Myoma.

Do not assume (If I probe your mind)
that I am trying to be overly didactic or pretentious.
I will not make a statement about your inability to
learn for yourself.
If you prod me, I'll react accordingly.

Do not assume (If I provoke you)
that I'm deeming you incapable of instigating your own mental excursion.
For if you propel my psyche's engine, I'll navigate through my convoluted abyss of self perception accordingly.

Do not assume (if I impel you to introspect)
that I'm accusing you of any incompetence in your potential to stimulate your mind on your own.
If you push me, I'll allow myself to be pushed.

Immobile

My parents called me sick today.

I remember hearing one time that "bad chemicals and bad ideas are the yin and yang of madness."

Except I quit meddling with the chemicals eons ago. I lived (kind of) and I learned from that.

And I pride myself on my pristine thought process. Fuck pathos. Pathos oriented expression is for pussies. And fuck ethos. Ethos oriented expression are for parasites and fucking myomas. Logos takes the cake- Logos illustrates logic. My synthesis capabilities are stellar and when the wheels turn in my head, they don't just turn they set off a goddamn whirlpool of spiraling catalysts contributing to my growth as a thinker and learner in this esoteric and convoluted world.

So why am I sick?

Ouch. Motherfucker watch where you're going. Watch what you do with that thing. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Imagine if I tried to stick you into a box you'd never fit in.

It hurts. Mentally and physically. As the cardboard chafes at the skin on my arms and neck, your attempt to mold me and construct a different child grinds at my mind.

If I'm sick then you infected me.

If I start coughing it's because you're been gripping my throat far too long.

It's my instinctual nature to keep kicking before the edges of this enclosure seal shut. But my biggest fear is if I start to tire and get stuck inside.

that one night at Borders

I'm not gonna lie. it's kind of cool how much of a genius I am when it comes to people. Getting inside their heads. Picking their brains. Calculating the size of their ego after looking them up and down. Determining their strengths and weaknesses after shaking their hand. Deciphering someone's insecurities after seconds of knowing them. 

A lot of it just has to do with those innate qualities you seem to have if you're the type of person who loves to understand people for who they really are. Compassion and empathy are some of the greatest attributes in a human being.

There are certain things I'll ask you, and based on your reactions and responses, I'm able to size you up. Right then and there. It's like a goddamn mathematical formula. I revel in being able to store in my memory what topic someone was telling me about when I detected elevated voice patterns in their speech. It can be very telling, and an exquisite window into the mentality of a downright fascinating person.

My favourite question to ask is what memory someone cherishes the most. Based on both the content of your recollection compounded with the manner in which you express it, I am able to extrapolate where your priorities lie and what is truly important to you with utmost precision.

But you...

I wasn't calculating as you spoke. I was completely immersed in every word you said and every syllable you uttered was like a symphony to which I became absolutely hypnotized. It was amazing how we fed off of each other's energy. The way you described that one time you and your sisters went to Disneyland when you were younger and the way you painted a picture of your childhood innocence and optimism that had clearly decayed so bitterly was nothing short of enchanting. I remember I couldn't wipe that grin off my face that mirrored that look of ecstasy you wore and I swear I can see it as vividly as if it were happening right now. You brought me into the atmosphere of that one afternoon when you were all so completely blissful, then brought yourself back to reality as you somberly told me that you never really felt that way ever again. You paused with your head down. Then you looked at me. It put me into a trance.

That look you gave me was more conclusive than anything I've been able to deduct from any conversation I've had with anyone during my stay on this planet. 

"But I think I'm starting to feel that way again."

It was never said but we both fucking know it. I reciprocated with a stare that sent across the same degree of appreciation. If not more.

I adore you.

In The Waiting Line

The rope is being wrapped tighter and tighter around your neck.

The wind serves as a vessel, transporting the leaves into the distance parallel to the birds in constant motion.
But, I can take no flight of my own.

Do you ever get the feeling that something good is always happening somewhere else?

They say my flight will take off soon.
But I’ve been on the waiting list far too long.

I’ve been watching the planes land and take off for two years now—
But the pilot doesn’t think I’m ready to leave.

I wander around the airport to pass the time.
But it gets old. All of it.

Change is constant here. New people arriving and departing. New technologies coming and going. New languages I’ve never heard before. I want to be one with the change. I need a fucking change of scenery.
But first I have to make the change within myself.

I’d rather switch airlines and find a fucking way out.

But apparently it’s more complicated than that.

The beautiful becomes the ugly.
That’s what it means to be depressed.
I open the shades of the waiting room and try to enjoy the sun, try to appreciate the people I hate, try and love the sounds I called noise.
That’s what it means to make an effort.
I close the shades of the waiting room and bury my head in my hands once more.
That’s what it means to relapse. Again.

I keep checking the boards for my flight.
It’s not listed.

However... I’m done complaining, too.

Patience is not my forte.
But I’m telling you—

I.

am.

doing.

the.

best.

I.

can.

Journal Writing for the 21st Century

I used to keep a journal up till I was in like, 7th grade when I thought it was cool to keep a "diary", which at that point, entailed my tedious descriptions of what I ate for lunch each day.
So, here I am, basically writing for the first time in three years. These past couple of years has been the most momentous, and packed years of my entire life and I haven’t been recording any of it. This is because these years have consisted of the most supreme amounts of the following:
a. discovery, and elation
b. fuck ups and consequential learning
c. depression
d. loss, suffocation, and loneliness
e. more depression

I’ve had nothing but the highest highs and the lowest lows. When everything’s perfect, all you can do is enjoy every second of it and soak it all in. Soak in the company your with, your atmosphere, your conversations, everything. When you’re depressed as all hell and subsequently unmotivated to do anything, the only things left to do are to cry, lie in bed, or pathetically hunt for something that can give you some semblance of pleasure (which for the past 2 years has primarily been my Netflix).

Bummer fucking times.

Our Current State

I was talking with this guy Dallas the other day, also a 9/11 Truther. He was talking about how 9/11 really fucked him up. Emotionally, psychologically and all that jazz... And how he had this idea molded by observations made throughout his entire life of how the world worked, how people operated under certain conditions, and the role of government in light of all of it. All of that changed after 9/11 when it became clear that this was the catalyzing event revolving around lies and cover-ups and mind games in a time where our liberties are being restrained rather than advocated. He's twenty-five.
I was nine when 9/11 happened. It made me think... I didn't undergo such a pivotal experience where I had to shift the way I viewed the world and transform my mindset which maintained that my government was benevolent into something darker and subsequently more realistic. It was just the world I was brought into.
Two thoughts came to mind:
This fact could mean that all the other kids apart of my generation will be automatically immune to the atrocities of the world in which we live, because they know of nothing else and don't have a vision of a more idealistic yet attainable society of which we as a whole can help shape and be a part. It saddens me. To know nothing else than to be a sleeping pawn and be satisfied with it. A life where ignorance really is bliss.
Or:
We will learn to sharpen our spears from a young age, and learn where to target them.
I'm striving every day to create the latter.

Whaddup, Nazis

Between 1979 and 1997, income for families in the middle class rose 9 percent. Income for upper class families in the top one percent of the population rose 140 percent. Why has the response to rising inequality been to reduce taxes on the rich? Because we’ve settled for “panem et circenus”: our bread and circuses, and have unwittingly complied with short-term government palliatives offered in place of a solution for significant, long-term problems. Our baseline necessities and entertainment have become the only entities the broad masses long for and are satisfied with. We, as a citizenry, are pacified. Meanwhile, George Bush has packed the Labor Board with his cronies serving corporate bigwigs at the expense of workers, after FDR passed the National Labor Relations Act to protect workers. Adolph Hitler said, “The broad masses of a population are more amenable to the appeal of rhetoric than to any other force.” It worked to his advantage once in history, and this same ideal is very likely to follow through at our expense on such a massively catastrophic scale once more if we continue to be inactive, sleeping pawns. Standing idly by, settling with complacency goes against the idea that to be a productive human on this earth means to be a nonconformist. What we need is a healthy media system to counteract the natural tendency to seek power, which reinforces the notion of protecting your interests by paying attention. Why is this imperative? In March 2003, the gallop poll asserted that 51 percent of Americans thought Saddam Hussein was personally responsible for 9/11.
Enough said.

It may come as a surprise to many people but the form of government we have in this country today for all practical purposes, is socialistic. We have social programs for everything. We have educational programs to bring the curriculum of national board around to what the educational authorities want. But, instead of the benefits going to the people, the benefits go to the corporations. All this, in actuality, is pushed along by diehard nationalism, being the mentality of “what’s good for GM is good for the country”. In conclusion, all of this tells us that the form us government we’re occupying under today is national-socialism. And remember national-socialism in German is Nationalsozialistische.

Nazism is a form of fascism. Yet, fascism should more appropriately be called corporatism because it is the merger of state and corporate power. In 1981 the media got 90 million dollars from political campaigners. In the last election, they got 1 billion dollars, thus proving that the rich have the power in this country. In a society where there is a declining educated middle class, you shift the burden from the corporation onto the individual. It is our responsibility to deviate from this devastating norm, leaving a pure boon of resolve with spirited and well-intending individuals paving the way- as it is the only way we can make way for progress.

Blind Acceptance Can Be Hazardous

People aren’t stopping to think and reflect once they realize that they are on the side of the majority. The human race has been brainwashed to think that we’re on pedestals when I feel that so many of us have become useless ecosystem-destroying carbon based wastage.

But alas, in a society where the media system is a pure subsidiary of corporate America, we are conditioned to lead completely unbalanced lives. There is a frighteningly weak democracy in this country and an ever increasing rate of depoliticization that propels tyrannical governments around the world to envy our vegetated population. Our media system trivializes or sensationalizes news rather than making an earnest attempt to educate us in a culture where information is supposed to be the currency of democracy. However, the illusion of choice is maintained when we can have 100 cable channels, magazine stands, movies, and a plethora of music at our fingertips, when really it’s all just the products of 5 or 6 multinational corporations that serve as Big Brother.

We’ve been conditioned to think that that hard work comes easy, but not that we are all sentient beings who need to actually exert mental effort to play a role in society and help mold a signature, American culture. On a deeply personal level, it devastates me that people are not only settling, but they are content with absorbing things at face value rather than synthesizing it and taking the time to derive something original that can benefit our life from it. It aggravates me when my peers hold the mindset of “these problems aren’t affecting ME, someone else will get around to fixing them...,” which has never worked throughout history; much like when I’ve heard people say that they’re fine with the war because they don’t have to go and fight it. Or, despite the HUNDREDS of discrepancies that I alone have found and publicized in regards to the 9.11 Commission Report, people still settle for the official story because it’s not directly affecting their lives. (All the while I see grieving families at Ground Zero every day desperately yearning for real answers.)

Question the official story.

"Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"

“The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is the least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.”- Henry David Thoreau

Back in California, I had the divine privilege of waking up every single morning to see the bright yellow sun resting majestically over the hilly horizon perfectly framed within my window. The sun allowed the hills glisten, and made the cows rise to wake and greet me with their melodic hums. Thus, I would start my day—

Thoreau also said that his greatest fear was when he came to die, to discover that he had not lived. It’s hard to really live when you have no one to enjoy anything with or anything to wake up to. Until I find something meaningful, to quote Thoreau, the roof over my head will merely be a defense against the rain.