Sunday, November 14, 2010


Last night was pretty chaotic. I stole a hat from a boy I didn't know. So now I have a bowler hat and don't really know what to do about it. I'd like to give it back actually, but 1) I don't know if it was actually his and 2) I don't know who the hell he is. I'd like to find him solely to figure out his name, and also because he was pretty fantastic at guitar and I enjoyed singing along with him. My life is pretty weird. In other news, I've got a show on Wednesday. I might die. I hope I don't die but I really might die. Of nervousness. I mean, I'll probably be fine right? I hope so. All points bulletin, shy girl plays show by herself, doubts ability at guitar.

So, after much introspection I've kind of decided that I might like to date people again. Hopefully I won't end up going out with guys who are boring or kill seagulls, but I suppose I've got to start somewhere? I don't know. I'm a sucker. You sweet talk me and I'll just melt, it's one of the things I hate about myself. I wish I wasn't such a romantic. I was raised on sad British pop music and Hollywood golden day romance films. I suppose it was inevitable. But I am also a perfectionist. So that complicates things. If things don't work exactly as they should according to my head, I don't really feel compelled to continue. Maybe that's stupid. It's almost definitely stupid. Real life isn't a movie, I have acknowledged that, I acknowledged that when I was 16 and crying after being dumped after prom.

Things should happen in a way that you're at least proud of talking about. They don't have to be picturesque or interesting, they just ought to be something other than "I was super drunk and I made out with this person, so yeah, I didn't hate them when I wasn't drunk so we went out." That doesn't really roll of the tongue very nicely. So, maybe college isn't the best environment to try to date in. Maybe Olympia isn't the best environment to try to date in. But I'm only 19, I've got time. I'm using that time to figure out what the hell I'm actually looking for. Will this result in some very overt flirtation? Yes. Will this result in me getting out of my comfort zone? Yes, yes it will. If that means stealing a few hats, I suppose that there will be some cold heads this winter.

Sunday, October 24, 2010


It would seem I've probably bored everyone who bothered to read this. I'm kind of alright with that. A lot has been going on. My Sophomore year crisis seems to be over, though the life crisis a persistent theme that varies in intensity. It's just the general anxiety of being. Things are good though. I'm getting to the point where things don't stress me out really, no matter how big or small. I just don't see the point in it anymore. I spent so much time being stressed out, generally about other people. There's just no point in it. People will do what they will do, I've got very little control over that. I can control what I do though. I guess I realized that a long time ago, but I just didn't really put it into practice.
I'm starting to decipher what I want to do with my life. There are a few things that I consistently get excited about, and the more I learn about them, the more excited I am. Audio is one of those things. Physics isn't really, though it interests me, it's just not a priority. I think I'm going to start volunteering at The Northern running sound, it would be good experience and I think it would be a lot of fun. The other thing is bikes. Bikes bikes bikes. All day everyday. I'm excited for my contract winter quarter, it'll be grand. Mechanical drawings are so beautifully simple. Cooking and food does come in, but I don't think I could make a living of that, I might start to hate it. At least if I would if I had to dishes at a constant rate, which seems likely.
Anyway, I'm doing well. I'm figuring things out. I'm making new friends. It's good.

Sunday, October 3, 2010


I feel small and broken. I feel like I can't be the person that the world seems to think I am. I want to be that person again. I want to be happy. I get so scared. Of everything. Of being. Of loving. I paste a smile on my lips before I put on my coat and walk out the door in the morning. I feel safe, isolated from the world by stereo headphones and dark sunglasses.
I don't know how to be sometimes. People start to care and I am terrified by it. I don't know how to tell them that I don't know how to be what they want anymore. All of the things that they think I am are a crumbling facade.
Everything is so good though, or it should be. I've got a great job, I get to go to college, I live in a wonderful and safe place, I'm not hungry. I'm surrounded by great people. But sometimes I feel like I'm just spinning. I get so confused I don't know where I am. I forget things. I don't know how to interact with people. I'm being sincere but the words roll off of my tongue and sound so wrong. So robotic. It's not always, but sometimes is enough to scare me.
Sometimes I feel decidedly useless. I feel like I'm drifting further into my mind again. I don't want to go back to that. I don't want it to be that way anymore. I need good people around me, I can't push them away. Or, I shouldn't. I certainly can, and have, but have never wanted to. I just get scared.
I'm building myself back up after a hectic year, the first and sudden plunge into adulthood. In the process I lost who I was. Now I'm finding that self again, and some of the pieces are missing or warped. So I've become my own reconstruction process. I want things to be different. I don't want to feel insecure. I don't want to feel like an ugly duckling. I don't want to feel like I am constantly spinning. Not even sometimes.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


Things I needed tonight:
- Night time bike rides
- Wind on my face
- Rushing water
- Sprinklers
- Shooting stars
- Constellations
- Adrenaline
- Hills
- Kitty

Things I didn't need tonight:
- Feeling disconnected
- Feeling as though my efforts to cheer someone up are unappreciated
- Being snapped at where an explanation will do
- Weird drivers
- Distraught woman yelling downtown
- Feeling inadequate

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Bike Weekend!

So much bike stuff this weekend!
- Looked at bike porn (thanks Velogogo, totally read EVERY post).
- Adjusted my derailleur
- Look at more bike porn
- Played bike polo
- Cleaned my front fork
- Tried to buy new brake pads (kool stop continentals), but the bike shop was hecka closed due to Sunday
- Helped housemate pick out a new bike (1967 Schwinn Varsity, built like a tank, still had original components all in working order, and good price considering the condition it is in-- very little wear and tear, just some paint scuffs).
- Played more bike polo.
Good weekend at home. Just what I needed.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe it's too soon. I don't want to hurt anyone, it would hurt too much. I'm scared. I'm really scared. I don't know how to proceed. I don't think I'm ready to commit. I've only recently become comfortable and happy in myself, it's still novel, I'm still figuring things about myself. I can't get lost in someone else. I can't mix someone else up in it. I'm just not ready. I can spend time with people, I can share things with them, but I'm not ready to give up flight yet, not when I've just started exploring outside of my past gilded cages. I don't want to be contained again, not yet, not until I know how to be happy in a cage.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

Perhaps it is time for a change of heart.

Perhaps it is time. Time to stop being so shy.

Time to stop being afraid of my own potential.


Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Sometimes I'm not sure what to make of myself. One minute, I'm sitting on the bus listening to music, and the next I'm biting my lip to push back a feeling. Why these outdated thoughts continue to cross my mind confounds me. I wasn't necessarily sad, more disappointed, and the feeling was not even necessarily unwelcome. Getting lost in the words bouncing in my headphones, I got caught in a daydream a year late. Conspiratorial affections shared among the stacks in the library, in reading rooms. Words traced intentionally on wrists. Sketched out flirtations and hearts drawn on hands.
I remember where it was and when it happened. A bit of ball point pen ink from a bic pen, in just the right shape. It was perfectly centered around the freckle below my knuckle. Our palms sweat and we didn't seem to care. I couldn't stop smiling. Even our feet fit perfectly together, standing at attention for a farewell. How it all went wrong is obvious to me now, but that doesn't mean I don't regret that it did. It was what always happens: life. It was fleeting, passionate, and lacking the dedication to persist. We were both too flighty, both too unsure, both too scared. Too lost. It wasn't meant to last, though it was meant to be, if only for a little while.
I know why it didn't work. I still think about him, and I wish things were different. I wish we just talked, because he pulled me up, he knew me from cover to cover, and I didn't mind. When blue eyes met brown, I knew he knew me. He didn't always know what was on my mind, but he cared. Even when he was so caught up in his own messes, he'd try. Or I would relent. It wasn't really enough, when he wasn't all the way there, when he was too distracted. I still wish we'd talk, just about things, things that actually matter. He made sense to me in a funny way, a way that nobody else has really made sense to me. I really do love him, and I know he feels the same, but not in the way that either of us can parlay into a committed relationship. It was too unstable. We understand eachother, but not in the right way. There was too much judgement. It wasn't quite unconditional. It was forgiving, but not unconditional.
Sitting on the bus on your way to work in the morning is not the best time to lose yourself in thoughts that are bound to make you look lonesome. As I walked to work, turning up the music, and forcing a smile to my lips, I worried that my eyes would give it away. That some passerby would catch my eye, and notice it. They're the one place I can't always make smile, and I'm not sure I want the world to know I'm not smiling. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and it seems to me that it's safer to keep the shutters drawn. Someday I'll open the windows and let the wind blow through again.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Zen Toast

I've developed a new game! It's called 'Zen Toasting'. The basic concept: you wait for toast to pop up. That's it. But! There's so much more to it than that! It makes waiting for toast the most exciting part of your morning, or afternoon, or midnight (depending on how deeply devoted you are to toast). First load the 'edible projectiles' into the 'magic gluten convector', and press down the 'automated lever of magic convection'. Step two, stare expectantly at the 'magic gluten convector',as it's mysterious inner-workings toast the 'edible projectiles' to crispy perfection. This next bit is very important: You MUST not take your eyes off of the toaster. Nail biting is definitely allowed, just don't take your eyes off of it. Don't time your toaster either, that will ruin the whole game. The entire game is dependent on the fact that you don't know exactly when the toast will eject, and you will enjoy a distinct terror when you are surprised. Personally, I find this particular terror to be a very enriching element of my day-to-day activities. Toast cannot hurt me, it's just bread, so, really it doesn't go much beyond startling me. Toast cannot eat me, to my knowledge, nor is it handy with a gun or a butterfly knife. Thus, the fear I experience is very controllable. This game can be used as part of a training regimen, if you are training to become a ninja. It will sharpen your senses, and train you to control your fear. However, toast is not a very realistic simulation of a real-life enemy, who might have a sword or a lazer or whatever. So, take it with a grain of salt, or butter, I don't know, whatever you like on your toast?

(Clearly I need more excitement in my life).

Sunday, July 11, 2010


I've pretty much done nothing of a material value today. I've laid in bed watching movies and petting the cat. Days like this are. I can't seem to motivate myself to do anything, so, in recognition of it being summer and that meaning I don't really HAVE to do anything, I'm not going to do anything, except think. I've been feeling pretty burnt out. I spend a good deal of my time at home. I try to read, and generally grow disinterested fairly quickly. I don't know. I was supposed to have company this weekend. I'm glad I don't, it would have been a bad idea anyway, considering who it consisted of. I definitely prefer time to think, rather than acting rashly and feeling terrible afterward.
I'm excited for the bike trip next weekend. Until then, I'll swoon over Gregory Peck and draw silly pictures.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Heat Wave!

Today is about:

- Blue plastic kiddie pools
- Dollar store beach balls
- Tiny innertubes
- Kool-Pops
- Squirt gun fights
- Chasing the the ice cream truck
- Cab Calloway
- Bikinis
- Beer squirt gun (awful)
- Bikes
- Short shorts
- Chess in the backyard


This is what I deal with.

stranger: pretty pics hun
me: thank you.
stranger: thank you
stranger: :)
stranger:what ya up to hun?
me: listening to Jazz and enjoying my day off, and why do you keep calling me hun?
stranger:cuz you cute
me: I am aware of that, but pet names are odd
stranger: you like a different pet name?
stranger: like hot lips or something?
me: no, none would be preferable, haha
stranger: sitting around in anything cute?
me: ummm... I think you've got the wrong girl mister.

Seriously? I mean, a little effort, really, at least read my profile. I don't even begin to understand dating sites. (Yes, I admit it, geocaching has turned into actually meeting new people, of the male variety).


Despite being so very tired, I can't seem to sleep. My mind is abound with recollections of books read and bike rides. I spent a lovely afternoon after work reading an autobiography about Nikola Tesla and planting seeds, as well as calling my housemate who is currently rooted East, until August. Now I am trying to work the thoughts out of my head so I can get some peace. I hear cats fighting outside, and the room is filled with the quintessential summery aroma of freshly picked lavender. I am attempting to examine my thoughts and actions as they relate to my external reality. However, I am happily exhausted, so it's not really working right now. I am in the charming company of my cat, but I'd prefer someone to talk to. Everyone in the house seems absorbed by their activities at the moment though. Maybe I'll learn to catch crows...

Monday, July 5, 2010


Things were accomplished in the yard today! Many things! Two vegetable beds were dug, a lavender plant was transplanted, as well as some bulbs. A storage lean-to was constructed against the fence. An arch was built out of sticks and twine for the grapevine to climb on. Hands got dirty. Death-eyes was played. Picnics were had. Seeds were planted! Songs were sung! Needless to say, but for the sake of saying it, today was a good day.

Sunday, July 4, 2010


Cruising the town on your bicycle, riding up high on one pedal down the sidewalk. You're acting cool, calm, collected, untouchable. You're wearing that cool sweater you found at the free store, the perfectly worn in kicks, and feeling really hip. Even when things don't go your way, when you discover that no store seems to have what you are looking for, and you relent and resort to plan B, you take solace in the fact that the guy in the computer section was taken aback by your knowledge of cables. You stop for coffee, collect your nerves. You make conversation with near strangers. Stare at birds on the powerlines. Pet dogs wearing shirts. Make witty comments about the dogs in shirts. The wind in your hair on the ride home makes you feel free.

Really you're awkward, and didn't have half a notion what to say. You tactfully hide the fact that you are shaking out of nervousness. Somehow your brain spit out combinations of words that seemed to fit together. You analyze the day from afar, sitting in your front yard with an amplifier, listening to music in the sun. You get excited over pranks that aim to convince your housemates that robots are taking over the world. You feel strange, somewhat alien, and often very alone. You amuse yourself drawing strange pictures of strange events happening to strange creatures. Somehow you have cobbled this strange mixture of social awkwardness and dreaming into a personality. This is who you are, and you are fine with it-- though you wouldn't mind a bit more people skills. You feel cool, sometimes.

Then there's that moment, as you prepare for a morning shower, when you are wearing only Halloween socks, and you feel so ineffably cool. But only because the door is locked.

Saturday, July 3, 2010


It strikes me sometimes that technology is always moving faster than I ever will. In fact, society seems to be moving faster than I ever will. But it also seems that a lot of things are progressing in entirely the wrong direction. Growing further and further from their roots, until there is no more room to grow. I believe in progress certainly, but what's wrong with turning around and taking a step in the other direction? It's still progress, you're still moving forward. The only difference is you're not taking the last step off of a cliff, but back towards land. It's logical, it's sane. But things just keep moving "forward" faster. Like HD televisions that are so fast that the human eye can't even detect a good deal of the images it is spitting out. I mean, really, what's the point of that? It just seems absurd. To make ourselves feel so inferior in contrast to the technology we created. The fact that we created it is a complete aside in this case, it's hardly something to be proud of if you can't even fully utilize it. Though it's not nearly as useless as inventing something with entirely no purpose, such as, let us say, a pet rock? I don't know. I hardly see the progress in this progression.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010


I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past couple of weeks. I had a bit of a mental breakdown, which I was lucky enough to have a friend through. I'm not perfect. I never will be, nor do I aim to be. I have tried to be in the past, but it's all for naught, not to mention it's self destructive. I'm content with where I am in life, even if things are tough sometimes, and a constant nagging wanderlust shakes at the foundations I am building. I am in a good place, and have friends I can trust. The recent realization that many of the issues I have developed surrounding trust are a manifestion of my own lack of faith in myself was a hard truth to come to. As well as my fear of revealing that I am not perfect, nor always happy, to the people in my life. Being open and honest with people isn't a trait that makes you weak, quite the contrary in fact. Here is a short list of things I have only recently made evident to the world existing outside of my skull:

- I hate money. I hate thinking about money, I hate talking about money, I hate dealing with money, I hate that I have to have money.
- I constantly dream of running away somewhere nobody can find me.
- I am not the person I used to, and don't necessarily like everything I have done in the past.
- I have stared into the abyss and considered it logically; in other words, I have stood at the railing of a bridge, peered into the cold rushing depths below, and considered, if fleetingly, the notion of inducing nothingness.
- I'm afraid of falling in love again, and in some ways feel it would be a betrayal to the emotions I once held.
- I really really like cats.
- I love to see the double features at Capitol Theater alone. It's how I escape.
- There's nothing wrong with being strong.

Now, I've not been big on opening up lately, so baby steps. Also, it seems I have developed a following in China, so, hello Chinese fluent followers! I've managed to translate some of your comments, and they have been very kind. Thank you for reading! Not sure how on earth you found me, but nonetheless. Anyway, I've got geek matters to attend to, time to read books.

Sunday, June 27, 2010


A name has been bestowed upon the new cat, and it's, drum roll please... Bukowski. Apparently it's a somewhat commmon cat name, but it fit. He's a womanizing little vagrant. For short, the name is Bu, which works well also. Anyway, enough about the cat, as wonderful as he may be. Our house has internet! The router arrived, and I managed to set it up. Summer is starting to hit me, finally. I also experienced something entirely novel to me: buying ice cream from an ice cream truck! The music was playing around the neighborhood, and I, being daft, assumed it was some cruel joke or parody of a real ice cream truck. I grew up in the middle of nowhere, there was no damned ice cream truck, if you wanted ice cream you walked to the store and got it yourself. I went so far as to suggest to Ben that we should start an ice cream truck in our neighborhood. Someone beat us to that enterprise though, and after chasing the truck down, I used pocket change to buy ice cream from the man with the weird teeth and friendly demeanor. I think I'm going to regress back to my elementary school mindset so I can experience growing up in a neighborhood, because it is seemingly awesome.

Saturday, June 26, 2010


image, originally uploaded by organicallyvagrant.

It's summer! I am doing very little and it is awesome. Today I:
- Woke up
- Layed in bed
- Played sudoku
- Pet the new cat
- Moved to the couch
- Played sudoku
- Pet the new cat
Now I am at Vic's, drinking coffee and internetting with my housemate. I successfully read all the new comics put out by Hark, a vagrant, A Softer World, and Happle Tea, as well as new Dallas Clayton poems. Now, I am just going to sit here and try to think of interesting things to google. Yeaaaaah, living the dream.
(Maybe I should do something productive, but whatever, it's summer and it's the weekend.)

Attached is picture of new cat. :D

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

1 Year to Climb a Mountain

On this most unremarkable day of my final evaluation of my freshman year of college, I feel like I should reflect, or something along those lines, on what the past year has held. I suppose since I've been on a list kick lately, I'll start with that, or maybe, a poem evolved from a list? Drunken poetry has inspired me to do such...

Trepidation, full boxes, empty room,
empty bed, full mind.
The room is small and smells of dust,
but everything seems to fit.
Wandering amongst the trees,
unearthing treasures untold, ensuing lateness
for the date I didn't really care about.

Complication of library love long since faded,
bodies tangled in the sheets.
Crying there on the edge of a borrowed bed
to a boy who knew nothing about me.
Nighttime bike rides in the fall heat,
flying down Harrison, faster than my worries.

Rearranging furniture in a temporary home,
listening, learning, collaboratively drawing.
Blue typewriter stolen shopping cart,
Complete honesty, and the rebuttal.
Coffee is still tops.

Staying out all night
Drinking cheap coffee with friends
Wandering the dew soaked morning
Watching the sunrise from a statue
Shivering. Cold and afraid
to let someone get too close.

A house, never quite a home,
Passive aggressive tendencies
Frustration, tears, a shove.
A nudge toward chaos.
I walked 6 miles in the dark.

Misanthropy, illness.
Bedrest, new home, new life?
Wanderlust, backpacks, bicycles,
new friends in old places.
Life on the road with a full heart.

Fear of flying, foreign country.
Could this be it?
Explorations of the mind,
and a stone city. Hoist up the sails.
I want to go home.

Wandering the woods in the rain
With a new friend.
Plotting, planning
Executing, entertaining.

Existential crisis
Breaking and entering
Staring into the abyss, unafraid.
Reassess the map.
Sea Change.

A home. Anticipation.
Numbers crossed out on a chalkboard.
Counting down the days until summer
Morning bike rides, books,
and Jazz.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Mind Matters

What I am thinking about, the reader's digest version volume two:

- Soil remediation
- Lucid dreaming
- Culinary school
- Totoro
- Summertime and all that it entails (Jazz, morning bike rides, good books, cooking, walking everywhere barefoot, flying kites)
- The Flaming Eggplant
- Three-dimensional geometric shapes
- My motivations
- The motivations of the people I surround myself with (regularly or fleetingly)

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Dear Research Paper,

It's nothing personal, I just don't want to finish you. We're in a different place than we were when we started seeing one another. We helped eachother grow, and now I just can't stand to work with you anymore. You were always there, looming at the back of my mind. I'm sorry to leave you so unsatisfied here, but I'm having trouble bringing myself to finish you off. You interest me, yet the redundancy of articulating what you stand for is killing me. We're not compatible. I already got off, and you're still waiting, unsatisfied. I'm tired, I want to go to sleep, and there you lay, demanding a finish.

Well fine. I'll finish you. I suppose I must. But after this afternoon we will say our goodbyes, and you will be handed off to another, more critical party. I can't stand to look at you anymore, you make me want to run laps around the stacks in the library, just to avoid you. I've been cheating on you with William Carlos Williams, Jean Sartre, my bicycle, and anything that does not relate to the things that interest you. Been there done that. I understand you, but I simply do not care to finish you. The whole coitus seems pointless when I see no gain upon completion anymore. So, you, me, in the library, next to the periodicals, lets do this, once and for all.


Tuesday, June 1, 2010


How many ways can I say impossible before I'm convinced? The notion I possess is absurd, contrary to reason, cureless, futile, hopeless, hundred-to-one, billion-to-one, infinity to one. It's impractical, inconceivable, inexecutable, infeasible, insurmountable, irrealizable, irreparable. Absolutely no-go, no-way, no-win, not a prayer, out of the question, preposterous, unattainable, unfeasible, unreasonable, unworkable, useless. I suppose with all those utterances I should probably just let it go. I've been told I've always been practical, but I don't know which actions the outside world is seeing. If they were to see inside my head they'd give me a good shake. I'll just return to cynicism and throw my romantic notions over a powerline like a pair of old tennis shoes-- it's a hell of a lot easier that way. Turn to stone, be an island, surrounded by razor sharp impervious rocks. I'm not sure how I haven't learned that the end hardly necessitates the means. Somehow I have remained resolutely foolish and hopeful. I'll either learn, or die trying.

Saturday, May 29, 2010


Things I have learned about Canada:
- The ducks sound like robots
- People drive frighteningly fast
- You can't watch videos on hulu
- Garbage manifests rapidly in garbage cans next to bus stops
- There is a greater selection of plants at home depot
- There are so many ethnic restaurants
- Brilliant inventions-- campfire buttwarmer (diagram to come)
- Tim Horton's is not very good actually, the mocha seemingly contained no coffee whatsoever
- Grocery stores are hard to come by in Richmond
- There are whole stores devoted to globes and maps

Friday, May 28, 2010


Sometimes you've got to make a judgement call.
Sometimes you've got to put your foot down,
and say,
"I am not going to spend the first minutes
of my 19th year on this earth
watching a camera pan over Sarah Jessica Parker's shoes."
And that's final.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

How I Write

The method employed in my writing process consists of a complicated tangle of procrastination efforts, internal rambling, and self-editing that can take from as short as an hour to weeks or months on end, depending on the perceived difficulty of the writing task . The only way to truly quantify this claim is to provide real-life documentation as an example. The current writing task I am engaged in? A ten page research paper written in APA format-- a style I have little experience with-- for my 16 credit program. This research paper assignment was explained to me at the beginning of April, allowing me adequate time to complete it. However, most of that time was frittered away with a variety of time management decisions, excuses, an existential crisis, self doubt, and general anticipation of its apparent difficulty. This essay just so happens to be one of the procrastination efforts, as I sit in the library, reclined comfortably next to a perfect-people-watching-perch, no longer possessing much will to write further than the six pages I have achieved.

A detailed list of my previous and current procrastination efforts may shed some light on my writing process. First and foremost, solitaire. You may or may not be familiar with this game, as it comes standard with most time-wasting-game-suites on popular computer operating systems. Whenever I feel the urge to start writing, I will open a word document, stare at the whiteness of the page, read an abstract from one of my research articles, and then open an obligatory game of solitaire. If I fail at the first game, resulting in an impassable stall in the game, I will direct my cursor to the 'Deal' button, and restart. Generally the second game is a success, but only if the king of hearts is the last to be placed before the win-signalling cacophony of pixelated playing cards is displayed. If I fail to follow this course of action, I will play another game. Should I fail three consecutive deals, I will exit the game and continue writing.

A related procrastination effort is sudoku, with a similar three failure termination limit. Though these techniques are effective in avoiding the writing task, sometimes it is necessary to leave any environment where work might be possible to achieve ideal procrastination. The best means of doing so that I have found is to either ride my bike somewhere extraneously distant from my work, or to purchase-- or brew-- and consume copious amounts of ginger ale. When possessing the adequate willpower to remain in an environment ideal for working, I have had to devise a myriad of more creative ways to procrastinate.

Environments such as my apartment are ideal for cooking, music playing, comic drawing, napping, massage giving, throwing objects with little to no warning, finding creative ways to use a sleeping bag as a fort, the reading of unrelated materials, and conversation. In contrast, the library lends a whole new array of distractions, including book spine brushing, poetry book reading with the employment of olfactory senses, arranging my body in amusing ways in the chair, people watching, gaining a complete understanding of the avian flyaway system installed on the window through extensive research and observation, and sparking conversations with people who I either know or who seem particularly engrossed in their studies.

Important time must also be expended toward internal rambling. Topics vary in this activity, and possess essentially no limitations in regards to subject matter. Some recurring topics include birds, the ability to absorb the information of entire books simply by looking at the spine, other people's shoes and their implications, new recipes, interesting ways of re-lacing my tennis shoes, staring at my hands and wondering about what it would be like to live without thumbs, devising interesting questions for the library info-desk employees, and the meaning of life.

Another important element in my writing process is music selection. I have painstakingly organized my iTunes library for ideal visual appearance, making absolutely sure to provide the appropriate album cover for each album, and the appropriate images to miscellaneous compositions. I find it best to choose music on a whim, however, once a preferential whim has been acted upon, the musical selections that follow tend to stay within the same genre or sentimental association. Sometimes my musical needs will change mid-album. In cases like this, I am forced to stop working and choose another album or artist. This process of musical selection becomes infinitely more complicated when I feel the urge to listen to something that is not in my iTunes library.

Once all of the vital elements of distraction and preparation have been completed, the writing process can really begin. The perfect environment is achieved, I am focused, and all of the necessary materials are within close reach. Then begins the self-editing process, during which I sit, staring perplexed at the screen or paper, shuffling my internal thesaurus to find the perfect words. Upon sentence completion, a read-through review is carried out, during which I decide whether or not my word selection is suited to my intent. Often it is not, and further backspacing and revision occurs.

When the piece reaches its initial completion, it is proofread, further revised, and then submitted to a trusted party for review. These parties include my mum (who will tell me that it is great, provide a few spelling and grammatical corrections, and then, if the piece is more than 5 pages, claim that she has to cook dinner), my dad (who will read the piece thoroughly, interject with his own notions, and suggest editing the entire piece to suit aforementioned notions-- this request is denied without fail), or a friend (who will just tell me it is great and say nothing more, though this is not always true, often times their commentary is very insightful and much appreciated). I will then determine that the only way to get something done is to do it myself, and revise the piece. If a more viable option is available in the way of a reader, such as one of the aforementioned friends who are willing to risk hurting my feelings, I will turn to them for another revision. Upon completion of this, I will once again read the piece, consider their commentary and complete the writing process.

Orwell Knows Best

What is on my mind: The Reader's Digest version:

- The English language is really ineffective.
- Disciplines steeped in the English language are somewhat ineffective, psychology in particular, as it tries to make a science of words describing things that cannot really be defined with accuracy.
- There is beauty in the natural order of the world.
- I intend to take a vow of silence for an extended period of time, but I foresee complications as my job involves answering phones, perhaps I could make an exception only at work?
- My intent in taking a vow of silence would be to test other means of communication and sense.
- There is an emerging pattern of behavior that I am noticing I tend toward. This particular pattern of behavior involves connecting with people, and then promptly pushing them away. I need to change this, it is self destructive, however, I feel I need to find the root of it to do so.
- I have abandoned deep introspection for too long.
- I have had thoughts that should scare me, but no longer do.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Gutteral Intuition

Hints dropped in the past have led me, in light of emerging information, to this feeling. I hope that it is just a falacy of my mind, a cruel trick I am playing on myself, but yet I still feel. A history of self destructive behavior, Nihilism, do they stand resolute? I hardly speak to them these days, aside from a nod in passing. Always so distant, even when close enough to touch. Aside from the time when the mystery left the room to be replaced by honesty. I worry. Maybe for nothing.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Summer and Fall

I registered for classes! This summer I am (prospectively, if financial aid comes through) taking Organic Chemistry Lab I and Organic Chemistry Lab II. I had orginally intended to take statistics, however, I am deviating from psychology for awhile, scoping out my other options. In doing so, I have essentially ended my existential crisis. This is an exciting development, as I was growing tired of that mind state. As for fall, I am taking The Practice of Sustainable Agriculture, and Audio Recording I. Twenty credits... woo! Goodbye social life, hello books. Well, I somehow felt obligated to write when I don't really have time to think or have all that much to say, so I'll just end this instead of rambling on.

Saturday, May 15, 2010


So much has happened since this time last year. This time last year I was gearing up to graduate, and taking about a billion "mental health days" (also known as "stay home, read Vonnegut, drink tea days"). I never really thought I would get this far, nor did I comprehend what getting this far entailed. I've only recently realized that I don't have any authority figures in my life anymore, aside from the government I suppose? But I've never had any run-ins with the law anyway, so that's hardly on my radar. I wake up every morning and determine what I am going to do without much of any outside guidance, and am doing surprisingly well, and being productive-- or if not productive, at least happy. It surprises me that I exhibit the same misanthropic tendencies. It's not pessimism so much as introversion. I need time to recharge, I need time away from the world, to remember why I ever choose to engage. I feel stress burgeoning up on my contentedness again though, despite moments alone. I feel the same wanderlust that has always been just a step behind me when it is not walking in the same stride. I find myself shaking the foundations of my future just to see what will happen; if things will settle back in the same way or shift entirely. Will I ever really decide what I want to do with my future? I don't know that as of yet, and it scares me. Things will work out the way they ought to, simply because, well, whatever way they end up is the way they ought to. But I desperately want to take the reins, and do, every so often, only to find that when I do so, I feel trapped and panicked. Right now I just want to run away, but I know that I can't, because I came here willingly, of my own volition, and I can't throw it away. I want summer.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Procrastination Soup

Recipe, originally uploaded by organicallyvagrant.

Om nom nom.


The ability to waste time while being provided as few distractions as possible is a unique talent, one that I have mastered. The uncanny ability to see what can be done rather than ones work is not necessarily a welcome talent though. I'm doing it right now in fact, as I write, when I should be writing an outline for a paper. Do I feel sorry? No. I feel pretty damned good about this choice. I have enough time to finish the paper anyway, the only deadline I am breaking is the one I willfully inflicted on myself. I made good soup yesterday. Maybe I'll write up a soup recipe? Yeah, that's what I'll do. Damn, I'm good at this.


beardman, originally uploaded by organicallyvagrant.

The first installation of The Adventures of Beardman!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Black and White

There is, by my deduction, a very distinct difference between knowledge and intelligence. One can be knowledgable without holding any real level of intellect, and one can be intelligent without holding any real knowledge on a particular subject. That doesn't make much sense reading it back to myself. I think it may be the language I am using. One cannot actually hold knowledge or intellect, they are incorporeal, they cannot be held. Unless you consider knowledge to be solely based on experience, or intelligence to be the neural firings of your brain-- which it is of course-- and make an effort to physically hold onto your cranium on a regular basis, which would just look silly. Also, my use of the phrase "real knowledge". What does that entail? I suppose it would make more sense to explain it as something that is reliable, that is verifiable and tested, and that holds true in most situations. What about a novel piece of information? Is it any less valid because it has not be reliably recreated? I suppose my asking of these questions reveals some form of intelligence. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, unless I am trying to gauge my ability to thrive in an academic environment-- which doesn't really apply at Evergreen because there is not a feeling of competition but of self betterment, at least in the case of those people, in my opinion, valid or not, who actually seem to understand the value of this institution.
So, what is intelligence? Is it intuition? Is it knowledge? Is it awareness? Is it common sense? Is it logic? What the hell is it and why does it have such value as a human or animal trait? According to the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, intelligence has 9 particular definitions that are applicable in different situations, many with sub-definitions that apply in particular circumstances within more general situations; it is also defined as a noun (person, place, thing):

Here's the whole gang, maybe I can make sense of it all?

1.capacity for learning, reasoning, understanding, and similar forms of mental activity; aptitude in grasping truths, relationships, facts, meanings, et cetera.

Alright, so, the ability to obtain and comprehend knowledge? Maybe a quick detour to look at how knowledge is defined is in order, or, perhaps I should wait?

2.manifestation of a high mental capacity: He writes with intelligence and wit.

Intellect is not intellect if it can be interpreted as such by an outside source?

3.the faculty of understanding.

See definition 1? This all seems a bit redundant to me.

4.knowledge of an event, circumstance, et cetera, received or imparted; news; information.

So, the ability to obtain and comprehend knowledge, and to impart that knowledge to an outside source.

5.the gathering or distribution of information, especially secret information.

See definition 4? Is this intentionally muddled?

a.information about an enemy or a potential enemy.
b.the evaluated conclusions drawn from such information. organization or agency engaged in gathering such information: military intelligence; naval intelligence.

Is intelligence an evolutionary invention? A survival mechanism?

7.interchange of information: They have been maintaining intelligence with foreign agents for years.

See defintion 4.

8.Christian Science. a fundamental attribute of god, or infinite Mind.

Not really relevant to this argument in my opinion.

9.(often initial capital letter) an intelligent being or spirit, esp. an incorporeal one, as an angel.

See definition 8.

By the looks of the definition(s) of "knowledge", the two are strikingly similar. Though knowledge puts more importance on the ability to comprehend and communicate experiences and information, while intelligence is the capacity to gain knowledge, or at least the raw materials-- experiences, information-- necessary to form a base of knowledge.
Why is the English language seemingly intentionally vague? It's really very irritating, language is supposed to help us communicate, not created a variety of miscommunication hurdles that we must clear before we can make our point. I've got more mulling away to do on this matter...

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Sudsy Subungual

Today was quite lovely, I rose early to go to work, which was actually interesting today because there was more to do than sit around making origami Totoros. Afterward, I made lunch and took a nap. Though, the nap was a bit tricky because Kevin was on the couch and I had to make every effort not to kick him while he worked on his research project. I feel I was successful in this task. Life without facebook has thus far been alright. I am a little concerned by the fact that I did not make a sufficient effort at retrieving alternate contact information for many people that I would like to continue to communicate with. Oh well, things will work out. I do feel better though, I am forced to actually think about things, rather than just spit out status updates about any menial event in my existance.
Yesterday was nice as well. I strung a hammock between two trees out near the field and lounged for awhile. I had intended to read, but instead ended up staring at the trees and trying to decipher wind patterns. This seemed a more valuable use of my time. This activity lasted until I was invited to play basketball-- or in this case, some form of wheelchair-less murderball. There are bruises all over.
I have begun to consider the possibility of exploring other scholarly paths. Though pyschology is very interesting to me, the prospect of separating my professional life so strictly from my personal life strikes me as nearly impossible. I really don't know if I am capable of doing so, considering the amount of empathy I possess, and my general lean toward altruistic behaviour. I would be entering the discipline to help people, but what of my own life? My intent is to lead a happy life; one in which I touch many people and many people touch me (get your mind out of the metaphorical gutter, you know what I mean). I am considering taking the 'Food, Health, and Sustainability' course in the Fall. It intrigues me, and I would get to draw copious amounts of flowcharts, which I am very excited about. If I did take this direction rather than taking Student Originated Studies, I would feel justified. It is still early in my college career, I have time for this now. I can imagine myself cooking more than I can imagine myself psychoanalysing people, maybe that will change, maybe it won't, but I have to go with my intuition on this and see what happens.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Concerning Temptation

I don't have a go-to way to procrastinate that isn't productive anymore. I just have to write or read or do something worthwhile, instead of posting a status update about how bored I am, I like it. I also like that nobody can find me with ease anymore, if someone wants to talk to me, or vice versa, it takes a little more effort. I am enjoying a facebook free existance. Who knew that humanity would ever encounter this problem? I don't want to rely so heavily on technology anymore. I want to be able to disconnect at any time, so I have more time to think. I talked to people I didn't know on the bus today, which was interesting. It beat the heck out of staring at my phone the whole time. I think this is a step in the right direction.

Disconnect to Engage

Tonight was good. I climbed a really tall ladder and discovered an advantageously placed window. I'm really tired now though, so I think I will go to sleep. I deactivated my facebook, at long last. I am quite proud of that accomplishment, though I keep having the temptation to go on there. It was just the logical thing to do. It was keeping me from forging real connections with people, and generally overloading me with useless and irrelevant information. I feel confident in my decision. I also feel sleepy. Adieu.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010


I can't sleep, so I lay here on this old futon, staring at the wall, consider going for a walk, decide against it, and continue staring at the wall. A typical progression. What can I do about it? Very little I suppose. Neil Simon and Art Garfunkel are singing to me about how they are so tired, but I'm not taking a hint. So I lay here, letting my mind wander. If I wasn't alone I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, but the thought crosses my mind. It doesn't matter either way, I'd still be awake when I ought to be asleep. So, stream of consciousness... as fast as I can type...

Milo and Otis was and is a fantastic film. Mrs. Robinson is sort of a creepy song when you think about it. I wonder if I would think about different things if I didn't have music on? I like that bass pattern. That guitar intro makes me think of summertime. Boom boom bass drum kicking. I'd like to take a train across the country. It would be neat to have a song written about me someday. Celicia was a bit loose from what I gather. What is that instrument? I am glad there are leaves on the trees again, the sun looks so pretty on them in the morning, and they bustle about so perfectly in the wind. Did I eat dinner? Nope. Shoot. Oh well, I think I'll be fine, I feel fine. I wish I was better at punching. Should I ride my bike to work tomorrow? That would be nice. My shoulders are tense. Maybe if I wiggle them like that... No, not really. I wonder what everyone at Evergreen was like before college?

That's enough. I feel like Faulkner now. Not sure if I'm pleased about that?

Monday, May 3, 2010

Cultivating Superstitions

Casually strolling down the ramp toward the waiting plane, I make a habit of touching the craft before I board, willing it to soar safely. Useless superstition, but it comforts me. Limitless others possess similar and drastically different superstitions about flying, and it's obvious that my particular method is shared by many, as the metal shows through in a worn way next to the rivets by the door. Turbulence is a troubling thing, it shakes men in ties and women with infants to the core, their nerves growing fragile. I shuffle down the aisle, flying coach; they've put me in the nosebleeds again, where is the emergency exit? Vacantly staring out the window, the man in the seat next to me with a briefcase on his lap turns to acknowledge my arrival. Awkward. This is going to be a long flight, I expect no conversation, as I have no interest in the stock market and he has no interest in daisy chains and salt water taffy, at least none that he would venture to admit. I lift my lone bag into the overhead, pushing it toward the back. Not a word, just a look, I clutch my book, buckle the safety belt. Gate is left, safety routine demonstrated, the tough tattooed man diagonal to me watches a romantic comedy, 'He's Just Not That Into You', I chuckle inwardly.

Vertically soaring, earth below, I crane my neck to look out the window, marveling at the cloud kingdom. Old woman in the seat across the aisle coughs gingerly, the recirculated air swirling her lungs. I try to hold my breath for awhile, hoping my ear drums will pop. Courtesy beverages are distributed, and a complimentary breakfast of cornflakes and a muffin that is sweeter than ought be legal. Everything goes according to plan, we land safely in Texas, I've never been to Texas before, it's hot and everything has doubled in size.

Concerning Nutrients

Commandeering the text is all too common in the editing process; the intent of the author too often betrayed by the intent of the reader. Despite good intentions, we all have an agenda, a perspective, a bias, and if we aren't careful it looms darkly like a great grey cloud over a beautiful rolling idea. I too am guilty of casting this shadow. My efforts at altruistic editing in the past have been colored by my own will to inflict perfect syntax and grammar on the world. How can I change this habit?
Understanding that the real point of editing is not actually to edit, to change, or to transform, but to inspire and contribute in a non-intrusive manner is vital. It's a delicate matter, achieving the balance between bias and cultivation. The beautiful thing about it is, it's a lot like cultivating vegetables, you merely water and provide nutrients. Though, in the case of cultivating a creative process, the water and nutrients are replaced by ideas, suggestions, new insights, different perspectives.
Letting things grow organically in a creative process is difficult sometimes. Like when you were young, and you planted a seed in a small terra cotta pot, your efforts at willing it to germinate on the sunny windowsill with only your eyes and encouraging words were futile, it would happen in due time, and hopefully you would become distracted at some point along the way, lest you wished to stare at potting soil for days on end. You have to remove yourself from the process as much as humanly possible. This can be achieved by listening, rather than waiting to speak, hearing the concerns and intentions of the author, acknowledging them, connecting with them, understanding them.
This is not an easy assignment, to detach your opinions and wants from the process. The author often knows the solutions they are looking for when they sit down, they just need to consciously recognize them. But sometimes something novel can be contributed, something unexpected yet strangely destined. This novel idea should not betray the intent of the writer, but compliment it. Relate to the writer, get to know them a little, understand their perspective, if only from the narrow area that makes up the soles of your shoes. Don't miser-ate watching the ideas sprout, enjoy the fleeting period of mindful growth.
If you like, think of the work as a living thing, a plant? The water, sunlight, and nutrients in the soil are ideas and experiences, little pieces of knowledge that fit the form of the work perfectly. The seed is planted; the assignment is given, the notion to create is pursued. The soil consists of the author's perspective. Water and sunlight serve to nourish the seed; ideas feed into the work. Watch it grow in passing, it will happen naturally, just water, and expose to light, as the seed will not grow in darkness, the work will not grow alone and isolated from outside perspectives, it will remain static. Words are like all growing things, they need to see the light, they need to be fed a healthy diet of ideas and experiences, or they will wilt into insignificance, if only in the mind of the writer.
How can the reader avoid being the dark gray cloud that keeps the sun from the work? How can the writer bring the work into the light of day without fear of judgment? That is our struggle. We must read mindfully, in the moment, nonjudgmentally. We must be conscious of our bias, in order to keep it from overshadowing the intentions of the work. We must remember to become distracted enough to allow the work to grow. We must work to cultivate consciousness.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Cultivating Consciousness

Cultivating consciousness;
Ultimate empowerment,
Lines erased,
Time infinite.
In the moment
Venturing the gap
Attaining the goal.
The captain yells,
Nothing left behind
Gratuitous movement of mind.

Voices sing out
Oratorical melodies,
Injustices of the soul
Creating something.
Entropy is matter diverging back into mind.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Dean Martin

Everything makes sense now. I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Life is good. I am finally comfortable being alone. Not to say that I don't seek company, I do, but I don't need it, it's not necessary to my survival anymore. I can connect with people, love them, but with the mutual understanding that it's nothing more than mutual connection and honest love. I can say anything, they can say anything, and there is no judgement. It's not going anywhere, it just is, and that is exactly the way it is supposed to be.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Lazy Saturday

I've been sitting around in my apartment, baking bread and watching documentaries all day. Lazy Saturday. I've also watched the people in the park come and go all day. There was a few people on a bench by the arbor, a crowd grew around them at intervals, waxing and waning. I wondered what they were talking about, but convinced myself that they were from a political party I despised so I wouldn't feel compelled to go talk to them anymore. It worked. They had a lot of cameras, and seemed very interested in what the people sitting on the bench were saying. They smiled a lot, big teethy smiles, complimenting their starched white shirts. I wish I had gone out there, but I was too shy. A lot of people have come and gone today. Dogs barked at squirrels, dogs barked at other dogs.

Some Asian tourists stopped to gawk at a large gray squirrel and take its picture, and their little girl lingered behind to make faces at it. Two tan bleached blonde girls sat on the bench, smoking cigarettes, looking aloof. I wondered momentarily what they were talking about, but dismissed it as nonsense. I should stop being so judgemental from afar. It's only a way for me to remain disconnected from my environment. My thoughts are all tangled up right now. I'm still trying to make sense of all of the information I've taken in over the past few weeks. Maybe I'll meditate. That would probably help. I need to clear my head. My class is starting on Monday and I hope to at least be articulate enough to engage in seminar.

I'm excited to hide easter eggs in the park, it will make for a lovely Sunday. I'm not sure what I'll put in them yet, but I want it to be something that will garner some sort of reaction, preferably a happy one. We shall see. Overall though, I'm calling this Saturday a good day.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Gull Cries Awkward

Alright, so for fear of offending the party I am about to describe, I held off on telling this story until I felt satisfied that I had detered him. I feel it is my duty as someone with a sense of humor to describe these events. So, without further ado: the worst date I have ever been on.

It started normally enough, met in the park by the lake, had my roommate and a friend accompany me to meet him, just to be safe, as I hardly knew this person. They promptly left after we stood around awkwardly, making small talk. I gave him two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because we were supposed to have a picnic or something of that ilk, though I had already eaten. So he ate the aforementioned sandwiches, spilling jam all over himself. Lovely, right? I shouldn't complain, I am terrible at eating, I spill things on myself clumsily all the time. But I digress, consumed sandwiches. Then began complaining about belt, claiming it was too loose, which it was clearly not.

So we walked to the Olympia Supply Company, where he decided against buying the leather punch he had insisted on going there for. Thus, we meandered around the hardware store. If I had had any attraction to this man, this activity would have amused me, but we wandered around in the damned place for a good 45 minutes. I tried to make jokes about buckets-- come on, humor is hard to come by in a hardware store.

After this leisurely jaunt, we walked toward the lake, intending to go tour the capitol building. On our way, I spotted a dying seagull. Now, this is where it gets really interesting. I was upset about the seagull, and was going to go and lay it in the grass so that it could fade peacefully, but he insisted that would be cruel, that the cold water would kill it faster. I pouted. So he declared he would put it out of its misery, and grabbed a large stick. I cringed, protesting. Elderly onlookers scowled. He walked over to the ailing bird, took aim, and... SMACK! Hit the bird. It was a bit like playing baseball when I was a kid. One could never be sure exactly the result of the collison of ball and bat, or in this case, bird and bat, but one knew it would not be pleasant. The bird screeched, strike one, or was it a 'fowl'? He took aim again, concentrating, and... WHACK! I turned back toward the scene, shocked, the grey and white bird twitched, and moved no more, aside from swaying with the waves.

The stick was discarded, and we continued walking, my mouth still slightly agape. Had he really just ended a seagull on a date? Yes, yes he had. A combination of shock and intrigue compelled me to stick with it, thus we continued. I mean really, if I had bailed, I would have missed out on further comedy. So, we continued, toured the capitol building. I took a coloring book, he frowned at me, rolling his eyes, clearly he was too old for me. The date continued, we walked around, all my old haunts, joking awkwardly, ending up on the other side of town in a used furniture store. I found a delightful old electric keyboard with a bevy of colorful buttons with musical tastings ranging from foxtrot to, my favorite, teen beat. I amused myself with this device for a little while, while he continued toward the back of the store. Chairs were sampled, I climbed into a wardrobe, to which he shut the door with a sharp slam, and I protested from therein that it was not Narnia.

The furniture store was abandoned, after I had awkwardly called my voicemail in an attempt to fill conversational gaps. It began hailing, so we sat in the downtown transit center. He then informed me that he needed to move his car, as the meter had run out, so we walked back across town in the hail.

Car successfully moved, I sought refuge in my apartment, where my roommate and a friend were studying. He accompanied me, and we sat around thumbing through a 1960's Whole Earth catalogue. This went on far longer than I anticipated, and I began to get uncomfortable. He tried to tickle me at one point, my response being hitting him, as well as biting him (not a friendly bite, a 'mad dog' sort of chomp for freedom). He also attempted to kiss me. Seeing as he had killed a seagull in front of me, and the date had been a major flop, I don't see how he saw this working out for him. I turned my head, covered my lips with my hands, said no, and unintentionally laughed. I felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to repent for the act. I then informed him that I had plans for the evening, which was a complete fabrication, but at least it got him out of my apartment.

So, the lesson learned from this? I hate dating, and cannot possibly take it seriously ever again.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010


The pit of my stomach churns.
Hold me, hold me, hold me.

It's a pity to be alone
on pretty nights.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Taken for the tin man,
Corners of the lips
too often curled down.

Taken for the straw man,
Optimism in the face of hopelessness,
friend to all foes.

The lion lacks courage, not hope.
Sometimes it hurts to have a heart
when you're afraid to use it,
but you haven't forgotten how.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Lie Through Your Teeth,

You put so much bearing on morality
Yet you are easily bullied to speak lies
Then, it's not the first time,
a breach of trust, respect to rust and ruin.

So many white lies you've become colorblind.
It's not about honor or reputation anymore,
You've no more dignity than a dog,
Teeth gnashing as you cower in the corner.

Another fatality of circumstance.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Dear Monday,

I know we haven't gotten along very well in the past. You are really just a day that should be devoted to sleep and reading. But no, you drag on, in the most chaotic fashion imaginable. You have a power over me that I cannot describe. When you are here, I cannot think, I forget everything. I'm a mess. We have to admit that we are just not good for eachother. No matter how much coffee I drink, I am still utterly lost. I forget everything, and possibly lose things, I'm not sure yet, we will see on that one.

Why are you like this Monday? Couldn't you be more like Friday? We get into these arguments Monday, about time management and my mental state. It's you, not me. I know, that might hurt, but you really are an awful day of the week. I spend all of you just running around trying to survive. It's like the zombie apocalypse, in the sense that everyone is tired, there is not enough coffee in the world to make them alright, and we all might eat eachother if properly provoked. No, I am not condoning cannibalism. It's just you have this effect on people, Monday. You should definitely seek help. It's over.


Thursday, February 25, 2010


Summer sailing and smiles
Caused the development:
a strange love of acapella songs.

They remind me of that day
laying in the sun, in the grass
fingers intertwined.
Forgetting everything
that didn't matter.

Now I lay here alone,
seed packets paperclipped
on a string across the room
and I smile.

I am glad you are smiling again,
those dimples have been
too long on hiatus.

We don't need instruments.
Not anymore.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010


Is it so wrong that I cling to the happy remnants of a love lost?
Live in a world of my own imagination?
Acknowledge the possibilities of new sparks, but do not fuel them?
It's not apathy, it's just survival.
I'm happier a square peg. I enjoy free flight.

I love to ride my bike into the rushing wind.
Pedal as fast as I can until the muscles of my legs burn,
and then just fly.

I love to feel the sun on my face.
Freckles forming, damage done, but not without reward.

I love to put a smile on a face.
Give a compliment, crack a joke, lend a hand.
Be a friend.

But my heart is mine now,
and it is blanketed by my imagination.
My love is distributed in innumerable directions,
so that it remains unbiased.

Friday, February 5, 2010


The Stranger, Free Will Astrology for the week of February 4: "'One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time," wrote French author Andre Gide. I'm guessing that 2009 was a time when you embarked on such a search, Gemini- a half-blind, groping exploration that asked you to leave the past behind without knowing where the future lay. By now, though, I suspect you have sighted your new frontier. If you haven't yet, it'll happen soon."

That's creepy Rob Brezsny, creepily accurate. Thanks, and I sure as hell hope so.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Today I engaged in an activity most commonly known as busting my ass. I spent about 7 hours working on my newest harebrained scheme. It's not finished just yet, but I made a lot of progress. I'm too tired to explain. Pictures to come upon completion.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Mission Statement

To Whom it May Concern,
This letter comes to you at a time of great importance and growth in my life. Today, I am in college. Today, a whole world of opportunities is at my command, and I am doing whatever must be done to continue into a future that promises to be even brighter. The Evergreen State College was and remains to be my first choice. My unwavering affection for the institution has only grown in my attendance, as I have grown as an artist, as a writer, and as an individual. I have made many changes in my first year at Evergreen in the interest of my continuing attendance and success. I threw myself whole hearted at the task of affording the privilege of attending this past fall, through much trepidation and a solemn declaration written on a white board:
“Thou Shalt go to Evergreen.”
Attending The Evergreen State College is a truly empowering experience; most simply put, for the first time in my education and in my life I feel as though I have control, focus, and direction. The passion that I possessed in my prior education so often went untapped, so many times the subjects that truly interested me were thrown to the wayside and replaced by curriculums made to suit standardised tests. So many days I would walk the halls of my High School with a feeling of emptiness, being pushed through educational chutes and into narrow possibilities.
One career pathway test after another all pointed in the same vaguely defined direction: Arts and Communications. This path looked like precisely where I wanted to tread, the road less taken, yet it was continually barred and shrouded in a sea of fog.
“Writing isn't a lucrative career option, your chances are slim to none, and slim just left town.” For some time I was prodded away, toward other paths-- more “practical” paths, that would prevent me from potentially living in my car. But I wasn't happy going in these “practical” directions, they promised a life of expressionless and meaningless comfort and security. In my first Program at Evergreen, titled 'Madness and Creativity: the Psychological Link', I have explored the ways in which abnormal psychology relates to both creative expression and popular culture. I have found this study to be incredibly inspiring, and have delved extensively of my own accord into the research of modern psychology, art, and writing, as it relates to various cultures, as well as exploring the concepts of my program through research, analytical writing, creative writing, the viewing of art exhibitions and performances, and the production of visual works.
This research has been the most rewarding and enlightening experience I have yet to encounter. The aforementioned program consists of two quarters, and I intend to register for 'So You Want to be a Psychologist', a program taught by one of my current professors, Carrie Margolin, in the Spring. My passion for writing and my various creative endeavours will of course continue to serve as a method of expression and world exploration, and the study of psychology and the humanities will serve to inform my imagination, inspiring creative pieces of writing and art that will explore the concepts of psychology as they relate to society. I am in the process of writing an individual study contract to be carried out in within the next year that will explore the ways in which modern psychological study and clinical psychology have been coloured by dualism, the theories of pioneers such as Freud, the DSM-IV-TR, and social and religious views, and how it might be benefited by new, more varied, and less biased approaches. This study would greatly benefit and inform me in my continuing study as I seek to enter the field of psychological study, psychiatry, and writing. I intend to work professionally in the field of psychology, and to continue to write fiction that seeks to inform my audience of the challenges and magnificence of the human spirit.
In my first quarter at Evergreen, I made the decision to move off campus in order to save money so that I can ensure my continuing attendance. I have no outside financial support aside from my own efforts of working part time, sacrificing, and saving as much as possible to fund my continuing education. My family is unable to help me in funding my education, and are hardly able to help my older brother attend community college. Attending The Evergreen State College provides me with opportunities and resources unrivalled by any other institution, and is an investment in my future. Though I am doing everything in my power to ensure my financial ability to continue attending Evergreen, the demand is beyond my monetary resources. I cannot imagine that attending any other institution would afford me the ability to explore the concepts of human psychology in a way which I hope will promote innovation and open dialogue between a variety of professional disciplines, and thus serve to benefit society and individuals both treating and treated for psychological abnormalities and disturbances in profoundly powerful way. Thank you for your time in reviewing my application; I hope that it has provided you with an understanding of my educational goals and motivations, and that I would benefit greatly from your support.


Sunday, January 24, 2010


I know where I am going. I know why I am here. I know what I am doing. It starts now.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Test Flight

So, by the graces of modern technology, I am posting this from my phone. Easier said than done with these itty bitty keys, but it's amusing if nothing else. So much has been done with technology since the inception of the solid state drive. People don't seem to recognize that the world is a very different place than it was just a decade ago. Internet culture is part of everyday life in most cultures. It kind of makes me want to go live in a cabin in the woods, but that would be considered impractical and selfish. Funny how life works.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Concerning Bewilderment

I'm lost, and I'm realising that maybe that's what life is. Accepting that you are lost and that you will continue to be lost. Being lost isn't really "being lost" at all. It's really just being. Living the best you can, enjoying the journey, or at least just moving. Whether your preferred movement is international or from couch to kitchen, it's living. I'm never going to find myself. That's fine. Everything I do that would lead me to believe I know to at least some degree who I am is a farce. I just am. That's not to say that I lack a personality, or goals, or aspirations, but those things do not define me. My house, my college, or my bank account do not define me. My actions do not explicitly define me. I have complete control of my future, every event outside of myself is in my control, because it depends only on my reaction. My body serves as a vessel to provide me with the ability to move through life. Thus I must take care of it and do my best to protect it from physical harm. My mind is under my control. Nothing is impossible unless I decide it is such. If I decide something is possible, it is, I just have to work out how it is possible, sometimes this will take awhile. I must accept that sometimes things don't just come naturally, it takes hard work and determination, as well as a detachment from the obstacles placed before me, so that they can be navigated with reason. I will love, but that love will not define me. I will accomplish, but those accomplishments will not define me. I will set goals, these goals will be flexible and move fluidly around any hurdle placed before them. My existence is not permanent, but it is not meaningless. It means whatever I decide for it to mean.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Eyes, meet feet.

If Chloe wants to ruin her life she has every right to do so.

Something has to give...

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Bike Stunts


Falls over bike, awkwardly, clumsily, shyly?? He gives me a ten for the dismount. Yell about Pootie Tang. Are you watching a movie tonight? Talk about school awkwardly. Strange business plans. She looks down shyly. He gets off the bus, hoping to see her around. Too awkward to offer phone number, he doesn't know how to ask?? Kicks herself.

I suppose it doesn't matter all that much. Maybe next time.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Two Thousand and Ten

New Year's Resolutions:

1. Get Organised.

2. Thing a Day-- February 2010.

3. NaNoWriMo-- November 2010.

4. Train for and run a marathon.

5. Word a day-- word with corresponding picture. Fun way to learn new words and draw interesting doodles.

6. Worry less, live more.