DNF

This brain has been disqualified. Sorry. Every thought therein is not applicable to life today; tomorrow. It has been replaced by server space somewhere in california, where all one could possibly know is indexed an can be readily accessed by any internet-capable device. Thanks google; no you are not a proper noun in my dictionary. Dare I voice my abstract opinion on the topic, with such a tangible fear of rejection by the people. So what is it that people talk about? It has to be something where opinion doesn't play much of a role so much as being a topic where from a view can be easily adjusted to fit the expectations of the audience. Theorizing is out of the question anymore, with every possible real-life scenario already having been played out some place, at some time, leaving room for no one but the most prodigious of minds headroom to speculate. Imagination doesn't quite fit, seeing as how a joke is a joke unless whom it's being told to isn't joking, then it's an insult, a threat, harrassment, belittlement, not funny, a total conversation killer. Wait, I just had an epiphany. Ideas! We can talk about ideas, so after we get ourselves all excited and worked up about what we plan on creating together tomorrow, it all winds up on the cutting room floor again. I think a lot of the time, we talk about other people. It's the high-class small talk we can all be a part of, so long as we don't mind any thought process beyond "smile, nod head". But where does that take us, talking about other people? What about other people do we talk about, what they are talking about? If we're all talking about what they're talking about, and they're talking about what some other people are talking about, and we're all talking about each other, doesn't that mean that we're all wanting to talk about ourselve but would rather say "he said, she said" than "I said"? I say that I think we're all mentally handicapped, based on the fact that our mouths work so well, but we choose to use then for such slanderous garbage. I will take all of that footage off the cutting room floor, piece it together to form a chronological take on everything we've chosen to take part in, perform a score that accentuates all the most dramatic moments with sullen piano riffs and hollow clarinet tones, have the entire audience in rapture trying to find the meaning behind my choice for a complete lack of color in the irises of our protagonist during the commencement ceremony in the last twenty minutes of the movie, only to find out that our hero never wanted to dismiss those academic children up against the wall during lunch in high school. Damn, what a tragedy. We'll make it. I have the drive. And the ability to forget I'm visible.


-- Post using BlogPress

Click

So yesterday I started my daily runs for over the summer. Yesterday's was rough on me, I couldn't even jog the 2 miles without taking a bit of a walk. I suppose this is all right, considering how many cigarettes i've smoked in the past 9 months, and in how it gave me a very low starting bar to jump for the next day. Today I jumped the bar. Whoo. Ran the full two. Once I get home after a run, and i can feel my sweat glands squeezing beads of sweat out of my forehead, my vision woozy with the happiness of a drunken graduate, accurately being able to distinguish the scent of cow shit from the house down the road, God; I feel alive. When I feel alive I'm clear enough to critique myself on things like my social anxiety and why it's an intangeble fear, and why I even smoke in the first place. The social anxiety I can trace back easily, seeing as how I've literally been born in a barn. Might as well been a foreign exchange student from Mahaj or some ancient civilization. But the smoking thing, I can't. I just can't remember why I started. In thinking so negatively about my habits origins, I decided to ask myself a simple question, "Zac, sir of sirs, can you smoke?"
My answer was, of course, yes. Obviously the "what do you do at a green light?" trick doesn't work on me, so pat yourself on the back, Zac, you're just too afraid to commit to a desicion that can make you feel like a drunken visionary for the rest of your life. The satisfaction of such a wonderful run, the deep, healthy breaths, no. It's not quite enough for you. You pig, you, you've got all the excuses in the world, haven't you? And just at the point where I thought there was absolutely no reason I myself could come up with to quit, I was right. I do have all the excuses I am, of course, always right. About myself, at least. The mail arrives everyday conviently between the point when my run starts and my run's end. I'm glad the mail person knows what time I start my run everyday, because her kind gesture of delivering in the middle makes it very easy for me to check it on my way back into the house. Today, there were nothing but mailers. Mailers and adverts. Winded, thinking about my ego-insubordination, I thumb through them all only to have a bold voice jump out at me, screaming fidelity.


No excuses, son. Join a gym, there's a rebate. No excuses. Quit smoking, you cock. No excuses. Well all right.
This seems to happen to me a lot, a loss of faith creeps into my thoughts, I'm at the end of my own hopeless rope, completely unwilling of helping myself or anyone else, and a clever mail lady gives me a wink while making her final stop to drop my mail in the middle of my afternoon run.



-- Post using BlogPress

I love technology

Yay! Toasting an epic bread!


And yes, I do use straight blades to cut my breadz, thank you.
-- Post using BlogPress

Demonstrative rhetoric: Literally, the argument of the future.

Now unless i'm sitting through an entire battle with my mother with a tape recorder, it's hard for me to recount everytyhing that was said. all i know is that when she begins to talk at me about "things that i hate" or "things that i think are stupid", all i'm thinking is, "you fit under both lists in my eyes when you talk like that". just today she was ranting about how she thinks my dad getting the window motors fixed on his car was stupid. i concede. yay, it's all over now. but no, it';s time for her to reinterate, over and over, how we should just take the windows out of her old junk and us install them. sure, whatever. i try to say as little as possible to prevent talking over her head and making her feel genuinely stupid, because for that I'd feel like genuine shit. In my silence, she compares me to my dad. The difference is, however, that his silence is not voluntary. I tell her,
"yeah, that's a good idea."
and it brings her mood up a bit for a minute, until she starts thinking stupid thoughts again.
"after those windows, that's it. your dad should just junk that car. it sits there like a piece of shit."
"yeah. make sure he saves the engine. we can fix it up."
"no you won't. it'll just waste more of our space and never get fixed like everything else you take apart."
mom, i love you. you and your undying faith in your son.
"well, in 5 years when i have time to spend with him, we'll fix it."
you see, right here is me trying my best to instill some amount of optomism into my mother. note the future tense of the sentence. that's me trying to deliberate, trying to get something acomplished. the environment i grew up in was always so negative, so brief, so unexplained. the latter years of my life have all been dedicated to preparing myself for the outside world, where people communicate with each other. a place where the desire to be part of a group can actually help a person advance in society. a place where people all around you are ready to tell you your idea are shit, but are also flexible enough to consider them and possible change stance. This is the world in which I wish to live. I'm going to make sure I get there. Where I grew up, I learned that I can do anything, I have the capability to hurt others, but I should not for the good of everyone; that this earth is truly free. I'm lucky for my upbringing. I just wouldn't wish it on my kids. What my mother says next is a prime example of why,
"well, you have time now, so why don't you now?"
Instantly, i think of all the reasons why i don't do it right now. these reasons aren't even for me, either. My dad's a busy man. He's got a stressful job where at he works hard, a huge yard to take care of, some horses, my mother's exhausting demeanor, his car keeps breaking down, he's busy.
okay well i'm taking off, i don't have all day to sit and vent. i've actually been over this whole situation since it ended, so me trying to recall all of it wouldn't quite give the same effect as being here.
What I wanted to remember was that every time I try to bring one of my mom's fights from a blame-shifting, name-calling slump, by using future tense statements, by taking her side on her thoughts about how certain things are stupid, she finds some way, SOME WAY, to make it back into a defense-offense battle between her and the world.
Mom, the world isn't out to get you. I can show you so. I'm here to help you.
I love you.
Read the book I gave you.