A Miracle's A Miracle, even if it's ordinary.

Today was something strange. I woke up, and it was raining. I woke up and the rain was washing away the hatred of the week, of the month, of the year. I woke up, and something in me decided today would be a good day. I decided to actually live by what I think.

I decided to be an optimist. Because life is too short to think about how bad this is, and life is too short to realize how pitiful it all is. Life should be about wild dreams and good things. This song, this band, this spring. It's about time for some good changes.

Let's face it, winter breeds hatred. Shit hits the fan in the winter and that's just how it is after about December 27th. Then on it's one big shit storm until things start getting warmer, maybe a nice rain, maybe something major happening.

And then there it is. We're all better. I was writing bad poetry to submit to Ursus last night. Here's a poem:

Counterfeit Dimes

We sit here and we make our dimes

We make them out of wood and plastic caps

And we sell them to ourselves

To prove they are real

The fake coin press is working

Churning out the dimes

So maybe we can buy a sense

Of true false happiness

It just makes me wish I were poetically talented like Erin.

Daisies of the Galaxy.

by Eels

Take heart, my little friend
And push back your seat
Soon we'll be far away
Far from the street
Where you learned how to be
Not what you are

Up on the shoulder
There is a town
With a little motel
And an old movie house
We'll go to a movie
Whatever it is

Watching the movie
The world's gonna end
And there ain't a place for
A boy and his friend
To go

I'll pick some daisies
From the flower bed
Of the galaxy theater
While you clear your head
I thought some daisies
Might cheer you up

I'm so tired, and I'm so sick. Sick of reality. Sick of myself, sick of my place in life. I am so tired. I'm exhausted, for no real reason. Hours and hours of sleep cannot fix this utter exhaustion I have been feeling at the end of my days. I'm tired, and I have a headache.

It seems as if nothing is working out. It brings to mind a poem I read once by Bukowski, called "Cut While Shaving"

It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.

don't I know it? I
answered.

I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night

nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.

I walked down the stairway and
into it.

Which reminds me of a song, Bukowski by Modest Mouse.

Well, see what you want to see
You should see it all
Well, take what you want from me
You deserve it all
Nine times out of ten
Our hearts just get dissolved

So back to this, I'm tired, and I'm exhausted, and I feel as if I have too much to think about. I need to get things done at work, and that's all there is to it. I need to do some math homework, but that's just not getting done. I know damn well I won't get it done tonight, and there's no real point kidding myself.

Tomorrow, someone give me an easy life. Give me a life that is content with drama and failure. A life that doesn't hate itself for being what it's created for itself. Give me the life of someone else, someone who isn't so damn tired. Or just lie to me, and tell me that I'll have one. It won't be a condemning lie, it won't send you to hell. It will give me false hope, consider it an "it'll be okay" for my entire life.

That sounds good, really good.

The New Pollution

This entire year has just been a screw up, and it's only February. So many bad things have happened, and it is showing no sign of letting up. By time this is all over I have a feeling there's not going to be much of what I am now left, because it's all just so frank and retarded.

I'm hoping that it will all work out, because I'm crazy like my father.

At the same time, I pretty much know that everything is going to end poorly because I'm crazy like my mother.

"She's a boat on the strip mine ocean,

Riding low on the drunken rivers"

I love Beck. Because Beck sings about how marvelously screwed up life and society is with a positive outlook. He says that the world is screwed, life is forfeit, the outlook is bleak, and he does it with a smile on his face, likely a joint on his face or a needle in his arm, and an upbeat.

Yes, life is getting screwed. Yes, this all sucks. Yes, my life isn't turning out how I want it to. Yes, the bad things keep piling up and frankly... there are no good things.

But let's get on with it.

Gravity Rides Everything

I don't quite know what to make of it. I'm spending the weekend in my home, this is my choice but it is influenced by the things around me. I find that it would be very irresponsible to leave while my mother is in the state she is in. Meaning with a hole in her belly where doctors took cysts from.

So, I'm here and I'm trying to convince myself that I would rather be here than out--out where? My life is becoming more and more... obscure? It's feeling as if I'm doing less and less, and regretting it. But not really. No, I don't really regret anything.

Maybe this feeling is jealousy. But jealousy of who, I do not know. Society, in general.. no. There is no person or life style to be jealous of. Which means, that it is in fact not jealousy.

This causes me to ask what I want out of my life, at present. I'm never entirely sure what I want, but I sure know what I think I want. I want items, I no longer know who I want myself to be. I used to have such idle dreams of myself being this fantastic person who would inspire emotion. I no longer fancy this for myself, but I no longer fancy anything.

I'm just who I am, for some odd reason.

--

I slept a very long time last night/today. I slept from roughly 11:30pm to 12 pm. That is quite a bit even for myself. And yet now I'm exhausted.

Time is a funny thing, especially how it gets the best of us all, or completely ignores us. There are times when time seems to pass so slow it feels as if presidential campaigns have taken place in between the minutes. Other times it seems as if it's going quicker than any of us have been prepared for.

Sometimes it feels as if presidential campaigns are going in between the minutes, but light years are traveled through the hours. And sometimes it just feels like time is moving too quickly, and I'm not doing enough to slow it down.

I am not to the best of my knowledge failing any classes. This is good. My lowest grade is likely to be a 75% (or so) in Biology. Because I cannot for the life of me, make it sound Latin, evidently. Actually, it's because I have lost a paper flip book, I have not completed a cross-word, and I have failed to copy a page out of our text book.

The page will be copied, but who knows if the other two will be. Maybe if I have the time.

I'm disappointed in myself overall, for very many things.

I never worry. Now that is a lie.

I think that perhaps things are starting to to back to normal. Mr. Alldaffer is back, my mother has had her two larger-than-a-grapefruit/smaller-than-a-cantaloupe cysts removed.

As I write that, or even thought that, I began to wonder what "normal" is in life, and where the boundary lines that dictate normal and abnormal stand. It's a Mr. Alldaffer who has taught me to think this way, as I remember a class where we did nothing but debate where "right" and "wrong" or "good" and "evil" were. That, and Valley's constant argument that Friar Laurence was in fact not guilty even though... he's Tyler. Tyler is guilty.

"Black cards in effigy
We sing the song that was hated
All dressed in vagabonds
Sharks smell the blood that I'm bleedin'"

Perhaps I am over thinking roughly... everything... again, but to me that says to much. "Shake Shake Tambourine" by Beck. To some that is jibberish that sounds wonderful. To me it's jibberish that if carefully dissected makes perfect sense and is frankly amazing.

I love iPod/iTunes shuffle. I hate iTunes and iPod, and Apple in general. Steve Jobs and his company can die in a fire.

But I love the shuffle feature, and how well my iPod and iTunes perform it.

--

So, I'm sitting at work. And I'm feeling what it's like to be my mother on a daily basis, doing jobs she doesn't particularly care for for no money because no one else will do them and she's semi-self employed, so she doesn't get paid often, and I find myself thinking that I don't want to live my life like that. I want to make something out of myself.

I lied, I didn't think any of that.

Truth is, I just want everything to be about "normal." But there is no normal. I want everything to be the same. 

I'm too odd.

ugh

It's been a long week, and a long day, in a strangely short month in a short year.

The sooner this month is over, the better.

The start of something beautiful. Or not.

It was suggested that I do this by a friend who was suggested by a friend who was suggested by Mr. Alldaffer. You all know who you are.

I don't really know what I should say, because nothing is terribly bothering me. I'm not under much distress, alas that is what blogs are famous for. We're all supposed to say what's wrong with our lives and then let others give us sympathy, or tell us what to do about the situation at hand.

I really don't know much about the whole blogging other than that. I know that one or two people will be reading this, and I'm not sure I would be comfortable if any more were. That's the thing about the internet, I'm fairly certain that anyone who understands English or any of the languages this can be translated into will be able to read my most inner thoughts. That's what I love about the internet, and that's what I hate about it.

God forbid if some lunatics from the asshole of the internet catch wind of this for some reason. They could ruin my life electronically. Isn't that lovely.

Well, there are one or two things that bother me. I've been faced with a lot of mortality lately. It's very uncomfortable. 

You see, my dog died a few weeks ago. The dog had been a part of my family since I was about seven years old. He meant a lot to me, and I loved the little guy. It still makes me sad to think about it. Really sad.

This morning my mother had surgery to have two cysts... drained, or cut out, or ripped out, or whatever they do to them. While the chances of something going wrong were not likely at all, it still begged thoughts of mortality. What if my mother had died. Well, that would be terrible. I care not to think of it, even though it will happen one day.

Damn if we don't all die one day. Truth be told, I think about it quite a bit recently. It's probably unhealthy. Mr. Woody's death, or Mr. Alldaffer's. I wonder if I'll find out. I wonder if somehow the word will go through a grape vine and I'll find out, or if I'll never know.

I wonder if I'll know when Valley dies when we're both old. More likely I'll die first, I'm much less healthy and I'm a few months older. I wonder if he'll know when I die, then.

You see, my way of dealing with death comes from Kurt Vonnegut. My friends who have read Slaughterhouse-Five will understand what I mean when I say that death should not be something to be sad over, because that person is just having an unhappy moment in time, and they have had many other happier moments in time.

I wouldn't be okay with that, actually. I wouldn't want to live my life over again, even though it would not be like that. I follow this philosophy only when someone else dies, because it is comforting to think that they are still alive at other places in time, even if not the current place in time.

This then forces me to think about my other experiences with death, for instance when my grandmother died. Of course common courtesy dictated that my entire family reared their ugly heads, even though most of them didn't know the woman. They knew my grandfather who died when I was very young. After my grandfather, poppy as he preferred to be called, or so I'm told, died, they completely forgot about good old grandma.  I didn't.

It was my mother's job as the youngest to take care of my grandmother in old age, or maybe it's because my mother is the only one who truly turned out successful in my eyes. It's because she's a separatist. She doesn't want to lead, she wants to be by her self. If that means leading, she will, but she could never stand being a cog in a machine. I admire this about her.

My father wants to be the leader. I admire this about him as well.

I should stop rambling now, because the more I ramble the less this will be read. I hope everyone has a good night and day.