual side, but I haven't felt any further away than I am right now. Well, that's not totally true, but I'm definitely not as close as I would like to feel. Which saddens me, because we are making a really big decision in our lives' and I want God to be a larger part of it.
We are heading to Wasilla, frickin' Alaska... Wow, the country that God created in its rawest form and we are going to be enveloped in it for three months. We are going to be involved in the shortest days and the longest nights the world knows. This experience will be nothing short of celestial.
However, there are challenges ahead and God needs to be with us. Yet, He is not. Or at least I am not with Him. I've never been able to figure out who reaches for who. Do I go farther before I fall further in need? Or do I let Him make the choice and grab me by my nape when it is time. I wish the journey with God were easier. I wish there wasn't so much gray area. Why did there have to be the introduction of the Tree of Knowledge? If there wasn't this temptation to veer away from Him, our world would be so much different.
I say different, because I don't know if different is better. The free-will that God has bestowed upon is too much for us to handle, but it is a beautiful thing. Without it we would be the drones of Metropolis. No one wants to be them.
With it, I get the chance to go with my beautiful girlfriend to Alaska and see what this world has to offer for me, for us! I get to see the way my family tries to shine through the adversity of life and be proud of their attempts. I get to be me.
But as much I love being me, more of Him would be so welcoming to my heart.

Hillcrest Waiters and Three-toothed Men

The Rolling Stones blared louder and louder as the evening brought clarity to the paradox that was men-women relationships. You could hear the night filled with Mick Jager yelling something from one of his earlier hits, doesn't really matter... Just like the waiter who was rubbing the back of my arm didn't matter. Although, having that attention was rather mind-numbing and made me pray that I wasn't gay. It was mind-numbing in the sense that women, unless sluts, would never do this. It was casual, but revealing. Too revealing. Yet, as much as it made me hope that I still fancied the va-g-g, it made me realized how easier it would be to be gay.
The entire week had been filled with an internal struggle of not understanding the role men played in women's lives and the role we wanted them to play in ours. My entire life had been about seeing a woman as my equal. My mom brought me up this way. Although her fight to be at the same level as man turned out to be a fight between the sheets. Letting any man near her that would let her feel the least bit like she had some say. When in actuality the only say she had was where she would let them take advantage of her. She was a good mom, or at least tried to be, so she always made sure it was some place that she would think I wouldn't know what was going on.
That was the problem. Women think that they have some control in it all. They don't and apparently they don't want it anyway. They want to feel like they do, but subconsciously they know that the man is superior.
I can't grasp this. I truly can't. It makes it incredibly difficult to ever ensure a trusting relationship with a woman. There's always going to have to be a false sense of an equilibrium. But no balance will truly be there, because that's what the woman wants, but she would never tell you.
Not like Dennis, the waiter in Hillcrest. I'm sure he would tell you, "this is what I want and this is how I feel." Ewww... God, I can't believe I just vocalized what a gay guy would say to me. But I'm sure its the way he would be, just by the way he gave me my burger and asked if I needed another round.
Hell yeah, I needed another round, because you have guys like Michael out there who fuck up the few occasions when a man has it perfect. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the relationship that he had with Jenna. Jenna was, "like a guy." But only in the sense that she didn't mind being one of the guys, cause she sure as hell didn't look like one of the guys. But Michael fucked up that one, because he couldn't tell her he was afraid. If he hadn't gone and screwed the boney-kneed chick then 20 years later he would still have been the shell of a man with every fear tucked inside. He would be like George, at 61, with his wife screwing someone else. I guess Michael got it right then. Rather screw than be screwed.
And that is the point. No one should screw anyone... not anyone else at least. The game that gets played between the sexes so infantile and yet so immanent. It's immanent, because the art of seducing and keeping a woman demands this. This demand is too high for most. Too high for me.
So I'll demand my round and I'll listen to the loud blaring music, but change the Stones to something more Indie. I'll stare at the pooch by my feet and the one over her pants. And I'll wonder why the three-toothed man decided he could hit on a girl, when he was clearly swinging the other way. And I'll keep my thoughts of equality a secret so she thinks that she has a man who can throw her around. It's what she wants. Dr. Laura said so...

Summer 2006

Going Through the Past...

I used to have this notebook... I still do, but it's not what it used to be. I used to have tons of things in it. By things, I mean it used to have a lot of different writings in it. It had poetry that reflected on my strange childhood to my misadventures as a teenager in love. After years of writing in it, I lost most of what was in it after a water spillage. It sucked, but its okay, because it's not always a good thing to dig up stuff from the past. However, sometimes it is fun to reminisce... I have some stuff that I've written in the past couple of years. I've come across them and would like to post them on here. The previous post and some coming after will have approximate dates at the bottom to show when I think I wrote them...