Outside of the Box; I am brought to my knees!

A man that confuses the fictions of flesh as true beauty is the same as the man that looks into the dark, hoping to find the light. I know this all too well, as I have been the paradox, and in many ways, I still am. This way of life has afforded me the lightest of days, and I regret it as I am entering into the darkest of nights now. 

They love me for my charms and my looks, the promise of the false promises that I have brought them. In deceiving them I have deceived myself, because I know now that this is a life of pleasure. I see now that I life lived for pleasure is not a life worth living at all. It is so finite in it's entirety that it can be summed up so quickly and effortlessly, hardly remembered and surely not admired. 

I am not ashamed; I am humbled. I realize now the follys of my past. I think it is true that most never learn from the past. Ergo, does it make the present moot and the future vastly unpredictable? That has been my case for many years now and as the reality falls upon me, threatening to crush me into the hypocritical foundations on which I stand I feel a chill crawl up my spin and into my scalp. My hair stands on end. This is awe I am feeling, I am sure.

I've been depressed for many years now. I was diagnosed with depression from a very early age. Not from a psychiatrist (my parents never really paid much attention to me to begin with) but from a personal view as I aged. It's an uphill battle that I thought I was winning, but was only compensating for. Understand? I've been living in the NOW too much, and not in the future. I'm not the type of person to precisely analyze every account of my life- and never will be- but I know that the way I've been living has been wrong. An immediate change needs to be instated. 

And here I am, on the precipice, looking down into the abyss with nothing more than my wits and experiences. They are many among the commonfolk but few among the 'few', if you know what I am saying.

Lets suppose it doesn't matter now, and the concern is the future. What place have I in shaping the future if I don't change now? Begone, guilty conscience and let me be!

Sans fear and disconfort of any sort. Sleep well and live fruitfully, dearests. 

20

We all have the world beneath out feet. Choosing which way to walk, or run, is what leads us on our own paths and allows us to differentiate ourselves from others. Our paths define us. At twenty years old I am walking my own path, to say the least. Mexico, bold and daring adventures into the unknown, and a less-than-savory profession have defined me these past two years. I have very little regrets, but the things that stand out the most in my progress are the things I have acheived for myself, as well as for others. I think that by staying true to myself I have become very comfortable in my skin, more positive, and a good leader of myself and others.

Last night was a good night. I was very drunk and very happy, surrounded by my best friend and a few new friends that I made that night. It's not often that a night goes so well, that every thing that happens is a positive and enjoyable experience. Vance and I went to Porky's, a popular alternative club. Lots of skinny jeans and punker attire. The music is also very good, too! I got hammered and halfway through the evening was approached by a group of people that wanted to talk to me. They were extremely friendly, spoke very good English, and even bought me a pack of cigarrettes. In my book, buying a pack of cigarettes is like proposing friend marriage.

We adventured on with our new comrades, going to Younite down the street for a bit before ending up in a downtown area of Tijuana famous for it's nightlife and tourist destitions named 'Revolucion'. I inhaled about 5 hotdogs from a street vendor and we went to Sky Blue, a very tacky gay bar playing Mexican banda music, slightly remixed. We left quickly.

I woke up in my new friends' bed with Vance next to me and Christobal, our companion, on the other side of him. The butcher that occupied the apartment directly behind his was hanging pictures and the pounding of his hammer synced with near perfect rythm to my intense headache. I was horrified. I had Vance and Christobal call Simon to come and take care of me during one of the worst hangovers of my young life.  And he did come and take care of me. 

How wonderful. 

Battlestar Galactica: Best show on television!

I have never been a big fan of television. I'd always much rather read a book, or visit with friends than strain my eyes on a screen of moving images while absorbing countless hours of commercials and marketing schemes. In fact, I've never really owned a TV before. My roommates would have one, but I'd never use it except to watch the occassional film, and even that was far and few in between because I'd go to the theater if I really wanted to see a movie. However, a series on the SciFi Channel, oddly enough, has managed to install a bit of faith in television for me. Battlestar Galactica.

A little over four years ago the first episode was launched. I hadn't seen it, but friend of mine were talking about it. Some said that they would watch the next episode the previous friday, others didn't really seem to care. They all said it was good, though. It piqued my interest as I am a bit of a scifi nerd, but I got busy with school and social life and completely forgot about it almost instantly. It's funny because, that Friday I was at my friends house and he turned the station to Battlestar Galactica. He said it was "amazing" and completely un-like any other science fiction show ever made. I sat down with him, skeptical, and an hour later was completely and utterly blown away and hooked. 

I became more obsessed with BSG than an overweight and desperate nerd becomes obsessed with asian girls. I joined a forum for it, googled updates religiously, and even ordered a t-shirt that read, "Frak You". Eventually, I'd prefer to watch it alone because I knew people would talk, and then I'd get angry, and before you knew it my temper would escalate further than Leuitenant Starbucks' after a night of binge drinking. I refused to listen to people talk about the next episode if they'd read spoilers and my boyfriend at the time thought that there was something wrong with me. Just a little. ;]

Four years later I'm still a devout fan, and not the conventional science fiction fan that you'd relate to Star Wars or Star Trek. Battlestar Galactica takes a whole new approach on science fiction in that it is anchored so tightly to reality and humanity than one couldn't possibly imagine without first seeing the show. Imagine that the entire human race was reduced to less than 50,000 people and we were on a run from an impossibly huge and advanced enemy, what would you do? What kind of struggles and emotions would we be faced with, and how would we deal with them as they came? This show brings about the different levels of humanity on so many levels, the struggles and inner-strife that we combat daily, but put to work against annihilation. It's very fast-paced, the graphics are just as good as movie graphics. I have seen every episode thus far and there has not been one moment where I've thought, "they cut corners there". They use their budget to it's fullest capacity. The acting is incredible, too.

I think it's great that the writers have created a universe where the Cylons are machines, yet have a monotheistic religion, while the humans are polytheists. The show combines theology, philosophy, sociology, politics, military ethics, law, action, adventure, and romance into a work of television that has been awarded a Peabody. If there is something to watch on TV, it's BSG. It's already almost over, too. The series will be ending within the next couple of months. I think it's a good idea, as many TV shows seem to continue on for far longer than they need to. The producers are finishing the show on a good note, which is a wise move. The show will stand the test of time, I think; it will age very well, and has set a very high bar for other like it to follow. 

If you like science fiction, you will love this show- no doubt. If you don';t like science fiction, you will love this show if only for the fact that it isn't LIKE science fiction. There are no cheesy blinking lights and strange made-up cyber jargon. It's like one long and continuous movie that will leave all sorts satisfied with their experience. 

La Gloria the No One's party

I spent the weekend in La Gloria, a little town nestled in the foothills between Tijuana and Rosarito. It's a nice little place, with rolling green hills and one road that leads through it. It's the type of place you'd encounter while driving along a little state highway toward the coast, or a camping ground. It reminds me of a town called Goldendale, in Eastern Washington that I used to visit when I was little. My family owned a cabin in the hills. It had one police station, a few convenience stores, and a lot of churches, much like La Gloria. 

It was a relaxing weekend, to say the least. I was immersed in Spanish. His grandmother, aunt, parents and sister live in the house with him. Thankfully, he has his own bedroom. That's always nice. They are all very nice people- they don't speak English, and I'm still learning Spanish, but our pantomimes go quite well. 

Saturday night I went with Simon to the No One's party. It was the second such event of the year, and a bit better than the last one. I had a much better time. However, I could sense that Simon knew of my unease and he even posted about it on his blog (in Spanish, of course). In truth, I was a bit out of sorts about the whole thing. It was a huge party but everybody stuck to their own groups, talking amongst themselves and watching other people. I'm not used to that sort of thing. At parties in LA there was an exchange of information, human connections, networking, etc.. The kids seemed bored. Bored and drunk with nothing much to offer me intellectually. It was not a complete bust, though. Simon was a real pleasure to be around, and his friends were very nice. Very nice, and very drunk. 

It seems that people need more to live for these days, especially the youth. It was a huge disappointment to see so many bored young people, getting drunk and shooting the breeze about anything and everything besides what's important. I don't think it's a Mexican thing, or a geographical issue. It's affecting many people I know and in turn it has created a very selfish culture of youth. 

I'm thankful not to be so naive and innocent, and that I am open to the ways of the world. It provides a chance for true love and human connection. I suppose that alone gives me enough inclination to start a changing process, if not for everyone my age, but for some. It'd be worth it.

Tally-ho!

Letters

I wanted everything for a little while. Why shouldn't I? I wanted to know what it was like, that feeling of love. You gave it to me so good. It was the breath in my lungs, it pulsed through my veins, flowed from my hand to paper in the form of poetry. I wonder if this greif will ever let me go. I feel like the king of sorrow.

You were foremost in my thoughts today. It was a day that brought it all about. It was just another day; nothing's any good. I suppose I could just walk away because I think I would have disappointed my future if I stayed. What am I supposed to do with all of these remnants of joy and disaster? I remember the battles we had. I fought hard and I am proud of myself. My thoughts are so random now, but I will put them here for you and everybody else to see in the order that they come.

I want you to know that I have feelings that are true and deep, and while I'm not crying everybody's tears and letting my emotions guide my interaction with life, I am doing something more that proves a greater sense of emoting. I was wiping your eyes and corraling the tempest of your heart. I kept the light on, the door unlocked, and the sheets warm for you. Sometimes I think that I know it all, that I have everything figured out. No surprises. But the reality is that I'm still learning, lost, and now lonely, lonely. I'm walking wounded, my heart heavier than my steps. I'm sorry I turned you out, that I sent you into the world alone with your things in your arms and nowhere to go. I wish I could cry because I know it would make me feel better, but I can't so I will write instead. I keep looking at my phone and hoping that I will get a message from you, a missed call with your name on the caller ID. I haven't, and I don't think I will.

I want you to call me when things get better, because they will. I have enough faith in you that you can pick yourself back up again and take the steps toward healing. I still love you and I probably will for a long time, if not forever.

Heart in Twilight

I once was able to see the world in your eyes,
glittering, set alight by the fire that burned in your soul
and you were better then.
I could understand your kisses,
your lips forming words against mine
to explain
what never needed to be explained
save to comfort me and soothe whatever I yearned for.
My fingers would trace a map against your face,
drawing ghosts on your back
as headlights flashed through the window
and patterned you in brilliance.
You were better then.

I have been traveling amongst infinity lately. That's how I feel, at least. I have grown more aware of my surroundings, more empathetic towards people and have found a place within humanity as a person. I feel more comfortable in my skin, and while this gives me great comfort I feel that it has also become a burden. The things that would excite and entertain me before make me weary now, and the people that I would associate with on a daily basis are more of a bother than anything else. My perspective on friendship has changed drastically. I no longer search for something to take my mind off of the 'here and now', but instead seek out sanctuary to enjoy the present. That's what friendship should be, after all. Don't you think?

I've noticed that as humans we go looking for love in all of the wrong places. In the nooks and crannies, along the walls where the dust bunnies have settled and beneath the old, creaky floorboards. More often than not we find that love, or rather; we find something that we think is amorous. It is exciting and there is a rush at first, but eventually the indicators of where we found that something begin to surface. The amatory desires vanish and resentment and discontent manifest. Then, it is no longer 'love' but the love to hate. It's an obvious observation, like common sense. I'm no genius for writing this. However, if this logic is is so common (like common sense) why is it's practice NOT so common? It's like when you're smoking with a friend, and you observe how much tar is going into your lungs, and your friend shouts, "Hey! I don't want to think about that." Of course you don't. Nobody does, but why do it if the very act repulses you on some level? 

Americans are funny people, especially when it comes to emoting. If someone displays a powerful emotion, whether sadness or happiness, anger or excitedness, they are crazy. I notice that in Europe people will get out of their cars and shout at each other, shake their fists and call each other names and then get back into their car and return home. They won't abuse their wives or children, and they won't go into the nearest supermarket and blow Tammy's head off when she doesn't accept his coupon. Instead, Americans are afraid to display their emotions and hide them, choosing to let them bubble and stew until they reach the boiling point, and the condensed steam forces its way out. That is true insanity, in my opinion. Hiding oneself from humanity. It's a life of waste and a life not worth living.