tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29747311823384960782011-08-26T07:22:29.895-07:00Any Sylernoreply@blogger.comBlogger1481100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-54062405095431848302011-05-05T22:59:00.000-07:002011-05-05T23:01:44.857-07:00This blog has turned into a pitiful dump of every moment I feel a surge of pain in my lifeline. It seldom sees the happy side of life. Is it even worth keeping?<div><br /></div><div>Yes. For retrospective purposes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it worth keeping up?</div><div><br /></div><div>Probably not.</div><div>Tack så mycket.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5406240509543184830?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-20092303926286077782011-04-20T20:11:00.000-07:002011-04-20T20:14:54.154-07:00So sleepy tired not exhausted tired.<div>You know the difference.</div><div>They are much alike. But I just want to lay down for 12 consecutive 30-minute naps to recollect and refresh my brain. Brain is drained. Burnt out. I want a year off to do nothing. But I already do nothing. Oi. Aye.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2009230392628607778?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-85944925479055081012011-03-25T00:47:00.000-07:002011-03-25T00:48:47.695-07:00One-thousand eighteen emails<div>and not a single one from</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I gave up waiting ages ago</div><div>but it'd still be a nice surprise.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8594492547905508101?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-64157367485556870522011-03-07T20:00:00.000-08:002011-03-07T20:06:47.010-08:00I give up being a feminist<div>I give up being smart</div><div>I give up food</div><div>I give up reading</div><div>I give up writing</div><div>I give up music</div><div>I give up being friendly</div><div>I give up being social</div><div>I give up being nice</div><div>I give up being polite</div><div>I give up being pleasing</div><div>I give up being happy</div><div>I give up having stress</div><div>I give up listening</div><div>I give up learning</div><div>I give up teaching</div><div>I give up being fat</div><div>I give up walking</div><div>I give up waking</div><div>I give up bathing</div><div>I give up courage</div><div>I give up dressing</div><div>I give up shopping</div><div>I give up speaking</div><div>I give up walls</div><div>I give up sharing</div><div>I give up caring</div><div>I give up being there for others</div><div>I give up threading</div><div>I give up seeing</div><div>I give up feeling</div><div>I give up traveling</div><div>I give up flying</div><div>I give up breathing</div><div>I give up </div><div><br /></div><div>I give up</div><div><br /></div><div>I give up</div><div><br /></div><div>I give up</div><div><br /></div><div>I give up</div><div><br /></div><div>I give up being</div><div><br /></div><div>Because you do not give enough to me</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6415736748555687052?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-18055585752024980262011-03-05T15:21:00.000-08:002011-03-05T15:33:38.183-08:00I am frustrated. And tired. More frustrated then tired. Tired from the lack of fruit. And frozen vegetable diet.<div><br /></div><div>But frustrated with me having the burden of being</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>black-sheathed.</div><div>I am the 4th wheel</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is why</div><div>I should end it all</div><div><br /></div><div>and have a life in ones</div><div><br /></div><div>not pairs</div><div>not triples</div><div>not quadruples</div><div>not quintuples</div><div>not sextuples</div><div>not, etc.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>because no matter how nice I live to others</div><div>I will always be shielded in black.</div><div><br /></div><div>This explains my permanent scowl</div><div>my quick anger</div><div>my nightly wetwinks</div><div><br /></div><div>The American Dream is a myth to the black-sheathed. Working hard will not pay off for me</div><div>because</div><div><br /></div><div>no matter how hard I try</div><div>I will always be shielded in black.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1805558575202498026?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-66372627011813138632011-02-28T21:56:00.001-08:002011-02-28T22:01:29.198-08:001. Yours will appreciate your extensive whip collection.<div><br /></div><div>2. Yours will have a successful art gallery and play music.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Yours will adore your dry humor and play rugby.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Mine will spend all of my money, get me pregnant, causing me to tell our child that their father is only a sperm donor and to shake me another martini before I go hang out with my gay best friend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6637262701181313863?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-76284994963429937492011-02-28T00:36:00.001-08:002011-02-28T00:52:00.622-08:00Tonight the bus was late.<div>Tonight the wind picked up.</div><div>Tonight the rain rolled down my coat.</div><div>Tonight my umbrella helped.</div><div>Tonight my hair grew.</div><div>Tonight I got off at the right stop.</div><div>Tonight the awkwardness of being alone at a show kicked in.</div><div>Tonight the habit of checking twitter on my phone happened.</div><div>Tonight I wished I had stayed to watch the Oscars.</div><div>Tonight things got good.</div><div>Tonight things got better.</div><div>Tonight things got amazing.</div><div>Tonight there were handsome men everywhere.</div><div>Tonight I didn't think about underground German gay sex clubs.</div><div>Tonight there was a man who danced to tropical punk rock like it were hip hop.</div><div>Tonight I tasted dream pop.</div><div>Tonight there was a red-headed spitting image of my 14-year-old idol.</div><div>Tonight I swayed like I didn't give a fuck.</div><div>Tonight I heard three cans of Coke pop open.</div><div>Tonight one band member played in two sets.</div><div>Tonight I missed California.</div><div>Tonight I tapped my toes.</div><div>Tonight I nodded my head.</div><div>Tonight I was glad I didn't stay home to watch the Oscars.</div><div>Tonight I sulked out of the venue to catch my bus home.</div><div>Tonight I missed my bus.</div><div>Tonight I waited outside of a sketchy bar in Queen Anne.</div><div>Tonight the bus came early by one whole minute.</div><div>Tonight the bus driver was grouchy.</div><div>Tonight the lights were off in the apartment.</div><div>Tonight the dishwasher was unloaded by someone else.</div><div>Tonight I am coming off my post-gig high.</div><div>Tonight was a night well spent.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7628499496342993749?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-84476810661129014262011-02-10T12:11:00.000-08:002011-02-10T12:12:25.294-08:00The trick is to keep breathing<div><br /></div><div>when the day looks so deceiving.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8447681066112901426?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-76114152038263532862011-02-09T16:03:00.000-08:002011-02-10T00:37:06.018-08:00So I've thought very hard<div>and realized,</div><div>the man repeller that I am,</div><div><br /></div><div>will never fill the desires for love</div><div>most feel everyday.</div><div><br /></div><div>The dwelling over this decision almost makes it seem like I need it</div><div>more</div><div>than I will ever want to believe.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7611415203826353286?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-8009424724447880502011-02-08T19:01:00.000-08:002011-02-08T19:08:43.271-08:00And here I sit<div>I hear here</div><div>how in love this girl is</div><div><br /></div><div>with this boy</div><div>who loves her back </div><div><br /></div><div>so much</div><div><br /></div><div>and his denial</div><div>is</div><div>-killing-</div><div>her</div><div>beat red face that</div><div>can't tear up</div><div>her bottled feelings</div><div><br /></div><div>and I know</div><div><br /></div><div>they are afraid</div><div>of the future</div><div>and the future</div><div>holds uncertainty</div><div>and they are stubborn</div><div>because</div><div>it may just be a</div><div><br /></div><div>'phase'</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>but</div><div>I</div><div>know</div><div>from what I hear</div><div>here</div><div>it can't be</div><div><br /></div><div>phasey</div><div><br /></div><div>and</div><div>I hope</div><div>the best</div><div>for them</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>and I</div><div>am content with being</div><div>forever</div><div><br /></div><div>alone</div><div>to avoid</div><div>ever feeling</div><div>The Pains of a Loving Heart</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-800942472444788050?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-1228066750205628752011-02-08T12:57:00.000-08:002011-02-08T12:58:45.362-08:00I cry everyday, void of all thought, feeling and emotion.<div><br /></div><div>I used to write it off as my eyes watering in the cold wind</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>until I realized it was reality</div><div>consistently</div><div>slapping me in the face.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-122806675020562875?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-56651454581571553822010-11-28T22:54:00.000-08:002010-11-28T23:00:00.905-08:00<div>I am ready for December</div><div><br /></div><div>and the sun</div><div>and sand</div><div>and warmth</div><div>and sunburns</div><div>and bathing suits</div><div>and palm trees</div><div>and driving in cars</div><div>and air conditioning</div><div>and fast food</div><div>and smog</div><div>and dreaming</div><div><br /></div><div>not buses</div><div>not snow</div><div>not walking</div><div>not cocoa</div><div>not working</div><div>not coats</div><div>not scarves</div><div>not scratching</div><div>not chicken</div><div>not pie</div><div>not heaters</div><div>not worrying</div><div><br /></div><div>Be gone.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hej hej,</div><div><br /></div><div>Any</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5665145458157155382?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-37441695116691491412010-10-26T13:19:00.000-07:002010-10-26T13:20:10.863-07:00To.<br /><br /><br /><br />Me.<br /><br /><br />Good bye nine<br />teen<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3744169511669149141?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-80946425001617781682010-10-09T20:36:00.001-07:002010-10-09T20:38:51.270-07:00I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know I think I feel I see I know and why?<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8094642500161778168?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-7637895821047039432010-09-15T20:24:00.000-07:002010-09-15T20:29:19.409-07:00Sweat all over me<br />rolling down my cheek<br />neck<br />arms<br />back<br />breasts<br />legs<br />aching muscles<br />climbing up and down<br />pivoting stepping bending twisting<br />Take a breath--<br /><br />You mean I'm not even close to being done?<br />I don't know if I like moving.<br /><br />I wish I could settle down and be idle and comfortable<br />forever<br /><br />because I am tired of itchy legs and arms.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-763789582104703943?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-64183901987712123672010-09-12T00:04:00.000-07:002010-09-12T00:07:46.108-07:00I'm waiting...<br /><br />taptaptap<br /><br />... and you still haven't said a word.<br /><br />I guess we aren't important.<br />That's fine.<br /><br />At least<br /><br />the Situation is<br />two-sided<br />now!<br /><br />re-Joyce.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6418390198771212367?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-88966083210426788432010-09-03T00:00:00.000-07:002010-09-03T00:01:10.350-07:00Please don't find this//<br />Please don't find this//<br />Please don't find this//<br />Please don't find this//<br />Please don't find this//<br />Please don't find this//<br /><br /><br />Friday.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8896608321042678843?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-20549170499089440712010-08-30T22:49:00.000-07:002010-08-30T23:42:26.787-07:00I am not listening<br />beyond the 8-bit<br />in my ears. I am busy<br />burping up<br />the milk in my belly and feeling<br />dreadfully lazy<br />about the idea of brushing my teeth.<br /><br /><br />The thought of tomorrow<br />sickens me<br /><br />Come Saturday<br />quicker<br />so I don't have to ever<br />see you<br /><br />again.<br /><br />I know it's brash, I know it is impulsive, and it is all so very typical of me. It makes things a lot easier to deal with. Nobody knows what happened<br />but I have to turn from you<br />and silently say<br /><span id="result_box" class="short_text"><span style="" title="">Gute Nacht</span></span><br />in your ear one more time. I hope time can erase your face<br />and your words<br />your grin<br />your charm<br />your whispers in my ear<br />your hot breath and damp palms-<br />your significance<br />your drunken cigarettes<br />your laughter<br />your justice<br />your lively eyes<br />your embrace-<br />All of it<br /><br />away.<br />I need to experience<br />better things.<br />Remove me from this hook--<br /><br />You're just a hurdle, right now.<br /><br />Come Saturday<br />I won't be over you.<br /><br />Damn it.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2054917049908944071?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-41150785571841802662010-08-23T23:17:00.000-07:002010-08-23T23:19:27.629-07:00I wanted to post a poem I wrote for a course I had taken.<br /><br />Then I realized that was not such a good idea.<br /><br />You can wait to read it in the New Yorker, though.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4115078557184180266?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-69050003846166824062010-08-18T07:12:00.001-07:002010-08-18T23:36:07.733-07:00Writing this down as fast as I can before my mind goes to sleep for the day.<br /><br />Me. Him. From Ireland. But American.<br />Ran into him randomly during a vacation with my grandmother.<br />Wooed me by singing various "The Early November" tracks.<br />I barely communicated with him verbally-<br />but it was a grand time.<br />I died- with every eye twinkle,<br />his crooked teeth,<br />goofy remarks.<br />Dreamworlds do not remind one you're taken.<br />But, nothing happened like that.<br />It was happiness love.<br /><br />What I needed. I had happy dreams for once<br />And you were there, putting a smile on my face<br />as much as you do when I am in your presence.<br /><br />Running through vacation houses, angering divas from a random MTV show-<br />Riding in the backseat of cars<br />Staring at you, still, until you decided to break out in song.<br />Wonky glasses.<br /><br />The happy dreams were the best I could imagine<br />in this time of stress.<br />But now I'm a mess with this image of you<br />that is pretty much not real but has the potential to be accurate.<br /><br /><br />Forgive me.<br />I just woke up,<br />Crust lining the corner of my lips, outlining that happiness-smile from the happiest dream I had in a while.<br />Terrible at translating my thoughts to type.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6905000384616682406?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-73754897875086882942010-08-10T14:41:00.000-07:002010-08-10T14:54:26.009-07:00Restoration needed inside of me. This week of contemplation, I have realized what is wrong with a lot of lonely souls. Buried, deeper and deeper, dying to crawl up and out and breathe in the sun: we want to get out and continue to believe there is no way up. The lie in believe feeds our hopelessness.<br />Scramble: bee live >>>>> be alive<br /><br />Be alive!<br />There is no hole!<br />There are no walls!<br />You are in a field- vast and endless: run through it!<br /><br />Encourage yourself to do<br />what you must-<br />and every good thing you<br />put effort in is<br />worth while.<br /><br /><br /><br />The only hard part of this healing: forgiving<br />those who made you feel like you were trapped in the hole.<br /><br />Ignore them.<br />There is no hole.<br />There are no walls.<br />You are in a field: vast and endless- run through it.<br /><br />Seize the day<br />and every opportunity thrown at you. Keep your hands<br />and mind busy from here on out<br />in order to feel,<br />to breathe,<br />happiness.<br /><br />There is a little hope right now.<br />Believe.<br /><br />Be alive.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7375489787508688294?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-73009677524045030272010-07-31T09:08:00.000-07:002010-07-31T09:12:43.079-07:00Here<br />and back<br />And there for a while<br />Now I am<br />changed<br />Like I thought<br />I would be<br />good thank<br />you for being here<br />with me the happy tunes<br />playing in my ear<br />echo of Wanting to go<br />back but the Knowing<br />it wasn't my place<br />to be<br />forever<br />I must keep looking<br />excuses I love<br />July blink of an eye<br />like Finny<br />worth my time<br />I loved<br />happy to be Here<br />hello Goodbye<br />July.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7300967752404503027?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-22073411010317252442010-06-23T17:46:00.000-07:002010-06-23T17:50:03.288-07:00I won't lock you on the hillside<br />Where the fire comes each October.<br />I won't lock you at seaside<br />'Cause that's not any better-<br />When it rains, it pours<br />You'll get swallowed by the shores.<br /><br /><br /><br />To be continued. Someday.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2207341101031725244?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-42440488418861836412010-06-18T21:46:00.000-07:002010-06-18T22:09:39.172-07:00This post will start with something I wrote somewhere else.<br /><br /><br /><br />No matter how much philosophy I have, and probably will study, when someone dies, someone is dead.<br /><br />It doesn’t feel any better.<br /><br />It certainly feels worse.<br /><br />The situation isn't as serious as I am making it sound. People die every day. The thing is, when you know a face that has died (you don't have to actually <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> the person), you feel this violent wave of rage come over you, then you feel sad.<br />The feeling of sadness is what hurts the most. Nobody likes to feel sad. People get sad over things they cannot control.<br /><br />I am sad.<br />Human beings are always dying.<br />Why am I not inherently sad, then?<br />I have not laid eyes on all who have died. If I were to see every face of every person to die, that would make me habitually depressed.<br /><br />Death is a huge change. You have to figure out how to live your life without that person in it... which is frustrating.<br /><br />I don't know how to resolve this feeling of sorrow and death... says the girl who has "Life is a Fiction" on her blog...<br /><br />It's just hard to let go. I thought I had been able to convince myself death is 'okay.'<br />Death rolls around,<br />and it hits me like lightning.<br /><br />This certain situation will pass in a bit. I just don't want to know what I will be like when something more serious rolls around.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This was horribly written.<br />It's all in my head, but it can't get out.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4244048841886183641?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-70243251087052769782010-06-14T17:02:00.000-07:002010-06-14T17:12:55.284-07:00Young men<br />in crop tops<br />running shorts<br />and leg warmers.<br /><br /><br />What haven't we seen done today?<br /><br />Enough.<br />That is what we haven't seen.<br /><br />My legs turned black under the sun today. I had to return inside after my neck couldn't bear perspiring onto the pillow any longer. I sit inside, melting under ice- not used to this. It isn't as hot as it could be. The day is dying, the air is cooling, and maybe I will feel better in a few minutes. Maybe a cold bath is in order?<br />So much to do.<br />To unpack.<br /><br />What a boring, tedious chore.<br />I am leaving this place in two weeks.<br />I am beginning to feel I live out of suitcases.<br />If only I could manage with one small case.<br /><br />Maybe I will do that when graduate?<br /><br />Take a small bag and hop around from town to town.<br />Sounds like a dream<br />an impossible reality.<br /><br />Melting under ice.<br />This slow moving glacier crushing me- I want to break through. It is going to pass soon. Oh, so very soon. I am waiting. 14 days.<br /><br />I need to clear my thoughts and make a new entry.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7024325108705276978?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-63639945236890204912010-06-02T20:15:00.000-07:002010-06-02T20:16:07.264-07:00Well.<br />May was a bust.<br /><br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6363994523689020491?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-941981573155386172010-05-24T09:26:00.000-07:002010-05-24T09:27:07.351-07:00Maybe I can beat March this year.<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;">173</span><br />I am on my way to 173.<br />Hell or high water, <br />it's where I will be.<br />I didn't see at the time<br />173 is perfectly fine.<br /><br />I will stretch, I will confine,<br />I will melt, I will freeze-<br />Oh please, take me to 173.<br />I will run, I will swim,<br />I will define my goodness.<br />Oh please, take me to 173.<br /><br />173 has the real me.<br />I want to be the true self<br />173<br />173<br />One seventy-three.<br /></blockquote><br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-94198157315538617?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-787234709205223232010-05-17T20:50:00.000-07:002010-05-17T21:05:54.881-07:00Never have I ever not wanted to smash someone's head in for sniffling.<br />Never have I ever thought or dreamt about my wedding.<br />Never have I ever not wanted to be famous.<br />Never have I ever ridden a bicycle.<br />Never have I ever read all of the books on my shelves.<br />Never have I ever truly realized how fortunate I am.<br />Never have I ever followed through on my major desires.<br />Never have I ever considered beer my drink of choice.<br />Never have I ever I wanted to die for something because I care for it so much.<br />Never have I ever had a full time job.<br />Never have I ever considered myself to be physically beautiful.<br />Never have I ever done drugs.<br />Never have I ever understood why I torture myself with desires and not do anything about it.<br />Never have I ever caused an avalanche.<br />Never have I ever written anything I have been completely satisfied with.<br />Never have I ever read my work in a public forum after the age of 14.<br />Never have I ever not wished I hated food.<br />Never have I ever not loved my family.<br />Well, maybe Kevin.<br />Never have I ever not thought something was wrong with me.<br />Never have I ever been brave enough to be committed to step into a new frontier without the aid or approval of my family.<br />Never have I ever wanted to cry more after writing this.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-78723470920522323?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-82723394548938467562010-05-17T20:16:00.000-07:002010-05-17T20:35:25.247-07:00I don't understand all of these fruit fly gangs this year.<br />Isn't it weird at night: you look to the darkness of the East, but can still see the lightness in the West.<br /><br />It still hasn't hit me.<br />I will be gone for a month.<br />In another country.<br /><br />It will change me, but will I change for it?<br /><br />A wonderful conversation- very brief- was sparked this early morn'. I have known this person for close to 6 years- we have had our ups and downs, but we are the closest we have been right now.<br /><br />I said to her, "You know- it's so interesting to see how much people change when they go to college. I don't feel like I have done anything."<br /><br />She said, "Don't feel like that. You knew who you were in high school, and you shouldn't feel obligated to have a dramatic change."<br /><br />Strong statements.<br />Did I really know who I was 5 years ago?<br />Well. I was a water polo and swim jock addicted to pop punk.<br />4 years ago?<br />I didn't like water polo as much and liked swim much more and listened to screamo. AP magazine was my bible.<br />3 years ago?<br />I hated most of the people on the water polo team and only did it to stay in shape for swim. Fuck that pop punk and screamo shit. I loved electro.<br />2 years ago?<br />I worked a part time job at Baskin Robbins, used my tip money to buy NME weekly (my new bible, fuck Alternative Press). I only did water polo so it would look 'consistent' on my college transcripts. I hated everyone I knew at school. I cried. And cried. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to read. I didn't want to do a damn thing.<br />1 year ago?<br />I loved rowing. That was my life. Didn't really stay in the loop with current events or new music.<br />And now?<br />Well- I am more confused than ever. I look back, and there isn't a damn thing that sticks out in my mind and makes me think, "You really know yourself, Any."<br /><br />I really don't know who I am, who I want to be. There is this idealized visual in my mind and I don't know how to get to it.<br /><br />Why the fuck am I griping about this shit here?<br />Good god.<br /><br />TMI TMI TMI<br /><br />Maybe I am bitter over the current events that have occurred over the last few months.<br />My prediction was partially true.<br /><br />TOO BAD IT WASN'T PERTAINING TO ME.<br /><br />nix<br />nix<br />nix<br />stop thinking about that-<br />don't let it consume you<br /><br />i can't<br /><br />yes you can<br /><br />no i cannot<br /><br />shut the hell up.<br />you can.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8272339454893846756?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-49173993836049360782010-05-13T22:34:00.000-07:002010-05-13T22:38:36.181-07:00I didn't read. I sat. I sat in a big comfy chair.<br />Sank into it. And stared at the ceiling. Maybe laughed. Maybe flinched.<br />For the most part it was terrible.<br />But, it was an experience.<br />A new way I acquired inside jokes with friends. "Cops, cops, cops!" we yelled all the way home. "George, I think we're fucked up!"<br />He looked like charlie Bartlett. He really, truly, did. Except, not as cute of course.<br />Twisted poetry. I think he was a captive of a cult as a young child.<br />Another Capricorn was there. They were drunk. It was unlike them to read, and sing, and be themselves. How enlightening/endearing. Maybe next time I will come more prepared.<br />Maybe I will read.<br />Maybe I won't.<br />Probably not.<br />I'm a wuss. And I suck. And I don't make much sense.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4917399383604936078?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-27151604601047881322010-05-09T22:26:00.000-07:002010-05-09T22:58:08.707-07:00Instead, I had a fire in my head. My mind began to melt. I didn't know what to do.<br />The burning inside of me was so much, it made me blind.<br />All I could do was keep going.<br />All I wanted to do was lay my head down. Lay my head on the table and let it smolder. Let it die. Let it turn to ash.<br />But I had to keep going.<br />And promised to.<br />But my promises can be lies in overpriced Martha Stewart suggested gift-wrap. Promising sounding promises.<br />So, should I keep going?<br />Or give in and let the fire die?<br /><br />Die, fire, die.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2715160460104788132?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-66435886297314584892010-04-27T15:04:00.000-07:002010-04-29T14:48:48.083-07:00Very informal.<br />As usual.<br /><br /><br />I saw an amazing(ly written) play last evening. It is Brian Friel's "Translations." The acting, not so good. The play itself- very powerful and moving.<br /><br />I didn't come here to write about the play, though. Of course not. It would be very uncharacteristic of me.<br /><br />I wanted to write about my bus ride home.<br />I noticed a very handsome fellow sitting on the back of the bus with two of his friends, engaging in what I would imagine a very silly conversation. There were moments where he would stand up at stops, spread his arms out wide and flail them like a madman, jump around the seats. From what I could tell, he was a very animated fellow.<br />He wore a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up his arms and khaki pants- I didn't note anything else as I was greatly concentrated on his actions.<br /><br />It was two stops until I had to get off, and he exited with his friends right in front of the QFC by Urban on Broadway. I caught a clear glimpse at his face- his lovely features. The most vivid were his amazing blue eyes, which immediately triggered a memory.<br /><br />I had seen him before.<br /><br />"I have to tell you something at the <span style="font-style:italic;">next</span> stop," I yelped as he and his pals exited the bus.<br /><br />"The <span style="font-style:italic;">very next</span>?" my friend quizzed me.<br /><br />"He is the guy I saw on the lightrail from the airport back in to town after Spring Break!"<br /><br />He was, indeed. I never thought I would see him again. I figured, Seattle is fairly heavily populated, what were the odds I would see him again? I have butterflies recalling it.<br /><br />"I guess I will be riding this bus aimlessly for the rest of my days in Seattle," I mumbled.<br /><br />"Just to stalk him and see him again?"<br /><br />"Hey! I <span style="font-style:italic;">will</span> talk to him if I see him again. I will! Three times means the cosmos are pulling us together."<br /><br />Ah.<br />But, would I? Would I really have the guts to say anything to him?<br /><br /><br /><br />The sad reality is I probably wouldn't. You know how I am. He'll no longer be that nameless man from the Lightrail that I have <span style="font-style:italic;">happened</span> to see twice on public transportation in my life. Maybe that is all he is good for: Another fantasy for me to forever remember.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<br /><br />P.S. Every damn post on this blog is the same. What a writer I am.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6643588629731458489?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-61122007109709825982010-04-18T17:48:00.000-07:002010-04-18T17:52:35.482-07:00Fuck being sick.<br /><br /><br />Now I just want to die.<br />I haven't accomplished a damn thing. Not a damn thing. I recall all of the opportunities in my life where I was asked to participate or apply for something, and I always thought:<br /><br />Too much time<br />I'm not going to get it<br />They aren't going to like me<br /><br />And guess what?<br />It is because I don't like hearing the bad news of, "No- you're not what we are looking for," or "Sorry, but we will keep you in mind."<br />And I am a fool. A god damn fool for all of the shit I have passed up.<br /><br />I could probably be a prominent writer.<br /><br />Instead I am sitting in my room with the blinds down and tears rolling down my cheeks.<br /><br />It's too late.<br /><br />I'm going nowhere. And I hate myself for being so foolish.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6112200710970982598?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-20359602559606282302010-04-17T22:16:00.000-07:002010-04-17T22:30:14.190-07:00My eyes are going to drop out of their sockets.<br />My skin is going to melt away like candlewax.<br /><br />I have been trying to make myself sick for over a week. It hasn't been going so well, as I am sick in a totally different context. So, my current illness is prohibiting me to make myself sick in the way I want to be. Am I not trying hard enough?<br /><br />I just have so much,<br />and you-<br /><br />you are worth being sick over.<br />Why can't I stop being sick of myself and start being sick over you?<br /><br />Every fucking time I see you, I want to be sick. Sick forever. Sick so you can like me more, sick so I can like you more.<br />I'm not even worth it.<br /><br />You know what?<br />I start tomorrow. I will be sick for you, only you.<br /><br />God, help me. I know this decision is worth it. <br /><br />I have decided. It will be.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2035960255960628230?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-63142757479773046352010-03-25T00:16:00.001-07:002010-03-25T00:54:24.737-07:00I fell in love with a boy whose words I never understood.<br />I sat in my mother's living room with my computer plugged in to the modem at midnight in late March. My eyes were tired from the day, but I couldn't sleep. So, I decided to look through this boys life. I found his life several months ago, and I forget about it for a few weeks. I figured I would catch up and see what he was up to, so I went through the last month recorded. Beautiful accounts, from what I saw. I never knew what he was writing- it was an arrangement of letters I could never make out. I didn't even know his name. It took me a while when I first found his life to find out who he actually was.<br /><br />When I was certain he was who he was (I thought it couldn't have been him, as he was present in too many of the photographs... but it turned out to be who I thought it was), I almost felt like I was starting to understand what was going on in his life more. I was no longer intimidated with the strange script on his page.<br /><br />I called him David.<br />I never knew his real name, but he looked like he could be a David. <br /><br />The more I looked at the words, I realized what language it was. I daren't use google translate, in fear of relying on it to interpret what David was all about. Instead, I kept him and all of his friends strictly visuals.<br /><br />You know me and my fascination of fantasy people.<br /><br />It is so strange to think David actually exists. He lives and breathes on this planet. And I only know him by the photographs that he posts. He doesn't even know that I look at them. Isn't that creepy? So extremely creepy. The price he pays publicizing his photographs. I bet he doesn't realize there is someone thousands of miles away from where he lives creating a storyline in their crazy little noggin, thinking he lives a tragically ornate life, the desperate wishes every American youth wishes to experience on a Saturday.<br /><br />I never thought I would fall in love with David's pictures. David's life.<br />I think I fell in love with him because I wanted to be him.<br />Or one of those beautiful girls that he knew. Oh, to witness that divinity in the flesh would be heaven.<br /><br />Instead, he would forever remain a 1081px × 1600px piece of pixelated beauty.<br /><br />I said my prayers, ironically listened to "Young Adult Friction" by Pains of Being Pure at Heart," rubbed my eyes, and closed my computer. I turned off the modem and went to bed.<br /><br />Only to have dreams about having long, luscious locks and an Irish beau at my side.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6314275747977304635?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-22067456600151464042010-03-24T00:35:00.001-07:002010-03-24T00:49:25.587-07:00He was right. Thinking about the little things, like getting dressed in the morning, to the big things, such as our mere existence, is crazy.<br /><br />Why do we do the things we do? Why do we have to exist?<br /><br />I began to imagine myself step out my front door, naked. I know how the world react- appalled, flabbergasted that I would go against the social construct of being clothed. The thing is, the only thing that would matter would be what I would be thinking. Of course, I wouldn't think I was going mad, because I would just be thinking of this 'philosophical' blog post that I am typing out right now. And, so many would try to ship me off to a mental institution after I explain to them that I 'don't care about having to wear clothes in public,' or the fact that I don't care if my hair is washed and well kempt. I don't care if I want to yell at the top of my lungs out of my window, or dance at a bus stop.<br /><br />WHY DO WE WORRY?<br />WHY DO WE ALWAYS HAVE TO CAUTION OURSELVES?<br /><br />I still don't like myself. Not one bit. In fact, even after this liberating discovering of not having to care what external factors influence me, I internally still hate myself. This is because the external factors dug their needles into my skin when I was young. They injected me with their poisonous thoughts, and they handed me filth. I took that filth, crushed it into a fine powder, and breathed it in. I licked it off of my lips, off of my fingers, and it all has consumed me. It has poisoned the way that I think of myself.<br /><br />This is what happens. You let so many things trouble you, that you let them become a part of you.<br /><br />I look back at the photos of me I middle school. I was beautiful. I didn't need to look better, I looked damn good then. Even in high school. And now, because I inhaled all of those dirty, dirty comments people fed to me, I am packing them on. Every inch of me is a word they have said to me. And I can't let it go. The more they pressure me, the more I grow. I am growing so much, and I now hate myself for letting this happen to me. I need to have blinders on. I can't listen to anyone anymore tell me how I should be.<br /><br />I need to take the control into my own hands.<br />I am tired of hating myself.<br /><br />Don't you dare say anything encouraging.<br />Don't tell me I am fine the way I am.<br /><br />Your words don't mean a damn thing to me anymore.<br />You have made me the way I am:<br /><br />A 5'10" piece of hatred.<br />Shut up.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2206745660015146404?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-8180474700525874942010-03-18T13:46:00.000-07:002010-03-18T13:47:25.306-07:00Who reads this blog, and why? How did you find it? Why do you continue to read this?<br /><br />If you could answer, that would be lovely.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-818047470052587494?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-18676730475298714392010-03-17T16:11:00.000-07:002010-03-17T16:42:37.798-07:00Happy St. Patrick's Day.<br /><br />I write this in the basement, staring straight into my cup with a candystripe straw.<br /><br />It is so weird to think of the things we see as two-dimensional. Like, everything we see is 2-D. Don't look puzzled. The only thing that makes us trick our minds to think that what we see is 3-D is the fact that our sensors for feeling can usually grasp/touch whatever is ahead of us.<br /><br />And the fact that we are told/brainwashed during our school learning that we live in a 3-D world... and that the particles that make us... us... are 3-D as well. What the hell is this bullshit?<br /><br />Now I am starting to believe what I see is what I can see. We have 2-D vision and 3-D touching-abilities, that is that. Paintings are what we see all of the time... constantly in motion, nothing is ever still.<br />I think even a painting can move. There is something in me that is convinced that nothing is the same as it was 23 seconds ago.<br /><br />Things are always turning into something different- not necessarily older (as the thing of time is arbitrary and tacky... I hate the concept of time, yet time travel fascinates me).<br /><br />The idea of fantasy's or mind tricks fascinate me. According to Aristotle, the only way that we can see illusions are if the images are drawn out from memory. We cannot have nightmares or see hallucinations without the ability to draw back on something we have seen before.<br /><br />Now, how does this explain mythical creatures? How can one possibly dream of a mythical creature? I am certain I have had dreams that have terrified me with creatures I have never seen before. Are they actually hybrids from things we have seen before? Is that why when movies creature Extra Terrestrial beings, they still have figures like a human?<br /><br />I have tried, so many times, to imagine living in an entirely different world with an entirely new set of senses. I could not think of anything other than the five that we have right now, could not think of anything that was remotely feasible because I cannot think of anything outside of what I already know.<br /><br />So, how is it that a man can think of something no woman or man has ever thought before?<br /><br />I disagree with this. I am starting to believe we have all thought the same thing in our life before, it is whether we have brought it to the front of our conscience or not... and who has the chance to publish the thought first to be claimed the ultimate thinker of the 'genius' thing they thought of all 'by themselves.' Hmm- phooey.<br /><br />I really do enjoy Foucault's writings on Bentham's Panopticon, and how that structure is similar to how we all live censored lives, but doesn't everyone notice this as they get older?<br /><br />"Man was born free, and everywhere he is in chains,"-- very famous opening line from Rousseau.<br /><br />Well, as I said before, doesn't everyone notice this? How we are all censored? I mean, especially during our teenage years, when our parents begin to have a tighter grip on us (or when we start to realize that our guardians are holding us in a headlock)! Those who have had the courage to stand up to their oppressive governments, they know they are being over-censored, because they are oppressed. Why is it such a big deal to credit certain people with certain 'ideas?'<br /><br />So that we can quote them?<br /><br />I am starting to feel that even quoting is starting to be the lamest thing ever (despite the fact that I have quoted Aristotle and Rousseau directly in this post so far)- it isn't intellectual to quote someone, it's just an easy way to formulate something you have thought about and the author has been able to say the words eloquently enough for you to reiterate them...<br /><br />We have all thought the same things... some have articulated the thoughts better than the others...<br /><br />Now I am a looney.<br /><br />I am really straying away from my final philosophy paper. I am trying to figure out what I am going to do, but I am basically going to be talking about this in a nutshell. The way that we perceive, how appearances and understanding function in human beings, according to Aristotle.<br /><br />It is some pretty mediocre stuff, but it is still interesting, nevertheless. I hope this can hopefully spark some ideas for my final piece of crap. I want to push my limits on what I need to write for this paper. It doesn't have to be the best thing that I have written (I vouch that it will not be!) but it certainly has to be interesting enough to read.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1867673047529871439?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-92148339655529192872010-03-16T10:33:00.000-07:002010-03-16T11:35:26.749-07:00This week. This goddamn fucking week. It doesn't feel like a burden, either. It feels like it is going to stretch out to be the longest week of all weeks this year so far. I have $20.05 to live off until Thursday. I will make it, and I will be a champ.<br />I went to bed last night at 10:30 as my body was telling me it was what it needed to do. I tried to fight it, but I closed my computer and caved in to a deep sleep. I did not rise until 8 this morning, and I still feel fatigued. Maybe all of the anxieties/excitement of going home is getting way over my head? I have never been so excited about going home ever since I have moved to college. I know that it is going to be a bundle of sun and time to read things that are not required...<br /><br />I am editing a paper right now, and I almost find editing papers more exhausting than writing them. You would think there were only so many ways that you could rearrange words to make them sound coherent.<br />Bah.<br />Well, you are right when there are only so many ways... but it always turns out to be more ways than you could ever fathom. So, you pass your writings to multiple people in hopes of gaining multiple perspectives...<br />And when you compile the edits from that draft, you can continue to edit that again.<br /><br />Editing is a gruesome, endless cycle.<br /><br />Writings can always be improved. It is sickening to know that there will never be an ideal paper written (except in Plato's goddamn World of Forms. Suck it, Plato).<br /><br />Speaking of, I have to decide very soon if I am going to write my final philosophy on Aristotle, Kant, or Nietzsche... Nietzsche sounds like a sound choice about now.<br /><br />My eyes are drooping. I think they are doing this to me so that I do not have time to work. But, I must. I must finish. I am not stressed about this right now because I know that it will get done.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-9214833965552919287?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-47702938204328612742010-03-15T00:10:00.001-07:002010-03-15T01:09:03.308-07:00Dear children applying to colleges:<br /><br />You are a novice at partying. Do no deny this, but after the hot mess of an evening I witnessed, AKA March 12, 2010, I am most definitely inclined to write this blog post about all of the no-no's that I witnessed that evening. Partying is nothing like it is in the movies, it is far from that iconic (ironic) Asher Roth song. It will never be anything like you saw on The Cobrasnake (if anyone even still looks on that site at all... he is shooting at pre-teen b-day parties now, apparently), parties will never be like a Ke$ha song. In fact, parties have undeclared rules. I would like to provide you with some words of wisdom before you go on and make a fool of yourself your first year of college. You do not want to cross anyone who throws parties, you will suffer the consequences.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rule #1: There is no such thing as "Free Beer"</span><br />You heard me right. This is just untrue. Do not assume that you can walk into a house without money or your own 6 pack to have a good time. Always carry around $10 if you decide to go out. That way, you can have a little booze, and maybe a few extra bucks in case if you have a hankering for a Fourth Meal at Taco Bell.<br />The person hosting the party will find out that you are raiding their pantry, and they will seek revenge on you. Oh, you know,like maybe find your keys and hide them in the cushions of the couch so that you spend a half hour trying to find them when you want to leave...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rule #2: Just because someone gives you access to their drinks doesn't mean your friend can have some, too.</span><br />This is the sign of the ultimate dipshit. It's cool you are making a new friend with someone nice enough to offer you one of their Blue Moon's, but that does not mean that you can go back and take another one for your friend Taylor. "Hey, want a beer?" never translates to, "My box of booze is free reign- take as many as you would like!" Think about it, if you were the one offering a beer, wouldn't you be ticked off if the person you offered was overmooching after talking to you for less than ten minutes? That's what I thought.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rule #3: Know your limits</span><br />Puking on the steps of the front porch is never classy. You don't want to be that kid who can't make it out of the door without having your friend sling you over their shoulder so that you can make it home- that is just embarrassing on your behalf. Always start out slow, you don't have to show for anything just because you can drink 10 beers in two hours (ouch!).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rule #4: Do not be a scavenger</span> <br />I am unfortunately guilty of this. A scavenger is someone who picks up random cans or cups, and tries to drink any of the remaining drops. Hey! There might be a little bit of a treat left over! This not only looks unfortunate to the outside observer, but this is how The Herp, Swine Flu, and Mono spread. Well, aside from rando-makeout-sesh's... Boy, am I lucky to have not contracted anything from that really sad night...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rule #5: Always know where your friends are</span><br />Don't get left behind. It is just plain sad to see when a party is cleared out, and there is the lone soul sitting on a couch, drunk out of their mind, wailing, "Rachel is in the bathroom! I am waiting for her to come out!" only to hear someone say, <span style="font-style:italic;">Shit- Rachel left an hour ago</span>!<br /><br /><br />That is all I have to say for now. I will update with anything new after the next shit storm I attend.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4770293820432861274?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-24670161127052493712010-02-25T13:20:00.001-08:002010-02-25T13:26:02.056-08:00It's not a big deal.<br />It's not like you know my deepest, darkest feelings.<br />Like, how I have wanted to die for being so fat.<br />Like, how I have cried for feeling unloved and lonely.<br />Like, how I have admitted to you that I have internet friends.<br />You have told me that you are there for me whenever I need you.<br />You have told me that I am such a good friend to you.<br />You betcha, I am.<br />It's not a big deal.<br />It's not like we have really hung out before.<br />Think about it. We really don't.<br />We never really did.<br />But we sure know a lot about each other.<br />It's okay.<br />It's not a big deal.<br /><br />I'll see you never.<br /><br />Being you want it that way.<br />Flake.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2467016112705249371?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-27764005414465415582010-02-21T14:50:00.001-08:002010-02-21T15:03:13.207-08:00It is a glorious day in Seattle. Absolute sunshine.<br /><br />My nose is plugged.<br />My head is inflated.<br />My throat is being scraped with sandpaper.<br /><br />I feel like a champ. Thank god I don't have the chills anymore.<br /><br />Looks like it was just a bunch of anxiety catching up with me.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2776400541446541558?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-66451450251999180042010-02-09T16:34:00.000-08:002010-02-09T16:36:54.946-08:00Found this puppy hiding in a notebook-<br /><br /><blockquote>Hello there-<br />Back of a once<br />chocolate wrapper<br />turned letter.<br />If only I had the<br />emotions to feel<br />and realize this<br />illusion.<br />To write something<br />great (whatever<br />great is in this<br />illusion).<br />Let go?<br />Let it be?<br />Let it live?<br />Let it transcend?<br />Who knows?<br />Not I-<br />But being.</blockquote><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6645145025199918004?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-14609744729586601572010-02-09T10:38:00.000-08:002010-02-09T10:53:35.344-08:00I should be editing my pieces for the newspaper right now. But, again, even though I am in the time crunch, I can't bring myself to find the appropriate words/ have what they are looking for. Writing for a newspaper was not as easy as I had imagined it was going to be. Thank Moses we are only a weekly newspaper. If it were any more than that, oh my wordywords, I don't know what would be going on for me.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />I am actually doing things with my life now. Aside from crew. It feels good to not being a slave to something. Though I kinda wish I was a slave to a job so that I had money.<br /><br />I am kinda sick of wanting to listen to something fresh but I don't want to search for fresh beats. I need to first off stop listening to the Disney kids. Though that is impossible because there are hundreds of thousands of hours of research put into those songs they release and they formulate the perfect songs so that you like them and that you become addicted to listening to them, over and over and over again until your roommate wants to kill you and yell, "CUT THAT SHIT OUT, GOD DAMN!"<br />Though, dearest roommate hasn't said that. But I am sure other roommates in the world have said that. I am actually sure of it.<br /><br />Hmm. I realized that I use my left hand more than my right hand when it comes to typing. A lot of the common letters are arranged on the left side of the keyboard... curious... curious indeed. I think that is weird, being that this is a completely right handed world, yet we have to train ourselves to use the left hand to a crazy level if we want to type well. Ah- you never noticed this before. Now, whenever you type you will then think your left hand is getting a lot more tired (or that your right hand is growing bored due to the lack of activity that is called for it).<br /><br /><br />TTFN- I must finish this shit up. Busy morning.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1460974472958660157?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-62977718683946032932010-01-10T00:20:00.000-08:002010-01-10T00:33:47.333-08:00We have now re-connected in an odd, odd way. Hopefully we'll keep in touch some other way than what we are currently doing right now. Here is a letter that I never mailed out several months ago:<br /><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: right;">11 November, 2009<br /></div>Dearest T-----r,<br /><br />I write this letter from the Starbucks across from B--------- Hall- no drink at my side, as I am unable to afford even a tall drip coffee. I am relying heavily on my Bon A---- meal plan to get me by until Christmas. It's a little wet outside today- no crazy flood-rain. Just a sprinkle here or there. It's sad out there- it wants you to come back and greet the city with open arms and sunshine.<br /><br />So- I should have written to you sooner. But, you're lucky I am writing to you at all. See, I am a woman filled with a lot of false promises, smiles, charm, sass, and glitter. Yes, glitter. Almost as much as Paddy Wolf! Anyway- about the false promises, it is true. I told many friends that I would write them last year, and I never followed through on this vow to keep in touch. You are the first person that I have written to that is not a family member... are you feeling special? Now I am just getting cocky- I really need to stop that...<br /><br />I have not attended one concert since being here in S------. It's been a quiet Fall Quarter. But, I am loving every minute of it up here. Coffee shops are my new form of entertainment. I haven't met my prince charming (though I have witnessed many show stoppers) or written anything truly inspiring ( I am a failure of a writing major). these are things that I am adamant about accomplishing this year (that sentence sounds terribly awkward...).<br /><br />One of these days... wait- where was I going with this? I feel like this letter is awfully organized. I am going to now fill it with questions for you to answer so that I can expect a letter back from you (woohoo! Everyone loves to get mail).<br /><br />So: How are you? Right this moment- cold? Happy? Inspired? Have you read nything xceptionally interesting lately? Written any poems that blew your heart and mind? Are you getting enough sleep? Is your family doing well? Any television shows I should become addicted to over Christmas Break? Are you going anywhere interesting for your Winter Break?<br /><br />Oh, boy- I have provided a lot of questions- pardon me... well, I am genuinely interested to hear back from you!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">-------<br /></div></blockquote>Obviously not, since I never mailed them the letter. Well- there you go- I am sending them their many months due letter, and allowing all 2 billion internet users to read.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6297771868394603293?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-43402200538749385352010-01-01T22:04:00.001-08:002010-01-01T22:18:06.541-08:00I promised myself to start off my New Year right. Well, I haven't. I am ill. Gluttonous. I feel absolutely sickened with myself- licking the chocolate from the corners of my mouth... washing it down with a glass of Ovaltine. Wrong. So wrong. I can't say no- why can't I say no? Because it is delicious? Because I am afraid I won't be able to experience the sweetness ever again? I recently read an article that a friend of mine shared on her blog, and it said to stop being a procrastinator of pleasure. Well, I embraced those words. They are going to be my words to think about for the next decade...<br />but this whole eating thing- eating is supposed to be a pleasure. I find it awful that by me eating, I take no pleasure in the activity. I am constantly grazing. Right now I feel like I should be doubled over with my face in the toilet. I have consumed more chocolate than a poor child in a third world will ever have in their lifetime (if they are lucky) in one day. The more I mull over this, the more I want to puke, the more I feel upset with my decisions. And I hope I vomit because I deserve it.<br /><br />Now it won't happen, and I'll have to sleep away my tummy ache.<br /><br />I know I can do it. I know I can find a pleasure in not over- what would I call it? It isn't indulging. Indulging is a pleasant word, and with the state I am always in, it is never an indulgence. It is a living misery. I think this is an internal cry for help.<br /><br />For those that know me, I don't know how you are going to take this, but bear with me. This addiction is bad. I need slaps on a wrist. I am like a drug user. Don't be afraid to tell me no. Help. I want help so bad- I want the rest of this year to feel much better than I do now.<br /><br />I have to nurse my stomach ache.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4340220053874938535?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-4387162419510824682009-12-31T02:43:00.000-08:002009-12-31T02:55:13.566-08:00Where are those woods?<br />Those men?<br />Those gallant trees?<br />You speak of them with high regard. Do they please?<br /><br />These woods these woods- where do they reside?<br />Are they way out with the waters?<br />Stuck in the countryside?<br /><br />How high the trees grow<br />Not a seed to sow<br />Battling the sun and the frosty snow.<br /><br />I want to visit the place you speak<br />These woods these woods would do me good<br />Fresh air<br />Clean sky<br /><br />Good by<br />Goodbye.<br /><br />Let the journey begin to seek these woods<br />I have heard so much about.<br />How will I know I found the right route?<br />Will I know what I get there?<br />How do I declare?<br /><br />Those woods those woods I wish to be in<br />I am crossing my fingers<br />Let the travels begin.<br /><br />Happy New Year. Happy New Decade. Happy New Chapters. Happy New Alls.<br />I raise my glass to you. Thank you for reading. I love you.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-438716241951082468?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-60791053446240203022009-12-20T01:11:00.000-08:002009-12-20T01:41:18.072-08:00Mama always said to stay away from rum- rum is the devil's drink. One drink turns into two, and then into three- three into four. Then, you're in more trouble at the end of the night than from where you started. Though, at the time, you think you're fine. You just don't know what is coming to you in the morning. Just you wait.<br /><br />Whenever I am in a shitty mood, I light a candle in my living room, put on some Prog Rock vinyl, and set a bottle of white rum on the coffee table. I have a half glass of Diet Coke, and a liter of water. Just pop off that top, and start drinking. Use the Coke to cut that alcohol taste, use the water to reset your palette.<br /><br />Is this alcoholism?<br /><br />It's sad, that's what it is. Just picturing this makes me feel like an even more miserable speck on the earth. Getting trashed in my own apartment listening to some scratched Yes record I picked up from Value Village last week- but, hey, we all have our thing.<br /><br />After shot number three my sweater looks more interesting. After shot number four, the thought of turning on the Jonas Brothers sounds good. Don't worry, I don't give in- I successfully take out the Yes record to slip on an ELO album (also snagged from Value Village). After shot number five, I start to consider talking to 'them' again.<br />Nope. Not drunk enough. Shot six. (If you know you are going to get past this point, you should lock your cell phone in a safe to prevent drunk messaging)<br />I don't feel drunk...<br />As soon as my legs stand up, it is confirmed my assumptions were incorrect. Me skipping lunch and dinner so I could afford the Weight Watchers Points for this little drinking spree tonight really helped speed up the process.<br /><br />Tomorrow morning is going to suck. Thanks to the Devil's Drink.<br /><br /><blockquote>Thanks for reading. It's utter crap, but it was something from the top of my head. If I really really REALLY thought about what I wanted to write, it may have turned out better.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<br /></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6079105344624020302?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-72996929611539439082009-12-15T00:12:00.000-08:002009-12-15T00:52:44.707-08:00Everyone has those moments where that little voice in the back of your mind keeps telling you something... and it just nags, over, and over- for years. It may be something pointed out by others, and when they say it- it doesn't bother you at all, but subconsciously, you wish they did not think that of you. Well, I have this thing- this issue, and I have finally 'come to terms' with myself over it, and I think writing and releasing it to the world will either help me or hurt me. I decided to take a risk and write about it anyway.<br /><br />My name is Any, and I am a food addict.<br />How have I come to this conclusion?<br />Well, I am overweight. Technically obese, but that has a very negative connotation to it. By being clinically obese, that means that I am at least 30 pounds over my 'average' weight. When obese comes to mind, they usually imagine someone who is morbidly obese (over 100 pounds above their average weight). Though I work out like a beast (2 hours or more 6 days a week) and have been on athletic teams since the ripe ol' age of 7, I have always been heavy. Now, I'm coined as 'curvy.' I'm not totally dissatisfied with my appearance- I think I have a beautiful face, impressive skin, I am blessed with wonderful hair, 'perfect' teeth (my dentists have said so!), well-shaped lips, strong nails, the proportions on my body aren't bad. But, I am a food addict. I am not medically diagnosed, but I have been mulling on it for a while. I always feel guilty for my food choices at the end of the day. At night, before I fall asleep, I lay in my bed thinking, "Damn it, you need to be more disciplined!" and I scold myself until I drift off into my sleep.<br /><br />Then I wake up the next morning, grab a venti drip coffee, pour in half of it with cream and 4 Splenda, and nom down on a poppyseed bagel with cream cheese in class. In class, I'll think if I have time to grab lunch or a snack before the next class. What will it be? When I get there, I grab both- I can have lunch, and save a snack for during class. Of course, it doesn't make it through class. Then I have practice, and before (even during) I'll think about what is for dinner. My mind gets distracted by the dessert options when the time comes to order, so I add that to my tab. I get home from dinner, have a snack then... and the cycle begins all over again.<br /><br />Being home, away from school, it's worse. I just sit in the house all day, thinking of what to eat next whilst buttering a piece of toast.<br />And I keep telling myself, "Tomorrow... tomorrow... tomorrow you'll be on your track toward thin."<br /><br />I plan vacations around food. Subconsciously- I YELP eateries in the area, ask the concierge for a list, and even people I know who have visited. People who are visiting places I have been ask me what to do, and I tend to list off places to eat first- before attractions, "San Francisco?! Oh, god- Boudin! Neptunes! Ghirardelli! Oh- Golden Gate, Haight St..."<br /><br />My family points out how much I consume. My grandmother brags about the weight she is losing, "just by cutting out her carbs and eating smaller portions. You can do it, too!" My mother tells me to, "get out of the fridge- there's nothing in there that you need to eat." Out of spite, I eat more. I eat for 'revenge' and for comfort. To cure my boredom. I have moments where I tell myself, "You're never going to get this off of your thighs, give up." So I eat.<br /><br />I am a food addict. I am living to eat, not eating to live. All of the wrong things. I am hating myself for doing it. I have done so well in the past by making changes, but then I get sucked back into the black hole of Food.<br />Food.<br />FOOD.<br /><br />It's probably the worst thing ever. Because, you must eat to live. When you're addicted to what can aid you to stay alive... and you 'can't control' your intake, and it starts to make you feel miserable... people really don't know what to do. Those who are able to maintain their food intake usually give this advice, "just eat healthier foods- it's all about portion control. Exercise more," or, "you miserable fuck, you're just lazy. You're eating your way toward a disability, and it's going to cost <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> in the future with all of your medical costs you won't be able to afford because you won't be able to work. Get your act together."<br /><br />Well, I can tell you this again: I am not lazy, I do not sit around all day, I work out. I am sure I have a healthy heart. Portion control doesn't exist to me. I try. This is why I am admitting to having a food addiction. It is going to take a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get over this... but I know I can do it.<br />I just need to find the right support. The support from here on out. Forever. I know I can find it within me.<br /><br />By writing and releasing this to the public forum, I shall forever have this to remind of what I need to accomplish. No more tomorrows.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7299692961153943908?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-90973850183343327122009-12-02T01:16:00.000-08:002009-12-02T01:22:30.522-08:00<p>Do you think it possible for runner's-up ever to have the chance to become winners? Bronze Medal's always get the shaft. Silver has a sliver of hope something was illegitimate with Gold. Bronze- it has to hope for Gold and Silver to both topple. That seldom occurs. What do they get to celebrate? Their praises? They were the second to lose? Do they feel any honor?</p> <p>Have you felt honor being Third?</p><p>I want to fight. Fight for my Gold. But, those that have Gold give Gold to their children. And they explain to these children that they are to take great, great care of it and to never lose it.</p><p>Right now I feel like I am being handed Silver. I grew up with a family of Bronze, and a giant Silver medal around my heart. I am scared to let it go, but I am scared I will never get my Gold. I know I am supposed to be content with what I have been given... but I want to shine. I want my anthem to play. I want the people applauding for me. I want the tears in my eyes, and the honorable moment on me. I want that top platform. I want to be Gold.</p><p><br /></p><p>I already know that I will do my best to never land back into being a Bronze.</p><p>I'm not worried about that.</p><p><br /></p><p>Hej hej,</p><p>Any<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-9097385018334332712?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-50192107912546095412009-11-21T13:17:00.001-08:002009-11-21T13:44:04.542-08:00I must learn to let go of every thing. It is something that I have struggled with my entire life. Material things... that's the first step. But, I have recently learned from the way of Shankara (a Hindi mystical author) that we also must learn to let our senses go, as well. The world is all an illusion... constantly evolving- how I was when I woke up this morning is not the same as how I am at this current moment. The tree outside of this window is constantly evolving- leaves living toward death. Just like me. Just like you.<br /><br />Ah, life confuses me. It has so many questions, and no answers. Warning: paradox. Why do we even pose questions? Can't we just accept things as they are, and just... be? Ah, but that would defeat the purpose of living. If we were all just... here. Being. Slash, not being. We exist, but don't at the same time. It's something that nobody in their right mind could ever truly comprehend.<br /><br />But I want to. I really, really want to wrap my (metaphorically speaking... always... especially since I am talking about letting go of my senses) mind around this way of life. And way of being. Will I ever reach this point? Will I be trapped in the quicksand of materialism? Senses?<br /><br />You know- I actually can recall a moment where I accomplished this. Last winter.<br />I realized... so many things, and it almost made me want to not do anything. I felt like I was playing through the motions, because I 'just had to do it to get by until everything was over.' Living was a trip. Living was 'pointless.' Living had... no meaning. Religion had no purpose. Everything was dull. So dull that I literally didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to sit in my room and rot. I still showered, I still went to classes, I still worked out, I still talked to my family- but it all felt unnatural. Everything around me was... nothing. Nothing around me was everything. I felt so negative, being desensitized. I never wanted to kill myself- I felt like I already had. Is that what Shankara is promoting? It was almost... hopeless. Smiling wasn't fun. Crying was never there. I didn't enjoy sleeping or staying awake. I was just... there. Here.<br />Is that what being dead feels like? I felt like I was a walking corpse. Lifeless, emotionless, careless.<br /><br />Empty.<br /><br />That was it.<br /><br />Absolutely bare. Empty.<br />Even though it sounds like misery, I am looking back, it actually sounds like a way to be at peace with yourself. Nothing around you really matters. It's just that, 'things happen,' and that's all that matters. You walk around in a haze, not really minding or paying attention to life projecting by.<br /><br />I want to feel empty.<br />Wish me luck.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5019210791254609541?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-35363999106969294772009-11-18T09:22:00.000-08:002009-11-18T09:24:09.000-08:00I AM GOING BONKERS AND DOING A CLOSE READING ON EVERYTHING THAT IS OCCURRING IN MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.<br /><br />Must mean I am a writing student.<br /><br />Sorry for the 'meaningless' posts lately. I'll have something 'good' and 'thoughtful' soon enough. Promises.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3536399910696929477?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-83062301542786136262009-11-17T14:25:00.000-08:002009-11-17T14:34:35.114-08:00Is Hermes the new Mr. Darcy? I kinda hope not. Actually, I really hope this doesn't happen. At all. Which is weird.<br /><br />I hope you're following me here. If you aren't, get lost. If you are, thanks.<br /><br />Real-personal journal entry from this morning:<br /><br /><blockquote>Oh my god.<br />Oh my god.<br />It's all I keep saying in my head.<br />Looking up at you. Here. It's great.<br />Butterflies.<br />___ ----<br />I'm so cliche.<br />Now you're gone. And the awkward glances no longer happen.<br /></blockquote><br /><br />Oi.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8306230154278613626?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-69614681240258611962009-11-15T17:43:00.000-08:002009-11-15T17:45:46.193-08:00Those who attempted to post spammy comments... I'd like to let you know that I much prefer honey baked ham.<br /><br />Don't try to outwit me and comment my work with links to porn sites.<br /><br />Yeesh. So many rejection comments lately... no legitimate commentary from the public.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6961468124025861196?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-5242992216644936662009-11-13T23:09:00.000-08:002009-11-13T23:32:50.725-08:00Foreword: I love writing these.<br /><br />__________________<br /><br />Jealousy. That is what grows inside of me everyday. All because of you. And I am jealous of you. Not just because of you. Jealous of your confidence. Jealous of your boldness. Jealous of your ability to be foreword. Jealous of your figure. Jealous that you can make moves. It didn't bother me... until recently. And now, I am going to use you- you as my motivation. To be like you. To be better than you. Because I am a creep, and I have analyzed your moves, and I know your ways. Your processes- you move too fast. I think, once I am 'better' than you, I can perfect it... I can do better than you. Just you wait. The prize is at the finish line- you don't even know you're racing for it. If you get to it first, I'll snatch it from right under your nose.<br /><br />Because I already know how to be better than you.<br /><br /><br />-------------<br /><br />We all talk about you. All of the time. Everyone brings up your name, your name provides smiles. We love you. It's not in a sexual way, it's in a sisterly way. Don't be worried.<br />I don't know what it is exactly, be we just want to pinch your face and saw "aaaawww" every time we see you, every time we talk to you. All around sound guy, you are someone I hope to know for the rest of my life. I know from time to time I seem a bit much, but you're getting used to me (I hope). Well, I really don't know what else to say about you, other than the fact that long "aaaawww" echoes in my mind every time you're brought up. End creep status.<br /><br />-------------<br /><br />Afterword: I wish I had enough to write more, but the first exhausted me.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-524299221664493666?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-15415282702489312762009-11-11T08:07:00.000-08:002009-11-11T08:18:10.515-08:00That glass shattered. Absolutely all over the floor this morning. Eh, what an idiot, I thought to myself. Well, that's what I get for not putting the dishes away. Now that I heard this, in a moment of panic, I swung my legs off the side of my bed, dangled there for a second, then slid off, and began to pick up the pieces... at 7:45 in the morning of my holiday off from schoolwork.<br /><br />It wasn't meant to be, sleeping in. I don't think you ever get to sleep in when you make the note of "sleeping in tomorrow morning because it's a holiday," the day before. No sir. Why not go back to sleep? you say. Well, the sunbeams are leaking through the blinds, and once I see daylight, my body wakes up. Unfair, I know. I have to be extremely exhausted to want to curl back into bed.<br /><br />I at least know that this breaking wasn't bad luck... but wait? Was I proposing a toast in my dream? Oh no.<br />Superstitions getting the best of me.<br />Well, now that I am awake, maybe it was a good thing. I can try to get some things taken care of...<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1541528270248931276?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-58169391817771317992009-11-05T23:56:00.000-08:002009-11-05T23:57:17.859-08:00Since when<br />did claiming men<br />become<br />such a trend?<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5816939181777131799?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-55657197400470607472009-11-05T08:50:00.000-08:002009-11-06T14:19:33.064-08:00It was all due to a dream. If you can recall back to my post, <a href="http://fortunaforme.blogspot.com/2009/10/high-school-diary-entry.html" target="_blank">(Like a) high school diary entry</a>, I had something that put it in stone that it is never going to happen. I had the most vivid dream about this... person. Before I get into it, I must tell you the dream. This way, you can be 'in-the-know' and on the same page as me.<br /><br /><blockquote>I was taken by bus, a school bus, to be exact, to be dropped off at a recreational park after a long journey from an unknown place. I knew exactly where this park was- it's a few miles from my home (in California), and I usually was dropped off there when I got back from summer camp. I had quite a few things to carry with me, so I began to debate whether or not to walk home or take a (public transit) bus.<br /><br />I spotted a bulliten board with many articles and flyers sprawled across the cork. What struck my eye was a flyer for Seattle Crew. Why an advertisement for Seattle Crew was being advertised in Southern California is beyond me (I literally thought this in my dream), but then it is in fact a dream, and dreams always have a point. At the bottom of the flyer were pull-tabs that contained an email, phone number, and a little more information, so that one could take with them. Branched away from the right of the flyer were profiles of rowers on the team. Some Harry Potter shit was going on there- the images were moving.<br /><br />I concentrated on one of the profiles and it started with baby home video. I didn't recognize the face, but soon I became emerged into this persons world. I was essentially <span style="font-style: italic;">living</span> in the moment captured in time. Eventually I learned that the profile I was immersed in was of this boy who has joined our team this year. I am going to call him by a name other than his own, so that he remains as anonymous as me: Hermes.<br /><br />Hermes' life was moving very fast. I get to his later days- what I see him as now, I learn he knows... the person who I am referring to in (Like a) high school diary entry. He needs a name, too? Mr. Darcy (I am predictable).<br /><br />Something was odd about Mr. Darcy once I laid eyes on him- he didn't look like how I see him in person, but the face was definitely his. His body wasn't thin- he was muscular, sculpted. Shirtless, and still pale. On his back and sides of his torso were intricate, and beautiful tattoo's of green and blue colors. They weren't exactly flowers, but they were in circular shapes. I was intrigued, and also surprised to see the tattoo's. The most distinctive tattoo that I remember, exactly how it looked, was a beautiful red ribbon that wrapped around the top of his ribcage. So much fine detail into making it look like an actual satin ribbon blew my mind upon observing it. The greatest detail I noticed were that the ends of the ribbon never touched... they didn't "tie" into a bow.<br /><br />I was sucked out of Hermes' profile/ living images as soon as I started to observe this "ribbon" and stood on the sidewalk of the park, then decided I should walk home with my heavy bags, and think about what I had witnessed.<br /></blockquote><br /><br />It's quite easy to see what this means. I discussed this dream with a friend, and the main thing about this dream really is the red ribbon. This red ribbon... red is obviously a color of passion and sexual impulses (blunt)- also shame. But, the fact that this ribbon did not tie... indicated it is never going to happen. No "tying the knot" for the two of us. Me going home with all of my heavy bags (though a short, but semi-long distance) is that it'll take some time to unload these "feelings" I have for Mr. Darcy. And, it's true, now that it's getting to my head.<br /><br />As for Hermes... who knows what he was doing in there.<br /><br />Well, I must go and get ready for my day. I wish I could share more with you. But, the risk of revealing details leaking out are high.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5565719740047060747?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-68102724371032562152009-11-01T09:51:00.000-08:002009-11-01T09:58:05.105-08:00I always hate the day after Halloween. Always. It means you have to pull down your decorations, your excessiveness, and your trueness. At least for me it feels that way. You can keep your pumpkins, so long as they aren't carved. It's safe to know the pumpkin flavored special items at stores will stick around a little longer, even after October... but Halloween is gone. That entire month, building up to it's last night- dressing up, showing off, no matter how off you may be, you can be regarded as keeping it real.<br /><br />I feel like the world needs more Halloweens- or, even better, Octobers. It allows people to justify their inner-crazy. Some people need that, as they usually fear of being ridiculed. Bye, bye, October. The leaves are almost gone off the trees. The wind is picking up. The nights are chillier. Bye, bye, October.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6810272437103256215?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-37029765007977858912009-10-22T01:10:00.000-07:002009-10-22T01:11:44.859-07:00It was meant to be.<br />slash<br />I did it on purpose.<br />slash<br />I feel better.<br />slash<br />I feel like a bitch.<br />slash<br />I have serious issues.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3702976500797785891?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-77910604932289258512009-10-03T12:01:00.000-07:002009-10-03T12:09:34.174-07:00Please go away. I do not understand your significance anymore. Frequent sightings. Am I supposed to be running into you? Am I unintentionally looking to find you everywhere I go? Literally-<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">everywhere</span> I go. And it kills me. I don't understand my emotions, at all. I don't find you particularly handsome, compared to the other people I have seen in my life. Yet... there is some unique... hmm... charm isn't quite the word I am looking for-<br />but it is pretty damn close.<br />Quality.<br />That is it. But is more than that.<br />And sometimes I don't feel even worthy for you, any other guy on earth. Why you, of all people, cause me to freak out <span style="font-style: italic;">every time</span>.<br />And, it's still a mystery- why you?<br />After all, you are pretty strange. You can admit to that. Awkward. Me, too.<br />But, I've tried to get past that. Still awkward. Maybe we're supposed to stay awkward with each other forever?<br />What could be<br />doesn't mean it ever will be.<br />Fuck this shit.<br />But,<br />I'm still not done with you.<br /><br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7791060493228925851?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-54324940014495344342009-09-05T10:27:00.000-07:002009-09-05T10:49:56.990-07:00As the final episodes credits rolled from the Monk marathon yesterday, I turned off the TV at 11 PM and called it a night. It wasn't like I was exhausted from running around all day. In fact, I napped for one entire episode and a half that afternoon. I did wake up at 6:30 that morning, but there was nothing else to do but read- my eyes were too tired to read. As I began to slowly swim away from consciousness and into dreamland I began to evaluate my day. Dull, simple day. I am house-sitting again, in a different location. I have the house to myself for the long weekend. When I'm not at home home, I tend to get all 'Molly Maid' / Martha Stewarty. You know, make the bed perfectly, do all the dishes in the sink every so often so a huge pile doesn't grow to the point of it being unbearable and unfun to look at or wash. I have an urge to bake cookies, pancakes, or a roast. Then the daydream thoughts get to my head: I wish to sit down in the front room and enjoy a nice, chilled glass of White Zinfandel, watching the sun set through the West Window, and read a book. I wish to Line Dry white linens, plant white roses in the yard, make trips to have tea with the neighbors...<br /><br />It's all very funny, isn't it?<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5432494001449534434?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-54312804466349814382009-09-02T17:40:00.000-07:002009-09-02T17:43:28.463-07:00The clocks are telling me not to.<br /><br />Buh-bye.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5431280446634981438?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-57497253076382330892009-09-02T12:03:00.000-07:002009-09-02T12:33:35.014-07:00<a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/recent/drewc34/healthcare.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i190.photobucket.com/albums/z5/drewc34/healthcare.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Here are some comments on photobucket that I have found in response to this image:<br /><br /><blockquote>...what's wrong with Laci? Hasn't she heard of COBRA? I mean they offer that. Now she can pay 750 dollars a month for insurance now that she's unemployed. That's reasonable!</blockquote><br /><br />No, $750 a month for health insurance is not reasonable. Especially if you are jobless. That is close to and over, for most people, one months worth of rent. Either live on the streets and have health insurance, or have a home over your head for you and your family and pray nothing happens to you. You might as well live in a bubble pumped with oxygen and never have contact with the outside world.<br /><br /><blockquote>Adam is right. We are not a fucked up socialist system like the Brits, we became the most powerful country in the world through capitalism. If you want something, you pay for it. This is a country of motivation, not sitting around waiting for those who worked hard to subsidize your lazy ass. And for laci, if you can't be bothered to get off your ass and find a job and succumb to illness, then no, you don't deserve to be alive</blockquote><br /><br />You are a complete tit. Britain is not a 'fucked up socialist system' and we are pretty much going to be gobbled up by the Chinese soon if you don't start shutting the hell up and jinxing us about being the most powerful country 'evorz'. Did you even read the picture? Laci said she lost her job that day. You've made a complete ass of yourself by even daring to say such things. Why? Here is a good reason from a fellow commenter who is from the United Kingdom:<br /><br /><blockquote>I pay about £150 ($240) a month out of a £24,000 ($39,000) a year salary to national insurance here in England, and for that I can break my leg, slice my hand open, get brain surgery, get any disease, including carcer etc all treated, even if its pre exsisting, have a baby, go to the emergency room for anything, and see my doctor for anything, and have to pay £0 ($0) for any of it. Any drugs I need cost about £7.10 ($11.50) for any amount, even cancer, or AIDS drugs. How can anyone say this is a bad system, noone gets left out, everyone pays what they can, the more you earn the more you pay, and noone is ever, EVER denied health care.</blockquote><br /><br />You tell 'em. This sounds like an excellent plan to me! The British are seriously fed up with people like you saying their health system is 'fucked up' and are willing to defend it. The amount of money they pay per month is based off their salary- what it should be like for everyone. Not "I don't care if you work at McDonalds and have severe depression, OCD and epilepsy- we're not going to provide you with insurance because you are a walking disaster." Yep, that's what the health insurance companies do over here. The premiums are sometimes so costly, they don't even want to deal with you. Let's hear about this from a fellow American who has this problem:<br /><br /><blockquote>To everyone who says "pay for it" that can't always be done. There are people like me, who despite being willing and able to pay for insurance, will be refused health insurance because they are considered "liabilities" due to medical conditions. I literally cannot pay Insurance companies enough money to insure me. That is why there needs to be universal care - something to ensure that people like me, will receive medical benefits when they would be rejected by the machine who only sees the bottom line, and not what is necessary to keep people alive.</blockquote><br /><br />Trust me, so long as you have money in the account, the fed's can see that, you will be paying at least a buck each month for your insurance. How can I prove this? For my FAFSA for college funding, I put that I had no job and $0 in my bank account at the time of filing. I still was expected to pay $43 a year toward my college education. Not much, but it's still money expected to be given out of my own pocket. Insurance won't be free. It will just be affordable.<br /><br />Mentally exhausted.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5749725307638233089?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-56917383327847835442009-08-31T18:23:00.000-07:002009-08-31T18:40:15.408-07:00Hello, love.<br /><br />I may or may have not met you in my life so far. If you're Justin Stones, then holy hell, that would be hilarious.<br />Well, this is what I hope you are to me.<br /><br />I hope you are taller than me.<br />I hope you are witty.<br />I hope you are happy.<br />I hope you are content with life.<br />I hope you enjoy talking about music as much as I do.<br />I hope you have some demons.<br />I hope you can have a good laugh.<br />I hope you like wine.<br />I hope you can drive a car better than me.<br />I hope you want to make a family.<br />I hope you like the countryside.<br />I hope you cry.<br />I hope you like to dance (or try to).<br />I hope you like to read.<br />I hope you will read my stories.<br />I hope you tell me stories.<br />I hope we make stories.<br />I hope you never leave me.<br />I hope I find out who you are.<br />I hope that I will never mistakenly let you go.<br /><br />That would then make all of my hoping be such a gigantic waste.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5691738332784783544?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-68848675990984508892009-08-31T11:57:00.001-07:002009-08-31T12:06:08.362-07:00It will only take a second. It might take longer, depending on your mood, the circumstances, your life schedule. But, trust me, it's worth it.<br /><br />Now, as soon as you are done reading this, do what I have asked you to. Promise me? This is the honor system.<br /><br />Stand up. Let your hair down and free of any pins (if you have any holding it back)- this requires no restrictions. Nothing is to hold you back. I hope you're wearing something comfortable.<br />Put on a song that makes you feel good. Got it? I do, too (Mine is "Gravity Rides Everything" from Modest Mouse, if you're wondering... and curious enough to use the same music as me).<br /><br />Stand up... close your eyes, and just start to spin slowly. Shake your head. Feel your hair kiss your cheeks, your lips curl up to a smile. Wiggle your fingers, shake your arms- loosen up. Laugh, if you want to. Ruffle your hair- who care how long it took to do it? Something like that isn't permanent... it can easily be fixed. No worries. Feel the moment. Do this for however long you wish. When you're done, you're going to feel invincible.<br /><br />Let me know how it goes for you.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6884867599098450889?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-6604816796123559372009-08-30T07:59:00.000-07:002009-08-30T08:15:14.002-07:00What else is new? I'm back here in little ol' Pasadena, dog watching little Gracie and that damned Marie-kitty. I woke up from a restless nights sleep of Gracie trying to nestle under the covers with me, and me battling to refuse her entry, along with extreme caution to not kick her off the bed in my sleep. I let Gracie out the back door to have her do her 'thing' outside, prepared my coffee half dead, then stepped back outside to summon her in.<br /><br />Ashes are scattered across the patio.<br />The sun is a perfect circle, blood red-orange. The sky is illuminated with a purple and orange lining. To the north, though, it's a wall of black smoke. The smell, oh boy, this isn't your average camp-fire smell. It's magnified at least 27 times that. And the fact it was only 68 degrees outside made it all that much better.<br /><br />Is it terrible of me to know that homes are particles floating away in the sky just 5 miles away, and I was standing in the backyard, watching the sunrise, and enjoying the wonderful scent of it all being taken away from them, knowing I'm safe down here, away from the foothills?<br /><br />It is.<br />I'd never wish this tragedy on anyone.<br /><br />But I can't ever pass up a moment where I can enjoy the smell of a good wildfire, enjoy the beautiful, manipulated colors in the sky, and enjoy the fact that I can sit at the kitchen table, with a cup of coffee and not have to worry.<br />It is all very selfish, but, again:<br /><br />What else is new?<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-660481679612355937?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-527355597980601842009-08-18T22:37:00.000-07:002009-08-18T23:16:03.318-07:00There are a stack of one billion papers. All of these papers have been piling up on a desk throughout many years. What would you do with all of these papers? Are these even your papers?<br /><br />Ah, but these papers- presumably <span style="font-weight: bold;">not </span>yours- are actually out of order. Now, what do you do? Do you decide to take on the task of placing all one billion papers in chronological order? Ah, but this task is impossible to complete on your own, even if you started on the day of your birth to the day you died. What is your next option? You call up your best friend and tell them about this mess. They say, "Eh, why does it matter? Just leave them alone- maybe they're supposed to be out of order?"<br /><br />But it's puzzling you- why have an order for something when it isn't in order? Certainly, these papers are supposed to be in order. You start shuffling through more papers to try and recognize a pattern of some sort- but there are so many to sort through that it's overwhelming. You can't do this at all. It's too much of a responsibility- almost a burden. Do you leave this all behind? Hope someone else with as much motivation and spirit comes across these papers and can deal with them? Or do you tell others about these papers and see who else they can get to help you?<br /><br />What would your decision be?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"One person can make a difference, and everyone should try." </span><br />- John Fitzgerald Kennedy<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-52735559798060184?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-5511469703771589852009-08-13T21:54:00.000-07:002009-08-18T22:28:32.675-07:00It's the only way to have you clarity.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-551146970377158985?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-84649639729949620852009-08-12T10:39:00.000-07:002009-08-12T23:53:15.334-07:00I love getting new shampoo and conditioner. It smells so delightful, your hair begins to take on a new level of shine. When you take hold of a chunk, it's developed an entirely new, soft texture you would never imagine.<br /><br />Of course, at least for me, this only lasts for about the first five times I use it. After that, my nostrils have become desensitized to the scent, my hair begins to feel less silky and more stripped. You're using twice as much conditioner as when you first started, all because, as you lather it in your hair, it doesn't feel like it's soaking in the ingredients. You end up using so much that it's become a thick mucus all over your head- and as it washes away, you hair feels refreshed from the washing, thankful it can breathe without all of the conditioner on it... but it retaliates and goes dry and frizzy.<br /><br />Again, I see this pattern for about all of the shampoo's and conditioner's I buy. And, I feel like this effect happens to many other things for other people. Now, I am beginning to think about why this shampoo/conditioner thing happens.<br />-Does my hair really grow limp after long use of the new product?<br />or<br />-Is it all in my head?<br /><br />After all, shampoo and conditioner are material things. They will not last forever. They're easy to replace-- so, is all of this mental? Let's say if I purchased a limited edition pumpkin pie scented shampoo and conditioner that tamed my frizz- something guaranteed to be out for <span style="font-style: italic;">only</span> the month of November this year, and to never be released again- would I then begin to relish in each experience I used this product? Never be let down on it's scent? Always be impressed with it's results?<br />Would I also stock up for dear life on the bottles and continue to use it for as long as possible?<br />(The last question is a different scenario...)<br /><br />The answer is yes. I have been sucked into the limited edition trick. And, when it is finally gone, I am slightly disappointed. Even though things must come and go, you just still get mad when things are discontinued.<br /><br />As awful as it may sound, I kind of view people like my bottles of shampoo and conditioner. There as some (mostly family) that are the limited editions, ones you use sparingly and you never want to let them go. Some are itty bitty hotel bottles that you don't mind throwing out. Some are Sephora sample's you never want to leave you, but somehow, they are gone before you want them to. And, you go to see the full-size... and it just isn't the same. Ah, but there are a lot of shampoo's and conditioner's. You may be into a certain brand for a while, but after a few months... it'll bore you, and so you move onto something different.<br /><br />But, I'll find my Chocolate Banana Chip Shampoo and Conditioner. I'll never let it run out- it'll be coming from an obscure source from five countries, maybe even five counties, or five blocks away. It'll be <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> Chocolate Banana Chip Shampoo and Conditioner. How awesome my life will be with it; I'll let you know when I finally find some.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8464963972994962085?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-87755999538382977472009-07-29T22:07:00.000-07:002009-07-29T23:44:06.354-07:00Please refer back to my post, <a href="http://fortunaforme.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-people.html" target="_blank">I hate people.</a>, to understand what this title means and speaks of.<br /><br />It was March. Winter. Cold. I was in natural hibernation mode, also wanting to die and be torn into a billion particles in my own personal wormhole of stress. I was literally going through a week by week recovery of a mental breakdown. During the Lenten season, I had learned more information about a certain someone who I had painted in my head. That certain someone was the Dorian Gray of my year. A flawless complexion to all who he'd meet, with a locked room of secrets no one were to know about. I was disgusted. I believe I was more embarrassed in myself for falling into their trap of sweet, sticky honey. So delicious, so pure... oh, how deceiving that was.<br /><br />Since then, I vowed to never put myself through this again. I needed to stop pre-judging (that is essentially what I was doing). And, if I were to begin the little fantasy in my head, I were to swear for it to not go beyond that. If I took the initiative to begin my little 'character sketches,' then I had to make an internal contract to make sure it did not go beyond that.<br /><br />Ah, but what good would this post be if I didn't go against my own promises? I would not have to be writing this right now. You'd be yawning five times as much as you regularly do whilst reading my posts...<br /><br />The Prince happened. He will be named The Prince, as it actually was part of his character name from me. I can still remember the first time I saw The Prince. He was locking up his bike one cool, Fall morning after I had left for my weekly trip to Trader Joe's. I simply admired his good looks, and continued on... then, my second run-in was the elevator. Just him and me. And never more did I desire to live on anywhere else but the 2nd floor. Just so I could be on it a little longer. Creepy, I know.<br /><br />He turned into one of those people you see once, and forever recognize them. Again. And again. And again. And you never acknowledge them, as you don't <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> them... but you know you have seen them numerous times. I had confided in a friend about this Prince and his frequent, yet random appearances in my life. And I never uttered a single word to him.<br /><br />I spent the entire year in a fantasy, almost as a joke with my confidant. I knew he had a bike, what floor he lived on, what extra-curricular he did... but I never managed to discover his name. The most essential of portrait-painting. I had a giant list in my mind- all exotic. I began to think in my mind he was an exchange student, that he had an accent- it all began to get absurd. I was beyond any prejudging I had ever done before. I was using this actual being as a physical model for a fictional character. An inside joke. An it had turned into a huge ordeal, as The Prince managed to remain unidentified the entire year.<br /><br />I felt good. I never found out who he was. I didn't intend to, and I thought, on my last days of my first year in college, it could stay this way.<br /><br />Let's just say The Prince is no longer known as The Prince. I'm not going to fluff it with some cotton candy-coated transition or detailed explanation, but by a series of fortunate (or, more, unfortunate), purely coincidental, events, The Prince has a real name. He is real- he exists, and he is neither from another country, nor does he have an accent from a far off land. What I did learn exceeded my expectations. They are usually always a let-down, which is why I was skeptical to know more about this young lad.<br /><br />Ah, but when this whole realization and end to this seemingly endless joke with my friend, I thought back to that March day of when I hated people. Or, more specifically, the person who had caused me to hate people. The question, "Do I really know as much about this person as I think I do?" still comes into play- and no, I never do. My answer will always be that. The thing that is different from March and July are the outcomes. Usually when news of another comes to you, it's for the worst. And, I think, actually, I don't know what to think of this 'good news.' It may have been good to me, but it was definitely bittersweet. First off, I took the risk of tarnishing his fictional image, and second of all... I don't really know much more about him. It's <span style="font-style: italic;">still</span> at a honeymoon stage.<br /><br />And I want to keep it at that.<br /><br />No more exploring, as for the first time, this fantasy pre-judgement turned out with positive feedback. If given the chance to get to know The Prince more... what should I do?<br /><br />What <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> I do?<br /><br />I shudder to think. I honestly think I will cut off all opportunities to gain any kind of closeness with him, just for the sake of this dreamland I have built up for so long.<br /><br />How sick am I?<br />Am I even sick at all?<br />Or, sensible?<br /><br />I don't hate people. Because, now I know, there really are some good ones out there.<br /><br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8775599953838297747?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-14361442296646459432009-07-26T00:17:00.001-07:002009-07-26T00:19:48.667-07:00Change has occurred on the Fortuna blog. There is a new header- how difficult it was for me to let go of the original, but I believe this new one will be just fine. Do you like it? I didn't slave over it, to be honest. But I feel that I am satisfied with it. I hope you are, too.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1436144229664645943?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-67179176813328485462009-07-23T13:06:00.000-07:002009-07-23T13:07:50.161-07:00Found this little segment I wrote for a collaborative story on a forum that never finished. I quite enjoy it, might as well preserve it!<br /><br /><blockquote>Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Mr. Whit prayed the lift wouldn't make a stop on any floors on his way to the lobby. Any delays keeping him from the final floor would only frustrate him more. 'Why am I like this?' he observed his image in the perfectly polished doors. His restless eyes were shifting between his reflection and the levels that seemed to drop slower by the second. He took his left sleeve and gently wiped his brow, cleared his drying throat, and looked back up at the illuminated numbers. The nerves that were carving their way into him started to make excuses for the mistake:<br /><br />'It's not like you haven't done this before,'<br /><br />'There are always risks involved,'<br /><br />And, 'Nobody said she'd be there.'<br /><br />Mr. Whit brushed his right sleeve to glance at his watch at the final chime and stepped through the doors, maintaining his composure with a natural, almost easy pace in hopes to not draw attention to himself through the lobby entrance. He didn't bother to take his time and saunter through the baroque-inspired floor as he intended on his way up. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to move on and end his afternoon at the Imperial. Letting out a long sigh as soon as a gust of air kissed his cheeks, he turned on his heel and made a right to continue down the street.<br /></blockquote><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6717917681332848546?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-79231531962648486262009-07-15T21:07:00.000-07:002009-07-15T21:31:13.467-07:00I went to the midnight o' one AM showing of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince last night. I enjoyed it, along with my mother, which we both shared some mother-daughter bonding time. Before the movie even began, I just kept thinking of all the people from high school that I could run into. I didn't want to talk to them... mother kept asking me what my problem was, why I didn't talk to anyone- even if they actually were nice to me and I had no issues with them in high school.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why did I do that?</span><br /><br />One stood several steps in the aisle in front of my having a conversation... and I initiated nothing to muster up a mere hello. I even remember her talking to me last year, asking questions about my future Alma Mater, Seattle University, as she plans to apply there...<br /><br />I was enraged to find out that my mother ran into a group of girls I went to high school with in the bathroom. She sat down, "Now, don't get mad at me," she started.<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"A group of girls might come marching in to see you..."<br /><br />"What!"<br /><br />"... I ran into them in the bathroom-"<br /><br />"Oh, god- why?!"<br /><br />"Why not?"<br /><br />I sat there, anticipating five or more girls... only one showed, to my relief. It was a nice, brief reunion. Thank Christ.<br /><br />This all had me thinking... why do I want to have nothing to do with those girls anymore? What is wrong with me?<br />And at The 11 AM, when I woke up from the wild evening of popcorn, chocolate covered peanuts and Harry Potter, this little thought ran through my mind:<br /><br />"If you were part of my past, there is a huge chance you'll never see me again."<br /><br />It's a cycle. Every school or group I knew in my past... I don't talk to them still. There are very few from high school that I enjoy their company and realize that they are authentic in their remarks. But, most, I don't want to deal with them anymore. Am I trying to scoot away and make more room for the new people I am supposed to meet in life? I honestly can't name you one person I was a tight-knit friend with in elementary school.<br /><br /><br />There is only one person in the entire world that was part of my past that I would love to see again. And I have tried. Numerous times. And I believe that I will never see them again. It pains me to realize this- almost to tears... but, I have to move on from it. Unfortunately.<br /><br />I don't want to come to terms with it.<br />Please don't make me.<br />Please make me.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-7923153196264848626?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-32976170829521048532009-06-30T16:35:00.000-07:002009-06-30T16:36:29.791-07:00I think I am going to create ANOTHER blog, strictly for creative writing purposes...<br />Now I am unsure.<br />So I may or may not have finally decided.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3297617082952104853?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-68647405196751263682009-06-27T09:09:00.000-07:002009-06-27T09:24:24.375-07:00I'm watching a movie with Winona Ryder in it from the mid-90s... and things <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> changed, but really haven't. The styles have changed, and the mentality of "Cs get degrees" have pretty much escaped all young college students minds. But, the tight-knitness of friends in college... the core four- it sticks. And, in this movie, I'm seeing, if I want to go anywhere with my life... I'm going to have to leave it behind. Leave it all behind once my four years are up.<br /><br />Because all you'll want to do with these people are talk, drink, go places, etc. These are great things- that is exactly why they are your friends. You like to have fun with each other. Again, the Peter Pan realization terrifies me. I have to leave that behind in order go on in life, but I don't want to.<br /><br />Because they're the best.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6864740519675126368?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-80097778548418065502009-06-26T15:51:00.000-07:002009-11-13T23:30:05.250-08:00I read Dear Old Love<br />And think of you<br />Though you are not an old love<br />or a new love<br />or a current love.<br />I don't know what type of what you are.<br />You're a love.<br />And, you spring up in my mind.<br /><br /><br />-------<br /><br /><br />Yes, we went to school together. Yes, we were friends. You had a big mouth. I couldn't trust you with what I had to say. In fact, I didn't trust anyone in that school with what I had to say. You all were a bunch of dirty snitches-- but you, ah! You- drama queen- were the cream of the crop. You knew how to use the right amount of information to have you get away with everything. Because you were this, because you were that- everyone cry for poor you.<br />I was nice to you when we stopped going to school together because I remember talking to people who had seen you, and they said you were turning into a fuck up. I didn't want to believe them. So, I continued to talk to you. To be friends with you. Then, you came over to my house unexpectedly, and after that day, I knew I didn't want to be around you anymore.<br />You <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span> a fuck up.<br />The lifestyle you live is one I do not want to be part of.<br />We shall be tragic artists in our own ways.<br />Don't drag me down with you.<br /><br /><br />---------<br /><br />I feel extremely embarrassed of even considering to writing this.<br />I have neither met you, nor do I ever expect to meet you in person. We live in two different countries, two different continents. I have never spoken to you. But, I would like to say- you are the founding reason why I appreciate the beauty of men so much more. Honest! If it wasn't for you, I don't think I'd have the reputation amongst my friends as being a male appreciator. Thank you for that.<br /><br /><br />--------<br /><br /><br />More to come. I know I'm going to regret making these public in the future. But, pft. I'm a writer. I can get away with most of this.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8009777854841806550?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-45605435230632562502009-06-26T15:44:00.000-07:002009-06-26T15:51:46.931-07:00The previous post. I can't believe I made it public. But, on the other hand, I can.<br /><br />Argh?<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4560543523063256250?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-62616071577607171012009-06-23T00:00:00.000-07:002009-11-13T23:29:41.292-08:00I wish I could tell you how selfish you are. Downright selfish. If there is anything at all about me brought up in the conversation... you lose interest. If it regards anything else, HA! We could go on for hours. The only reason I talk to you on AIM is because you're the only one who talks about interesting things (even if you do tend to brush off my personal remarks). And it pains me that you ask of where to hang out... and we haven't even met up or seen each other since last May.<br /><br />Why am I friends with you?<br />There has to be a reason. I have yet to find this out.<br /><br /><br />------<br /><br />One question: are you in love with me? I think you are. You know who you are. I'm sorry to break it to you, even though you know it, I'm not into you. Never will be. But we can be good friends.<br /><br /><br />------<br /><br />And you, I wish I could <span style="font-style: italic;">understand</span> you! I wish I knew more about you- but your reserved and distant personality prevents me from doing so. I know you socialize- I know you have friends. But, why does it take you to be under the influence of something to speak to me? To not come across as standoffish? Do you need that as your social lubricant to talk to me? I just want to be your friend. Because I like you. I like your deadpan face- and sudden, rare bursts of laughter. I like your intelligence. I like your passion for the pen, your willingness to admit you are shy-- but YIKES! it is driving me insane. I wish I knew how to crack you. Yes, because I feel as each day passes by, it's driving a wider divide between us, and all the awkwardness has it's ability to fill in the cracks. I don't know whether to regard you as a hovering raincloud or a $20 bill found in the pocket of my jeans. I hope that this doesn't make me sound like a creep: but I want a lot from you. And I keep telling myself to move onto wanting to know someone else... but you're still there.<br /><br /><br /><br />-----<br /><br />I just want to say once more, you are an evil bitch, and if you wish to sound intelligent whilst using uncommon English, it's "whence," not "from whence." LRN2VCB<br /><br />----<br /><br />I should do more of these exercises.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6261607157760717101?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-46327355613245608392009-06-10T18:00:00.000-07:002009-06-10T18:02:11.721-07:00Previously posted elsewhere:<br /><br /><blockquote>I just cried in hysterics. I had one of those "oh shit" -- something-hit-you kinda cry's. The first of my closest friends (there are four of us) left about twenty minutes. As soon as I got in my room, I started to cry. I have a year of college under my belt... and I am not going to see her for four months, or the other two. It's funny how close I am to them- I didn't cry at my Baccalaureate. I didn't cry at my Graduation. I wasn't too fussed about leaving my high school... I don't really make a huge effort to stay in contact with my friends from back home. But, the ones I have made up here, for the short time I have known them, I feel like I have known them more than any other person, aside from my family, in my life. I'm going to miss my shitty little room. I am going to miss my shitty roommate. I am going to miss my shitty Latin class. I am going to miss those shitty bagels I would get in the morning with the shitty drip coffee. It's so hard to not cry again... but I feel it rising. The odd thing is, I kind of like feeling like this. I think I have finally figured out what it feels like to have friends who act like friends, and not just say they are. I don't want these four years to end.<br /><br /><br /></blockquote>Going home is bittersweet.<br />More bitter than sweet.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<br /><blockquote></blockquote><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4632735561324560839?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-58858646528755619412009-05-31T11:42:00.000-07:002009-05-31T12:06:42.537-07:00I have finally witnessed the pain of falling out of love. It was brief. It was concise. It was... sad. I wasn't directly involved, but just sitting behind this relationship that was breaking even hurt my heart.<br /><br />I thought I would share that.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5885864652875561941?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-29998205801093549592009-05-16T01:15:00.000-07:002009-05-16T01:32:39.397-07:00It's been a tough month. Rowing season is finally over- which means that I can have a life between 6-10PM every night, if I choose so.<br /><br />But, this also means a lot of other things.<br />I can spend more time on my homework.<br />I can spend more time to read things for leisure.<br />I can spend more time working to have mo' money.<br /><s>I can spend more time writing.</s> I can actually have time to write.<br />I can spend more time guest-starring on a radio show.<br />I can spend more time taking photo's.<br />I can spend more time finding new music.<br /><br />Oh, those 4 precious hours available to me, now! I really never realized how much of a difference in my life that it'd make, until I got it back. It got old very quick when I had to constantly reiterate, "I can't- I have crew," numerous times, daily, whenever being invited to exciting adventures.<br /><br />Though crew introduced me to many people, who have turned to be my closest friends here on campus, it also limited me so much on what I could have done this year. It also proved that I'm addicted to being an athlete. If I hadn't of done crew this year, I'd be 50 pounds heavier, grumpier, swimming in a sea of used CDs and gig-stubs. I'd may have gotten into drugs. Even more spoiled rotten with my drinks of choice. I may have hosted my own radio show. I may have volunteered a little more.<br /><br />But, I can't really say what would have happened. Because, it did not. Crew happened. And it was the best damned choice I could have made for my freshman year. It's the cheesiest thing to think about- a high school jock, staying a jock in college...<br /><br />But, I did start to think... I can't keep this schedule forever. It's inconvenient- it limits the things I can do. I can't be as committed as I would like to be (as much as it pains me), but there are going to be opportunities I am going to be facing, and there is no way that I can let them pass me by.<br /><br />Good grief. I am beginning to sound like a broken record. Please, just allow me to end right here.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2999820580109354959?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-61975134593576062262009-04-27T14:26:00.000-07:002009-04-27T15:55:40.779-07:00So trendy together, it hurts. It hurts to the core.<br />You just look at them and ask, "How can two people have so much style? Do they do it for themselves? Each other? Is that what brought them together? Is that what will set them apart?"<br /><br />Oh, trendy couples. Watch out. Fashion evolves.<br />As do relationships.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6197513459357606226?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-41530877273014782732009-04-26T13:30:00.000-07:002009-04-26T14:05:07.027-07:00Who do we want to take care of?<br />Who ought to take care of issues?<br /><br />Well, we generally point the finger at the government officials. After all, we (the ones actually eligible to vote) are the ones who appointed them, and they should take care of our troubles that surround our everyday lives and communities, right? I mean, we are getting taxed so far up the ass, and they get paid with that money, they might as well resolve our problems, yes?<br /><br />No.<br />Absolutely not.<br />Do you understand how selfish that sounds? Incredibly! The government is made, it's purpose is a skeletal structure to help maintain order in a society. But, as the years of America (actually, the worlds) development, this above mentality has set in. The government is responsible to help our troubles with dying industries, failing banks, warfare... and the responsibilities go on and on. But, at what level has the government <span style="font-style: italic;">recently</span> taken steps to help the poor? The government has taken very generous steps towards helping prevent even more people to reach into the poverty level, but they weren't there giving a helping hand during even our strongest hour. <span style="font-style: italic;">Is the government the most effective source of dealing with poverty?</span> It makes sense on the surface- they control the cash-flow, they make the rules. But they lack one thing- a primary connection with these people. Most government officials don't make the time to meet with these people in need. They simply chose to have the power to pass or decline propositions or laws that benefit or weaken those in poverty. And we, those not wedged into this class, simply chose to leave this responsibility to the government only because it allows us to sit back and not have to deal with the reality the existence of impoverished people.<br /><br />Come on, America. I really feel that this whole economic slump just may reset all of our lifestyles... for the better.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4153087727301478273?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-5121377657875249952009-04-24T08:19:00.000-07:002009-04-26T13:30:03.310-07:00Is karma getting to me? Is all of that negative smack I have been saying coming around to me? Cracked heel, springing pain in my left leg, my phone does not allow me to make calls because it does not recognize that the chip is in... I can't seem to concentrate on any one thing anymore, because there is so much to do that I don't know what to do first. And I feel like I am lettering others down. It's depressing, really.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-512137765787524995?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-48841926285970889652009-04-23T11:07:00.003-07:002009-04-23T11:07:57.203-07:00<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/10296997@N03/3402180149/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3613/3402180149_108760fd65_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/10296997@N03/3402180149/"></a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/10296997@N03/">Any Syler</a></span></div>Woe to the defeated.<br /><br />I am in a funk. A major, deep funk, and last night, it finally hit me. I allowed myself to cry some of it out, as I did not want those tears to poison me any longer. I talked about it with good friends, as I did not want those thoughts to hammer my skull open. I went to sleep, as I did not want those feelings to take over my senses. <br /><br />And now, today, it is a new day. I have been given another chance to live another day, which I can create or destroy.<br /><br />I know this is going to be really ridiculous, but I took a little Facebook quiz before I drifted off to sleep last night. It was titled, "What punctuation mark are you?"<br /><br />The result:<br /><br /><b>...</b><br /><br />You are an <b>ellipsis</b>. Often misunderstood, you mean well. You are always trying to take care of others, often to the neglect of yourself. You are beautiful, and mysterious, and somewhat aloof, afraid to commit.<br /><br />I never thought of an ellipsis that way before. It may be because I use it so frequently in my posts. I usually find them better to use when I need to pause and stop to think of something to continue. A dash is too harsh. But, and ellipsis... it's soft and velvety, a much smoother transition into words, whereas a dash, I find that pause too abrupt, and used when you are trying to prove a point almost <i>too</i> fast.<br /><br />I think I need to write more. I realized that I get in more super crazy ruts if I don't write for a while. When was the last time I truly 'blogged' about what was on my mind? (I am sure you don't give a darn about what I have to say at this moment)<br /><br />Do you crack your knuckles?<br />I can't bring myself to do it that often. My ankles and knees seems to snap, crackle and pop on their own. As for my fingers, I can never bring myself to doing it. It just sounds disgusting, looks disturbing... and then there is the myth my mom told me: "Stop, or your fingers will end up looking like a man's when you grow up."<br /><br />Ha. It worked, mom. I would say my hands are pretty small for a mighty tall girl. I don't have piano fingers... ah, but as I observe those two hands in front of my eyes, I am seeing the beauty if imperfection. The fingers on my right hand are straighter then my left hand. I would associate the slight outward curve of the top digit of my middle finger in my left hand due to the years of pressure added onto it from my pencil. Ah, and the thin layer of graphite that would rub off the paper and onto the side of my left palm and pinky finger... it was especially hard to not have my left hand dripping with India Ink at the end of art class.<br /><br /><br /><br />Enough of hands.<br /><br />I need to get some things covered today. And I fear that it will be a long one.<br /><br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<br clear="all" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4884192628597088965?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-13021759492362754762009-04-18T17:32:00.000-07:002009-04-18T17:35:08.770-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Does the human mind really thrive on moments, thoughts, and events of tragedy?</span><br /><br />Think about most news reports.<br />The biggest historical events that first come to mind.<br /><br />I shall snuggle up with this thought a little more later. As for now... I need to think about it for a while.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1302175949236275476?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-87171542513484059922009-04-07T12:23:00.000-07:002009-04-07T12:37:37.119-07:00I have been shaken. This opinion editorial that I found in the New York Times today was oh-so-interesting to read. It makes me wonder... why do we really awe over things? Why do we cry over things? How do we just <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> that something doesn't <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span> right? The human emotion that, they argue controls our morality, is truly a funny thing.<br /><br />So, does this mean all of those philosophers wrote bullshit?<br />Well, it depends on what you want to believe.<br />But then, think again... when you read book that dramatically shifts your way of life and thinking, there is that emotion that was triggered inside of you. That fluttery feeling- the feeling of crying, anxiety and excitement of it all just overpowers all of your sense. Why? Because you just simply do.<br /><br />Now, from a writer's perspective, there was something in that combination of words that took over your soul. Words have meaning, and so much power. When did this start to happen?<br /><br />Ah, and it can go on and on, how this feeling, the <span style="font-style: italic;">genesis</span> of emotion. It controls everything that we want to do. Every action we make.<br /><br />Surprising how much emotion's can influence us... we recognize them only in the extremes.<br /><br />Ah, but it lingers over us, always.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br /><br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-8717154251348405992?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-65369703369507216842009-03-31T12:56:00.001-07:002009-03-31T13:02:28.164-07:00This will be a never ending post, that will be updated whenever it pleases us to add something to it.<br /><br /><h1 style="font-weight: normal; font-style: italic;" id="firstHeading" class="firstHeading"><span style="font-size:100%;">F</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ür Elise</span></h1><br />1. Stockholm, Sweden<br />2. Ireland. Not Northern Ireland. Catholic Ireland.<br />3. Fashion District, Los Angeles, CA<br />4. Orleans, France<br />5. Budapest, Hungary<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6536970336950721684?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-45261857333059582362009-03-29T02:00:00.000-07:002009-03-29T02:16:40.999-07:00My ass hurts.<br />My eyes burn.<br />My roommate is coming back tomorrow, and I have a raging mess going out of control in the room.<br /><br />I think I should sleep more than anything, but I can't do that. Nope, because I must write. It's been over ten days since I have updated, not good for me to hold back on this.<br /><br />I was thinking, back when I was on the bus from the airport on Wednesday, after I dropped my mother off at the airport, how difficult it was saying goodbye. I kept turning from my seat to wave goodbye to her before the 194 departs from Bay 1. She was standing there, with a big smile, letting out a puff every so often from her cigarette. I couldn't help but have that big lump begin to build up in my throat. That painful lump that forms when you are about to cry, but you're trying not to let your emotions show. It took a few deep breaths, a 4% volume increase on my iPod, and about 10 minutes drive in the bus for that feeling to go away.<br /><br />I began to think, did I really want to go home? No. Am I just convincing myself that home is not a place that I would like to be? Maybe. I keep telling myself, I am never moving back to California. How much I hate living in LA- it's too expensive, the people are superficial. The weather is always hot (it is a desert, and I am no fan of a desert). But... it's where my family lives. Where my heart grew up. Why is it that I still have a piece of it there? Is it because I've only half moved out? I'm moving back for the summer only... but, I just think, why do people, who don't have traumatic upbringings in their hometown, tend to have a love-hate relationship with it? They say they need to get away... but they really don't mind going back?<br /><br />I know that if I went back home for my Spring Break, after a few days, I'd need to leave. I can feel my blood pressure begin to boil-- not a good sign. The anxiety levels are not good when I go back home. Things are so much different here, and this constant transition, this flow... I don't know how I have been so lucky and so spoiled to have been uprooted and placed here. I have learned so much from so many people (despite what the grades say) and I am honestly convinced that I will never move to California again.<br /><br />I am so sick of trying to decide if I am homesick or not.<br />I need some damned sleep.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4526185733305958236?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-53251680486270422252009-03-17T15:19:00.000-07:002009-03-17T15:25:58.247-07:00My own anxieties are what is holding me back from traveling to get a decent lunch. The minutes are ticking away, and it is getting closer to dinner.<br /><br />It ain't easy being a poor college student.<br />It's even more difficult when you're a lazy one.<br /><br />I think I am going to head down to the supermarket... it'll all be worth it.<br />So hungry...<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5325168048627042225?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-35339219413158600982009-03-16T15:32:00.000-07:002009-03-16T16:08:10.471-07:00The thick layer that appears to endlessly hover over Seattle was generous enough to part it's clouds for a split second this afternoon. For a brief second, on this overcast day, I walked out of the building, took a step forward off the steps, and was bathing in those incredible rays.<br /><br />"Amen, Amen, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Amen</span>!" I shouted. That glorious synchronization of celebration could not have been timed more perfectly. That feeling of satisfaction without ever worrying about the overall result... I don't believe I can ever have it be duplicated ever again. Mind you, it was probably the longest lasting split second of my life so far... oh how to have it contained as a memory! It will never be bittersweet!<br /><br />I cannot believe that I have taken my last maths exam... it's truly remarkable. March 16, 2009, will never be forgotten as the day that ended my misery with a lifelong subject I have never got along with very well.<br /><br />It's weird to think how much I learned from this class... the last two years of my high school career completely shattered all hope for having some care in the mathematical field. It started to be somewhat interesting when I was a sophomore, with one of my most influential math teachers, Mr. Agnew. He had a "I don't take shit from anyone. You are going to learn this, hell or high water," attitude, and actually made sure you learned the material. If you were struggling with the material, he had no problem sitting down with you and explaining how things operated.<br /><br />As for my Junior <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>Senior year teacher, who shall always be unnamed on the internet, to spare her (I really am too kind sometimes), was the least agreeable math teacher I had ever met. You went to her for help... and sometimes it would work, but most of the time, she said, "Look at your notes! It's in your notes!"<br /><br />Brief soliloquy:<br /><blockquote>Now listen, lady. I have already looked over my notes so much, that I have them practically memorized. Now, if I new that my answer to this problem was unlocked through the power of my well taken notes, I wouldn't be here, right now, asking you for help! How in the world do you expect me to get past this mental block without you nudging to me, suggesting to me-- leading me in some valid direction?! It's ridiculous how you can say that the answer to my problem is in my notes! I don't even understand my god damn notes half of the time, because you wrote them. You're <span style="font-style: italic;">damn</span> lucky that the vice principal is the head of the math department, because I have been trying, these final moments of my high school career, to get your crazy-ass fired!<br /><br /></blockquote>Maybe not so brief. As you have read, I continue to have bitterness toward this lady, and I have great sadness for those who continue to be taught by her...<br /><br />Well, at the end of my math-learning career, I felt I ended on the highest note of my life. I got a lot of this class, it was actually quite interesting. It may have been because of the discussion ideas in the things we read in English class... but it gave me a whole new perspective on life. It really did- it altered so many of my views. I cannot believe how much I have changed, not even finished with my first year in this college experience. It's quite frightening!<br /><br />Well, I must be off. Toodles.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3533921941315860098?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-25273195017653848432009-03-16T00:17:00.000-07:002009-03-16T01:24:37.180-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Happy Birthday, dahling.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-2527319501765384843?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-15172299551175112092009-03-15T00:42:00.000-07:002009-03-15T01:52:24.074-07:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Here is to my writing exercises.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1517229955117511209?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-55275186559199515652009-03-11T11:29:00.000-07:002009-03-11T11:43:15.810-07:00I am writing left and write today. It feels great... is this what it feels to constantly be writing every waking moment again? I love it! I had a few years where I knew I liked to write, but I would just be lazy and not want to record my thoughts daily... even weekly... monthly. It just began to stretch out. Now, it's becoming more frequent again.<br /><br />But, what to write about? I am thinking that I am going to have to start browsing some creative writing blogs with exercises for me to begin trying... please hold for a moment.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-5527518655919951565?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-46686850746267416022009-03-11T02:05:00.000-07:002009-03-11T02:11:35.483-07:00It's been a while since I have posted any visual, and or audio goodness, so, I have this for you. Just don't watch it alone in your room with the lights low, or off, at 2:04 in the morning. Karin Dreijer Andersson's side project, Fever Ray, has been receiving a lot of buzz lately- they are being posted everywhere... might as well tack it on my wall, too.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="225"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2740700&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=&amp;fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2740700&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=&amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="225"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://vimeo.com/2740700">If I Had A Heart</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/feverrayvimeo">Fever Ray</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-4668685074626741602?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-35124450632535340422009-03-11T01:05:00.000-07:002009-03-11T01:59:02.330-07:00Entropy:<br />It sounds like an Andrew Bird song. Or, better yet, the subject of an Andrew Bird song. Maybe the inspiration for an entire album by him.<br /><br />The word entropy was brought up for discussion today in my maths class, believe it or not. My course is linked with my literature class, so we often bring up pieces from our readings into the math lessons. It makes math a lot more enjoyable for the mathematically challenged. After reading Thomas Pynchon's <u>The Crying of Lot 49</u> the discussion of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maxwell%27s_demon" target="_blank">Maxwell's Demon</a> where a physicist attempted to violent the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_law_of_thermodynamics" target="_blank">second law of thermodynamics</a>... which increases entropy. The decaying of an organized system... it just sounds so wretched and beautiful.<br /><br />This evening, to further our topic on entropy, our professor emailed us a follow-up thought that I began to think about whilst having a late-night shower. Here it is:<br /><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: right;">3/10/09<br /></div>Part of what’s so compelling about Pynchon’s metaphorical deployment of entropy (both physical and informational) is that it can begin to take over how you see the world.<br /><br />Even each of our lives can (should?) be understood as a temporary stand against entropy, our biological existence an extremely organized (and bogglingly complex) organism (note the shared root in “organized” and “organism”) that houses whatever “mind” is (whether it is a localized lack of informational entropy, physical entropy, or both at once, is a debate long waged by the philosophers (though using other words, naturally)). We continue to exist, preserving our anti-entropic state, by consuming other organized bits of matter (plants, animals, etc.) and using them to preserve our organization (mental, genetic) for the time being, excreting those previously organized bits of matter in more entropic, less organized forms. (Pay attention to that: it is where we can truly grasp that preserving our own organization in the face of encroaching entropy requires us to impose entropy upon other organizations.)<br /><br />In the end, of course, even as we live entropy encroaches: our skin wrinkles, our back aches, our eyes lose their acuity, some of us develop cancer (a disorganization (increase in entropy) of the proper instructions for cell growth) or other diseases. We persist, we survive, keeping entropy at arm’s length as long as we can. If we live long enough, of course, the informational entropy begins to wreak havoc in our mind, randomness and failed connections become more and more common there, memories are scrambled. Finally, we cease to draw in oxygen and combine it with carbon and we die, and all the marvelous information encoded in our flesh and brain begins instantly to break down, to rot. Entropy will now have its way rapidly.<br /><br />What then do we learn? How does this information aid us?<br /><br />Perhaps we should simply take care to savor our organized and anti-entropic days. For now we can exchange a sober nod with Entropy, a recognition without welcome.<br /><br />David</blockquote><br /><br />He has a valid point here. It is interesting to see entropy being viewed in a sense of human life. We build up against this disorganization. We collect ourselves to be strong until our bodies can no longer handle it, and we decay... slowly die. I do like to think we start out against entropy, until we reach our physical prime (ages 16 to about 30) and then things just start to crash. But, the human race has begun to have advancements in our lifespan. Will we reach an adaptation where we can eventually live as long as trees? Should we stop trying to make ourselves immortal by trying to find cures for every harmful thing or defect on the planet? This human entropy is supposed to happen. It is a cycle... but people do not want to accept dying. They don't want wrinkles, they don't want to age. They all wish to stay forever young.<br /><br />I do have many moments where I think that, of all the things I have fulfilled in my life, I feel I have made a lot of safe choices. Now, I'm thinking, were those the best choices? I only live once- where do I want to go before my system shuts down? What do I want to accomplish before I start to spiral from the pinnacle of my prime? Many, many things.<br /><br />There isn't anything to be worried about- if you screw things up, you do. There are over six billion people on earth. It'd be very hard to piss off <span style="font-style: italic;">every single one of them</span>. Take a chance, here or there. I am preaching to the choir... but this is all starting to sound like a smart way to approach life.<br /><br /><br />Well then, what is stopping me?<br />More importantly, what is stopping <span style="font-style: italic;">all of us?</span><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-3512445063253534042?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-91511845029717158612009-03-07T15:24:00.000-08:002009-03-09T00:44:51.454-07:00This entry is being written in a very non-traditional Any Syler way.<br /><br />Though it is still directly from my brain, through my nerves and out my fingertips on these black keys, I am writing this with out being on the blogger interface. It is being written on a Word Document, due to the fact that I am unable to connect myself to the internet. This may or may not be a good thing. I am bummed that Starbucks does not offer free wi-fi, it’s “cramping my style” (I’ve been saying this very freely recently) but it is also taking away one of the biggest distractions in my life.<br /><br />Oh, my addiction to the internet. It isn’t a healthy one. It makes projects that should take you two hours ends up spiraling to be a six-hour ordeal. Then again, I am avoiding my maths homework by typing up a new entry onto a Word document, in order to have an excuse to go onto the internet in the future. Gah, the infinite circle.<br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-9151184502971715861?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-15913068181059613332009-03-06T08:16:00.000-08:002009-03-06T08:19:34.436-08:0029 degrees.<br />Seattle, are you kidding me?<br />I have never seen a sunny day, and the temperature at 29 degrees Fahrenheit. Ever.<br /><br />Off to brush up on Indirect Discourse with an Infinitive, Subject Accusative. Quiz time in 40.<br /><br /><br /><br />This is going to be a rough and mysterious morning.<br /><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-1591306818105961333?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2974731182338496078.post-61018814000901719802009-03-02T23:49:00.001-08:002009-03-03T00:08:18.413-08:00You read that correctly. I hate people. Though, in my nature, I cannot be some misanthropic lonely soul in this world. Let me correct myself, I love people- people who deserve to be loved. And only a few people on my list of people to love that are complete jerkinthefaces from time to time have my eternal love for them. Those would be some arsey family members.<br /><br />But, I am starting to become so confused by all of the people around me. I used to be so good at understanding people before I got to know them. I had this sixth sense where I could feel their intentions and spirit before I even really knew much about them. Now, it's gone down the drain. I get to know people, or about them, and they turn out to be so different from what I expected. I am judging them... ahh... I see what I am doing here. I have fallen out of my hard foundations I tried so hard to create over the summer- start anew. It's crumbling fast, I am beginning to no longer want to know anyone new.<br /><br />It's so much easier to look at someone on the surface, and paint out an elaborate, dreamy (or even dramatic) background attached to their face. Maybe that's why I love photos. You see the surface of someone, and you can see their pain, you can see their joys. Yet... I have never once questioned, "Do I really know as much about this person as I think I do?"<br /><br />I never do.<br />I don't know much about many people, in fact. It's taken years to pry stories from my mother's mouth about her past. Same goes for my grandfather. I have grown up with such cryptic and mysterious people, is this what has led me my wild imagination? Is this why I like thinking about people I don't know? Or, am I feeding gossip to my own mind?<br /><br />Oh, where this is going, I know it's going to spiral into a crazy mess. I don't believe in the whole "once you understand yourself, you can understand others easily." It's a bunch of bunk, and even the people who recite this know they are full of it. Nobody will understand you, you will never understand yourself, and you will not understand anyone more than you know about them.<br /><br />Upon thinking more... suppose I am enraged with people because my little fantasies become ruined when I get to know them.<br /><br />I'll have you know it, I don't mind living on a Scottish moor to my dieing days, cold and locked away writing by candlelight, and thinking about what 'real' and 'infinity' mean... and this completely contradicts the opening of this entry. I can't make up my damned mind about things. It's infuriating.<br /><br />I believe I've jumped in a puddle, and I can't get out of it. It's no big deal, but I'm crying over it anyways.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(exeunt)</span><br /><br />Hej hej,<br />Any<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2974731182338496078-6101881400090171980?l=fortunaforme.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Any Sylernoreply@blogger.com0