it and Trees

A young couple was once never a couple. Before the couple there was a man and a woman. Both were in the everyday mortal process of living, loving, learning and dying. They had grown up in normal homes and were in the process at the same time of growing up in a new and not really normal world. It is called the real world. But they were doing ok considering the circumstances. The man once a boy had dreams and aspirations some came to be, some he grew out of and others he held on to for a long time. He never really was on an active search for it in those days but he found it and like anyone else, he loved it and her. But just like anyone else he subsequently lost it and her. It hurt but just like many other souls that have passed before him, he moved on and past it. The woman once a girl had dreams that she held on to, those dreams never seemed to fade and tough times only made them stronger. She like many other girls held a curious preoccupation with it and its hideous strength. She has thought she had felt it but was never sure over many attempts. A sudden and brutal blow to her search attempts would have only solidified her determination to find it like an iron caste. But the slow and constant realization of its absence dulled her over time; soon the search was not a top priority. She had moved on and past it.
Obviously at some point these two people who have been through and survived it, or the lack of it, found each other. There had been no nervous breakdowns from their previous experiences. Tears may have been shed but without cinematic flair these two had felt that hideous strength in a wrong way, but have moved on and past it. They were cautious acquaintances just like anyone who has been cut by a knife won’t run their finger down the edge one without care. Obviously these two grew closer and closer. Her head she learnt fit well on top of his chest while they lay on the couch at nights. His name coming from her lips could leave him immobile for just an instant out of shock that she meant to say it. It was a very exciting affaire for the two involved; it was what they had or had not felt before but wanted to feel none the less. But to any other individual this union would leave them totally apathetic and not entertained. There could be no Oscars won by the most talented and disturbed method actors for their portrayal of the couple. Though influenced by celluloid dreams it was that run of the mill.
One of the great things about it is the spontaneity both in its arrival and how it allows you to be so. The couple relished in the thought that at any moment an opportunity to make a long drive to a city of some cinematic standing could appear. Silver screen spontaneity would be a shared passion of the couple. One night while walking down some pathway that of course reminded them of that one scene in that one epic romantic film, they spontaneously decided to do a very unoriginal thing. They carved their names into a tree. It was a thing that made more sense than anyone else outside the couple could understand. It was just like how correspondence letters between lovers should be scented. Or how both people need to be soaking wet when they kiss in the rain, and not before. It is just one of those moments when they are no longer just two people in an everyday relationship. Their union is no longer an object but an action, a moment. It is just simply a moment that is bigger than they are. Through the tough times in the future they will recall the point when there was nothing but their names in a tree and how surreal it all felt. Because it was so much bigger than any problem. They will get back in the car and their lives. They will laugh and fight and grow, but at that big moment it was just two names representing two shared feelings. Mutual feelings.

Suicide and Bathroom mirrors...

Ok the suicide thing has nothing to do with this or really any other blog but I just wanted that word to be big and bold across the title. If anything to illicit a response from any poor and bored soul who would have the misfortune to fall upon my prose. But I move on, really this blog is going to be written out of pure boredom. Without much in the way of a great emotional push to stamp out a few paragraphs on a subject or an event, this blog will be posted. This will shock you but mirrors are only metal and glass, those who are uneducated in the characteristics of light in reflection and what not try to hold in your weeps and whines. I’ll keep typing while you all reel from the monstrous paradigm shift I caused.
I have three mirrors in my room. Before the word “vain” runs through your cerebral areas, I didn’t put them there. There are two that make up the doors to my closet. They are from the ground up to the ceiling mirrors. The kind that you are real thankful to have to see if your shoes match your outfit or if your shirt is tucked in all around. Then the default bathroom mirror. Ever since I moved into this little joint these pieces of metal and glass have had an adverse affect on my daily routine.
I wake up in the morning either groggy or quite refreshed depending on if I had something big going on in the morning that I was afraid I’ll miss so I kept waking up every 45min thinking I slept through it. But no matter what the first thing I do after the “dismissed” has been pressed on my cell alarm, I turn my head to the right. Why? Because my bed is on the opposite side of the room from those big mirrors. For some reason I really need to see my hair all goofy and that face that says that my brain is at a 3rd grader capacity of thought right now. I will do it every EVERY morning. When I sit up in my bed and put my feet on the floor, you bet I am looking straight forward at my hunched over self in the mirror. At some point I’ll go into the bathroom because its morning (things need taking care of). But you bet at some point during the whole scenario I will take a look at my white butt in the mirror. I’ll take off all the warm clothes I was wearing but before I jump into the warm shower, yes you bet I will look at my naked self in the mirror. Just a glance because its cold. Move on to further down the day, anytime really if I am at my computer which is again about a foot and a half from the big mirrors, I will look to my left. I will do it at least once every website I visit. I do it when I am surprised and I need to see that. I look when I can’t think of really what to say so I look at myself and ask if he knows what to write because I don’t. I am always right there for myself with tons of moral support its fun and quite comforting. To top the pseudo-vanity off at the end of the day, when I brush my teeth right before I hit the sack I take off my shirt. I suggest anyone to brush their teeth with their shirts off. You see muscles working and flexing it really is an all around fun deal. But there you go, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy looking at myself in the mirror….. from time to time. If I didn’t want to look I wouldn’t. But the case is that in my little world of a room there is always and mirror and I find that I really really REALLY often look at myself unconsciously. There’s my confession and my blog all in one for you.

It was a night called "Taco Tuesday"

It was a surprising sight even from the parking lot. As we pulled into the marginally lighted parking in front of the location that was to be our scene for the next two hour’s theatrics. I was under the impression that this was an upscale joint. Where one could end up paying for a Mexican mainstay done to the cliché American twist with a ten dollar bill and not be getting more than a dollar and some coins in change. But not this night and not here. This night was regaled in a beautiful alliteration of Taco Tuesday. To see the correlation between Café Rio and the burger joint in such films as Grease and American graffiti on this one wouldn’t take too much effort. But as a new comer to this type of situation not even the mountain cold humming through my tie-dye shirt could quell the anticipation. I was going to be in an after school hangout spot…. When everyone is there ACTUALLY hanging out. We walk in and enter immediately into the winding line to the taco ordering bar. Bright colors and a virtual representative of every sub-culture group and clothing brand are present. Not a soul is above 28 years old and no eyes are stagnant, the amount of energy being put into “looking around” could rival the Hoover dam. Our crowd of one male and two females evens out and soon titters over to a heavy male presence that one should expect when the female presence is a attractive one. With food ordered and seats taken, the conversation begins. Stories are told, with intermittent bouts of dancing in seats and general giddiness. Is everyone trying their hardest to be witty and comical or is this just we are supposed to be? Is anyone trying to impress another at the table, or is this strictly mellow? I didn’t think these questions while I was there I was too busy looking at a young man that bore a horrifying resemblance to Sting. In this situation who couldn’t resist the opportunity to show their knowledge of the Police catalogue and sharp wit at the same time, I couldn’t. I usually find myself in the position, sweeping the floor under tables while a moment of pure detachment and total social immersion happens feet away. I found myself detached and immersed as explained but not sweeping the floors. Did I think of this while I sat chatting and listening and googling over Sting.2, no I did not I was detached and immersed I told you. Why would anyone want to ruin that with super analytic thinking?

Did jennifer lopez make me feel romantic?

Ok the title was a left over from an attempt to blog last night that thank the good lord on high i was not able to nor willing to finish. With that i throw you my readers a curve by keeping that subject's title and then move on to something completely different. HIGHSCHOOL. Yes highschool was a regardless of how you remember it, terrible experience wrought with insecurity and over-exposed and overrun emotions. Good times were had but still it was a rough time thankfully it was only four years long. But what i want to touch on is how those memories and feelings have a great and almost entertaining tendency to come back with a song. I recently refound a song that i had lost in the computer transition post-mish, that i was very fond of during my times at Awkward High. This song found its place in my ipod quickly and has pretty much never ceased to play. Not only is this song just plain good but the nostalgic rub from its words and delivery leave me completely raw. It wouldn't be right to explain this song as a love lost ballad. More like a love that was put on its knees and got two to the head only after every awkward misstep was taken and noticed by the concerned parties. Listening to this i go all the way back to when i drove in that car and brooded over how nothing made sense and it never could and i'll never recover. Harsh stuff but i can't help but love how i can remember that when they play those cords and say those words, nothing else could bring it back. Life makes alot more sense now but at times no, but it will make more sense and when it doesn't i yes, will recover. Times have changed but just how anyone enjoys going back home to see their roots and how it formed them, i enjoy going back to those memories with these certain songs seeing how those helped mold me. regardless if i wanted it to or not it did.

Rusty, sucky and i am over it

Its been awhile and i am rusty but i am moving on. Tonight is going to be a short splurt on goals. I am in a new environment experiencing a increasingly familiar scenario high in this mountain valley. New place and repetitious oppurtunities combined with ample alone (or lonely) hours makes anyone think of the future and what shes agreeing with the catcher back at home plate to throw at you. The thing about goals is that one can let them run away, to points that not even the high water mark could reach. Whats even more riskaaaaaay with goal making in a day dreamy moment is that there are rarely plans to go with it. Its like i am sitting in a nice cushy rolling chair in my pent house 31st floor office before i even built the other 30 floors. Dangerous indeed. But it would be a also viable mistake to make the first 30 floors not knowing that i get to stop and sit "high and pretty" on the 31st. So to finish off this lack luster i do declare. I will have both my 31st floor and yes the first 30 with it.