Update

New blog location! I moved some stuff to wordpress, I've decided to continue posting things on both though since wordpress is still really confusing.

That is all :]

*Singing the blogger blues

So I kind of want to move my blog to a place that's a little more public and findable... but wordpress is complicated and inflexible and tumblr is more about microblogging, which doesn't seem to be something I actually do. That's ironic since this post would probably fit right in... I don't know, the jury's still out.

In the meantime, I am THIS close to figuring out how to classify my political beliefs. The other day I figured I am a classical liberal, which Mom called a JFK democrat and Matt called a right-leaning libertarian. Then today I took a political spectrum quiz which called me a 'center-right moderate social libertarian.' Since that really makes no sense, it helps to know the quiz told me I tend to be non-interventionist on foreign policy and liberal when it comes to cultural issues.

These kinds of opinons change though, so I thought it would be cool for journaling purposes to record where I stand now, just 3 weeks before my 21st birthday.

Anyway YOU can and should take the political spectrum quiz yourself (she says as if someone is reading this).

Peace.

*credit goes to Señor Kelly for the title

an almost religious experience

The nectarines were in rare form today; Mom told me I would die if I ate one. I had already eaten too much though, so I put one on a little plate with a paring knife and set it aside while I read. It's bright red and yellow skin are tempting, and I only get a page farther before I uncurl in the chair and pulled the plate closer. I was skeptical of her praise for the little fruit, but today is the first in weeks of honest-to-goodness summer sun; I take it as a sign to indulge.

You can hear the fibers ripping as I drag the knife through the fleshy nectarine to reveal it's fushia specked, gold flesh. The transparent juice beads on the surface of the cut like sweat, even though we're both protected by by the air conditioning. I carefully hold on to the half I've removed so as not to bruise it and tilt my head to catch the dripping juices in my open mouth. This must be the ambrosia of the gods. Sweet without coating or overpowering the mouth. An overzealous bite squirts nectar all over my arm and the cover of the book I've now forgotten.

At this point I've cut most of the fruit away, but there are slivers left around the pit. I shave them off slowly. I ate the most part of the fruit so greedily that I now want to be able to enjoy the little that is left. And I do.

I call out so Mom can hear me from the next room, "I think I died."

some stuff

You know there's no turning back when you're willing to treat the horse like a sphere to make the math easy. It didn't make sense when we started out, but I've become a boundary-seeker, looking to solve things with minimal effort in the shortest amount of time possible. I consider it a success to almost finish a problem on an exam and am happy with estimates - within an order of magnitude of course - if numbers are called for.

I remember taking derivatives the hard way and the confusion that ensued when we included multiple dimensions. Now I can live in the coordinate system of my choice and perform a dazzling Galilean or Lorentz transform upon request. If you really want to know, I can tell you just how much that top wobbles when you spin it or the speed of the racecar from the moon's point of view.

I remember when E only stood for energy and k was always the coulomb constant. Now E can be a field, and k can be anything I want. But I hardly ever make it the Coulomb constant because we can probably cancel pi and epsilon at some point anyway.

I know that it is never acceptable to divide by zero because everything will blow up. I've never actually experienced this, but I've learned enough to refrain from trying.

I know that there is uncertainty in all things quantum, but in life I've found it's never as simple as h-bar over 2. I am certain that I know more than this and still don't know much, much more, but that's for another time.

brainstorm!

So I'm having trouble starting this weeks post. Here's a list of ideas that the Brainstormer (http://www.distractionbeast.com/brainstormer.swf) gave me. These are some interesting ideas, to say the least.

cannibalist couple in an art gallery.

fish out of water in a crowded fire station.

fish out of water in a jungle tree house.

letting go of the abandoned arcade.

healing journey in a colonial clocktower.

self preservation of the corporate queen

conflict with a god in a clocktower.

conflict with a god and a post-apocalyptic diplomat.

deliverance from a family owned monument.

feeling remorse in a beverly hills police station.

fight on an alien bus.

genius imperialist wearing a mask.

the fairytale farm enigma.

some thoughts

I was thinking about the anonymity I try to keep on this blog when I was driving home from work today. I started this blog as a place to keep the thoughts I had related to a particular story about a girl named Mel and a guy named Buck. But I realized I'm not very good at this yet, and writing a story like that turned out to be way harder than I thought.

As it turns out, very few of these have anything to do with that story. Everything I've written here comes from the things I've seen and done, and almost all of my pieces has been a fairly true - if not melodramatic - interpretation of my experiences and feelings. In fact, I'm not sure I like the few I made up from scratch. All I'm doing right now is transcribing, I guess.

I write these things trying (sometimes barely and sometimes way too hard) to see if anything I've done or seen or thought might be considered profound. I write them to remember them and to see if my words can do them justice.

I'd like to be able write something that's stylistically sound and nuanced and beautiful and meaningful, but its hard enough to do that for yourself even without the fear judgment from others. That sounds like an excuse. This way I never have to try to impress anyone. It's safer if I have nothing to fear but my own criticism, which I already know is going to be unnecessarily cruel (or incredibly proud).

I write here without expecting anyone to find it (Matt, you don't count because I'm a doofus. I learned that lesson), but secretly I hope that one day someone special will find this and like it. Until then, I'll continue practicing. That's what I'm doing, isn't it? Practicing the way in which I put my thoughts into written word. When I've figured out a way to do so in a way that I'm proud of, I'll make it public.

the beach

I was drowning in the din caused by too many cooks and the steam from their concoctions, so I got out of the kitchen.

I went for a walk on the beach and thought of nothing. I looked and smelled and felt, but it didn't mean anything to me. I didn't analyze. I wasn't actively connected to my surroundings.

The sky was tinted brown behind my glasses, and a flock of kites could only be distinguished from the gulls by their fluorescent tails. The thick salty air makes my hair expand. I could feel it writhing loose from the band holding it together. The sea left its foam to disintegrate along the sodden shore, and the course grains of sand that managed to stay out of the reach of the increasing tide worked to smooth away the calluses on my feet.

The crowd that day was made up of mostly young families and even younger couples. Each group was selfishly concerned; the families watched children while the couples cared only for their partners' form in the sea. The sound of their happy cries and words of caution and laughter were louder than the kitchen was but it's all incomprehensible against the surf's loud roar.

Even surrounded by the happy visitors, my solitude was endless. I didn't have to try to pretend to be happy or friendly or nice. I could walk and see and smell and feel and it didn't have to mean a thing to anyone, not even to me.

It felt good.

numero dos

Do you see the little bird that is sitting on the fence? He looks innocent enough. He doesn't sing or dance on his perch, but look at his wings ruffle in irritation! What do you mean? Of course he's irritated. Look at his little friends - not far off - flitting in and out of the greenery. He's not amused by any of it. His beak's held high and his beady eyes scorn their delight. Soon enough he'll leave the fence in agitation. Their chirps or the rustling of the leaves will bother his head or something like that... see there, he's off in a tizzy! His sudden flight startled them... look, the group has broken up and hidden in the bush. Don't worry, they'll be back to their play in no time.

It doesn't matter to them that he's bothered. He's probably on the hunt for less happy companions anyway... some feathered fiends more apt to heed his judgment. Ones that will feel his contempt and react to it. It'll only last a little while, though. Then he'll leave huffy again only to receive the same response elsewhere. It'll take a while I guess, but eventually he'll realize he's alone.

Some lessons taught by bad roommates

1) Kindness is the best way to get what you want unless it's from your roommate. She'll consider it permission to take advantage of you.

2) You might not get used to falling asleep with the lights on but you had better get used to the mask you decide to wear to avoid this. Tossing loudly and grumbling in your bed is not the universal sign for 'I can't sleep, turn off the damn light.'

3) Similarly, earphones are a very ineffective sign for 'Don't talk to me.'

4) If you really have to study, leave the room. Better yet, leave the apartment. Chances are those are the days her entire family has decided to pay a very loud visit. This is true when you are sick as well. Find somewhere else to sleep because nothing will stop her family from coming in an out of the room and laughing at you.

5) If you are saving that caffeinated bottled beverage, don't store it in the fridge even if it's with your food. She'll take it even though it's totally different than hers, and you will have trouble staying awake for your exam.

6) Get used to having only one spoon from your own set available for personal use.

7) Just let her do things her way. It's easier than trying to help her understand why it makes no sense. This is true for almost every situation. For example: when she's making hot chocolate, filling a fish tank or doing physics homework, don't bother.

Now that I've got that out there, I'll move on and stop grumbling about her.
I'll post something more creative by Friday.

Because Matthew seems to think I should be more subtle

It has come to my attention by way of a very astute friend that I took a grand 7 month break between posts this year. He is convinced there is a telling reason for this, but in order to assure him (and perhaps convince myself) that it was just physics homework that got in the way, I have a new self-imposed challenge:

I will post something, ANYTHING, at least once a week this summer. That means at least 12 fresh new posts by the end of September! How exciting!

Idle fingers love to type, but I hope this will become more than one of summer's amusements... maybe it will become a more subtle outlet for my findings upon introspection.

Only one person will be able to hold me to this; I guess we'll find out if he's paying attention.

So with that, Self, you're on!

experiment in disturbing violence...

The red of your anger is the color of blood. It courses angrily through your engorged veins, but you hide it well; it shows only in the tiny twitching of your jaw. Your deep chocolate eyes casually take in the room, noting possible weapons. Only blunt objects here: a desk lamp and a paper weight. It seems the knives are in the other room.

Break the window, you think to yourself, maybe I'll be lucky and get sharp shards. After all, the payment you're after is agonizing, lasting pain.

Like the blacksmith's iron rod in flames, your wrath burns hotter. Anger turn to fury soon, from vivid orange to citrus yellow, stopping finally on blinding white. The blood now pounds in your ears like his hammer on anvil, threatening to burst your skull. But in your wrath you ignore the sound and continue to feed the inner outrage. You appear stoic but revel in the thought of the aggressor's vital fluid spilling to the ground. Your mind's eye watches as the carpet drinks it slowly and the eyes of your opponent flit, nearly lifeless, from side to side.

Furrowing your brow, you sit and manage to clear the satisfying image from your head. Karma's a bitch, you know, and you hope she's taken note to act on your behalf.

i can't shake you

It's the feeling of a crawler on your skin,
the prickling hairs on the back of your neck
because of eyes watching in the shadows,
and the sleepy stupor after dinnertime.

like that last drop of water from the swimming pool,
i just can't shake you.

you're in my head through daytime hours,
upon waking through the setting of the sun.
your face is the last i see before i sleep
and the only one that haunts my dreams.

I just want you to go away,
but no matter what I do
the fact that you're not with me
makes that impossible to do.

prose poem ii

I'll use your world to write in for a time. Mine is dull and insentient where yours is full of life. The blank panorama of my page could use some cheery hills, though looming mounds would serve me just as well. If you don't mind I'll borrow the cottage nestled in the woods and even take the lurking wolf besides. His grizzled jowl and dripping fangs are fierce but even that will better this naked set. Your skinny trees with many knots and too few leaves will add depth where there now is none, and thistle bushes, while not lovely rose, will add a certain homeyness. I'll even take the grandma with her crooked back and warty nose. Her cloak, black as death and just as ragged, hides beneath its folds endless fear and mystery, but the blood flows warm within her veins, in any case, and can't be worse than the cold in my world now.

prose poem

If someone could lift the basin of your pain and empty it over the endless world, lakes would swell and push their bounds to make new rivers. They'd flow to the sea as ever and as high, for the ocean has always flowed over mountaintops. But your pain would push it higher, driving the shores inward upon themselves until the tallest land-locked peak were covered.

The clouds know no dew like this, and God with all His 40 days and 40 nights would flounder in your flood.

Still, remember my dear, that the phoenix of your love flies ever over the glassy front. Tides will ebb and flow as they do and eventually he will make his perch. There, the crimson creature of your love will nest, burn and rise again, a fact that you will never change; for it ensures while you're in pain, your love unfailingly remains.