Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Adam's LiveJournal:

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Friday, February 11th, 2005
4:27 pm	Makin it through. As I sat on the curb, looking at the sun set on a beautiful Washington D.C. skyline, I waited for a miracle to come.  You can't pretend that these beliefs belong to another. This is the society in which you live, the one that forces you to cling to any form of hope.  Silence is a powerful tool.  Use it to frighten, pass judgement, or shrink in the shadows to avoid having to decide at all. As I sat on the curb, I watched as the uninhabitated skirted by, not a worry in the world. And why should there be?  In chaos, immersed in eternity, one never fully knows her position.  Trying to stand still, she removes herself from the eye of the storm.  Making a decision is always easier when you know the outcome.  She had the chance. Now? It's gone.  Wearily, she returned to normalcy. As I sat on the curb, I thought I saw the end of the world in the distance.  I had a book in my hand that day, it was a love story.  Before my eyes, a beautiful woman appeared.  She was very clearly a phantasm, but there was something so real about her.  The city had quickly become a wasteland and the sun had set.  The sky, invaded by stars, sang her praises.  The wind carried her in my direction, and time seemed cuddle her arrival.  As if in a dream, she spoke to me. You do not have to know history to make it. I'm not sure if she actually spoke to me that day.  I expected a cinematic exit.  As if the sun would jet out from behind the moon and soak up the pain of a hundred centuries.  The city, not wholly vacant any longer, kept moving along. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 1st, 2005
10:33 pm	Sounding boards. A sweet melodic tune played as the camera focused in on the city.  Alive and vibrant, the people moved from one shop to the next, smiles lit up on their faces, the cold dismissed by a promise for the warmth.  Animators for years tried to capture this business, this atmosphere or hope and existential happiness.  Painting a picture of the city is much easier than realizing it for what exactly it really is.  At one corner, a store that forced others to work to the bone for a life barely worth living.  On one corner, a robbery is in progress. Blocks away, a young woman screams as she enters womanhood unannounced.  With smiles on their faces, the others pretend not to judge.  No adulterous "A" to be posted on her chest, no punishment that meets the crime.  Each moves on with a quiet dignity, and one by one, the inhabitants of this grand city hope for nothing but its demise. And so on Earth In a world of existentialism/Where one world collides with another/To have no answers at all can lead to further frustration/ To live in a world of pre-determined barriers/Life in a box of attitudes/Much is happening here. In a life, lived long ago/I remember hearing about the Nazis/A behavior not entrenched in the genes/A natural impulse, explained/ A question stands between myself and the world/My interpretation/Is that/Hell/Heaven/Life/Death/Choiice liveinaworldwherenotruechoiceeverexistsbutratheroneramblingwordafteranother. Promises of a translation.   (Comment on this)
Monday, January 31st, 2005
11:57 pm	The thinnest line. As I walked home from a dream, I found an object of much desire.  It was a page out of a young girl's journal.  The handwriting and youthful spirit seemed to indicate that this was no ordinary girl.  On this page, was history.  The way she used the space she didn't use, but to use the space that can be useful made me feel used.  I am my own vehicle.  As she is hers. On my journey, I read the page.  Secrets revealed. Faitful optimism poured forth and challenged me.  To start running, because you know you're willing to give it all away to return this page to her.  Had she forgotten that she was the one girl to save the world?  In the lines of the saddest love song, I found her eyes.  They lashed out in muted screams.  Mine is a thematic life.  That courage can be found in every corner of the world.  Conscience is less than a tool, but more than a force.  An individual has an infinite pool of strength that lies in the depths of interpretation and personal moral codes.  To live in an existential barn is more than simple hedonism or pseudo-intellectual-analysis.  She visited me, after I had long forgotten her diary.  Confused and beautiful, she exclaimed that the page I had found...did not belong to me. It did not belong to her. It was not hers to give or mine to receive. "Of course it was your diary! The message was so clear.  To capture the truest form of humanity so concisely...that is a talent." Naturally, what I neglect to revisit is that...the page was written in crayons - and only two colors at that. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 26th, 2005
11:16 pm	Fingertips. Six people, surviving, unconnected.  Living in different places, at different times, they take the breath that will protect them forever.  At times stronger separated than they could ever be united.  When you know what you need to do, the answers never seem accessible.  A million different dreams exist at the same time, and these six would do everything they could to protect them. The first stepped forward. "I want you to see me for who I am, not what I could be.  In me, see the strength of a million women.  For their strength is in me, and they will never let me die.  In me, see the light of a hundred million sunrises.  My voice, my weapon.  If you can't hear me, I can speak louder.  I won't get off this bus, I won't leave this building, I will build.  I am more than an intellect.  In you...see the strength of one woman."  The Earth shook, and with the blink of an eye, she lived an infinite number of lifetimes.  Here one moment, immortalized the next.  She was my ideal. The second and third linked hands.  One looking to the sky, the other straight forward. "Look at me. Look at us.  The magic, the love...it exists.  We are proof.  A love that is more blinding than three Hiroshimas, you will never be strong enough to thwart a design bigger than any.  Take me away.  You resist because you are so afraid of love and what it might bring.  My hand never feels cold because it is always gripped by something so intangible that, to truly understand it, humanity would have no end in sight.  We are our own fate.  In each other, we see the future of a world that fights back." Standing in defiance, they kissed.  A light, far in the background, ignites.  Even in death, they are alive.  Together. In love.  This love speaks to an age not ready to see itself in the lightest corners of this dimly lit alleyway. The fourth walked forward, adorned in the finest silk and beautiful garments human eyes had ever witnessed. "When you see me, what do you see?  Bright eyes, a future with infinite possibilities.  I am not destruction, and still I wait, for my day to come.  I am not transparent, but different.  I went back in time to fight in wars, I watched as you stripped away my dignity.  I listened for the day that I would be told the Truth, that I was free.  Enslaved, but not in spirit?  My mind lives on, in a epoch not yet reached.  In my time, humanity is dying."  Without a shred of disrespect and animosity, he smiled. That smile hid the answers. Simple and kind. The fifth closed her eyes and began to sing. She stopped, suddenly. "I am reason, philosophy, intellect, possibility.  You cherish the difference.  The brain.  I am your safety, you look to me for protection.  Inspiration with my eyes, I have control.  Silently, I disapprove, but not any longer.  As I stand, I inspire others to stand.  For too long, we have stood by in ignorance.  I will write a play.  I will compose an opera.  I will theorize and categorize.  I will die of cancer, and sing you a ballad.  I will save lives and be the last thing you think of as you fall asleep.  I am sexy and disoriented.  Up against the strongest of the strong, my force is overpowering.  Attempt to see me, discover me, fuck me...I will always outsmart you.  My future is bound up in yours, and not.  Contradiction -- my weapon. Conscience -- my assurance." As she finished her last sentence, a Sitar began to play.  Shaking her hips, she conquered.  She licked her lips, wetting the teeth, and became the goddess she was always meant to be. The sixth, a young woman sitting on the ground - her legs tucked behind her under her knees, stood up.  The world waited, unsure.  It seemed this was her moment. "The world needs me, this much I know.  I am one voice.  My lifetime, a book.  I am not sure I have a message.  I look above and see that the sky is covered with doubt and angry militants.  I am being choked. I am exhausted.  Air is in short supply, and time is running out.  If we are not smart, I will die soon.  I always wonder what goes on beyond the darkness.  Is it peace? Is it hatred?  An epic battle, ensued for the possession of my fate?  I am me, and me only.  I have nothing to give the world but my essence, and so it shall be.  Through the oppressive sky, I see a slim ray of light.  My eye remains in constant contact with the freedom.  The world needs me to live, just as much as it will someday ask me to die.  One voice.  My body.  A book.  A message.  The connection is there.  I use what I have and, while not entirely free, I make this promise. You will one day look up to a sky that demands your liberation.  I will not be there to see it, but I exist in every word that encourages you, in every person who loves you, and every moment that gives you another chance..." And with great pride, she lied down to rest. But even in rest, she fought.  And such a spirit...it inspired a new age of strength and liberation. (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 13th, 2005
2:02 pm	Down, Down. Helping someone to see the way things really are, as opposed the way in which they way need to be seen, could be the most heroic act imaginable. In one glance, one smile, one passing aura, I can help you find yourself. It is isn't often I read a poem, and know what it means.  Even less so upon my discovery of a beautiful portrait.  Somewhere on Earth, a prophet walks and tells us of things we only wish we could know. (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 8th, 2005
12:19 am	Alternate Universe Above a city of fragmented relations, the Truth will attempt to discover itself.  Far below, the people walk around as angels would.  With no need for lies and saviors, they live in a painting.  Each character, a perfect picture of an ideal.  They speak for the truth, not for any particular reason, but because it is how they communicate. There is something so epic about the unparticular, that many of us overlook the simplicity.  I woke up one morning feeling as if I had been drinking for days and days before.  I woke up and sat at the computer; I drained all of my feelings from the busiest mind that morning ever witnessed.  Maybe this time, I wrote the perfect play.  Each character a perfect blend of expectation and reality.  Nothing so perfect is meant for this world, and so, with a click of the mouse, I deleted a lifetime of lies.  For some, life is telling the story.  And for others, they know the stories that need to be told can never be felt.  While I can easily see myself in you, I know, we will always be in love.  What do you do when you know something is in store for you, but you're not sure you have the courage to fight to accept it? I get lost. Your words are a muddle of incoherent complications.  I think  you're brilliant.  The greatest feeling isn't falling in love with another, but seeing another falling in love with you.  It could never work, but I fell in love right back. I've been thrown back into reality. I'm not a miracle.  I used to be scared that I was in it for the wrong reasons. I used to care what people thought.  I deleted a lifetime of lies.  I'm not your miracle. The smartest thing my parents ever said. Touched me in a way I could never really tell them - because to bring it to words would destroy its perfection.  Should a drummer march to a different tune, let him march. It's not something you ask of the world, and it certainly doesn't ask it of you.  The world just asks you to fulfill your part -- play it true.  When someone lives for something greater than an ideal, they become heroic.     (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 28th, 2004
7:32 pm	Twelve Angry Months. I suppose the world has seen many great playwrights live and die.  Some more admired than others.  College students spend weeks on end dissecting the works of those magnificent intellects who came before them.  Their characters remain hidden in a contextual lens, protected forever by the sanctity of expectations.  Instead of being free, these characters live in a world confined by the practical.  The autonomy of the arts has been breached, and the fate of any meaningful free world hangs in the balance. There are playwrights not yet discovered.  They reveal a world that needs to be explored by the world.  Characters will no longer be protected by the common sentiment.  They must stand a trial greater than any imagination could possibly dream.  Some argue that humanity cannot exist in a vaccuum.  We must account for circumstance, for history, for a sense of development.  Such an ill-conceived perspective of the arts is dangerous -- more so than most people imagine.  The oppression of fiction may be our downfall.  People must exist in a vaccuum more than they need to coexist.  Upon entering a world marked by uncertainty and a search for the unique, some must be fully aware of their absolutes.  The characters of my play are different.  They are more than strong, they are intangible.  Ideals enraptured in flesh, they live for their own sake, for the sake of others, and for a sense of dignity and absolute concepts that will never be.  Language is superflous because these characters live through their eyes.  Guarantees are never necessary, and intelligence can be used or pushed aside.  Being remarkable and intelligent are two very different things, and in many instances, these characters exhibit neither.  When I see them, in my dreams, they are so real that for them to exist, the world would suffer.  With them, there exists no protection, because they are immortalized in their actions.  Unafraid, they are their own ideals.  For the world, these characters not only ought to exist, they must.  Unstrung heroes.  They are the future.  It is in these plays that they can save a world they'll never know.  A hero doesn't always save the world. Sometimes, the greatest thing a hero can do, is simply live.  They are a promise.  They are a promise that the world may be destroyed. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 21st, 2004
12:49 pm	Switchblades Don't be so sure that situations are exactly as you see them.  The most empowering moment of someone's life is ultimately the title of underdog.  When nothing is expected of you, you're able to operate undetected.  Without being noticed, you slip to the front and ride the edge for as long as you want.  Overt attempts can be dangerous and assumptions can be the difference between life and death.  Rely on your strength and the rest will come, eventually. I'm trying to focus on this feeling of expecations, I don't want to have any.  In just one day, the world could come to a stop, and in one day, all of my hopes could be shattered.  I have tried to delay. A pleasure delayer, I have heard people called this.  That's not exactly me, but I do think that I'm a little scared.  When you have something to say to someone else it's a little easier because you have to rely on something outside yourself for an answer.  When you're truly asking yourself something, you can't escape the depths of your intellect.  Terrified, but ready I suppose. On a side note, Arizona is absolutely beautiful.  The temperature is amazing, the sunset is amazing. The colors are boundless.  Purple, organe, blue, red, and almost every other color I could ever imagine.  I suppose the color I have noticed the most is grey, but it's this beautiful assortment of greys that are so much less depressing than I ever imagined the color to be.  And the friends that I remember so well are also here. It's been great thus far. I'm off to escape. (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 16th, 2004
12:08 am	An infamous bow The house of the theater was so incredibly silent that one could hear the heartbeats of the individuals walking out on the streets.  Bright lights flickered and a noise thundered through the auditorium with an authority no living person had ever witnessed.  Beautifully adorned she flew out onto the stage.  Dressed in silk and illusions, she felt vanquished.  One by one, they rose from their seats.  Truth, first. Followed by Beauty.  Justice emerged from the back of the theater house.  Love. Courage. Like the tangible elements of Earth revealed themselves to her.  A force united in the misconception of one hundred million years, they plunged to the front of the stage. Unafraid, the star came forth and outstretched her hand. Stop.  A different version, a new standard.  A star reborn in the way of an accomplished movie star.  The audience remained silent, afraid to resist.  All part of the show, she remained with her hand outstretched.  With every ounce of strength in her heart, she subjected these absolutes to tortures unfathomable to any reasonable human being.  False arguments.  She played the game the only way she knew.  In battle, the greatest victims are those who die for a cause that never existed. Lights flickered once again. The transition. Light blue to a brilliant yellow.  With her left hand outstretched, blocking the invasion of a congregation of light, she lived a lifetime in sixty seconds. One minute. At the last second of her sixty-second-lifetime, she clutched a knife with her right hand. It took 78 seconds to die after she had slit her throat. But in that sixty seconds, she was the greatest hero this world had ever seen. Legends were never spread, and not a single artist came to express a single color.  The audience stood up in disbelief, and walked away...unconvinced. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 15th, 2004
1:18 am	Dedicated. We, you and I, are just one warped vision of the way I want us to be.  Isn't it funny? Our existence together is a mass of collected memories from times before I even knew of your existence.  Alone, I can remember a random array of things that have remained with me in every step I have taken.  Sitting in the grass on a sunny afternoon, on a dark plaid fleece blanket, I can remember looking up to the sun as you whispered into my ear. Man, I have never smiled like that before in my entire life.  Your words floated past my eyes, and I knew the entire world felt the resonance. There was something about what you said.  Don't worry, it wasn't the content. In fact, if you asked me, even seconds later, I would never be able to repeat the words back.  It was the words of a promise, made when promises are truly the most sacred...when you're really not sure it is a promise.  Forever faced with the choice, I need to figure out the terminology. Swarmed with the feeling of dread and nervousness, "Fuck it all.  The worst that happens is everything is alright."  It's not about buying into the lie, or diassociating to a place where consequences are nothing but a fleeting feeling you get when you're unsure.  When it comes to it, I'm not even sure of myself. Of my composition, of my integrity.  Maybe I'm hooked on the wrong principles and maybe you're not as attractive as I claim you are.  I have too much class to force you to see anything you don't want to see. Years and years later, I have visions of what we used to be.  A cartoon in a funny magazine I once saw.  The sight of seeing the city that really completes you as you pull up to the terminal in that $346 a roundtrip airplane.  Moments that make up every part of my existence.    Liberation in knowing I'm confined to necessities, I wouldn't want it any other way.  Be careful.  Once you've tricked yourself into being liberated, you have a responsibility. What better night?  What do I see in the night sky? A hundred million promises, immersed in the cold breathes of a hundred million people. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
1:15 am	Episodic Rants- At 4:29 AM on some random Wednesday morning, I was sitting on this swinging love seat.  It was a house, not unlike my own, but in front there was this beautiful lake.  The atoms moved in such a way so as to create a memorable picture for me.  I was touched.  There was something so singular about this memory that has always haunted me.  Despite the fact that I am alone, I can feel a vibrant force pulling me towards the water.  As I stepped to the divide between land and water, like a flash of light, a thousand painters emerged from beyond the landscape.  One artist stepped out from behind a tree and wanted to capture the beauty of discovery.  The other stood across the lake from me, gazing into my spirit with his hands.  And a thousand others set out to capture my perfect likeness.  In the midst of a thousand men, doing a thousand things, I knew that I would never want to see what they were drawing.  I would much rather remember that singularity in my own mind than see it through the eyes of another. Fuck the silence. I have a voice for a reason. There is something about the inevitable that makes it so resilient.  Knowing the end may not always help alter the present, and being secure in the present will not always alter the end.  You have to understand that it was difficult.  As the world was collapsing in on itself and we knew that eternity had arrived, it was Beauty in the purest form that forced us apart.  I cannot explain to anyone, now or even in the future, what exactly that separation did for me.  Had I remained, I believe, with one hundred percent of my heart, I would have died.  I know it.  Fuck silence.   (Comment on this)
Monday, December 13th, 2004
12:03 am	That building. There are times when so many stories exist in your head, that even if you wanted to share them all, you couldn't. It is not that we are only capable of so much.  It is that if we shared all of our stories, we would have nothing for which to strive.  Because really, it's in our own stories that we feel most inspired. In all the time I have on this Earth, I will not remain silent for any reason other than the absence of a source.   (Comment on this)
Saturday, December 11th, 2004
10:46 pm	An MGM moment. Our romance with the silver screen isn't something to hide or obscure.  There are very practical reasons for obsessing over our favorite stars, our beloved screenplays, and the intricacies of Technicolor.  The situations are obscure, and many of them overly-idealized versions of the most dreadfully unoriginal situations we can muster.  Why the obsession? It's the feeling of no regret and presumption.  I envision my own apartment somewhere in the City - waking up at whatever time I please, and finding the money somehow to live quite a comfortable life.  I find myself drawn mostly to the sounds.  A bottle of milk, like the old days, being set upon a ceramic counter top.  Filling the glass with milk and pondering what was to happen next.  I suppose it's the wonder that in every instant on the movie screen, the moment is given its proper weight.  Why are you required to keep one's attention so vividly to keep them interested for a meager two hours? A dream world. I have visions of one day being my own hero.  It is possible, I suppose.  Where everything is mine and I will be able to rely on myself for whatever I need. It will be so liberating. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 8th, 2004
9:45 pm	With hands in my pockets. I had a dream where I was on top of this building.  The tallest building, quite possibly in the world.  Lights below flashed and penetrated my retinas.  The wind smoothly blinding the heat of days long passed.  An orchestra played beneath me.  It was a city playing a song I had never heard.  In most dreams, I am the protagonist.  Not in this dream.  Antagonistically, I existed.  To jump was not to admit to defeat, but stood as a powerful reminder to those unwilling to explore. The notes deafened my ears.  Notes paralyzed my senses and made me bigger than myself for that second.  All of the subways in the world stopped.  Worlds collided and everything paused to watch what would happen.  Bare handed, I destroyed that piano that stood as a monument to my indecision and defeat.  The temporary satisfaction of destruction destroyed in its own action, sometimes we have to know what we're about before we go trying to define it.  Perhaps the most ironic thing about life, at times, is that we must presuppose our own action.  We must know our conception of Good.  But sometimes to figure out the meaning, we have to participate in the actions that will be most conducive to the production of Good.  A presupposition, yes, but necessary.  Here I am, forever faced with the choice.  A life lived in the movies.  Jump and find yourself.  Wake up to the reality you must face, or remain and continue to be in love with the fiction you know you've always wanted.  You wouldn't want me any other way? ... I honestly think I love you, and strangely... you or I don't even know it. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
3:48 pm	Transformations. Mine is a message of hope.  This moment of singularity - a fusion of Truth and Volition.  To truly live, a part of us must recognize that there is something bigger than ourselves.  We live not only for the moments that exist, but strive for the moments that will never be.  It is not luck that allows us to see ourselves the way we must be.  It's not good fortune, but it's not a recognized dream...yet.  We don't have time to avoid it - life is so much more.  Our cries are not loud enough, when they're existent at all, and the New York Times can't do all the work.  Nobody has asked you to save the world, and nobody ever will.  The little things...there's nothing bigger is there? You cannot mourn for a lifetime, and you must find solace in the fact that we are all scared.  Maybe Ayn Rand was only half right. Sometimes, the best we can do...is to live life as ourselves, inside ourselves, to the best of our ability.  In life, we see that we come to find and hold our wishes if we hardly think about them at all.  There are no contracts.  In this instant, I can't promise to save your life.  But in this second, in my conscience and in my heart, I can vow to protect you.  I'll let you die.  Embracing your death could be the freedom you have always needed.  It's more than just remembering you, or paying tribute.  I take your spirit.  I know that, even now, I am often stronger alone than I am with another.  I remember the first time I remember looking up to the sky and worshipping the stars.  While others looked on, I praised them.  Their beauty? Inconsequential, as much so as my own life.  I worship them for their promise.  You are my connection, the ravaging resonance that screams through to the deepest part of me and screams to let go.  I didn't know it at the time, that I would be a savior, but...my parents sure did.  The world spins and oh what it must feel like to be the one person on the line, ensuring we are always moving.  They keep the world at odds with itself, so it could never devolve.  When you're liberated, truly liberated, life can seem much more like a struggle.  An epic battle ensues, caught in the middle, you will be the brave one who will refuse to fight.  With certainty, I can tell you...you will die.  The struggle isn't likely to end, and the stakes will only be raised higher.  And so. You are born, over and over, fighting the stakes. Becoming the battle yourself, I know you, and surely you cannot abandon the cause.  Surely, I can't abandon myself. Walking, with my hands clenched and my teeth grinding, I was suddenly stopped.  I swear to you, on everything beautiful thing in the world, that it was a power much greater than myself.  It didn't become clear, because it never does. A reminder.  I could hear screaming. I felt thrashing.  I became nervous, and the world around me faded into the background.  There was more to life than this.  I could feel you dying, we were connected.  In a way I had never known.  I touched your hand, you're in perfect health, but somehow...you're still dying.  Tears, in an orderly fashion.  The colors swirled around. You were just as I remembered, more than just beautiful. Idle. Imperfections in hand, you were raging.  Not with your mind, not with your body, not with your heart. What was it, then? For fuck's sake, I could feel my heart beating faster and faster. I needed to save you.  I have to, because I have my future bound up in yours. Should you not make it, how could I? Flash. An instant.  Separated.  The world remained in the background, bleak and mesmorized.  This was my chance.  I'm not sure how I missesd you, and the last thing I saw was your hope.  This is it. My epic battle.  I was prepared.  I felt the force against me. I had been punched in the stomach, harder than I ever had before.  My knees grew week, and I could feel the blood begin to emerge all around.  As could be expected, my hope dwindled just a bit.  Then, just as I had committed to myself, to my promise to fight, it happened. The force of a hundred years came to me.  A darkness closed in, and just as promised, there it appeared...the star. I looked up, the way I always had, and damn if it didn't gleam brighter now than ever before.  I had let go.  I had saved your life. (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 28th, 2004
12:05 am	A startling confession. Who would have known the book Twelfth Night would have given me such headaches. Over this Thanksgiving Break, I realized something.  I talk a lot about philosophy, moments in time, an epic battle to the end. I've talked about fighting myself, about ensuring I do what I can for myself. I never realized how little confidence that has inspired inside me.  I have never thought of myself as "interesting" or intriguing, or even that intelligent (obviously I'm not a complete moron).  But why not me?  As many people know, I have recently become really interested in attending a few very prestigious schools of drama around the country.  I talked to Alyssa this week about how feasible of a goal this really is.  I've become needlessly serious about this, and she had the best answer I've ever heard.  I said, "Well what makes me so special? There are tons and tons of aspiring actors." She sighed, as per usual, and said "Why not you?" Is it that we would find ourselves too arrogant to say, "Yes, I'm what they're looking for?" In one form or another, we're all taking risks.  Mine, happens to be sitting here and waiting. Yours is probably completely different. But we all take them, and it's unfortunate because it always lends itself to vulnerability.  It's not that I'm comfortable with being vulnerable.  I'd rather face things dead on, and sometimes I have to admit that I enjoy the fact that others aren't so convinced. Often I have fantasized about coming home to my apartment and having an intruder being there.  With a dangerous weapon in hand, he is looting the place and threatens my life.  It is the truest form of reciprocity.  He sees my life, it takes this long to recognize the complete and utter value of my breath?  This can't be.  Can I trade one life for another life?  Correction.  Life is more than physical, and sometimes it's on a different plane than the most carnal and basic of human amenities.  We are afraid to deny because then it forces us to categorize.  In choosing option A over option B, we must command ourselves to choose within ourselves, we must categorize ourselves, define ourselves. I'm sorry, but in such a decision, if you have to think this way...maybe you shouldn't be deciding, right?  Part of the decision making process is realizing that some of your desires can be met, and others cannot.  The constant in the equation is you.  Your desires have to remain in some sort of continous fashion, so that you know well enough which choice might be best, even if it is in that moment of complete solitude.  Nobody will hold it against you, and I doubt many will remember. But you will.  You might hold it against yourself, and there is no telling what will happen a day or two after.  With so many people making so many decisions - my friends and family, I feel as though this could not be more true. Happy Thanksgiving All! I can't wait until everyone comes back to Georgetown tomorrow. Hooray. (Comment on this)
Friday, November 26th, 2004
12:54 am	A Thanksgiving thought. A moment.  A flutter of seconds passes.  How can one instant have so much power, even in inaction?  Sometimes you can't wait for the brain to process, you just have throw your luck to the wind, rely on something more trustworthy than your brain.  If you didn't, what would be the point? I don't want a justification. I'm prepared to step up and take the blame.  As eloquent as I can be - all of a sudden things became clear and on a clear day, baby, you can see tomorrow.  So maybe you can't see tomorrow, but you sure as hell can see today.  That's all I really need anyways.  It has nothing to do with loneliness, with susceptibilities, it has everything to do with the structure of the world.  A crazy winter night in the city.  Filled with laughs, you wander to nowhere.  And that nowhere is more than somewhere.  Bundled in coats and slightly out of fashion clothing, you stumble into a meaningful scene.  The leaves have fallen, filling the air with the comfortable sounds of footsteps.  The world is moving so fast, but you have a warmth in your hand. You can't tell if it's coming from your own body, or whether they have taken hold of your hand.  Visions not of a future, but of a busy sidewalk, glittering lights, and the beautiful noises of stop-and-go traffic.  Vindictive and playful smiles, excuses to light the way.  It's funny how being this close to someone can make you feel so independent.  It's not about choice - it's about life.  How could you have known? Biting the lower of your lip, you shrug.  The mystery.  The greatest part of this night is that it is so expectedly ordinary.  But, oh what a rush.  An observance, a battle, the funnest discovery you could ever make. A trust in imagination, a heavy heartbeat - a perfect likeness.  The beauty here isn't in the particular, it's completely and utterly in the universal. "Grab your things, I've come to take you home."  You think you know the greatest love song? Find these lyrics, and you might just have it. A thorough discussion of freedom, and chances. I could be a famous playwright. or painter. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004
10:41 am	Never losing the latter. This cannot be my solution.  A last stand, a final confrontation.  We talk, and this time, we have to talk on my terms.  It could happen, I could save you.  While I know I'm not always strong enough to save myself, I know with every ounce of my being, that I will always be strong enough to save you.  No more second rounds.  If this was so different, if we really are two entirely different beings, why is it always the same outcome?  The relationship. One is more powerful, the other powerless - and when you look at it from a different perspective (from human psychology to quantum physics), these always balance out to zero.  You'll tug here, I'll tug there, until eventually there is nothing left but two ideas, one moment.  I remember the night, it was late, and everything seemed possible. Like you, I recall every night that one night when true love seemed possible.  Accustomed to being the fighter, it is such a reversal to see you trying to hold on to any vestige, and here I am...finished mourning, and ready to see.  If you are so protected that you can't feel, so contracted that it doesn't make a difference...what does that leave for me? I will not be defined, intimidated, or scared by these antics.  I'm going to try, and even it is thwarted from the beginning, I will have at least tried.  I'm not the one you should fear.  I'm perfectly willing to walk through the hallway alone, everyone staring and talking about all that had happened.  I know where I am. A drive. To California.  On my left, these beaches, this sand, these people.  Forgetting the world around me, I can't stand it. You can't keep me away.  I have to hear the waves, I have to see the sun beat down on the water, I have to get lost in that water.  The pictures don't prove its beauty, and in person, I could never show you what I mean.  I felt free.  I could swim all the way out, amongst the water-breathing animals, sharing in their freedom.  Blistering under the sun, I stayed there, staring.  The phone rings, and I pick it up.  The voice drowned by the song in my head, the waves crashing.  The sand, silky.  Being here, being free, is the best thing I could ever do for you. I can protect you here, I can be the best that I can be for you here.  I think if you called me, if you wanted to, it wouldn't be like other phone calls. I think you would hear the waves crash, and you wouldn't need me to answer. You wouldn't need to hear my voice. You could feel my freedom, and crave every second of it.  A slave not to another, but to that ocean.  If we believe in the same things, the distance in between us, gone.  Expansive.  I have goosebumps, and all the lies you could ever tell aren't enough to keep me here.  A breakdown.  I think there is a thing called idealism. It only works when you fight for it.  It's not just about seeing things for the way they really are, or about seeing things the way they ought to be seen.  It's about being courageous enough to see the difference, and not being afraid of the uncertain. After all, you can't lose what you don't have. But... You can always be free. (Comment on this)
Monday, November 22nd, 2004
8:44 am	Modulated. I try not to be assuming, presumptuous, or arrogant.  I know how to pick my battles, and once taken up, I will finish them.  These battles generally commence when I realize that someone has entered into a variant false consciousness, where I'm concerned.  I am my own truth, and refuse to submit to these pathetic attempts at reorganization and justification.  There is a sovereign arena, and try as you might, you will never break that.  I am not your convenience and I'm not the one person you can look back to and think of the mistakes.  I'm older now, perhaps not wiser, but stronger.  The fast pace has slowed and the lights have dimmed - every chance in the world, a blur of choices and propositions.  So you've found yourself? And that somehow indicts me? Somehow I'm the one who is condemned? I can't apologize for having the answer, and I won't.  It wasn't enough to try to destroy all that you don't understand, but you had to try to challenge me.  You've been watching me, huh? Everyone thinks that the rules don't apply to them, that when they're ready, the world will suddenly shift and everything will have worked itself out.  I'm not your dependent variable.  In me, you see everything you want to be? I find that to be surprising, as you aren't anything at all.  You are what you have to be, not to another, but only to yourself. No sense of permanence - you are what I'm fighting against.  So what makes you think I'd give up this easily? If you're going to go to battle, you sure as fuck better be sure that you have a chance of winning. It seems as though the universe is resting on indecisions and discretion - clandestine feelings. Afraid that we will be undone, unjustified, challenged.  Instincts aren't always enough, yes we've had this discussion before.  Looking that far ahead, you start to round the corner and can only see that which you've already passed.  Take the chance you know you want to take.  Something I'm sure of? The better I know the rules, the harder I play the game, the more equipped I am to defy the rules.  It is your paradox.  Espouse your personal philosophy, drive fast on the freeway, but it's all empty.  When you've seen it, it makes dreaming about it fucking ridiculous (credit to the writers of Girl, Interrupted).  I'll only play this compromised version of the game for so long. Take this for just what it is.   (Comment on this)
Thursday, November 18th, 2004
11:47 pm	Be my answer. For a split second, right as I open my eyes for the first time, I think to myself, "I'm not gonna make it." It makes me want to cry. How am I supposed to make things right with this kind of attitude? Am I coward from the instant I awake? I have a confession to make. Maybe I don't want to grow up.  Maybe I do. I'm so confused.  Tonight, my friends saved my life.  As I was working, reading, starting to really hate myself, I had this flash of a moment whirl before my eyes.  I was blacking out.  In one moment, I saw the happiest moments of my life - pictures of all my best friends, smiling, laughing, joking...my family, looking at me as I gave that speech at graduation (funnier still, none of us cared), the moments that I walked out into the desert skyline and knew that someday I'd be out there.  The moments that are etched in our hearts forever.  I can remember her face, the dimple on the left side of her cheek. Her long brown hair, beautiful.  Why are we best friends? Such an unlikely duo? I think if anyone asked us these questions in truth, we would just laugh and joke.  We get the same things, in the same way.  We never see life in exactly the same way, it's what keeps us balanced. I went to every volleyball game I could. And while I always claimed to be so busy and exhausted, these were amongst my favorite times in high school.  For some reasons, I felt so at home. No need to be fake. No need to be anyone but me.  And all of a sudden, I had this vision of all of the faces of my dearest friends, family, everything all at once. I became nervous and had an excited tension within.  Damn. I've never really stopped living in Arizona. I know, it's a shock to most. But it's true. Have I made it? Where do I even go from here? I'm not worried about it. I can't worry about it. When you start to figure it out, damn if it doesn't hit you harder than anything you've ever known.  Why do I have this unnatural feeling that I don't have much time left? I want to have a lot of time left, I want all the time in the world. But all of a sudden, it struck me...what if I had the dream of living forever...without actually believing it myself. I think that's bogus, I believe it. With every breath. (Comment on this)