Today on the way home from eating I had one of my first real conversations with my mother. It's rather odd; I've lived with her my entire 18 years, I've never really been intimidated by her and there are qualities within her and her father that I greatly admire and would love to emulate. But never have I asked in depth about some of her personal life. So tonight as we were coming home, I asked her. Mainly times and dates to try to get a feel for things. For instance, my grandmother met my grandfather when she was 19 and he was 25 in the 1940s. They went on only a few dates before they were married (my grandfather was in the Merchant Marines so he had to travel a lot). She was organized, worried about money, and a tad stern. He was amiable, threw money away like trash (he still does, as anyone who has seen my room may notice), and quite easy-going. Yet they remained married until she died in the late 70s. My mother met my father when she came back to our beloved K-town because her mother was ill. They dated for half a year before moving in together. A year after that they were married.
Here's where that whole "hindsight is 20/20" thing comes in. Apparently, my father was quite the Romantic. He sent her two dozen roses the first week they were dating. He wrote her love notes, poems, read poems, and was generally one of "those" fellows (somewhat to my chagrin). She was quite overwhelmed. The strangest thing of all was that he was quite the partier in his day (I just can't imagine it now. He seems to hardly ever do anything like that nowadays). He already had a bit of an alcohol problem, a factor that to this day causes some problems and is possibly the biggest contributing factor to my Puritanism (through things he's done and said, most not fit for the mixed company that views this crazy little journal).
Then my mother had some insight into marriage. Money seemed to be a big source of conflict. It would seem in many relationships that one person is a spender and one a saver. For instance, my grandmother was thrifty, my grandfather could care less. My mother doesn't worry about it too much, and at times my father either seems obsessed with not spending or the exact same way. Also, child rearing would appear to be where you really learn about a person, especially their upbringing. Attention is focused on the child and parents can have quite different views on how the process should go. My father is pervicacious in much of the area, my mother devoted but passive, so he had quite an effect on the way I'd treat my children. I think. Much can change in a few years, heck even a few days about a person so who knows?
I know it's not that interesting to you (unless you're into psychology in which case you're probably alerting the FBI to stop me from slowly poisoning my father with arsenic and cloning a younger version of my mother, you sick Freudos you...), but to me it provides a good perspective on their actions and backgrounds. So here it is, just for my records. I wonder if I'll be the same in 30 years. I know I won't. But I'd like to maintain my humor, my compassion (hopefully more defined and overt by that time), and my willingness to listen. If I can keep those three things, I'll be pretty well off. It also makes me wonder if I'll get married. It doesn't seem so far out there, now that I'm not so afraid of falling victim to my parents' fate. I know a bit more of what to look for and what to prevent. Ah, the future. So close, yet so far. And as soon as it's here, it's flung into the past. Heh, I wonder if my kids, if I even have kids, will read this. It's almost surreal... If you do, sorry about the poetry. Your mom probably has a lot more, unless I've convinced her to burn them yet. Oh, yeah, I also know what you did last Thursday. I'll forgive you, but please don't do it again. I can only pay bail so many times. Love ya!
Wednesday, September 29
Monday, September 27
To God
Dear God (or Fate, or Vishnu, or The Holy Whateverinator),
I'd like to say thanks. I ask, and boy do you deliver! Sure, the package isn't appropriate nor is the time, place, or price of postage, but that's all a technicality to you, isn't it? I mean really. Who writes this stuff? I could churn out a better soap opera in a coma with half my head missing. The good half too! In the future, I'd like you to leave me out of afterschool specials, dramas, and generally anything of a negative consistency altogether. It's comedies or bust from here on out Mister! I mean, you're not even paying me for syndication, much less the original role. It's rude and bad business. You Sir, are an A-Grade JERK! J-E-R-Q-W! JERK! And it's that I'm bitter. I'm actually feeling rather better. I'm just a tad tee-ed that you saw fit to fill my Senior year with irony instead of jolly, good, intoxicated fun like everyone else. Except Ellen, she only gets college applications. But everybody else gets better! Alright, I know, I know, I've got it good. I ought to be thankful I have it this good. It could be worse to a much larger degree than I can imagine. But I can still complain, can't I? Yes, I can. For I am and I have yet to be smitten. So, to sum things up, when I ask for something either deliver it specifically to my expectations or don't at all. And if you do, let me get some compensation. $$$, fame, power, influence, the betterment of all mankind even. Something. Thank you for your time.
-Dylan
(Ok, I was tired of being serious and needed some irreverence at the expense of Your Lord and Creator. Always keep sight of the humor throughout the drama. Even if there's none to be seen.)
I'd like to say thanks. I ask, and boy do you deliver! Sure, the package isn't appropriate nor is the time, place, or price of postage, but that's all a technicality to you, isn't it? I mean really. Who writes this stuff? I could churn out a better soap opera in a coma with half my head missing. The good half too! In the future, I'd like you to leave me out of afterschool specials, dramas, and generally anything of a negative consistency altogether. It's comedies or bust from here on out Mister! I mean, you're not even paying me for syndication, much less the original role. It's rude and bad business. You Sir, are an A-Grade JERK! J-E-R-Q-W! JERK! And it's that I'm bitter. I'm actually feeling rather better. I'm just a tad tee-ed that you saw fit to fill my Senior year with irony instead of jolly, good, intoxicated fun like everyone else. Except Ellen, she only gets college applications. But everybody else gets better! Alright, I know, I know, I've got it good. I ought to be thankful I have it this good. It could be worse to a much larger degree than I can imagine. But I can still complain, can't I? Yes, I can. For I am and I have yet to be smitten. So, to sum things up, when I ask for something either deliver it specifically to my expectations or don't at all. And if you do, let me get some compensation. $$$, fame, power, influence, the betterment of all mankind even. Something. Thank you for your time.
-Dylan
(Ok, I was tired of being serious and needed some irreverence at the expense of Your Lord and Creator. Always keep sight of the humor throughout the drama. Even if there's none to be seen.)
Chronic Bouts of Insanity
I broke the cardinal rule to the "Guidelines for Maintaining Dylan's Continued Existence": I thought. Nights like last night are the sort you look back at last night and laugh a cold, mirthless, bitter laugh simply because it's the only suitable emotion. Zero = Zero is the best I can come up with. It's true, and yet zero doesn't exist. It's a redundant fact, accomplishing nothing, and therefore stating that no real answer exists. I actually looked at the foundations to my tenuous hold on reality and found them lacking. So I tried to rebuild and once again I destroyed any semblance of “truth” I could find. There is no right answer, only varying degrees of wrong ones. If there is a clear, right answer then there never was a question in the first place. Such is the nature of mankind’s philosophical predicaments.
It essentially comes down to a matter of complexity. All issues can be made simple, cut and dry with easy answers. But that in itself is a deception for nothing is really that simple. Thus you can weave immense webs of complexity, find the contradictions, the half-truths, the lurking lies that hide in the shadows of your mind. You might actually get a minute degree closer to the answer. But in the end you get caught, and that dreaded specter of reality and fantasy creeps closer to ensnare you in its midnight silk, trapping you forever in an introverted sleep.
What’s to be done? Stop thinking? I’ve tried it, and it works to some degree. But I have to live by something. Is happiness really the end goal? I don’t know. I have a path I’ve chosen. Perhaps I’ll be enticed or forced to another, perhaps not. My only wish is that I can help you. Any of you. And now I have inspiration for a poem, so let’s see if that works out better than the rest of my pitiful little existence. Here’s hoping!
It essentially comes down to a matter of complexity. All issues can be made simple, cut and dry with easy answers. But that in itself is a deception for nothing is really that simple. Thus you can weave immense webs of complexity, find the contradictions, the half-truths, the lurking lies that hide in the shadows of your mind. You might actually get a minute degree closer to the answer. But in the end you get caught, and that dreaded specter of reality and fantasy creeps closer to ensnare you in its midnight silk, trapping you forever in an introverted sleep.
What’s to be done? Stop thinking? I’ve tried it, and it works to some degree. But I have to live by something. Is happiness really the end goal? I don’t know. I have a path I’ve chosen. Perhaps I’ll be enticed or forced to another, perhaps not. My only wish is that I can help you. Any of you. And now I have inspiration for a poem, so let’s see if that works out better than the rest of my pitiful little existence. Here’s hoping!
Forgive Me
Forgive my sins, my beloved and cherished, forgive my mistakes, my fatal thought.
Forgive my sins, my muse and jubilation, forgive my slights, and hints not caught.
Forgive me please, I never mean it, I never mean to pain or harm.
Forgive me, for I really want to aid you and lend a hand or ear or arm.
Forgive my sins for I’m so sorry every time I might hurt you, I didn’t mean it, didn’t want it, and didn’t mean to be untrue.
Forgive my sins, my dear and darling, forgive me for my faults and flaws.
Forgive my sins, my friend and family, forgive me for the broken laws.
Forgive my trespasses, forgive my comments, forgive my errant harmful quips.
Forgive the lies, forgive the rends, forgive my careless, callous rips.
Forgive my sins for I don’t realize til the time is much too late, that I might have saved the story if I had but challenged Fate.
I never meant to hurt you, so forgive my blasted sin.
I never wish to cause you pain, but I’m not perfect like all men.
I never intended for this wretched action, but I forgot the Golden Rule.
I never thought to change my path, and for that I am a fool.
I never will remember to stop or change or bend.
I never like to harm you; deep down I want to mend.
I never wish to hurt you, believe me for it’s true.
I never want to harm you, for the truth is I love you.
Forgive my sins, my muse and jubilation, forgive my slights, and hints not caught.
Forgive me please, I never mean it, I never mean to pain or harm.
Forgive me, for I really want to aid you and lend a hand or ear or arm.
Forgive my sins for I’m so sorry every time I might hurt you, I didn’t mean it, didn’t want it, and didn’t mean to be untrue.
Forgive my sins, my dear and darling, forgive me for my faults and flaws.
Forgive my sins, my friend and family, forgive me for the broken laws.
Forgive my trespasses, forgive my comments, forgive my errant harmful quips.
Forgive the lies, forgive the rends, forgive my careless, callous rips.
Forgive my sins for I don’t realize til the time is much too late, that I might have saved the story if I had but challenged Fate.
I never meant to hurt you, so forgive my blasted sin.
I never wish to cause you pain, but I’m not perfect like all men.
I never intended for this wretched action, but I forgot the Golden Rule.
I never thought to change my path, and for that I am a fool.
I never will remember to stop or change or bend.
I never like to harm you; deep down I want to mend.
I never wish to hurt you, believe me for it’s true.
I never want to harm you, for the truth is I love you.
That's a universal message with a specific intitial inspiration. I only hope it really is true, and at this moment I can tell you it is. Somewhere hidden in my cold, cruel heart is the desire to only help (as long as you're not pervicacious yourself). Reality corrupts it, disguises it, hides it, but believe me it's there somewhere. I may not be able to articulate it well enough, carry it out as well as I'd like, or show that I really care. But I will be here. Always.
Sunday, September 26
Creative Writing
(This. Now this is a ramble. I have no idea what happens. It just does. Confound it, where did that blasted thing go! For the soon to be confused, I wrote the black part first and then came back and tried to debate myself in red, so I dispute lines you haven't read ahead of time since I know what to expect. I'm tired, I'm ornery, but I have to work this out! There has to be an answer! No matter what Mr. Ross thinks. There has to be!)
Fantasy and reality. The ideal and the truth. Our minds dance along the imaginary line separating the two, stepping into one realm or another only a beat before we return to the other side. A clever waltz, a subconscious dance we don't even realize we're participating in, plodding along to an orchestral epic of Fate's own devising. The dance involves different steps for each individual. Einstein theorized that all things are relative. My fantasy is only a fantasy for me, a reality for some, a nonentity for others. The same for my reality. I define it, and yet it seems as if Fate has been kind enough to define it for me. I don't understand how the definition developed; it must have been a long arduous process I wasn't aware I was participating in, but apparently the process has reached fruitation. My direct input was not required. My reality is defined, and it is a grizzly one at that. I'm reminded again, my life seems to be a gigantic paradox. I have to tread the thin line between two extremes in order to perpetuate the truth of the matter. There is no net to catch me if I fall. So I do my tricks, I dance, I maneuver between my line, but I can't fall off. Destruction awaits.
I realized today that I am trapped in yet another paradox. I'm an unconformist in fantasy who conforms in reality. I suppose it's not really a "realization," but rather an elaboration on a prevailing theme. For some reason, I've the moral system of a Puritan, in reality. In fantasy, I'm a romantic, not letting myself be defined by society's taboos and rules. But I need society. Or at the very least I need noninvasive order. (And yet, isn't it hypocritical to not follow my dreams and encourage others to do so? But then I'd be invading on the fundamental rights of others to not be disturbed. I'm not disturbing them, they're disturbing themselves! Why should I hold myself responsible for their insecurities?) So I have a fundamental Puritannical nature of conformity. I can dream, I can talk, I can create but I can't actually change my reality. I'm defined by logic, for it seems to be my only ally. A Rasputin, I suppose, but one I still follow. What else can I do? Spit in the face of order and jump into the uncertain chaotical cesspool, riding the winds of time instead of letting them erode my cold heart into dust? (There, right there. You see it too? How I note both sides are unfortunate, not just the contrary alternative? "Erode my cold heart into dust", right there! I recognize both are bad. The difference is one is easy. But if it's painful and incomplete, what's the point in easy?) Of course not. I cannot violate the whims and ideas of others unless they bring it upon themselves. I follow the prevailing acceptable sentiment. (We've been over this. You know society can be wrong. How can you still support a wrong notion? That's your very argument against Hell! That you idealistically stand despite the consequences. You're not condemning yourself, God is. Just as you're not affecting others, they're affecting themselves!) I must have order. It's the only way to preserve our reality. (If reality is incomplete, who wants it? Or maybe it's not complete without fantasy. So that makes fantasy a part of reality. But what does that mean?!) Some people can break free, and would that I were one of the blessed. But alas, I'm merely a dreamer. I can dream, believe me, I can. You should see some of them. My imagination sees an idea, latches onto it, and takes it to heights that are as improbable as they are pretentious. Real possibilities, all of them, but I am no visionary. I lack ambition, desire, an internal impetus to ride life's flurrying coattails. (You say happiness is the main goal of life. Is that not an impetus enough? Why won't you actually listen to yourself? How can you be such a collossal hypocrite and get away with all this?)
My train of thought must tear you all to pieces ;). Back to fantasy and reality. When it comes down to it, I thrive in fantasy. It's a world where one cannot go wrong; everything is reversible, no harm is ever done. But it is fantasy. I enjoy it, but only because it's not real. There are no stakes, no rules, no definitions (But fantasy is defined by reality! It is, it is! What reality is not, fantasy it. By defining one, you get the other! There are definitions to fantasy; what is not defined in reality. Right?). Illegal drugs, death, depravity are all terrible when they're real. In fantasy I find them quite humorous. In reality I loathe them all. Such is the situation with Romanticism and Puritanism. In fantasy I embrace fantastic ideals, emotions, and epic stories. In reality I can't stand any of it (But you enjoy sadness. You can respect the purity. You live for emotions, be they yours or others. What else is there? Emotion may change, but it's constantly changing!). Dramas are fun to read about, not experience. I desire fantasy. But that's because there are no rules or limitations. Reality is defined(By what fantasy is not?). The line is created because by reality's definition. I can fantasize all I want, but reality pokes its ugly little head in and taints the image. Doubts are all products of reality; they plague me. Math, english both are worlds of theory(That fit clearly into reality. If they can do it, why can't your fantasies as well?). The things I dislike involve reality. But how can I transcend reality? I can't(I can't. No reason can supply a suitable explanation. It's innate. Debating ingrained ideas is pointless, they don't change. Logic doesn't matter, faith doesn't matter, reality doesn't matter. Once ingrained, how do you lose the etched letters on your soul? How long until they fade? You can't erase them, can you? Can you?). The definition is clearly stated. To make fantasy a reality is to turn into reality where the definition corrupts it. *sigh* None of this makes sense, I know. It was all so clear a minute ago...
Simple, simple... In the fantasy I thrive. Make it a reality, I suffocate. I dream of fantasies, I live in reality. I preach fantasy, I follow reality. I want fantasy. I have reality. (This is like an Escher painting. Those can't exist. But then the link David produced says they can! The cycle can really exist, the simultaneous nature can! But the water won't run as it should. The water won't go on forever. It can't work.)
***
There. That last part. That works. The reality is always simple. The fantasy complex. But isn't the simplicity a fantasy? The question is a complex one, there are no easy answers. Yet I'm producing one. I'm living one. The very thing I condemn, making an easy answer to a complex question, that's what simplicity is. That's what reality is. No, it's fantasy. The simplicity is a fantasy that I want to make a reality. The reality will taint it. No, that's not it either. I had it, I had it right in my hands, my understand. I had it. And just like that it's gone. Gone. Oh my dear, the cycle's clear for those who care to stare into this complex abyss. (An eternal abyss. Not a cycle. A one way path to nothingness. Or through quintessential existence. I won't know unless I jump. It's simple. Simply impossible.)
Fantasy and reality. The ideal and the truth. Our minds dance along the imaginary line separating the two, stepping into one realm or another only a beat before we return to the other side. A clever waltz, a subconscious dance we don't even realize we're participating in, plodding along to an orchestral epic of Fate's own devising. The dance involves different steps for each individual. Einstein theorized that all things are relative. My fantasy is only a fantasy for me, a reality for some, a nonentity for others. The same for my reality. I define it, and yet it seems as if Fate has been kind enough to define it for me. I don't understand how the definition developed; it must have been a long arduous process I wasn't aware I was participating in, but apparently the process has reached fruitation. My direct input was not required. My reality is defined, and it is a grizzly one at that. I'm reminded again, my life seems to be a gigantic paradox. I have to tread the thin line between two extremes in order to perpetuate the truth of the matter. There is no net to catch me if I fall. So I do my tricks, I dance, I maneuver between my line, but I can't fall off. Destruction awaits.
I realized today that I am trapped in yet another paradox. I'm an unconformist in fantasy who conforms in reality. I suppose it's not really a "realization," but rather an elaboration on a prevailing theme. For some reason, I've the moral system of a Puritan, in reality. In fantasy, I'm a romantic, not letting myself be defined by society's taboos and rules. But I need society. Or at the very least I need noninvasive order. (And yet, isn't it hypocritical to not follow my dreams and encourage others to do so? But then I'd be invading on the fundamental rights of others to not be disturbed. I'm not disturbing them, they're disturbing themselves! Why should I hold myself responsible for their insecurities?) So I have a fundamental Puritannical nature of conformity. I can dream, I can talk, I can create but I can't actually change my reality. I'm defined by logic, for it seems to be my only ally. A Rasputin, I suppose, but one I still follow. What else can I do? Spit in the face of order and jump into the uncertain chaotical cesspool, riding the winds of time instead of letting them erode my cold heart into dust? (There, right there. You see it too? How I note both sides are unfortunate, not just the contrary alternative? "Erode my cold heart into dust", right there! I recognize both are bad. The difference is one is easy. But if it's painful and incomplete, what's the point in easy?) Of course not. I cannot violate the whims and ideas of others unless they bring it upon themselves. I follow the prevailing acceptable sentiment. (We've been over this. You know society can be wrong. How can you still support a wrong notion? That's your very argument against Hell! That you idealistically stand despite the consequences. You're not condemning yourself, God is. Just as you're not affecting others, they're affecting themselves!) I must have order. It's the only way to preserve our reality. (If reality is incomplete, who wants it? Or maybe it's not complete without fantasy. So that makes fantasy a part of reality. But what does that mean?!) Some people can break free, and would that I were one of the blessed. But alas, I'm merely a dreamer. I can dream, believe me, I can. You should see some of them. My imagination sees an idea, latches onto it, and takes it to heights that are as improbable as they are pretentious. Real possibilities, all of them, but I am no visionary. I lack ambition, desire, an internal impetus to ride life's flurrying coattails. (You say happiness is the main goal of life. Is that not an impetus enough? Why won't you actually listen to yourself? How can you be such a collossal hypocrite and get away with all this?)
My train of thought must tear you all to pieces ;). Back to fantasy and reality. When it comes down to it, I thrive in fantasy. It's a world where one cannot go wrong; everything is reversible, no harm is ever done. But it is fantasy. I enjoy it, but only because it's not real. There are no stakes, no rules, no definitions (But fantasy is defined by reality! It is, it is! What reality is not, fantasy it. By defining one, you get the other! There are definitions to fantasy; what is not defined in reality. Right?). Illegal drugs, death, depravity are all terrible when they're real. In fantasy I find them quite humorous. In reality I loathe them all. Such is the situation with Romanticism and Puritanism. In fantasy I embrace fantastic ideals, emotions, and epic stories. In reality I can't stand any of it (But you enjoy sadness. You can respect the purity. You live for emotions, be they yours or others. What else is there? Emotion may change, but it's constantly changing!). Dramas are fun to read about, not experience. I desire fantasy. But that's because there are no rules or limitations. Reality is defined(By what fantasy is not?). The line is created because by reality's definition. I can fantasize all I want, but reality pokes its ugly little head in and taints the image. Doubts are all products of reality; they plague me. Math, english both are worlds of theory(That fit clearly into reality. If they can do it, why can't your fantasies as well?). The things I dislike involve reality. But how can I transcend reality? I can't(I can't. No reason can supply a suitable explanation. It's innate. Debating ingrained ideas is pointless, they don't change. Logic doesn't matter, faith doesn't matter, reality doesn't matter. Once ingrained, how do you lose the etched letters on your soul? How long until they fade? You can't erase them, can you? Can you?). The definition is clearly stated. To make fantasy a reality is to turn into reality where the definition corrupts it. *sigh* None of this makes sense, I know. It was all so clear a minute ago...
Simple, simple... In the fantasy I thrive. Make it a reality, I suffocate. I dream of fantasies, I live in reality. I preach fantasy, I follow reality. I want fantasy. I have reality. (This is like an Escher painting. Those can't exist. But then the link David produced says they can! The cycle can really exist, the simultaneous nature can! But the water won't run as it should. The water won't go on forever. It can't work.)
***
There. That last part. That works. The reality is always simple. The fantasy complex. But isn't the simplicity a fantasy? The question is a complex one, there are no easy answers. Yet I'm producing one. I'm living one. The very thing I condemn, making an easy answer to a complex question, that's what simplicity is. That's what reality is. No, it's fantasy. The simplicity is a fantasy that I want to make a reality. The reality will taint it. No, that's not it either. I had it, I had it right in my hands, my understand. I had it. And just like that it's gone. Gone. Oh my dear, the cycle's clear for those who care to stare into this complex abyss. (An eternal abyss. Not a cycle. A one way path to nothingness. Or through quintessential existence. I won't know unless I jump. It's simple. Simply impossible.)