Soul

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.

Bukowski

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.

Summer!

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

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.
Insignificant?

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.

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)

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.

Love,
Chloe

Probability

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.