Today I thought to myself, whatever happened to that blog of mine? I kind of froze for a minute. It was clear I needed an outlet. I clung to my lime tea refresher like it was my last lifeline to happiness, every gulp of that deadly sweet, paradoxically sour liquid cranked my smile bigger and bigger. But that smile was backed by nothing but sugar. There was no substance behind it, there are simply too many emotions and thoughts that where tied up behind it. And what better of an outlet than my blog?
Honestly, I have no idea where to even start. And actually, thats one of my problems! Im beginning to question my expressive capabilities. I constantly bitch to myself about these people that carry no emotion on their face, regardless of how they feel. If I can see how you feel, its a window to your person, and even if the emotion is sad or angry. When you openly display your emotion around me, that says to me; "I care enough about the people around me to let them know how I feel". And I like that. Granted, there are, without a doubt, exceptions. Some people love to make a big scene, for attention. Others act. They laugh and smile without feeling happy, and vice versa. These instances bother me as well! When I say I want to know how you feel, out of respect, don't lie to me, whether it be verbally or in body language.
Ahhh, but Im flawed. Im a hypocrite. I say that I want to see your emotions, but I have no idea how to express my own! In daily life anyways. In art, theatre, and poetry, I can, once in a while, give you a pretty good idea of the way I feel. But in social situations, I just don't know how exactly to respond, or really how to make conversation for that matter. Im losing my social skills to this woods I've been penned up in. Its usually just awkward. I strive so hard to hang out with friends, but I usually regret it when I do.
Ugh, dinner. Ill continue this later

why bother with defeatism

its a failure

so lets just quit while we're ahead.

____________________________________________________________________

I bought a new camera the other day

said to be fool proof

the buttons were bigger

and the box claimed

"Its so simple a blindman could do it"

but what about a test for blind people

thats in braille

I can see

and I cant read braille

so how is a blindman's capacity

of doing something

a measure of simplicity

that can possibly translate

to the world that can see?

____________________________________________________________________

Oliver Twist

Redone for 2009: A new age

They were eating cheap cafeteria food that day. Oliver, having finished his tray, went to the administrator and asked;

"Please sir, can I have some more?"

The administrator smiled, nodded, and replied;

"Yes Oliver, you may have some more."

Oliver throughly enjoyed his second tray. So, he went to the administrator a second time, and said;

"Sir, may I please have some more?"

"Yes, you may, Oliver!"

"This time, can I be supersized!?!" Oliver said, slobbering, his tongue wagging.

"Of course!!" The administrator said, jovially.

This went on, three or four times a day, for several months. The "food", being low quality, highly processed, and full of animal fats was terribly unhealthy. Over these few months, Oliver gained some weight. He went from being a respectable size for his age, 5' 10", 15 years old, and 165 pounds, to being a mammoth, 5' 11", 235 pound jiggler. He had acquired a doctors' note so he could skip gym classes to simply watch (and not participate in) various exercise videos. And that month, there were some problems.

Oliver lived in a quaint, exorbitantly rich small town, at the base of a mountain in the Rockies. He had several iPods, iPhones, and multiple MacBooks. The power supply for that county relied solely on a transformer, 200 miles north, from a small Wyoming river.

It was February. Avalanche season. 12:36AM, and Oliver was digging into his first plate of some hamburger. Just as he went up for seconds, the television flashed with news. There had been a massive avalanche, knocking out the county's transformer, and blocking off all roads to the town for at least a week and a half. The building was in panic, and they sent everyone home. Oliver left, just as he finished his third plate of rigatoni.

His parents, being wealthy and shortsighted, had little food in the house. They frequently ate out. So, without food, Oliver was forced to gather food by any means necessary. He went outside, a place he chose not to frequent, and walked the town to find some food.

Within hours, Oliver was forced into bedrest by his body. He was shutting down. He had found nothing but a single bowl of steamed tofu and rice, given to him by his generous asian neighbors. He went home and went to sleep.

The next day, unable to walk the town and scour for food, Oliver sat in bed. His iPhone, which only held a 4 hour charge, was dead. His entire house was powerless. His parents were busy elsewhere. So Oliver simply sat in the dark. Alone, friendless, and morbidly obese, he suddenly wished that he hadn't "Had some more" so frequently in his past few months. Suddenly concerned by his weight, and motivated by his hunger, he mustered up the strength to get out of bed, take his shirt off, and analyze his body in the mirror.

"Oh... my... god" he said, his voice low and mortified.

He preferred baths, because he didn't like to stand for so long in the shower. Unable to see his body in the water, and when standing up, physically restricted by his fat, he was also unable to look down.

His figure was disgusting. Veins popped out all around. Stretch marks, some as wide as a full inch, and as long as twenty inches, coated his body like grotesque red snakes. He began lifting up his rolls, only to find pure white, tender skin, grease, and stench that only oven cleaner could have combated successfully.

He simply collapsed.

His higher-ups had overfed him.

His lack of will and self-control had destroyed him.

He suddenly realized that we as humans get but a single body, and that his was, at best, nothing but a fleshy barrel of vegetable oil.

For the next ten years, he had been so concerned with his weight and outer appearance, that he didnt even have time to spend getting friends. Oliver was, at this point, emaciated. He had starved himself, worked himself, until he was flab draped over muscle-less bones. He was a wreck, self-hating, loathing of his past, his present, and his future.

All of this could have been prevented by a single word.

No.

____________________________________________________________________

So Ive been meaning to post this for quite some time now. There were a number of things I meant to post about, but theres one that stands above the rest in importance.

During the Homecoming game, Dalton Divine texted me, asking me what my definition of a great artist was. I gave him a bit of a response, but a conversation of such depth simply cannot be carried out via texts. So Dalton, this is for you.

The question was simple. "What makes a great artist?". By no means are there any solid answers. And its this mystique about art that makes it so great. It is 100% subjective, and can be interpreted how you see fit.

But my definition? Have I ever even tried to define what a great artist is? It seemed like too big a topic for my mind to tackle.

Well, before I can define "great artist", I first need to define "artist", and the more subjective term "great".

Most people would say that an Artist is one who makes art. But what do most people consider to be art? Some see art in a more classical sense; paintings, drawings, sculpture. These are the more obvious forms of art. But what about Architecture, Bread-making, Garden design, even body-painting!? These are only a few of the more obscure arts. There is one thing they all have in common: They are used to express.

So, an Artist is one who expresses. But what about great? Thats tough.

We'll take, for example, one of my favorite "mainstream" artists, Salvador Dali. Why is he, in my mind, great? Look at some of his work.

It is thought-provoking, visually stimulating, and expertly executed. The word great, without a doubt, comes to mind. It makes you think "What is the emotion here?". Dali could have simply drawn a still-life of a tiger, or a nude woman. But instead he took the two images, put them together. Rather than working directly with objects, he works with the concepts that surround objects.

Every person's perceptions are different, but when I see a nude woman, particularly in that pose, I think "sex". I am but a man. When a see a tiger pouncing, I think "aggression", or "attack". To put the two in a painting together is revolutionary. Is Dali suggesting that man's pursuit for sex is fierce, or that the act of sex is itself fierce? See, it makes one think.

I have to think about this more. I will post more later.

I almost told my mom.

Holy hell, thank GOD the baby started crying...

And besides, if I told her, she wouldnt believe me. She doesnt take me seriously.

Freewrite

Everything was pictruesque in the most strange way.

A hill, shrouded in autumns beauty, overlooking my place of residence.

a pipe, burning hot with stolen Black Captain tobacco.

and me, pondering.

Sweatervest and confused gaze, I looked across the valley that was mine.

light, misty rain blew in and out; I watched the droplets of water jump from their homes on the leaves, and like a drifter or a wildman, they were gone before the tree could say goodbye, soaked into the wet, decandent earth.

The african wiseman inside of me sat, brow thick, heavy thoughts on his mind gone. The taste of the tobbacco was relaxing, the mist was chilling, a drop of cold realism. relaxed nonetheless.

a drop of water fell to my eye.

I snapped my neck up and let the smooth smoke float from my teeth and lips, hazed but not intoxicated at all,

eyes alert, alarmed, that drop of water convinced me that I was at a turning point in my life, that I was changed for the better;

a drop of cold fall water had become a wave of creative delights and inspiration.

body shivering with delight and the season's chill, I drew my sleeves over my knuckles. The hairs that never made it into my ponytail blew in the wind, bouncing. My face, thunderstruck with an expression of art, stood still

I grabbed the broken chair I was sitting on, dumped the ash from my pipe and sprinted down the hill

my life was beginning again

I havent posted in a while, for numerous reasons.

The first being that theres quite a bit of my life that I would really really like to blog about, but some of these things are best kept out of the hands of anyone that speaks to my mother. Why I hide myself from her is totally beyond me, Im just used to it.

Second, Ive been lacking in inspiration lately.

Hopefully something will happen. Or someone will provide me with some insight. Get at me.

Girls, please

Do yourselves a favor, and date your friends. They will treat you better than anyone else, they know you better than most people, and will respect your boundaries. They wont be "that guy" the cheats on you, that leaves you, that wastes your time.

I see so many chicks that are like "Im so sick of being single", even though their friends are total boyfriend material. And no doubt about it ladies, most guy friends will date you. It will be weird for a minute, but that feeling will wear off when you realized that he's the best guy you've ever been with.

I give lots of advice to people, and this seems like the wise thing to do, coming from a man of my disposition.

Please excuse the rather "typical teenager" post, I am fully aware that it lacked real substance.

But really, thats something to consider.