The Beautiful and the Damned

2006-10-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

Good book: Travels with Charley
Good movie: Life as a House
Good food: Tuna fish sandwich with cheese

Last night my mind was churning hard enough that I became angry at the human necessity for sleep because I needed a hundred hours of straight work to think some concepts through. The next morning I woke up dull, blank and sordid. I ate a bowl of cereal and went to school. I wondered if God created sleep because otherwise our minds would build up mental momentum like a freight train until our heads imploded.

But still, looking forward to fall break.

2006-10-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

Due to the comment on the last post, which revealed the flaws in my statement about reading books, I would like to rewrite the post. Here it is again:

koob a daer ot esle gnihtemos ni detseretni eb ot evah uoy ;skoob fo sseniloh eht si taht .flesym tseretni ot ylno enod saw ti fo hcum diarfa ma I .tsap eht fo flesym dir ot semitemes ekil dluod I

That should sufficiently detract anything I said in err.

2006-10-08T18:14:00.000-07:00

I would like sometimes to rid myself of the past. I am afraid much of it was done only to interest myself. That is the holiness of books; you have to be interested in something else to read a book.

2006-10-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

as of this post I have 347,951 hits. I feel I should write something brilliant for all these thousands of people. Oh well.

I'm reading Langston Hughes. Brilliant stuff. School doesn't matter so much to me now. I'v also been writing and reading poems for pretty much the first time.

2006-10-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

my hit counter went up from 16k to 232k. I don't get it.

Or maybe I'm just encountering fame.

<><>

2006-09-27T16:14:00.000-07:00

I need infinite time. Damn. Too many things in my head to spell out in one lifetime, let alone in two hours before bible study, what with dinner thrown in.

d-i-g

2006-09-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

9. Bonfires in the country
10. Robert Frost read aloud
11. Driving with Springsteen on the windows down
12. Jack Kerouac's "On the Road"

The List of Good Things

2006-09-23T00:12:00.000-07:00

1. Code Red Mountain Dew from a can
2. Pipe smoking on porches
3. Leasurly bikerides under piercing blue skies
4. Talking and talking late into the night
5. High school football stadium lights
6. Boxing
7. Reading books in the grass
8. Dreaming of faraway places

(to be continued...)

2006-09-20T21:28:00.000-07:00

These shards
in my hands
ripping tearing shredding
at my insides
Can I sway
or will I be swayed?
I don't know what to do
I'm so confused.
Waking, rising, going,
sleeping, eating,
days go on, and
it's all a big cycle.
I don't know what to do.

I saw this sort of poem coming from a mile away and when we had a small pause I pushed back my leather chair from the round-table and stood up. Everyone looked at me. "You're not going to stay to workshop poems?"
"No," I said, "I have a meeting at eight." I nodded and saluted them all, then walked out of the room, leaving the fuzzy writer's circle behind. Everyone loves everything, and no one uses complete sentences anymore, because apparently fragments are now chic. A typical prose story goes like this:

Waking, yearning. Look in the mirror. Can't stand my face. Turn away. Head for work. Hell today. Hate life. [insert popular movie reference]. Just repeat again. or kill me.

That wasn't what was meant by stream of consciousness. One guy wrote an imitative Steinbeck story. It was very funny. When he finished I started applauding, but no one else did. So I stopped. Everyone wanted to write things so seriously, like teenage emo poems. The meeting had another forty minutes to go, but I slipped out. I really had to leave. I want to go to every one that I can.

2006-09-15T15:53:00.000-07:00

I played tennis today. I am convinced that it is the most elegant sport in the world. I felt like I was upper class english, and cultured. I lost 5-7, but was not disappointed; my serve improved.

I loved all the comments on my last post. You all have fantastic insights. I am honored that you would bestow them upon this blog. I really don't have anything else to say, except that my discovery of spontaneous prose as an art form makes me shiver every time I think about it.

An Explanation

2006-09-11T13:32:00.000-07:00

It was suggested I provide an explanation for the previous post. The quote comes from who knows where, but approximately 1 out of every 2 girls has it on her facebook under her 'favorite quotes'. It ends with 'thats her!' I have always been fascinated with this idea that more than 33% of all women want to find exactly the same guy. What happened to originality? Also, what happened to expectations? This is a description of a very 'nice' guy; whether he's good/has any character or not is something else. Any hobo off the street could tell you that you look just as good in sweats and without makeup on, then turn to his friends and say, "that's her! The girl who gave me five dollars for beer money!"

I thought this would be funny. You might not...

2006-09-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

**Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot.
Who calls you back when you hang up on him.
Who will stay awake just to watch you sleep...
wait for the boy who kisses your forehead.
Who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats,
who holds your hand in front of his friends,
who thinks you' re just as pretty without makeup on.
One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares
and how lucky he is to have you...
The one who turns to his friends and says, "That's him!"*

--The Man Boy Love Association (MBLA) of San Francisco, California

Transport Tycoon

2006-09-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

First my car went.
Then my bike.
The walk today was one hour.
What now?
Ulcers on my feet?
I love it (and I'm not being sarcastic).

2006-09-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

I discovered that, when tired at 12:30 a.m., I can drink two cups of coffee and stay up for another two hours, then drink another cup in the morning and go to my 8:00 a.m. class. Why didn't someone tell me this before?

2006-09-03T17:27:00.000-07:00

I went to a park today and read a book sitting against an old pine tree. It was near sunset and the light was very tinted, orange and yellow. Sometimes I propped the book on my lap to slap and mosquitoes and watch people walk their dogs around and around the park.

I thought about all people and how hatefull I usually am and how predjudiced, and how the best feeling of all is when it settles out and I'm just okay and hope everyone can be okay too, though not everyone is watching this orange and yellow evening light sitting against a big old pine tree.

All the heartache in the world

2006-09-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

I was lying on a couch tonight in the Village (dorms/apartments), sick from eating kettlecorn and drinking Vault when a girl walked in with tears streaming down her face. Her grandma was sick. Another girl said to her, "well you should call her. It's not like she's... you know." The tears stopped and they stared at each other, then the girl picked up her tissue and walked out of the room.

Silence. I lifted my fishing hat from where it shaded my eyes. It was time to go. I walked down three flights of stairs, out of a lobby, and down the sidewalk to my bike. I switched on Bruce Springsteen and started the pedal home. At Fairlawn I decided the streets weren't for me and dodged through the Plaza parking lot to the backstreets where it was dark with adventure. Jungleland was playing. A couple blocks ahead I saw ambulence sirens and headed towards them, a moth following navigational systems. I rode by on the other side of a stretch of lawn and listened to the three minute saxaphone solo as I stared at the flashing lights and the police standing all around. About a dozen state vehicles in all.

All the heartache in the world, but it was all somehow beautiful and I don't know why. I drifted through a chinese restaraunt parking lot and the words came on: "On a quiet street, an ambulence pulls away, twin engines gunning through this holy night..." I crossed the highway, hit my home street and biked under the lights in the direct middle as the final solo pounded its way into silence.

Vanishing Pavement

2006-08-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

It's been a week. I'm in a break between classes, and I really should do some homework so that I pick up that habit of doing it right after it's assigned, but sometimes it's hard to leave the internet.

Things are going well. I wear my bucket hat about and think about art and the sky. I get on my bike and think about how hurried drivers are--they're in metal boxes that go 40 mph by pressing one's foot against a pedal and it's still not fast enough for them. "I want to get there in EIGHT minutes, not ELEVEN!" they scream. "Get out and push your car all the way there, then see if you complain about being inside of it," I whisper back. Sometimes I gaze down at the pavement and watch it vanish under my feet. 'How lucky I am' I think, 'to have wheels that turn for me and propel me with such force over the earth'. After all, I could be walking. And if walking, I could be crawling. And if crawling, I could be bedridden. And if bedridden, I could be dead.

The sun is shining outside. I think of big cities and the country and how the phrase 'early September' makes me shiver. I think of how good people are. Not all people; just the good ones.

But now... to homework.

Basic Media Writing 202B

2006-08-22T22:36:00.000-07:00

The instructor for this evening course is listed as Kathleen something. I show up at exactly 5:30, which is the start time. I walk into the room and there is a man sitting at the head of the table. He looks up and barks "name?"

"Schneider," I say. He hands me a syllibus and I walk to the back of the room to have a seat around the giant 'round table', which is very rectangular. Two more people trail in. One girl doesn't hear him offer her a syllibus and gets halfway to the back of the class before he yells "excuse me!?" She turns around embarrassed. Everyone is here, but who is this man? Are you Kathleen, I wonder.

Then he begins to lecture, and it is a lecture like I have never heard before. "Anything turned in late gets zero credit. It's called a deadline. Get used to it. I've never given an A grade to a paper with a typo, except once, and that was because the story made me weep. The girl that wrote it is now making over 300,000 dollars a year. I never give 100%, because nothing is ever perfect. If you walk in one minute late, you'll be counted absent, and your grade drops. Drastically." And on, and on, and on.

I walk out of the room three hours later scared and excited. I've finally met a proffesor who not only cares about what he does, but cares about quality as well. He'll be able to look me in the eye and say 'you can't write worth s***'. No one else I've met has been able to do this except for an old bulgarian man I knew once upon a time. I don't test my writing, don't put it to the grindstone to sharpen it. I'm lax and lazy and I fool myself into thinking I work hard at it. So I'm scared of all the honesty and nakedness.

"Write from the heart. Writing--any writing--is like walking naked through a snowstorm. There's no way to protect yourself except to write big from the heart. If you do that, you might just stay warm enough to survive the blizzard."

"If you don't come out of a class retaining 95% of the material learned, you shouldn't have passed the class in the first place. Also, there are no stupid questions. The only stupidity is not ASKING questions... (20 min. later)... if you read and came to class you should know what's on the final. If any of you asks me 'what is on the final?' you know what you are? Stupid."

"No one really knows what's right and wrong. That's opinion. I'm not going to force my opinion on you, and don't force yours on me. It's called freedom. Freedom of speech. Except for plagarism. I will kick you out of this school if you so much as copy one undocumented word from another source besides yourself. Plagarism is wrong and harmful."

Oh I love it. He's big and roaring and right and wrong all at the same time and he's got a lot to teach me.

2006-08-22T08:31:00.000-07:00

I think arTISTS smoke the hooka. Yeah baby! Fruit flavored liquid tabacco! My personal favorite.

My first day of classes reminded me what it's like to exist inside one's mind when one doesn't particularly want to hear what the instructor is saying. I usually end up reading and writing a lot through my classes, though this semester's are a little different and may require some attention.

I smell. I've been trying to give up my car in favor of my bicycle. Yesterday I made no less than four trips from Wanamaker into central Topeka (meaning Washburn campus). It makes me appreciate our modern ease of travel. It also makes me appreciate destination, because if I want to go somewhere now, it's like a special occasion just to arrive... all sweaty and smelly.

2006-08-20T08:36:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time.

Yes, yes it has.

A long time.

Since my last post I have had only one satori; that there are three kinds of amazing men, and they can be categorized by what they smoke:

Philosophers: Pipe smokers
Epicurians/hedonists: Cigar smokers
Revolutionaries: Cigarette smokers

Also, that some people encounter the universe too soon for their own good. An encounter with the separation void between eternity and reality should wait until at least the age of twenty-two, when one is nice and settled, much too lazy to try and do anything about it; or worse, attempt to puzzle it out.

Schematics

2006-08-09T06:57:00.000-07:00

Proverbs 16:9: "In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps."

I saw this on a calendar while cleaning the offices last night and it stopped me dead. Lately, 'the future' has been so constantly on my mind I've nearly gone mad. Why doesn't God give us more clues, more clear advice, if He's so set on us following His paths? Then I read this. Yes, God gives advice as to one's steps, but never forget that He also DETERMINES those same steps.

And that is why living in the presence of the Lord is so important, that I may never fight against God's determining.

Because sometimes things are tragic and hard, and oftentimes the future is uncertain, but I just have to remember: it is uncertain only to my human eyes. The steps of six billion people are played out in the Lord's eyes. And after thinking about that, planning and scheming my own course inside my heart seems less... appealing.

Inventory

2006-08-07T08:11:00.000-07:00

An inventory of wildlife seen by Mr. Abraham Schneider while in Colorado:

1. Chipmunk
2. Rabbit
3. Blue Bottle Fly
4. Coyote
5. Domesticated Canine
6. Domesticated Feline

CO

2006-08-01T11:20:00.000-07:00

hiya people. Tomorrow I head for Colorado and the rockies. The itinerary is two days with the cousins and then two days camping among the sharp crags and swift flowing streams. I can't wait. I absolutley cannot wait. In fact, just writing this post and thinking about it makes me shiver with excitement. Ah... Colorado.

Well, the reason I haven't posted is this: my computer got dislocated to Lawrence, and I only was able to retrieve it yesterday when I helped Sam move to his new apartment in Regent's court, which is a very cool place. Now I have it back, but am leaving for Colorado (and I won't be taking it with me) so it's a no-go once again. I am sorry, faithful readers. Have fun on your own.

2006-07-24T15:53:00.000-07:00

As you may know, ever since reading the book 'The Alchemist' I have been into interpreting omens and signs. This afternoon, pen in hand, editing some fiction, I looked down and saw the number 20 formed by the hairs on my stomach just under my navel.

I admit that, unlike my dream, this one baffles me. It could mean any number of things:

1. Something good will happen to me at the age of 20
2. I have twenty years left to live (tragic)
3. In twenty minutes, I will have to pee
4. I should edit twenty more pages before I quit

I'm just not sure. Omens are a tough business.

Kind of like Superman, only... Abe

2006-07-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

Last night, gone to bed in a strange basement, I had a dream. The dream came just after listening to Death Cab's Transatlanticism. Any relation? It went as follows:

I was in Colorado with my cousins and we were walking downtown. My new cousin was with us (whose name is Rosalie Renae, the name of my girlfriend's mother and sister), but instead of being a little girl, Rosalie Renae was a young mexican boy they had adopted. As we were waiting in line in a crowded downtown square, a terrorist came with an M-5 and told everybody to get down. Little Muchacho Rosalie starts yelling "shoot!" because he's panicking and wants the police to shoot the terrorist. The terrorist, unfortunately, panics and thinks someone is telling him to shoot into the crowd. So he does.

At this point, with bullets flying, I dive on two of my little brothers and the muchacho. Anyway, my back is on them, and a good thing too, because right then I get six iron slugs right in the abdomen. Good thing I've been working out so much, because only one of them penetrates the skin. The others get lodged in my abdomen wall, making cylandrical hallows in my muscle. The middle bullet goes right through into my stomach. Fortunately, it doesn't bleed. Holding all the bullets in, I stumble over to the local hospital (after the conflict is over). They've set up a field tent in the parking lot to deal with terrorist victims. A nurse lays me down and pulls out the bullets with tweezers. "Don't eat for 24 hours," she tells me, "you've got to give that gaping hole into your stomach time to heal."

The rest of the night (back in the real world) I lay in the exact same position, careful not to roll over and damage the wounds. Then I woke up. I'm not one for dream interpretation, but this one is too clear to ignore: I should be doing more situps.

Either that or it's an omen that I will one day protect innocent people from a terrorist attack by the mere strength of my abdomen wall.

On Kerouac, Baseball, Defoe, and Other Important Matters

2006-07-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

I feel sort of honored that no one commented on my last post. It means people value me more than they do America's great beatnik author. It's a good thing Kerouac never had a blog, because he probably would have tested out his writing on it, and when no one commented, he would have been like, "ah, I suck at writing! I'm never doing it again!" Only he would probably have said something more like "And I gazed up at the diamond hard stars twinkly twinkling in America's sky and the wildflower air and thought to myself Ol' Jacky boy you've done yourself hurt by writing all your wild old crazy thoughts out here on the wide open internet where any cross-country truckin' New York family can have a stab at em'" At least that's what I imagine he would have said to himself.

Calvin had his last baseball game tonight. He hit it to the fence twice and got two triples and two runs. We celebrated with milkshakes. I brought Robinson Crusoe to the game to stimulate myself while the other team batted (the fielding is rather predictable and mostly uninteresting), and while everyone gazed at their up-and-coming athletes I roamed the coast of Moorish Spane with Crusoe, watching his ill-advised wanderings from the comfort of suburban America.

I'm living back at my parent's house due to a broken air conditioner in my city villa. There is a quiet sort of comfort here, separate from most everything but family, dodging in town to see friends, then wandering back late at night to the cool quiet house and thinking 'time goes slower here, in the best way that time can slowly go'.

Speaking of time and time's speed, Elena comes back in ABOUT a week (More like seven days and a few hours, unless you count... but it's all very specific). I'm looking forward to that (and when I say that, I'm using the literary technique of ahyperbole, which is, like, opposite of hyperbole. I hope).

That's all- Abe

Big Sur

2006-07-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

"Monsanto will say 'That's all there is to it, take it easy, everything's okay, don't take things too serious, it's bad enough as it is without you going the deep end over imaginary conceptions just like you always said yourself'--I'll get my ticket and say goodbye on a flower day and leave all San Fransisco behind and go back home across autumn America and it'll all be like it was in the beginning--simple golden eternity blessing all--nothing ever happened--not even this--St. Carolyn by the Sea will go on being golden one way or the other--the little boy will grow up and be a great man--There'll be farewells and smiles--My mother'll be waiting for me glad--The corner of the yard where Tyke is buried will be a new and fragrant shrine making my home more homelike somehow--On soft Spring nights I'll stand in the yard under the stars--Something good will come out of all things yet--And it will be golden and eternal just like that--There's no need to say another word."

-Jack Kerouac, from Big Sur

2006-07-12T08:43:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and walked out on the deck with a bottle of water and stood in the sunshine looking at the pool and all the white houses. It was the neverending summer morning, cool and bright. I thought, "ah, yes, this isn't so bad after all."

I've been reading through that most influencial of books again, Orthodoxy. I'm seeing more this time how all of joy is tied more closely into God and into personal character than I had imagined before. Last time all I saw was the ideas about joy and wonder, but now I'm beginning to see the perspective he is setting up by putting forward the juxtoposition of the goodness and evil of the world; how only Christianity can solve that dilemna. It's not enough to realize the beauty of the earth and stop there, short of the divine.

Another great book making this same contrast is A Sever Mercy. How can everything be at once so beautiful it transports us to heaven and yet so fleeting and unnatural that we feel like... we don't belong. I recommend reading both these books.

2006-07-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

I'm back. It was incredible. Things are in the works. Large ideas are starting to roll but there are people who must be contacted. I can say nothing more. Don't worry; it isn't something you will ever see visibly.

Gone for a week, Bernardo

2006-07-03T00:50:00.000-07:00

I'm leaving tomorrow (actually, in five hours) for Cornerstone music festival, so I will not be posting, unless I come across a computer sitting in the middle of a field that also has wireless capabilities and a network within range. Of course, I probably won't have long, and Facebook comes first.

Ahem. Barring that, I will not post for a week. Don't worry about me. I will be sitting about reading books, having delightful discussions under evening Illinois shade, and moshing wildly about to bands no one has heard of and no one wants to hear of. Bands like Ethel's Guardian and Demon Hunter. Actually, I think the latter is pretty popular (I'm going to write a story in which Demon Hunter somehow becomes the only band left in the world and plays on all the airwaves ALL the time).

Have fun while I'm gone, okay? I'm serious. See ya- Abe

Time Sweet and Honey

2006-06-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

Time passes so fast! It's been nearly a week since I posted, but it feels like only a wee few days. Since last posting, I've been running, played tennis, played basketball, and gone swimming. Now I feel dead.

But not really. Today is exciting because I'm going out to the Moores in the evening, and will talk about mountains and foreign countries and good things that can only really be talked about in the country. Tomorrow is exciting because I'm going out to the family's house for some good grub and storytelling. Friday is exciting because who knows what it holds.

Anyway, next week I take off for Illinois with Andrew to work full time (that sounds strange)... volunteer full time as Cornerstone. I'm pretty pumped about this. I think I will bring two, perhaps three books, and a good notebook and pen so that I record what it's like to live in a field for a week with cool people and a lot of rock and/or roll. Perhaps I will share a little bit on here.

I won't be getting back from that until the 10th, and when that rolls around, it's pretty much only two weeks until Elena returns. Which I am excited about. In case you can't tell from reading my blog. For the past month. Enough. I have things to do now. Goodbye- Abe

penses, part I

2006-06-22T17:46:00.000-07:00

Hello readers out there in readerland! I'm posting again. As you can see, I have changed the design of my blog. I think I'm going to change the name as well. I am tired of being an artist. It is a wearying profession. Plus all the interviews and book tours just kill the home life... I'm sure you know how it is.

Things are going well. Yesterday I decided to do something interesting with my life, which is a step up from where I was before. I had been planning for a long time to do something boring with it, but realized if I did it might turn out mundane. And I wouldn't want that.

I've been trying to write. Curse my access to Family Guy season 3, previously unwatched by this author. Curse it. I'm serious. Do it.

Oh, you think I'm not?

My best friend right now is a dog. Her name is Sadie. She wines a lot but we enjoy sipping chardegne together and discussing Plato's forms. I have to hold her glass, however, due to her lack of opposable thumbs. She thanks me by licking my hand.

Elena's California stint is nearly half over. I would be happy, but as I wrote that just now I accidentaly left out the half so it read 'nearly over' then I looked at it and gasped, only to realize my mistake. I grew sad.

I think the two characteristics of God I overlook most often are these: wrath and mirth. I thought about myself last night and chortled. I am much smaller than I had led myself to believe.

2006-06-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

People, I just got back from a camping trip out at Lonestar lake. We ate hot dogs, brownies, chips, and had a big fire that we all stood around and singed our leg hairs at. Then a thunderstorm rolled in so we all crowded into the tent while it whipped and blew about, then it left and we went back outside and the fire was still going so we made s'mores (spelling? Pronunciation? What?). The stars came out, then they went away, then came out again. I wondered which phase they would be at when I woke up... it was cloudy. I sat up and ate five glazed doughnuts, then we packed up and left.

I haven't been very 'descriptive' of late. That is because I am wondering at the value of beautifying my own experiences. Of course, they grow fonder in memory when I do, but that takes time, like a painter carefully guiding each brushstroke to capture an image that possesses just a little bit of his heart; it's easier just to make a sketch. But which is more valuable?

I'm looking forward to school. Never thought I would say that, but I am. I go now. My best quote from last night: "But if one of them left the group, it wouldn't be a foursome, it would be a threesome and a onesome, and that onesome would be lonesome." That was me.

2006-06-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

Today I got up at my parents' house and ate some cereal, then drove in town and played disc golf. I shot 12 over, which, although terrible, is tied for my best game yet, so I was happy. Then I came back to the condo and wrote for six and one half hours in an empty room. I could have played basketball. I didn't. Instead I ran two miles and went swimming. Then I drove to the Bayers and picked up a package from Elena in California. I miss that girl so much.

Summer is going well. Tonight is giant movie night. I love these sorts of things.

Trucker Hats

2006-06-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

I just got back from my little brother's first ever little league baseball game. It was INCREDIBLE. All these little four foot tall boys, running around skinny and awkward (or fat and awkward) with baggy shirts and wide brimmed trucker hats. Every parent somehow knew the name of every player on their child's team.

The game started. Five strikes and you're out. The old adage is destroyed. Each coach runs the machine for his team, and they are friendly to each other. If the boy is especially emasculated, the opposing coath will signal to give him a few extra swings. Dillen gets extra every time. He can barely wield the tee-ball bat they brought especially for him.

Calvin gets up to bat. Around people his age, he no longer seems big. He is wearing jean shorts (one boy on the opposing team is wearing camo pants, hoping it will help him steal bases. Unfortunately, stealing is against the rules. As is taking another base when the baseman misses the throw). Crack! Into right field, farther than anyone has hit it so far-but it's a foul. Okay, second swing... Crack! right down the center and he's off lumbering to first base, where he makes it in safe. Two at bats. Two hits. Two RBI's.

I get more excited about this game than I did most high school sports matches. I yell for him every time the ball comes within ten feet, and start to learn the names of his teammates. "Swing earlier, Dillen"-"You rock my world, Reagan!"-"Way to throw, Garret my man!" The play of the game is when a batter pops a foul fly. Reagan rips of his helmet, centers himself under it, and makes the catch. The crowd goes wild.

That's right. My little brother bats 1000.

Things, but mostly Elena

2006-05-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

I like Elena. A lot. She's like a sweet stain on my life that I never want to go away. I enjoy, most of all, laughing with her about nothing at all.

The following is a list of obscure references:
1. Shifting stars
2. Playhouses
3. Yellowcard Lyrics

In other news, the artistic flat is going well. There are many guitar players, literary readings, and I now have a headband that I wear for working in the dining room (where I am now) while Bob Dylan plays (on the CD player, because we can't get the record player to work properly). I'm off- Abe

2006-05-19T23:58:00.000-07:00

I'm constructing a Bohemian flat in the city as an open venue/avenue for artists to blend their solitary and social existences. There will be a record player, acoustic guitars, good films, excellent literature, and the sound of pounding typewriters. Feel free to stop by. No smoking inside.

-Abe

Post Modern Poetry Continued...

2006-05-17T09:01:00.000-07:00

Upon Seeing a Dead Mole on the Road and Realizing that Life, After All, is Pointless, Feckless, Meaningless, and Otherwise Without a Purpose, Leaving One Stranded upon the Outskirts of the Earth, Stuck in Orbit, or, as Some Say, Out of it All

Damn.

Monkee Rap

2006-05-14T17:20:00.000-07:00

I thought about composing a poem the other day (by the other day I mean yesterday). It was going to be about sunrises and Elena. The opening lines would go something like this:

The morning was perfect because you were there
I like you
You're HoTt!

Oh, I'm a sucky poet. Hopefully not a bad boyfriend. I've been planning a story about a messed up family with a dad who made a million dollars writing a best-selling book of post-modern poetry in which he writes a lot of one word or blank poems, and also dreams about giving his son a bar-mitzvah (sp?). We'll see?

Props to my mom on this mother's day for mothering our entire family. You're are seriously the best mom ever, mum! That's what I will call you from now on. I love you!

Enough of all this. I'm off to peruse a philosophy paper- Abe

attempted judgements

2006-05-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

There's been a number of films that I've watched recently that seem, upon first impression, to be attempted genius. I get this concept from the introduction to The Great Gatsby, where the [author] penning the intro says that no great work of genius is produced without its creator knowing that it is exactly that: a work of genius. What happens, however, if a creator believes that he has a genius piece of art in the works, believes it with all his heart, but is simply unable to create it? Should he get in a different business, or just settle for a series of pretty good films? And so the beginning of the list:

1. The United States of Leland: Atrocious suburban crime, movie is a dissection of the motive. It has one of those ending where you're kind of thinking, 'I could have done with one less monologue, and possibly a clearer ending than "the world is a sad place" '. Okay, or maybe the writer/director had some real insight into things. Either way, I need to watch it again.

2. Meet Joe Black: I remember hearing a lot of negative things about this film when I was very little, then I watched it, and it affected me heavily. My question; did the writer know he was putting proverbs about life in Hopkins' mouth, or was it simply a fascinating and creative tale about death?

3. Dallas 362: I consider it a good film without exception. It did the best job I've seen bringing an abstract idea (free will/possibilities of life) under a concrete story line. And Scott Caan is just plain cool. This one is the flip side; I think Caan created something genius (at least a small glimpse of something genius) but did he know it, or was it just a good story?

4. Punch Drunk Love: a writer/director on a drug trip, or a comedy that I just don't understand but feel I should? Watch it. Watch it in company so you can give each other strange looks.

Well, that's about all I've got. Thanks for the numerous comments on my last post. I assume it was just because it was about Elena, and seeing how awesome she it, I'm surprised- Abe

2006-04-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

I don't know if anybody really reads this anymore, seeing as how I don't write on it much at all, but I have something to say, in case anybody wishes to keep up with my life.

I'm dating this girl, Elena Wenger, and she's flat out amazing. I still look up every now and again and just kind of blink because how does something like this happen to a person like me? I think this proves the existence of grace. I can't have done anything to deserve this, or I think I would have noticed. She's one of a kind, and I'm scared and excited all at the same time... but mostly just smiling because I can't get enough of her.

And that's that. Elena, if you read this, I hope you know it well already- Abe

2006-04-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

I've got a few things going...

Well...

2006-04-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

Well, it has almost been a month since my last post, so I thought I would post again, not specifically to say anything, but so that people could comment on it with confidence that I would read their comments.

How am I?

I'm good. The weather has turned warm. Now I sleep outside and bike everywhere I want to go (except for work, which is rather far away and whose dress code doesn't include profuse sweat). I generally stopped paying attention to school, but still do the work, since I am aware of consequences (sort of).

I took a walk this evening, throwing my legs slightly out the side with each step in a lazy stroll, my hands shoved in my pockets. When I got home I lay on the driveway, still warm from the memory of the sun, and watched the stars come out. My house is home to the haunting kind of summer that leaves a stain in your mind of gentle beauty and a sort of pleasing timelessness.

A brief monologue from Phil, a man who has become trapped in his own port-a-poddy sized steel security chamber

2006-03-20T14:49:00.000-08:00

It began seven days ago when I woke up in the middle of the night when I heard a sound in the kitchen and got out of bed to investigate. I'm kind of suspicious, living as I do in a large house out in the middle of nowhere. I write novels for a living, and stay to myself out here in a deep valley in the apalacian range. I haven't had a visitor in six months. My publisher doesn't even know what I look like.

But anyway, I got out of bed and crept all sly into the kitchen and the first thing I see is this shadow slide across the wall right next to me. I panicked and ran downstairs as fast I could. About four months ago I bought one of those security chambers--the ones they made after 9/11, that can't be beaten open by a sledgehammer--and I had it installed in my basement. I ran down there and got inside and slammed it shut and I guess I felt pretty good right at that moment because I knew whoever was in my house at least couldn't get to me now. I really didn't care what he took, as long as it wasn't my newest manuscript, 'The Lord of Fools'. I write epic fantasy novels.

I felt pretty good for about three hours while I sat on my little padded steel bench and waited for the criminal to leave. Then I took ahold of the lever that opened the case from inside, but it wouldn't budge. At that point sort of panicked. I pushed up and down on it, trying to free it, but it was jammed and wouldn't come loose. I guess I must have screamed and shouted and beat at things for about an hours and I was sweating pretty good by the end of it.

I've got three months worth of supplies in the cuppoards in the side of the chamber. It's pitch black. There's enough room to stand up, but I can't touch the ceiling, even if I extend my hands. Why they made it so tall is beyond me. I know I won't be able to starve myself. I'll eat the food, which gives me about four months to live in a chamber. All I have is my mind. I wonder what one thinks about inside of eternity without stimulation.

Strawberry Fields

2006-03-17T11:59:00.000-08:00

He sat at his dining room table and ate a toaster pastrie for breakfast in the silence of a gray morning. He would be late for work, but it wasn't too strongly on his mind. He felt worried. The next day he was going on a date and didn't know what to say or what to do. It was the inbetween moment between sweet and sour, between good and evil. Then for exactly three and one-half seconds he remembered her face from a photograph and forgot about himself. It was just her, sitting in a chair and smiling, and he didn't have to think about himself at all and the expressions he would make and the things he would say.

A tingling took his hand and he couldn't stop the sudden energy. He backhanded the chair next to him and sent it toppling onto the carpt, then he put the pop-tart in his mouth and molded the strawberry interior to his gums.

"Damn," he whispered, and continued to eat.

Upon seeing, for the first time, poker

2006-03-14T13:14:00.000-08:00

He was disappointed to find, upon examination at the age of twenty six and a half years, that his life was a fake. Six months ago he had had the same revelation, and had sworn to do something about it. THis time, however, it hit him stronger and harder than before. One moment he was laying down three of a kind, eights in clubs, spades, and hearts, and in the next moment he had lost track of everything in his life and was staring at a half full bottle of Budweiser. 'But we're not at a bar' he thought, 'who drinks out of a bottle?' This seemed significant at the time, and he continued to stare at the gold liquid.

"Dude."

Who was saying 'dude'? Why? They kept saying it again and again: 'dude. dude. dude...' until he looked up and said "what?"

"Dude. Your pot."

His pot? Ah, yes--poker.

Sunlit mornings

2006-03-03T14:49:00.001-08:00

It hasn't been cloudy lately, which I am glad for, though lately I have been appreciating all types of weather. Yesterday morning I rose at my usual hour of seven a.m. and the sunlight was flowing, indirectly, through the double sliding glass door and the dining room windows. I live alone now in a condo. I've been living here for three days now and haven't, as of yet, spent more than two consecutive waking hours here. I guess life is busy, but I like it like that. I got up and walked to the kitchen, filled up a glass bottle with water, and took it to the dining room table, where I sat down to a breakfast of a half of a peanut butter bagel--this is the only food I've had for the past couple days.

I sloshed the water and ate slowly and stared out the window at the condos opposite, where the sun struck their siding directly. The city can be a gorgeous view. I drank the water in sips. There's less rush with silence all around. When I finished it I stood slowly and eased my way back to take a shower in the dark. I didn't have electricity yet.

I'm more blessed that I really could have ever hoped for. If the key to happiness if being grateful, then I am that. This is a good place to be, here on earth, even with all its problems.

Sunlit mornings

2006-03-03T14:49:00.000-08:00

It hasn't been cloudy lately, which I am glad for, though lately I have been appreciating all types of weather. Yesterday morning I rose at my usual hour of seven a.m. and the sunlight was flowing, indirectly, through the double sliding glass door and the dining room windows. I live alone now in a condo. I've been living here for three days now and haven't, as of yet, spent more than two consecutive waking hours here. I guess life is busy, but I like it like that. I got up and walked to the kitchen, filled up a glass bottle with water, and took it to the dining room table, where I sat down to a breakfast of a half of a peanut butter bagel--I don't have any food yet.

I sloshed the water and ate slowly and stared out the window at the condos opposite, where the sun struck their siding directly. The city can be a gorgeous view. I drank the water in sips. There's less rush with silence all around. When I finished it I stood slowly and eased my way back to take a shower in the dark. I didn't have electricity yet.

I'm more blessed that I really could have ever hoped for. If the key to happiness if being grateful, then I am that. This is a good place to be, here on earth, even with all its problems.

Then Johnny Depp is God, metaphorically speaking?

2006-02-25T02:16:00.000-08:00

I had the tingling of a piano riff in my fingers: Phantom Planet’s California.

And as I drove under the green light with the song blaring over the radio I lifted my eyes and saw the dark California night with the tingling cool breeze, and all of humanity and all the people I had ever met were so beautiful that it brought a tear to my eye and I didn’t have to think anything or know anything and especially did not have to do anything because I was standing in awe of everthing that was.

I was leaning against the stone doorway, waiting for someone to let me in, and I looked over and saw the yellow Caution Tape and suddenly a star winked and came into existence. I had found something. This was that haunting dream that always played at the edges of my mind, the dream that things would be somehow magical and deep, and that woodwork and yellow plastic would somehow show the magic and the deepness, and here it was—yellow caution tape against a background of night and stone and I knew I was there, and it was so much better than the dreams, better like a bright star’s light is to one that is fading in and out of the sky, unsure whether it wants to shine or vanish forever.

And so I begin to view the world as a den of magical and deep and wonderful things, a den which I was allowed a special privaledge to enter, somewhat like Charlie entering the Chocolate Factory, It can be almost too wonderful to behold.

But there was a calmness in Chesterton. I must remember what it was… Ah yes… the world may be such a den, but the only requirement is to enter and to take wonder in and appreciate all of the magical things. Like the Chocolate Factory, it is good to take it all in and to treasure it like something sacred, but there is no need to eat from every room, or even eat at all. Sit back and rest while the beauty stands like fragile glass, like a man on a knife’s edge, destined never to shatter nor fall.

Sunlight, low batteries, and exhaustion

2006-01-14T22:45:00.000-08:00

Having been rousing myself after four to five hours of sleep all week, I turned off my alarm for Saturday morning, and awoke refreshed at two-thirty in the afternoon. As I ate a breakfast of hot dogs and sour cream n' onion chips, I looked up at the dining room thermometer and saw sixty degrees. The sun was shining, and I had a restlessness in my bones (I think it came from my dreams, which were good until I woke up and realized they were just that... dreams).

I packed a Hemingway, a notebook, my CD player, and a bottle of water, and pulled out my dad's bike from the wreckage of our back porch. I set out for the state lake, which lies to the northwest, ten miles away. Last time I made this trip I almost dropped from heat exhaustion on the way back, so I thought it sounded like a good plan. I set off with Bob Marley singing 'is this love' into my ears. Unluckily, the batteries died about two miles into the trip.

I don't know how to describe the immence goodness of bike-riding in the country. North of Topeka, the landscape is a series of gently rolling hills and streaks and patches of woods. In mid-winter, the grass has turned a pure gold and the trees have lost their green, so the world is split in two parts; the golden land and the pure blue sky. I stopped at 76th and Landon road and wrote a short verse in my head:

Standing at the crossroads,
A bandanna on my head,
I've been looking for salvation
In this blue and golden land

I love the Shawnee state lake because there's never really anyone there. Usually you can see someone fishing on the far side (it's a pretty small lake), but I had the entire east face to myself. I went out on one of the fishing peninsulas and sat watching the sun sink, staring into the long golden wash that it threw over the water. At times like these, I get an intense feeling that I cannot, as much as I try, describe. It seems to me that another level of the world is opened up. Everything in life is suddenly ten times more interesting, and time times as important. Possibilites soar to the sky, and I keep thinking to myself, 'how is it that I've lived in this world all my life and not seen this'?

On the way back I concentrated more on riding than on thinking (Chesterton was the first who approved of this and so allowed me to keep from going insane). Strangely, what thinking I was doing generally centered around that issue: not going insane. I seem to be figuring out more and more what makes me do well, and what brings me down, but that is an issue for me, and not for you.

I arrived back home at dusk, when headlights were just beginning to penetrate the dark air. It had cooled down by that time.

Tom Petty and other Essentials of Life

2005-12-28T12:44:00.000-08:00

Lately I think I've been finding out just where I stand with this vast array which we term life. I've been realizing just how young I am. Last night I was driving from Lawrence to Topeka when Tom Petty came on the radio. Since he had a number of songs on the Elizabethtown soundtrack, I paid attention. These were the words he sang:

I'm learning to fly
But I ain't got wings
Coming down
Is the hardest thing
I'm learning to fly
Around the clouds
But what goes up
Must come down

And I realized that was me. I'm learning to fly. So when someone asked me at lunch today where I was in life I replied, "Well, I'm working on this writing thing, but I'm just now realizing how long term that is, so I guess I'm just going forward until I find my destination." I don't think it's something to worry about.

I've been tagged

2005-12-18T19:19:00.000-08:00

5 wierd habits of mine:

1. I cannot watch a movie at home if it is in the morning or the afternoon. The last home video I saw during the day was miracle on 34th street on thanksgiving day, and before that, Rambo first blood, when I was like eleven. I can watch matinees at the theaters, though.
2. During the summer, I have only two lunches, really. The first is hot dogs and sour cream n' onion. THe second is tortilla chips, refried beans, shredded cheese and summer sausage nuked in the microwave.
3. I say "OH MU GOSH!!!" at random times... all the time.
4. I perform small dance moves in random places, like when I get into an elevator, or when I'm walking out of a room. I can't dance, though.
5. I'm really immature when I eat dinner with my family. Today I drank all of Davy's water, then when he yelled at me, I took Joel's water and poured it in Davy's cup. Joel began to cry. At this point I looked to my mom for help.

So there they are. I tag Ansen, Andrew, Sam, and whoever else thinks I read their blog or Xanga

quote of the day

2005-12-12T09:42:00.000-08:00

Quote of the day: "I'm a mountain lion who mistakes musketeers for burritos." -My brother Calvin, 8

Idea on my mind: Easiness (or peace) is not just a good feeling; it's a spiritual one.

oh so happy

2005-12-06T10:16:00.000-08:00

Well, in a strange twist of events, it seems that the managers over at the eight theater read my blog, and are bringing Elizabethtown BACK to the 8 theaters, just so I can watch it.

Task for today: The research paper I didn't do after the movie last night

Current mantra: In your patience, possess ye your souls

Well... why not?

2005-12-05T21:04:00.000-08:00

I thought I should blog again, just for the heck of it. School is coming to an end for the semester, and I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, yeah, I get time off, but there goes Challenge, game nights, lunch breaks, late-night movies, and everything else that brings light to my weary eyes. I'll just be sitting around, probably writing furiously once again. How lame is that? Let's hang out, people. Maybe helping make Doug's indie film will be good. I'm already getting big plans running through my head.

Okay, you know what grinds my gears? Elizabethtown leaving the dollar thearters after one week. Hello, people, some of us have artistic tastes and want to watch the latest Cameron Crowe film. Now what am I supposed to do? I guess go back and watch Say Anything again. UGH! I can't believe those 8 theater people!

Well, that's about it for me. I've just finished two excellent books. The first is On the Road, simply a must read for anything with a wandering spirit. The second is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which is a really great introduction to classical ethics, but it's more interesting than it sounds. The movie I am about to go watch? Constantine. I've heard good, and I've heard bad. Whatever the turnout, I'm hoping it energizes me enough to turn on the burners and write this ten page research paper tonight. SSssssAAAhhhhHHHH!

A day in the life of discovery

2005-11-26T17:20:00.000-08:00

Today I went out into the countryside and got my spirit back. I rode on hilly roads up into another county, then headed farther north. It was the last nice day of the year (probably) so I chose this instead of an afternoon of raking. I spent my time thinking, and started to discover myself again. I've gone through a rather long process of losing myself completely until I no longer had any attributes. Now I am on my way back. I don't think this 'knowing' is attainable except through spending a little time alone.

Anyone who said Kansas has no vistas has never been to Kansas. The countryside is beautiful, even with the trees naked of their leaves. The sun shone down on golden hillsides and I coasted by on the white edge line, feeling the wind whip through my hair (no helmets for me). The feeling I got was a strange one, and I have gotten it before. It is a sense of love, but the object of the love is undefined. I might say, "I'm in love with the world," and that could be the closest thing to what I feel. Perhaps it's more of a thankfulness for existence, a wondering that I am alive in the place that I am.

Lately I have been entertained by two things: God's causality and His benevolence. Things seem (and seem all the more as time goes one) to have a direct cause that can't be explained inside this world. It seems to me that things go a certain way for a purpose, and that purpose always seems to work itself out. So I have to walk forward with a certain sence of trust that the future will be exactly as God means it to be, and not different by an inch. But what does He want the future to be? This is the benevolence, the idea that His plan for the future involves the best for me. Sometimes the best is pain, sometimes, heartache, and oftentimes joy. I know that He is working for me.

These were my thoughts as I rode my bike. I also thought about what I wanted to do with my life, and I came to conclusion that I wanted to live in a house with a big porch. Beyond that, my thoughts are my own.

Delicate Cows

2005-11-16T11:26:00.000-08:00

I'm sick today and am staying home from work and one of my classes. I still have to go in tonight to take a physics exam, though, which I am sitting on the couch in my bathrobe studying for right now. My little brothers are expending their creative energies getting through the slow part of the day. An example:

Joel runs up to Calvin. "Calvin," he says, "let's play delicate cows!"

I start to laugh and ask them to explain this game to me. "See, we play like we're cows, but we're delicate cows who are very vunerable." The reason for this vunerability, apparently, is that they are chocolate producing dairy cows who hate bubble gum and die if they eat sand. The game goes like this: one of them plays the farmer and the two others play the cows. The cows go around mooing and the farmer dances about doing cruel things like slapping them and feeding them poison to make them die, after which he gives them shots to allow them to heal. This all seems very complicated to me. I think I'll go back to studying physics.

2005-11-05T21:33:00.000-08:00

So I quit NaNoWriMo.

Yes I just said that.

NaNoWriMo: day 3

2005-11-03T23:28:00.000-08:00

It's going slow, people. The story burned out and I need to put some sort of juice into it to get it going again. It was a slow day. I couldn't write much even though I tried. Last November was easy because I was anti-social and depressed. It's a lot tougher to write things of a philosophical nature when you're not down, believe me.

Word count for today: 1,018
Total word Count to date: 6,104

NaNoWriMo: Day 2

2005-11-03T10:18:00.000-08:00

Okay, so the second day was busier than I thought it would be. I went to work at 9:30 in the morning, worked till noon, then went to class until four. From four till five thirty I had to work on homework, then it was class again until eight. From class I went to bible study, then straight to the Rec Center for our first bball game at 10 pm. After that I came home, watched a movie, and spit out a thousand words because I would have felt bad doing any less.

Blogger wasn't working last night, either, which is why I'm posting this today. Well, that's the run-down. This won't be a speed novel like of my last projects.

Day two word count: 1006
Total word count: 5086

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

2005-11-01T23:28:00.000-08:00

As promised, I will be posting daily on my blog for the next month, or else as long as it takes to finish my Novel for this year, which might be shorter, but certainly not longer. Here's the rundown of the day:

This morning I got up and went to work for an hour. I didn't have to teach because I was only there for an hour. After that I went to comp class and thought about nothing in particular while I listened to William Stafford's poetry. Then I came home. I had been planning for a while to write for this November a novel called Anomaly, a story about a member of a futuristic society who cannot accept the stimulated, constructed life around him. Then a few days ago I changed it to a horror novel, but, after realizing that I didn't have the whole piece worked out, I switched back to Anomaly. This afternoon I couldn't decide which one to start, so I took a nap instead. I woke up thinking I was going to write the horror novel, then sat down and realized that my original idea was more suitable for writing this month, so I started that.

Okay, so with my indecision done, I sat down and whipped out four thousand words from 6-11:15 pm, with a break for dinner. I'm liking the story because its a very fragmented piece, so if an idea comes to an end, I can start a new one without feeling that the work is too 'clipped'. Anyway, I don't know how the story will take shape. I'm still just putting out ideas right now. I could write more, but I feel finished for today, like it needs time to bake and turn over in my mind, so I'm opting for a movie instead.

Tomorrow I forecast as really really super busy (I'm looking at about two hours of free time from eight in the morning until one in the morning). I'll do what I can, but until then:

Day one word count: 4,080
Total word count: 4,080

See you tomorrow.

2005-10-27T21:01:00.000-07:00

okay I stopped laughing

2005-10-26T22:39:00.000-07:00

I'm really laughing now.

2005-10-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of laughing right now

Finding Joy in Renewed Lucidity

2005-10-24T00:29:00.000-07:00

I can't truly write on here, because it would take far too much room to explain everything of late. I can say that I have been glad of late, if very confused. This confusion seems to be sorting itself out, but when does confusion ever get entirely solved?

If you would allow me, I would put my dichotomy into two persons: Bruce Springsteen and Walker Percy. It is life on the streets in a leather jacket and slicked hair versus life in an abondoned hotel with three women, Don Giovonni, and a nuclear holocaust... if that makes sense (which it probably doesn't).

I start working tomorrow. I hope that goes well.

2005-10-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

so I tried to post yesterday, but it sure didn't let me. It was like 'nuh-ugh, brotha', so I didn't post...

Today I went to Freshman comp. There were two people there. That's right. Of the sixteen of us who are in the class, only two decided to show up. That's fourteen people thinking, 'this class is worthless'. I have to admit I wouldn't have come, either, but I needed some forms from the prof to submit one of my essays to the university publication. Alas, here I am back at home, with (for about the first time this year) a buttload of homework to do. After that I plan on delving leasurly into The Last Gentleman, by Walker Percy. I am at a loss for anything to write.

2005-10-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

those potato chips did not settle well. Oh, it hurts my belly. I should never have eaten them.

2005-10-07T12:53:00.000-07:00

I've given up titles by the way...

It's hard to know what to write. I don't feel that I have any new 'ideas', and experiences seem like something you just 'live' unless they're clever, funny, or outrageous. So here I am, typing. I have one thing to say. God is really, really good, and he has been very good to me. I think (not to cry out or anything) that I've been going through tough times lately, but they haven't seemed tough at all. It's like God has put up a shield and allowed me to brush it all aside, and it's only when I look back that I say, 'ah now, that should have brought me down'. God is incredibly faithful. I suppose that's what I have to say. Run to Him and He will be there... something like that.

2005-10-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

"I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else"

This tickles me. I thought I'd share. Here's another, from Walker Percy:

"Being with you is as natural as taking the next breath."

2005-10-02T19:16:00.000-07:00

The idea tracing the shadows of my mind: necessary joy. To tell the truth, I am not sure exactly what this looks like, but I am willing to say that I might believe in it's truth.

The Book

2005-09-27T22:22:00.000-07:00

Read Orthodoxy, by G.K. Chesterton. It will change your life. I lay on the Memorial lawn on campus today for eight hours, having my life changed. Then I ate a bag of chips and danced. Now I sit at home, wondering what it will feel like to walk in this world now that it is so different.

Extolling

2005-09-26T17:19:00.000-07:00

Today I extol the virtues of geographical travel as a means for reconnecting your soul to things. I sat in the front passenger seat, driving on I-70 from Denver to Topeka all last night. Why are things better on the road. Why could I sit in my cousin's back yard and stare over a gulch at the rocky mountains and not feel separate from things, though I was 500 miles away?

Today I also extol the virtue of living in reality. I think I have not been doing this lately, but today I rescind my behavior and look around me and say, 'I will do today what is given me today. It is my life, separate from the past and future, yet supported by them'. I am tired of preparing to be happy.

In fifteen minutes I will go to physics, where I will discover my grade on my first exam. My hope is to be content with whatever it is, because it could be bad.

I don't know how things are

2005-09-22T23:02:00.000-07:00

In an effort to discover who I am, I have recently sunk into a deluge of literature. I spend most of my time during class writing character tidbits and scene descriptions. In between class I go to the library and write/edit. I've been trying to read more, though this has been less successful. I have been in this 'mode' for about a week now. I can't say whether I'm doing good or bad, but I can say that I am looking forward to each new day because God, I love what I do. Maybe this means I'm doing good. I'm not sure. The point is becoming almost moot.

Quiet inside Silence

2005-09-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

I've discovered a new favorite place in the library. It's in the corner of the basement in this little cove, sided on two walls with large, four panel windows. The desk lets you sit and look out over a lawn. It's early evening now, and the sun is shining on the Bianchino Pavillion and making the limestone glow gold. This is the place to write a novel. For now, I'll settle for editing one. Kudos to Elena for showing me the basement [elena--the crazy man was there. He emerged from an aisle about twenty minutes after you left and went downstairs].

In posts like these, I used to talk about how good it felt to get away to the library had experience a little peace, a window of silence from my life. I've changed things around so this kind of is my life. Ah yes... the library was C.S. Lewis and Ray Bradbury's favorite place too. Wonderful.

2005-09-20T13:43:00.000-07:00

The status or state of 'feeling good' is a precarious one. If one believes in God, one could perhaps make it more stable. A strange ponderance has come to me, that faith may be tied somehow to happiness. If so, I say, 'move the mountain into the sea, and move my soul into my life'.

It is sunny outside. I sit in the library, having made a good decision not to work. Stories run through my head without the burden of responsibility (besides the physics exam tomorrow) to hinder them. I drove in the car this morning, listening to Best of the Steve Miller Band, and I had the same disposition and appriciation for the world that I've had when I've been in love, only quieter. Perhaps it was never a sensation of being in love, but rather the feeling of emminant completion. I buy that. I still believe (Despite the Morgan case-props to Doug) that a woman can complete a man's life.

I'm going to start studying, but perhaps wander over to prose. The next six hours are open range.

Against the Odds

2005-09-18T00:39:00.000-07:00

Kids say the darndest things: I'm sitting at my kitchen table, eating frozen pizza with my brother Davy, who has recently turned seven. I am gnawing my way through piece #3, he is still on #1. He looks up from his pizza with his longish red/blond hair. "Guess what, Abe."

"What?"

"In the bilble... Esau... Esau traded his birthright for a pile of poop."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Mom."

"I don't think mom said that."

"She did."

"I think you heard her wrong. Esau traded his birthright for a bowl of stew, not a pile of poop."

"Oh yeah... that was it."

We continued eating pizza. I love having miniature people in my house.
----------------------------------------------

So I watched Along Came Polly tonight, with Jennifer Aniston and Ben Stiller. As in, they were in the movie. I did not view it while hanging out with them. Just to clear that up. Coming into the film I wasn't too positive. With a %25 from critics at Rotten Tomatoes, and not a single peer recommendation, I was expecting a dull movie full or jokes that didn't quite come off.

Instead, I laughed a lot, and really liked it. Now I'm scared of all the people out there who saw the movie and agree with the critics, but, as I always do when going against popular opinion, I just have to stick with my gut; I thought it was a good romantic comedy. Ben Stiller was hiliarious as usual in his awkward, quiet way (He played Reuben, a character who fits his acting skills perfectly), and Jennifer Aniston did a good job as this kind of crazy girl (a popular theme in film. Think Eternal Sunshine, Garden State. Men, why do we like free spirits, even when they provide the most trouble?). Aniston was also really hot, a fact that also makes me hesitant. What if I enjoyed the film not because of any actual merit, but because of the actress's amazing body?

This is why Roger Ebert is a good film critic. At the age of 124, he has lost all sex drive and can finally evaluate films objectively. I need more confidence in my own opinions, and why is it that I have the ability to write really long posts about nothing?

The Moment That I Wait For Every Autumn

2005-09-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

The moment came today, thankfully mid-september so I wasn't in a rush at Halloween approached. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself well. The topic here is about the best month of the year: November. November has declining weather, usually gray skies, but is too far away from Christmas to possess any real cheer. November, however, is host month to NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. You can visit the website here. It is a time when all writer bond together and try to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November, beginning at midnight on the first and ending midnight on the 30th.

Every fall I wait for the moment when the seed of a novel comes to me, a novel that has lots of actions, intruiging characters, and is something I could abandon myself into writing intensely for a month. After all, I've been a NaNo winner for the past two years; how could I not participate? The strange thing is, my idea actually came to me eight days ago, i just hadn't realized it was the perfect NaNo seed until this afternoon, sitting on my deck in this perfect weather (where I am at right now). So I will spend random blurbs of time developing characters, outlining scenes and extended sequences, figuring out subplots and endings, and thinking of cool material, as well as research into louisiana folklore and bayou habitat and legend. Late October I will be taking a trip down to louisiana, check out the landscape (and help hurricane victims), then come back back for the last part of fall break, finish up editing the novel I am currently working on, and then wait with baited breath for November 1st.

Thank God I lost my job.

During november, my only posts will be daily updates on words finished, total word count, how things are progressing overall, how much I hate class (or else how much I wrote on my laptop during class), and probably quite a few short excerpts. Anyone who will be participating in NaNoWriMo as well, let's get in communication, whether I know you at all or not.

-Abe

P.S. Tonight is the Library booksale. Say nothing of $15 to get in, I'm going. Unless Andrew calls me and wants to do something else instead. Yeah buddy. End of Post Script

2005-09-13T23:02:00.000-07:00

I am exiled.

I have tried many things, but in the end, the path that comes to me is the path that I first took. The world is a difficult place. Now I sit in a chair in the middle of my lawn under a tree at eleven o'clock at night. All I can hear are crickets and air conditioners.

I am exiled.

That sneaking feeling

2005-09-11T14:42:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon with nothing in it is coming upon me. It stayed away while I played the guitar, but now it's leapt up and said, 'here I am, Abraham, malaise on this sunny bright afternoon when you're not sure how to live'.

'Not true,' I say. 'I'm going out to the deck with my laptop to soak in the sun while I copy-edit prose and possibly read Percy.'

'Damn,' it says, 'you got me there.'

Goodbye.

further the disappearence... further the growth

2005-09-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

I talked to my dad last night. I remember a pivitol thing I said that in many ways changed the ways that I am beginning to think. I was describing my recent proposition that everyone (especially in high school and college) is engaged in a massive 'game', its end being success and distraction. If we can 'do well' in life, or else fill our schedules full enough, then we will never have to sit on a quiet bench alone and face the rift in our soul.

"As to myself," I said, "I feel like I'm fading..." he gave me a long look, and I reconsidered, then let the words slip out, "ah, no... growing into a more reserved, artistic life."

This sounds pompous. It's the reason I described my view of writers as a group of... well, I won't put it here, but it wasn't kindly. We're mostly self-absorbed. I see a lot of other 'artists' finding communion with other artists. I've joined the Washburn writer's Guild, whose main goal is to 'organize events'. It's no wonder. The painters have their easels, paints, brushes, etc... the catholic sacraments. We writers have a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, often lined. We are the protestants of the artistic world, cast out on these lonely shores with no physical connection to the divine to affirm that our work is indeed real.

As I said to Doug, lying up on the roof late last night, "I want some freaking sacraments."

so easy to disappear

2005-09-07T23:17:00.000-07:00

In a high school of eighty-five, you can't vanish. People talk to you whether you want them to or not. The school grounds are small. Sitting in the back of the class doesn't make much of a difference. Now, in a school of six-thousand, there's so much room to think it's incredible. Because of parking, I have, usually, about a ten minute walk to class. You somehow have the freedom to think, to be separate and observant. Ah, but is this a good thing to be. That is the question I am trying to answer right now. If much of the time I feel quiet and thoughtful, should I allow myself to be quiet and thoughtful much of the time?
------
Janie sits in playwriting class, listening to people talk about the play exerpt she brought in, titled, 'We're having a party'. The scene was about two middle-aged people getting ready for a party. The wife announces that she is pregnant. The husband is happy. They leave for the party. End of story. That's great, but it won't fly in fiction, baby. The rest of us were looking for some tragedy and conflict. Janie said, "you people want people to mean to each other? I don't know where you come from, but where I come from people try to be nice. Don't you love your families?"
Bob, across the room, spoke in his soft, educated voice. "Darling, I moved fifteen hundred miles to get away from my family. You'll understand when you're older."
I have seldom despised someone more in my life. Something about the resolute way he said it made me sick. He's spent his whole life to come to this point, where he is perfectly fine with giving up and running away. Now he writes short plays, poetry, speaks in a soft, educated voice, and I've seldom been so sick inside.
Maybe part of life is about sticking to it, resolute and firm all the way to the end. Don't give up on old things, and don't get into new things without thought. Maybe that's part of things.

This Strange Place

2005-09-07T01:16:00.000-07:00

I wrote at the library today for a very long time in complete silence (on the outside. I was listening to music much of the time). A man walked by with long sleeve sweater on over a casual dress shirt. He wore big glasses, seventies hair, and hunched slightly to one side. He was muttering to himself. He went to the corner desk and sat down in the booth with no books or paper and stayed there for almost an hour, muttering to himself. Then he arose, and began to walk the length of the library, still muttering to himself.

What are you saying there, young man? You and I, baby, here in the silence of the library, two crazy people who prefer death-like silence and the hum of the AC system to life lived with others, am I right? I listen to love songs and stare down empty book corridors while I play with words on a screen. You walk about, transported directly from the seventies, sit in the corner booth and mutter to yourself. We both walk out of the library at 7:50 pm, neither of us with anything to show for it. Why don't I walk around muttering to myself and sit empty-handed in booths? There's no one to see. Instead, I concentrate on my words, sweating syllables and turning over phrases half-spoken aloud on my tongue. Maybe I'm more crazy than you, old boy.

Then he said, "Richy..."

2005-09-06T03:01:00.000-07:00

What should I post... something aMAZing, I guess. People should post amazing things. I have nothing amazing to post. Yet here I am, at three in the morning, writing a post. What is this... an oxymoron? Tomorrow I plan to sit in a library for seven and a half hours of complete silence and type and listen to music. I went, this evening, down to these church grounds to show my little brothers how far I could hit a baseball (not far, but they were still amazed). We ended up playing frisbee and there were a lot of tears. Joel cried because throwing a frisbee is hard. Davy cried because I got mad at him for kicking Joel in the face. Joel cried again because Davy kicked him in the face. Davy cried because Calvin made a face at him for crying because I was mad at him for kicking Joel in the face. It all got very complicated. Nothing more interesting than this has happened in my life this Labor day. Hope you had more of an adventure yourself- Abe S.

yay for gadgets

2005-09-04T12:52:00.000-07:00

I'm writing on my new laptop computer, sitting on the living room couch. Luxury, what is thy name? Next to me lies my new cell-phone. Call me if you want the number ;)

Right now I'm loading all my CD's onto the puter. Just finished All American Rejects, and now have begun Best of Boston.

'Tell me what you see, tell me you believe in my love
Tell me what you need, tell me you believe in my love
I don't understand what to say, you take my breath and then you walk away,
You're life goes on without me
And you can look right at me, but in your eyes it's a mystery;
what do you feel about me?'

Sorry, just thought I'd type out the lyrics that were playing.

Playing Games with Big Money

2005-09-03T20:00:00.000-07:00

I think I'm buying a laptop this weekend, maybe tomorrow. Once I have this computing power in my backpack, I can go to the library in between classes and write (instead of doing homework. A compromise I am willing to make). I am excited. There was a lot going on this weekend, but I skipped all of it, and instead sat in my recliner in my room, trying to write. I was not very successful, but I got a little done, and the weekend is not over.

Ah yes, and I have monday off for Labor day. Thank God for all those laborors who banded together and demanded their own holiday. That's what unions are all about, people! Get us some writes!

So anyhow, I've been feeling strange lately, because I thought (I think) life would kind of bend my way and be 'complete' once I settled into a pattern at Washburn and got to know some people. Now that that has happened, surprise surprise, I do not find myself at the paramount fulfillment of my existence. It's still incomplete. This doesn't surprise me. I've tried before. At least I don't feel noways tired (A great gospel song, if you ever get the chance to hear it).

That's all. Until next time- Abe S.

And the Sun Shone on Your Hair

2005-09-01T22:58:00.000-07:00

that's a line from Van Morrison's Orangefield, which I am listening to right now. His album, Avalon Sunset, is a transcendant experience. It's the perfect music for almost any mood. You can be happy, sad, weary, excited, and this music fits. Buy it today for... I don't know. I burned it from a friend.

So my story for today: I finished folklore class and had a three hour window of time before Challenge, but with gas at $3.09, there's no way I'm driving back home. So it's off the library. I was prepared for this, and brought Percy's The Last Gentleman and a notebook. I went upstairs to the stacks and found an easy chair right next to a window overlooking the sun-cast practice fields where the football team was running drills in the heat.

I started the book and my alertness slowly faded. With nothing valuable in my backpack, I gave in and let my head nod forward into an on-and-off nap. The library was silent, the wonderful kind of silence that means you are alone, and want to be. My sleep was interrupted by a man talking on his cell-phone in a chair somewhere behind a pillar, out of sight. I slept some more; when I woke up he was gone. I took out my notebook and began to write.

I have come to believe in understanding life through everything; joy and sadness, happiness and depression alike. I realized that I disagree with people who give the line, "why can't he/she just be happy?" and deny any oppressive feeling they have because they desire to laugh. I believe there is a time for everything. You should always make the choice to be cheerful and connected when you can, but I believe now in accepting sadness.

At six-thirty I rose from my chair, replaced my books in my pack, and walked silently downstairs and out into the cool heat of the early evening. I descended the steps to the sidewalk and stopped. I had forgotten how to live. Somehow the elements of practicality in my life has been erased by the silent library corner, the cool humming air conditioner, and abcense of people, and my own philosophical speculations. I looked around at all the people walking purposefully on the sidewalks. How did they know where to go? What force was directing them. I needed to leave, but suddenly, walking to my car seemed the same as walking away from it. I started to move, passed a bench, and sat down. Why not sit down? Is there any advantage in walking over sitting?

By the time I reached my car, I had recalled a vague recollection of what it meant to 'live life'. I drove to The Peak, a youth building where Challenge was being held, got a nametag, talked with people, cavorted, acted silly, ate Bavarian Creme cookies, could have eaten more. How peculiar, that I can switch like this. A time for everything. A time to laugh and a time to cry. A time to dance and time to mourn. If one can do no more than laugh and dance, what is one?

I hate air conditioning

2005-08-31T17:07:00.000-07:00

I hate air conditioning. You may be walking outside in the nice muggy heat, then you step into a building and wham! you're freezing cold and your fingers shake and the tip of your nose gets so chilled you have breathe on it to help it warm up. I like to sweat.

I'm at Maybee library at washburn right now. The computers are these slow stone age beasts with windows 98. They pretty much suck. They're slow than my computer at home infected with a virus. Well, I can't stay too too long cause I got a class in half an hour, and it's all the way across campus. I just finished taking my 'pre-test' at the math dept to see if I can get into this math class. I haven't taken any mathematics since Jr. yr. in high school. I couldn't remember any of this stuff. Terrible terrible. I probably flunked, but I'll try to get her to let me in anyway. It's not like I can't do the stuff... I've just forgotten how.

Kind of fun in playwriting class today. People there are big on this 'you have to overload dialogue with vulgarity to make it anything like real life'. I'm in support of profanity in writing, but if it goes to excess it loses all its power. It was worth it, though, to listen to this sweet looking girl read off the line, 'John, it's a fucking play'.

Well, I have little to say. Doug, your email has made me reconsider my abdication of philisophical fiction. I realized that no thought can truly be said unless it is related to an action/memory. Maybe that will help me. What do you think? I'll take comments from anyone. Can a thought honestly be put in prose, disconnected from and abstract towards life?

Sick of red tape

2005-08-30T17:17:00.000-07:00

Arg. It's tough to spend an entire day doing 'tasks' when you have other things you really want to be getting to. Today was like that. I spent all day going to appointments, drawing up contracts, making phone calls and getting stuff done online. It was like a giant to-do list. Then I went and mowed for three and a half hours. Tomorrow will probably be almost as busy. Thankfully tonight (after I run out for one more errand) I have a breath of fresh air with a bit of swing and salsa dancing.

Then tomorrow morning I go and take a mathematics placement test to see if i can get into the basic gen ed class. If I fail I will feel rather strange (stupid). I hope it's not hard.

Sorry to bore you into the ground with all this complaining. I'll stop now.

So... what? I'm normal?

2005-08-28T21:53:00.000-07:00

Personality Disorder Test Results

Paranoid	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Schizoid	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	58%
Schizotypal	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	66%
Antisocial	\|\|\|\|\|\|	26%
Borderline	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Histrionic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	42%
Narcissistic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	34%
Avoidant	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	54%
Dependent	\|\|\|\|\|\|	30%
Obsessive-Compulsive	\|\|\|\|\|\|	30%

Take Free Personality Disorder Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

This was a pretty fun test. You should take it. Personally, I thought I'd be way more outbalanced towards personality disorders. When they made the statement, 'you are very weird', I signified my response as 'very accurate'. I believe that, I suppose. My highest category was Schizotypal, which I forgot the meaning of. You can find out at the site. I think maybe I'll start a club, Schizotypals Of Badness, and call ourselves the S.O.B.s. If you want to join, lave a comment.

Conscious, for the first time, of a double identity on purpose

2005-08-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a post, but then I didn't feel like it. Just don't watch the movie Boys Don't Cry. It was the sickest spectacle I have ever encountered on film. No wonder it didn't have a plot description on the back. I now have no respect for Hillary Swank, and never will again. Not only is she a bio-ethiscist, but she's also a.... ah, I can't even say it. Needless to say, I didn't get very far into the film. Don't watch it. I say 'boo you whore' to Roger Ebert for giving it four stars. How could you let me down so, movie critic that I admire?

I apologize for my existence

2005-08-24T23:54:00.000-07:00

Let me share an awkward moment I experienced today. I went to the campus crusade meeting, then it finished and everybody was going to World Cup. On the way out I saw this girl I knew, so we sat around and joked for about fifteen minutes in the lobby. Anyway, short story long, I finally walked out to go to my car. Not feeling like walking, I jogged most of the way, but slowed as I saw there were other people in the lot going to their cars.

It was dark by this time. I grew closer and realized they were near where my car was parked. I drew closer still and realized they weren't going to their cars. Closer, and I saw they were... yes, making out, and doing it right beside the driver's side door on my car. I'm totally like, come on! people! Get a room, preferrably a room that is not right next to my car door.

So I walk up and they stop snogging the hell out of each other's faces and keep their eyes away from me. I start to get into the car, then realize I recognize these people. They were in the Crusade meeting. I drive away quickly. Ah, it's good to know God approves of such behavior.

August twenty-third, also feeling like October twenty-third

2005-08-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

The weather cooled off and remained a dark cloudy today. I mowed lawns for four and some hours, and it felt like fall. I kept thinking, 'ah, winter is coming soon. I can feel it setting into my bones', but winter really isn't for another three months.

Lots of memories come back with seasonal weather. I was walking across a back lawn with a garbage bag when a breeze flew across me and I stumbled under the intensity of the feeling it carried. For a moment I felt such a poigniant longing in my chest it was almost unbearable, then it vanished. I groped for the memory it had been searching for, but it was impossible to find.

Later I drove in the car with hard rock playing and remembered late season soccer games. wierd how the weather can do that to you. One class today, and classes tomorrow from one to eight (with a two hour break). I'm gone.

2 + 2 = Math Class!

2005-08-22T23:46:00.000-07:00

Brief note to Elena (if you are not Elana, please log out by clicking here): Hey, thanks for your comment. I went to your blog to reply, then realized I'd just be writing about it anyway, so I came back here and did this, which probably is taking just as long as it would have to leave a comment on yours, but oh well.

First day of classes, or first evening, rather. I got up at the ungodly hour of 8:45 am, then promptly sat in my recliner chair and slept until 12:15 pm. Rising from my bed, I wandered up into an empty house (my family was in Wichata. They're back now) and ate a bowl of cherios. The prohphesy in the cereal said 'OOOOoooooo...'

I spent the afternoon changing my life, which was dull work, but it had its moments. it was better than mowing at least, which I couldn't do because the imminant threat of rain. I decided to aim my writing towards a mix of John Knowl's A Separate Peace, Terry Brook's Running with the Demon, Sol Stein's The Magician, and Stephen King's Christine. I know what you're thinking: These novels have little, if anything at all, in common. Some of you may even be thinking of how badly Harold Bloom razed King in his 1998 literary criticism. Well I say, F ! U ! Harold Bloom, man who makes his living from saying how untalented other people are. Get a life of your own, you snobbish literary critic.

That said, I'm doing well. I went to classes this evening, both of which I was nervous about. The first was Intro the Physics, the second Intermediate Algebra. I dislike math. I walk into physics and sit with Megan, a girl I met ten minutes before class (yay! fun to have friends who all you have in common with is a hope that the class will be a cakewalk). The proffessor comes in five minutes late and begins to read the course silly-bus (what I called them in high school. I'm putting it in here because I can't remember how to spell the actual word). I begin to listen. "well, we won't be working with actual numbers and equations in this class. We'll mostly be looking at why things work the way they do... Class atendance is optional, just don't miss the tests... The exams will consist of 25 matching terms and 25 multiple choice. You will have an hour to complete them...) Okay, so he started to do stuff on the board, and that wasn't nearly as much fun, even a little difficult, but I was like... I love college.

Algebra, which I transferred to from College Algebra (The books were $152 dollars cheaper and it sounded easier) started fifteen minutes later. There were about a dozen of us, and five or six more who apparently didn't want to show up to the first class. This guy is a little more strict--he actually tucks in his shirt-- but all homework is optional (Then why assign problems on the silly-bus?) we talk about order of operations and number sets, then he lets us go fifteen minutes early, and I walk back to my car much brighter than I walked away from it. The last few weeks have been crazy with trying to get everything financially straight, trying to get a job, going to orientation, trying to meet new people. It seemed I had something new and unknown every day to deal with, but tonight seemed much more tame, like I'm finally beginning a schedule I can master, one what happens to leave me with a lot of free time.

Having abandoned philosophical fiction, I hope to cure my insanity, so I think I'll go write some adventure, and put off my homework until tomorrow (ah, high school procrastination is already back, which reminds me of this great joke... how are procrastination and masterbation similar? No, I'm not going to write the answer)

-Abe

Despite the longing, I still find myself convalescing on a weary Sunday night, absorbed in myself and film

2005-08-22T02:46:00.000-07:00

I went to a party last night. It was tame, a 'sit aroud in a circle' party, not a 'stand around in an elite circle' party. I loved it. I had a great time, met some cool new people, and am very excited about the christian group on campus.

Then I came home, wrote a short piece about it, and ended up criticizing it to myself and the imagined audience. No, I still believe it was great. I would go again, numerous times, and every time I would be just as genuinely friendly, and I would not be fake for doing it. The aftermath, however, is always observation. I cannot flee from observation and simply exist. This party was not fluid with my ongoing life, but rather an event that I experienced, discected, and desired to experience again. How many 'parties' does one have to string together to form a coherent, full, and obliquely satisfying life?

A lot of people were writing goodbyes and hellos on their blogs. Goodbye, old life, hello, college. They face what they are confronted with; loss, pain, dorms, new friends, missing-you-to-death, and that is life, face value. I find I take everything on second hand experience from my own mind (if that makes any sense), as if my soul were removed to a viewing balcony to evaluate all that is going on.

What does it take to ground oneself, to enter atmosphere after sustained orbit? (See Percy's Lost in the Cosmos, one of the best books you'll ever read) God-sponsored re-entry, or a continued postponment by geographical (or, heaven forbid) sexual travel. Surely not the alienation of disguise! Ah, baring bits of a soul on the blogosphere is a dangerous thing, but why not? I haven't figured out a story to translate these thoughts into (And would that be third person removal from one's own soul? How frightening).

If you understand any of this, please comment.

Quiet, please

2005-08-20T14:28:00.000-07:00

I'm at the library again. I have decided to come here every day and write, so that I will get a novel done every two or three months while editing at home.

Right now there I am in a small cove with three computers. Two kids sit on a computer behind me. One of them has already been confronted by a library supervisor, telling him that he will be removed if he is caught running any longer. Denied his hyperactive running, he decided to play a game on the computer.

Ah, child: no sound.

His friend comes and joins him, and they slowly lose the ability to whisper. Next they decide that they must narrate all that is happening on the screen, since there are no speakers.

"Loading, loading, loading..." He speaks loudly into the air. "Hit that key."
"This one?"
"Yeah that one. New game. Click it." When his friend clicks it, he announces in a loud voice, "new game!"
They read the game rules aloud to each other, then the game begins. Now, instead of reading things off the screen, they begin to give each other commands.
"Go up, go up! Use the red one! Use these!"
"I'm trying."
Excitement grows. Their voices get louder.
"DAMN! That was close!" This kid must be about nine. Damn, boy, you alright.
They go to another website. Another friend joins them. I can't write anymore. I got my blog, write this.

I'm moving computers.

At the Library, in a time hole

2005-08-19T14:45:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting just outside the 700's bookshelves at the library right now. A lady is shelving books to my left. Across form me, unseen, a girl sits who keeps stretching a bracleted hand into the air (where I can see it) as if she's doing calisthenics while sitting at the computer. You go, girl. Burn fat, feel good and look good. It's up to you to make a name for yourself. No one's going to do it for you.

Right now, I'm going through the days with strange windows of time where I find myself alone (at Wendy's, at the library, etc...) and clouds outside and hot muggy air just on the other side of the wall. At Wendy's, I look around at anyone else who is eating alone. They're all adults; it's as if there is some universal law that after the age of twenty-three-or-four it's acceptable to eat by yourself at a fast-food place. Below that age, it's illegal. I almost got nervous when I saw the cop-car in the parking lot.

I am a virus

2005-08-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

My... computer... is... struggling.... right... now. Got hit with a virus last night, and I'm typing faster that it can come up on the screen right now. It reset me to original windows settings and uses like 90% of my CPU so I can't do anything. I've spent hours getting free anti-virus software (which I thought I already had), and it has been a bummer.

In other news, it looks like I'll get this job I'm going for, so I may get to work for the Jumpstart pre-school tutor/friend program all year, which should be fun, unlike a clerical job I could have gotten. Washburn orientation starts tonight, and it's all these 'seminar for th the whole family', and 'picnic for the whole family', and, 'convocation for the whole family'. And I'm like, frankly, I'm not really interested in getting to know families. I'm more about students, you know what I mean? SO I'm going by myself and I'll see what happens. Hopefully everyone else will be like-minded.

Well, I've got things to do, like keep trying to fix my computer, and this typing goes too slow, so I'll see ya'.

Those solicitors

2005-08-17T00:49:00.000-07:00

I got on my blog, and was all excited when I saw... FOUR COMMENTS! Then I read them, and realized three were from 'blog salesmen' who had not actually read my blog--they just wanted me to visit their website and either buy rolexes or carribean cruises. But you know what? I don't grudge them. Whether or not the comments are from actual readers, it still feels good to see that '4 comments', or however many it comes to. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Even if I have no real friends, at least I have computerized ones that at first fool me into thinking they care.

No, seriously....

Tomorrow I have a job appointment. Yes, I'm getting a job where I will probably do menial labor, possibly at a desk. I know I'm conforming to society and all, but living is really expensive, plus the gas prices are going up. Maybe I'll update on that tomorrow, since everyone I know has pretty much left the state and will now be terribly interested in whatever I tell them is happening in T-town. Which leaves me only one option.

lie.

Sunday Afternoons

2005-08-14T17:01:00.000-07:00

I really don't like Sunday afternoons very much, sunny or cloudy or whatever. It's like I go to church, then I come home, and I just wait around to have fun again. How lame is that? I find myself wandering around a lot on these Sunday afternoons, almost too dull to read a book, but too muggy to watch a movie.

Today I shoved this malaise away by forcing myself to work, which has been good. Now it's five o'clock and I can let my evening kick-start. Too bad I'm missing dinner; it's pizza.

If anyone else has this same experience with Sunday afternoons, please let me know. It's been this way since I was little. How can I ditch it?

I walked out in rain

2005-08-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

I walked out in rain
I walked back in rain
Yeah!

That's my beatnick poem, dedicated lovingly to Mr. Driver (soon to be Dr. Driver, I'm sure), who has this rainy weather all the time up at St. Andrews in Scotland. Today I slept a lot, and read The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, which is really really good, and I will probably continue soon.

I woke up from my nap and the rain was falling softly outside. The cool drafts that came in through the window made it feel like a fall rain instead of a summer one. Everyone was gone from the house except Calvin and me. I stood by the front door for a long time, then went outside and walked around with my arms lifted up until I was nearly soaked. I don't know why I did this. Perhaps I am going crazy. It's saturday, and I haven't spent time with anyone since Wednesday. I used to be able to go for weeks at a time alone in my house, but something has changed. This feels strange.

Good news is, I found some of my college books online for cheaper. The biggest difference was a forty-five dollar book that I bought for four. Seriously. And the lady at the bookstore just frowned when I told her that I was 'just getting a list of what I needed, and would look for them somewhere else.'

'I don't know,' she said, 'I'm not sure I know of any other bookstores.'