Dismiss this crap.

Where are those woods?
Those men?
Those gallant trees?
You speak of them with high regard. Do they please?

These woods these woods- where do they reside?
Are they way out with the waters?
Stuck in the countryside?

How high the trees grow
Not a seed to sow
Battling the sun and the frosty snow.

I want to visit the place you speak
These woods these woods would do me good
Fresh air
Clean sky

Good by
Goodbye.

Let the journey begin to seek these woods
I have heard so much about.
How will I know I found the right route?
Will I know what I get there?
How do I declare?

Those woods those woods I wish to be in
I am crossing my fingers
Let the travels begin.

Happy New Year. Happy New Decade. Happy New Chapters. Happy New Alls.
I raise my glass to you. Thank you for reading. I love you.


Hej hej,

Any

A creative piece for your pleasure.

Mama 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.

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.

Is this alcoholism?

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.

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.
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)
I don't feel drunk...
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.

Tomorrow morning is going to suck. Thanks to the Devil's Drink.

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.

Hej hej,

Any

And so begins the purest confession I shall ever share in public.

Everyone 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.

My name is Any, and I am a food addict.
How have I come to this conclusion?
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.

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.

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.
And I keep telling myself, "Tomorrow... tomorrow... tomorrow you'll be on your track toward thin."

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..."

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.

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.
Food.
FOOD.

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 me 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."

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.
I just need to find the right support. The support from here on out. Forever. I know I can find it within me.

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.


Hej hej,

Any

The bronze medal.

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?

Have you felt honor being Third?

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.

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.

I already know that I will do my best to never land back into being a Bronze.

I'm not worried about that.

Hej hej,

Any

Learning to let go.

I 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.

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.

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?

You know- I actually can recall a moment where I accomplished this. Last winter.
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.
Is that what being dead feels like? I felt like I was a walking corpse. Lifeless, emotionless, careless.

Empty.

That was it.

Absolutely bare. Empty.
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.

I want to feel empty.
Wish me luck.

Hej hej,
Any

The needn't a title.

I AM GOING BONKERS AND DOING A CLOSE READING ON EVERYTHING THAT IS OCCURRING IN MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.

Must mean I am a writing student.

Sorry for the 'meaningless' posts lately. I'll have something 'good' and 'thoughtful' soon enough. Promises.

Hej hej,

Any

I have been thinking:

Is Hermes the new Mr. Darcy? I kinda hope not. Actually, I really hope this doesn't happen. At all. Which is weird.

I hope you're following me here. If you aren't, get lost. If you are, thanks.

Real-personal journal entry from this morning:

Oh my god.
Oh my god.
It's all I keep saying in my head.
Looking up at you. Here. It's great.
Butterflies.
___ ----
I'm so cliche.
Now you're gone. And the awkward glances no longer happen.

Oi.

Hej hej,

Any

Spam.

Those who attempted to post spammy comments... I'd like to let you know that I much prefer honey baked ham.

Don't try to outwit me and comment my work with links to porn sites.

Yeesh. So many rejection comments lately... no legitimate commentary from the public.

Hej hej,

Any

This is for ( )

Foreword: I love writing these.

__________________

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.

Because I already know how to be better than you.


-------------

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.
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.

-------------

Afterword: I wish I had enough to write more, but the first exhausted me.

Hej hej,

Any

My luck feels like a good omen.

That 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.

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.

I at least know that this breaking wasn't bad luck... but wait? Was I proposing a toast in my dream? Oh no.
Superstitions getting the best of me.
Well, now that I am awake, maybe it was a good thing. I can try to get some things taken care of...

Hej hej,

Any

Thunderthought.

Since when
did claiming men
become
such a trend?


Hej hej,

Any

Let's just say that it has been put to rest.

It was all due to a dream. If you can recall back to my post, (Like a) high school diary entry, 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.

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.

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.

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 living 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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

As for Hermes... who knows what he was doing in there.

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.

Hej hej,

Any

And now that October has passed.

I 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.

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.

Hej hej,

Any

Sorry we aren't friends anymore.

It was meant to be.
slash
I did it on purpose.
slash
I feel better.
slash
I feel like a bitch.
slash
I have serious issues.

Hej hej,
Any

(Like a) high school diary entry.

Please 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-
everywhere 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-
but it is pretty damn close.
Quality.
That is it. But is more than that.
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 every time.
And, it's still a mystery- why you?
After all, you are pretty strange. You can admit to that. Awkward. Me, too.
But, I've tried to get past that. Still awkward. Maybe we're supposed to stay awkward with each other forever?
What could be
doesn't mean it ever will be.
Fuck this shit.
But,
I'm still not done with you.



Hej hej,

Any

So here we are.

As 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...

It's all very funny, isn't it?

Hej hej,

Any

I am not calling you anymore.

The clocks are telling me not to.

Buh-bye.


Hej hej,

Any

The ignorant bastards of the healthcare debate.

Here are some comments on photobucket that I have found in response to this image:

...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!

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.

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

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:

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.

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:

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.

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.

Mentally exhausted.

Hej hej,

Any

Another sappy generic wannabepoem blog post about wanting 'the one' to show up in my life.

Hello, love.

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.
Well, this is what I hope you are to me.

I hope you are taller than me.
I hope you are witty.
I hope you are happy.
I hope you are content with life.
I hope you enjoy talking about music as much as I do.
I hope you have some demons.
I hope you can have a good laugh.
I hope you like wine.
I hope you can drive a car better than me.
I hope you want to make a family.
I hope you like the countryside.
I hope you cry.
I hope you like to dance (or try to).
I hope you like to read.
I hope you will read my stories.
I hope you tell me stories.
I hope we make stories.
I hope you never leave me.
I hope I find out who you are.
I hope that I will never mistakenly let you go.

That would then make all of my hoping be such a gigantic waste.

Hej hej,

Any

I want you to do something for me.

It 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.

Now, as soon as you are done reading this, do what I have asked you to. Promise me? This is the honor system.

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.
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).

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.

Let me know how it goes for you.


Hej hej,

Any

California's burning.

What 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.

Ashes are scattered across the patio.
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.

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?

It is.
I'd never wish this tragedy on anyone.

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.
It is all very selfish, but, again:

What else is new?

Hej hej,

Any

Imagine this:

There 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?

Ah, but these papers- presumably not 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?"

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?

What would your decision be?

"One person can make a difference, and everyone should try."
- John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Hej hej,

Any

Question everything you know.

It's the only way to have you clarity.

Hej hej,


Any

Wanted: Chocolate Banana Chip Shampoo and Conditioner; my quest for an everlasting companionship.

I 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.

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.

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.
-Does my hair really grow limp after long use of the new product?
or
-Is it all in my head?

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 only 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?
Would I also stock up for dear life on the bottles and continue to use it for as long as possible?
(The last question is a different scenario...)

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.

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.

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 my Chocolate Banana Chip Shampoo and Conditioner. How awesome my life will be with it; I'll let you know when I finally find some.

Hej hej,

Any

And so came the day where I actually don't hate people. Well, maybe I do.

Please refer back to my post, I hate people., to understand what this title means and speaks of.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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 know 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 still at a honeymoon stage.

And I want to keep it at that.

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?

What would I do?

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.

How sick am I?
Am I even sick at all?
Or, sensible?

I don't hate people. Because, now I know, there really are some good ones out there.



Hej hej,
Any

Change 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.

Hej hej,

Any

Floating around

Found this little segment I wrote for a collaborative story on a forum that never finished. I quite enjoy it, might as well preserve it!

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:

'It's not like you haven't done this before,'

'There are always risks involved,'

And, 'Nobody said she'd be there.'

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.

Hej hej,
Any

The 11 AM

I 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.

Why did I do that?

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...

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.

"What?"

"A group of girls might come marching in to see you..."

"What!"

"... I ran into them in the bathroom-"

"Oh, god- why?!"

"Why not?"

I sat there, anticipating five or more girls... only one showed, to my relief. It was a nice, brief reunion. Thank Christ.

This all had me thinking... why do I want to have nothing to do with those girls anymore? What is wrong with me?
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:

"If you were part of my past, there is a huge chance you'll never see me again."

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.


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.

I don't want to come to terms with it.
Please don't make me.
Please make me.


Hej hej,

Any

I have finally decided.

I think I am going to create ANOTHER blog, strictly for creative writing purposes...
Now I am unsure.
So I may or may not have finally decided.


Hej hej,

Any

I don't have any real rolemodels or heroes

I'm watching a movie with Winona Ryder in it from the mid-90s... and things have 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.

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.

Because they're the best.

Hej hej,
Any

This is for ( )

I read Dear Old Love
And think of you
Though you are not an old love
or a new love
or a current love.
I don't know what type of what you are.
You're a love.
And, you spring up in my mind.


-------


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.
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.
You were a fuck up.
The lifestyle you live is one I do not want to be part of.
We shall be tragic artists in our own ways.
Don't drag me down with you.


---------

I feel extremely embarrassed of even considering to writing this.
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.


--------


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.


Hej hej,
Any

I can't believe I said that.

The previous post. I can't believe I made it public. But, on the other hand, I can.

Argh?


Hej hej,
Any

This is for ( )

I 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.

Why am I friends with you?
There has to be a reason. I have yet to find this out.


------

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.


------

And you, I wish I could understand 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.



-----

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

----

I should do more of these exercises.

Hej hej,
Any

Previously posted elsewhere:

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.

Going home is bittersweet.
More bitter than sweet.

Hej hej,
Any

This needn't a title.

I 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.

I thought I would share that.


Hej hej,
Any

Bulletproof

It'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.

But, this also means a lot of other things.
I can spend more time on my homework.
I can spend more time to read things for leisure.
I can spend more time working to have mo' money.
I can spend more time writing. I can actually have time to write.
I can spend more time guest-starring on a radio show.
I can spend more time taking photo's.
I can spend more time finding new music.

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.

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.

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...

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.

Good grief. I am beginning to sound like a broken record. Please, just allow me to end right here.

Hej hej,

Any

I love trendy couples.

So trendy together, it hurts. It hurts to the core.
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?"

Oh, trendy couples. Watch out. Fashion evolves.
As do relationships.

Hej hej,

Any

On the issue of issues.

Who do we want to take care of?
Who ought to take care of issues?

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?

No.
Absolutely not.
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 recently 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. Is the government the most effective source of dealing with poverty? 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.

Come on, America. I really feel that this whole economic slump just may reset all of our lifestyles... for the better.

Hej hej,

Any

Now, I know I'm not alone in here.

Is 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.

Hej hej,

Any

Vae Victis

Originally uploaded by Any Syler

Woe to the defeated.

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.

And now, today, it is a new day. I have been given another chance to live another day, which I can create or destroy.

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?"

The result:

...

You are an ellipsis. 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.

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 too fast.

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)

Do you crack your knuckles?
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."

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.



Enough of hands.

I need to get some things covered today. And I fear that it will be a long one.



Hej hej,

Any

Quick question-

Does the human mind really thrive on moments, thoughts, and events of tragedy?

Think about most news reports.
The biggest historical events that first come to mind.

I shall snuggle up with this thought a little more later. As for now... I need to think about it for a while.

Philosophy is Dead?

I 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 know that something doesn't feel right? The human emotion that, they argue controls our morality, is truly a funny thing.

So, does this mean all of those philosophers wrote bullshit?
Well, it depends on what you want to believe.
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.

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?

Ah, and it can go on and on, how this feeling, the genesis of emotion. It controls everything that we want to do. Every action we make.

Surprising how much emotion's can influence us... we recognize them only in the extremes.

Ah, but it lingers over us, always.

Hej hej,

Any

Oh, the places we will go.

This will be a never ending post, that will be updated whenever it pleases us to add something to it.

Für Elise

1. Stockholm, Sweden
2. Ireland. Not Northern Ireland. Catholic Ireland.
3. Fashion District, Los Angeles, CA
4. Orleans, France
5. Budapest, Hungary

You don't have a clue.

My ass hurts.
My eyes burn.
My roommate is coming back tomorrow, and I have a raging mess going out of control in the room.

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.

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.

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?

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.

I am so sick of trying to decide if I am homesick or not.
I need some damned sleep.

Hej hej,
Any

When the Empire Strikes Back.

My 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.

It ain't easy being a poor college student.
It's even more difficult when you're a lazy one.

I think I am going to head down to the supermarket... it'll all be worth it.
So hungry...

Hej hej,
Any

And so it ends.

The 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.

"Amen, Amen, Amen!" 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!

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.

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.

As for my Junior and 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!"

Brief soliloquy:

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 damn 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!

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...

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!

Well, I must be off. Toodles.


Hej hej,
Any

Mz Pauline Diaz

Happy Birthday, dahling.

How 'bout some credit now where credit is due?

Here is to my writing exercises.

I am on fire.

I 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.

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.


Hej hej,
Any

Do not watch me at 2:04 AM

It'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.


If I Had A Heart from Fever Ray on Vimeo.

Entropy.

Entropy:
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.

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 The Crying of Lot 49 the discussion of Maxwell's Demon where a physicist attempted to violent the second law of thermodynamics... which increases entropy. The decaying of an organized system... it just sounds so wretched and beautiful.

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:

3/10/09

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.

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.)

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.

What then do we learn? How does this information aid us?

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.

David

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.

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.

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 every single one of them. 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.


Well then, what is stopping me?
More importantly, what is stopping all of us?

Hej hej,
Any

Untraditional.

This entry is being written in a very non-traditional Any Syler way.

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.

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.

Hej hej,
Any

Joe O's and Bananas

29 degrees.
Seattle, are you kidding me?
I have never seen a sunny day, and the temperature at 29 degrees Fahrenheit. Ever.

Off to brush up on Indirect Discourse with an Infinitive, Subject Accusative. Quiz time in 40.



This is going to be a rough and mysterious morning.


Hej hej,
Any

I hate people.

You 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.

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.

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?"

I never do.
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?

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.

Upon thinking more... suppose I am enraged with people because my little fantasies become ruined when I get to know them.

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.

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.

(exeunt)

Hej hej,
Any

I don't know what you think I would know about knowing something.

Originally uploaded by Any Syler

Lenten promise decided:

One hour of pointless internet per day. I have been the biggest fucking joke about keeping Lenten promises for the last five years. It's virtually impossible to keep my word. I am three days into the Lenten season, and I have been on the internet more than one hour per day to check my Flickr (incessantly), fmylifeism's, czechin' the daily horoscope, and updates from various music blogs to see if I can find some pleasing tunes. Arghargharghargh, this is really difficult.

I have, though, begun to sleep less (which is actually a good thing, I was beginning to put sleep in my priorities over schoolwork... which sounds reasonable, but I was deathly ill-- am I excused? I reckon I am excused from my behaviour/ lack of motivation for the last few weeks. Stop.). Yay. I am shifting my life priorities, again!

Nevermind.
I shall speak more later. My brain can't be assed to think about writing any more words at the moment. I just want to dance now.

Hej hej,
Any

Scandinavian Warfare!

Not really. I would hope not. 'Tis a song by the wonderful Champagne Riot from Denmark-- and I'm head over heels for it. Besides, I figured that the title would be fitting for my 50th post on the entire blog. I m so proud of myself! Fifty posts on one blog- what a height to reach for such an uncommitted person. Well, I feel like I am uncommitted to a lot of things. But, I have decided, with all of the things that I want to do in life... that has to change.

I tend to commit myself to one or two things at a time. Right now, it's sleep and reflecting on things... constantly... whereas my commitment must be towards my education, finding time to write, and networking for my future. Gah. It all sounds so scary. That word- future.

Future.
Even saying it freaks me out. Fewww chuuuur.
It strikes a chord when you hear it... it's alarming, like fire. For me, anyway. Some people get caught up in it, enthusiastic about the future (ergh) and whatnot. I can understand the immediate future, i.e. I am going to see Andrew Bird tonight. Excited for that. But... I am guilty of doing this, but the distant future- what may become of us. What we would like to see us doing, and I constantly want to be successful, living a lavish lifestyle on the Scottish countryside with my husband, whilst our children are off with their careers in mind (you see how I did that?).

But, I have many fears of complete failure. Oh yes, all have fears of failure, and I won't say are worse or slightly milder than yours, because I do not know your worries- you reader, you. I imagine not finishing my higher learning. I imagine having to move back home with my mom for twenty years, finding a way to make my minimum payment on all of my college loans. I shall try to have my work published- any of it, and nobody would like it enough to finish reading it, therefore I would be a starving artist.

Last evening at mass, Father Pat Kelly (who happens to live on my hall) gave a homily that I needed to hear. I reckon I shall go talk to him further about it, and my reflecting on a part of it. He was stating (along the lines of this) that status can affect someones expectations on life. They feel that if they have a higher status, there would be less worries in their life. In fact, all people in all walks of life have their fair share of anxieties. It kills me! I always think, 'wouldn't it be nice to have a worry-free life, where I can just live, love, and laugh at all that comes my way?' I technically could, but it's impossible to escape that. It then loops back to my thoughts of why do we live? Why do we have to experience these highs and lows? I am continuing this journey of trying to see my vocation, why I am the way I am, why I am here and not still in California, why, et cetera...

I desperately need hand lotion. Why?
Well, I have two conclusions. It's a sign for something to come, or I need to drink more water.


Hej hej,
Any


P.S. Discussion of my lenten promise to follow, soon.

What has it been like?

Well, it sure has been sunny! Sunny and beautiful, my Seattle- you have sure shown the best of you this week. Why the hell am I inside right now?

Please excuse me while I relocate myself to be outside to finish the rest of this entry... thank you.


It's so perfect out here. How can you beat 47 degrees and a mostly uncloudy day in the middle of Winter? Spring must be on its way-- it's absolutely glorious. A treat. That is exactly how I feel about sunny days- they should be a treat. I love overcast days, but on sunny days... they really, and truly are a treat. But, I reckon I am only saying this about perfect sunny days. If it's boiling, blistering hot and sunny... forget it. All you want to do is hide away in the coldest corner of your Air Conditioning system and freeze to death.

Maybe that is why I couldn't handle home-- weather can greatly alter someones mood. I love knowing how the general environment around a person can alter their mood. We are visual creatures... and if something isn't appealing to our eyes, all hell can break loose.

So, I have finally grown the guts to start incorprating more things to balance my life. To no longer be in the rut of feeling that I am limited. I have made my limits! I just hope that I don't start having these bombastic thoughts, and that I actually do follow through on so many things, that I no longer have the time to even breathe. Though... I do think you should do all the things that you can in life. It's the only way that you'll ever know if you'll ever like them or not. So, here is my list of things that I have already initiated into my life, or plan to begin.

1. Blog weekly! (Or more, if possible.) I have no idea who reads this crap. If you are, then I thank you dearly.
2. Apply to host a Swedish Music themed radio show on my University radio station (I'll keep you in the know if it actually pulls through!)
3. I officially have help with my Latin studies. Yay life.
4. I am going to apply to internships this summer to (hopefully) have me occupied back in the LA.
5. Writing the screenplay for a friends shortfilm. It is going to be immense.
6. Taking photography more often!
7. Initiating more volunteer service in my life!


Well... back to the Swedish music... I'm still on it. It's just so good-- and I can't help but want to highlight so many of the talented artists that can be showcased on... a show dedicated to them. I know it's essentially one-upping Craig from the Swedesplease blog's idea of keeping to the strictly Swedish music theme... but, he had something when he started it! And almost four years later, still going strong and having a solid selection of artists discovered from this far-off land known for ABBA and IKEA...

What was the purpose to this blog, again? Oh, to report that it is sunny, and that I feel sunny, and that means that things feel aligned today. Over and out!

Hej hej,

Any

And again.

I must channel these frustrations to write. Because I am going nowhere.
Absolutely nowhere.

Though this music is so strong. I am still going nowhere.




Isn't it odd that when you are across a room, you can notice eye contact? You can almost always tell when someone is looking directly at you, even if you aren't directly at them. Sometimes your heart skips a beat... sometimes it cringes with disapproval. It can be infuriating. It can be beautiful. It can be sinister. It can be pleasant.

I love sitting in the lobby, because all of these feelings happened to me in less than one minute. My heart went a wee bit spastic, but I adored those rapid changes. I know I have much more to say, but I don't think that I can. I keep thinking of useless... well maybe they arent useless. Maybe they are all attributing to some unknown point.
Am I missing something here?

Maybe I should become an absurdist. Searching for meaning or meanings in life is pointless. Absurd. Should I stop analyzing every minute thing? I can't. I know I can't do that... I love looking for literary elements in everyday life. Some say literature is lovely because it isn't real.

How could you say that it isn't? That's like saying life isn't real. Things that happen in life are just as surreal as occurrences in fictional tales. I know that we cannot always stay in a consistent steady-state in life. In fact, I imagine life would be so pleasant to constantly be happy. Until you're feeling so happy for so long... it starts to get a little boring. You begin to beg for one little wrinkle... just to make life interesting. Exactly why we thrive on drama. We can't stand it during the time it happens... but we would be so dull if we never had it, or experienced it.

Maybe I have gone somewhere.

Hej hej,
Any

The Zoo Story.

by Edward Albee. Have you heard of it? Have you read it? Have you seen it?

I have never seen it, but I have heard of it. And I have read it. And it is fantastic. If the name Edward Albee is familiar, I am sure you have heard of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"-- you know, the film where Liz Taylor is a raging drunk, screaming all of the time? That one. She was fabulous... I am starting to remember all of these things that my Junior year high school teacher had told me about all of the fabulous plays we had consumed that year. I had digested every single line- anticipating the drama, writhing in pain when something wrong would happen (though, we all know, that is always the writers intention). And, looking back at my only surviving copy of the plays we had read that entire year, Edward Albee's "The Zoo Story," I am completely madly endlessly in love with Absurdism.

The ironic thing about Absurdism is that it is an explanation- a suggestion of meaning- that the human search for meaning is a failure. A waste. No meaning to life exists.

Well, loosely that is what it means.

By Absurdism, I meant Absurdist literature. The writer leaves a lot up to the reader/viewer to interpret the characters morals, intentions, meaning. It is difficult to comprehend when someone is first exposed to it, and it is definitely something that isn't for everyone.

Epiphany! I have just realized that I have been in love with this work all of my (so far given) life! I have never realized that Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was considered absurdist... how could I have been so ridiculous? What word would ever describe such a story... but ABSURD. Absolutely. Does this mean that this will be the pinnacle of my week?

"You sound like an adopted child who has finally been given the chance to re-unite with her birth-parents."

To quote the most quoteable, the brainchild for theovercast.net.

What steps does it take to make an absurdist story? Can it take me five days? Please? I can cross my fingers... I really would like to have some things written... and so far, I have nothing decent in mind.

Hej hej,
Any

Frontier.

Nordic flags and If-Only Boys.
Originally uploaded by Any Syler

What a fantastic weekend. If only it could have gone by a little slower. Time disappears when you are having a great time. I don't like it like that.

I have dumped upon myself many projects to do in less than a month. I have three deadlines that I would love to have finished by the end of February. In ten days, I must write a 10-20 minutes play. In 20 days, I must write a short film for the school's literary magazine. The other, I don't want to think about yet.

But, this play I have to turn in ten days... I haven't the slightest. I have been trying to settle on an idea, and nothing is coming to mind at all. I figured I would have a panoptic-inspired short play... or an absurdist Albee-inspired short. I can't say I can't do this, because I won't know until I try to do this.

I am trying to see what the word Frontier means to me. I shall admit that the first thing I thought of was Frontierland from Disneyland, where you can travel on a raft to Tom Sawyer's Island, take a risk on riding Thunder Mountain. This idea of a Frontier- a new border, a fresh start, where dreams of making a new home, breaking the boundaries of the Puritan values, and discovering things unseen by the majority of the planet. I am trying to imagine crossing the vast American Plains, going on the Oregon Trail, seeing and experiencing things that nobody would ever understand.

I wonder if that is why life seems so boring to Americans nowadays? There isn't anything new to discover, and we are all pretty much over this whole Space idea. Travels in space have not been announced very often, being as the entire planet is in debt, there has been a major slowdown on external-earth studies. For a short time, I would always believe that space studies were a wasted of billions of dollars. Why would we need to study what else is out there? If we were to know about anything else, we would know about it by chance. I would be a hypocrite to say that we shouldn't search for things, as I am someone that is constantly trying to search for something.

// Searching. Maybe that is my Frontier. Not just these definitions off of Oxford English Dictionary:

A. n.

1. a. The front side; the forepart. Obs.

b. The side that fronts in a specified direction. Obs.{em}1

c. The forehead. Obs. rare{em}1.

2. = FRONTLET 4. Obs.

3. The front line or foremost part of an army. Hence ‘attack, resistance’ in phr. to make frontier (tr. OF. faire frontière). Obs.

4. a. sing. and pl. The part of a country which fronts or faces another country; the marches; the border or extremity conterminous with that of another.

b. U.S. ‘That part of a country which forms the border of its settled or inhabited regions: as (before the settlement of the Pacific coast), the western frontier of the United States’ (Cent. Dict.). Also in specific use (see quot. 1894 and D.A.).

5. a. A fortress on the frontier; a frontier town.

b. A barrier against attack. Obs.

6. A settler on the frontier; a frontier-man.

B. adj.

1. Of or belonging to the frontier of a country; situated on the frontier, bordering; const. to. Also, characteristic of people living at a frontier; pioneering; primitive.

2. Fronting; opposite. Obs.

C. v.

1. intr. To be a frontier, or as a frontier; to border on or upon. Obs.

2. trans. a. To look upon the frontier, boundary, or coast of; to face; now rare. b. To stand in front of; to bar, oppose. Obs.

Hence frontiering ppl. a., occupying the frontier or border; neighbouring.

Sorry to take up so much of this post with a significant part of it being definitions of a slightly uninteresting word... It keeps mentioning the forehead, the front... maybe experiencing something on the surface. Looking at the surface of things. It's coming to me... but not quite. Not quite there. I can feel my full understanding of Frontier surfacing, but I still don't have a grip on how I want to view it yet.

Hej hej,

Any

His name is not Julien.

Metronomy
Originally uploaded by Any Syler

Fact: I have a strong liking for the name Julien. I actually prefer Julien to be spelled with an 'e' rather than with an 'a'. Why? It is because it looks prettier to my eyes. And, I am the writer. I make these decisions around here.

Today was another one of those awkward days where I woke up, not wanting to wake up, still tired and unrested due to my frustrations in relationships with others. Please do not request for me to go into detail, but I will go into detail. Every nitty, gritty, wretched, detail about my ever growing impatience with these habits and behaviours.

I am starting.
Truncated.

I shall speak of the sky right now, instead. Take me off of this trail of negativity: Well, it is swirling. I am not starting this off very well, but it's painted... warm and cold. Violet and orange. The sun is tucked away in the horizon- that I am unable to see, due to these buildings in my way at the moment. This color is fading rapidly, growing darker by the second. A crescent moon hovers above my head, glowing in the dark blue.... It's this time of the day I like to sit down and watch. So much change is happening such a small period of time... not many get a chance to observe this beauty. But, some will once or even a few times in their life.

Life.
That is exactly what this dusk is. A brief moment during time... that happens so instantly, not everyone has time to enjoy it. I am really horrible at doing these analogies, but I really don't care at this point. The more I absorb this dieing color of orange, which is almost carried back to California, the more I want to dive into it, swim around, writhe in its serenity. Now it sounds like I am trying too hard...


Julien.
That is not the name of the man in the picture. His name is Gabriel. And he is a fantastic man with fantastic glasses that you cannot see in this picture. I wish my time in that building, in that room, at that spot, had never come, or that it had never ended. But, as everything else happens, it had to end. Along with me continuing to believe his name was Julien.

Oh well. He felt like a Julien to me.
Now the sky is almost black.

Hej hej,
Any