Some random array of stuff

I never know how to begin these things. I type and delete maybe twenty times. I'm sure this isn't unique to me, nothing really is. Neither are all the difficulties and compromised purity of thoughts I have. Perhaps it is selfish to think that because I possess them, they are mine and mine alone thus they must be unique.

There is no use in being vague, I am no longer the secretive teenager I once was 12 years ago.

I had dinner with my father at Peter Luger today. We used a 100 dollar gift certificate I purchased him for his 71st Birthday last year, 2015. I am worried about him, as any person does. It's frightening, as it would be for anyone who has a soul and aging parents. I fear he hates me. I fear losing time with him. I don't understand what is going on with us at all. He makes me question everything in a negative, he clearly lives in the past because that is all he has. His life is uneventful. I wish I could spend more time with him but whenever I do, especially at length, fights are imminent because of the discussion of race and his values which I do not always agree with. I do not berate him, I simply disagree, yet he berates me and basically brings God into the mix. The discussion of politics is always  avoided by me  yet is still constantly discussed at length because he never neglects to bring it up. The discussion of "I will not be a part of your life if you marry and non-white" comes up on occasion, even though I have never once brought this topic up myself. This discussion is sad because I have already done what will cause him to leave my life. The secret is what hurts the most, and how much it will hurt him, and how much it will hurt me that it will hurt him. None of this makes any sense. I cannot ever see the problem with one's skin color. It is the environment in which one grows and chooses to stay a part of  that is the problem. I cannot discuss this topic here as I am sure to offend someone, but regardless, it is my decision who to be with, and it is saddens me to no end that my father will not accept an educated, intelligent, successful, calm, warm, supportive, lovely man who happens not to be white. I can, and will never understand this (I do understand it, it's just fucking stupid, grow up, Dad).

ON another note, It's been quite a long time since I stopped smoking weed. I still constantly miss it and find some days incredibly hard to remain calm or sleep without it. It brought me peace and clarity I find hard to attain. Strangely, only after the most difficult workouts do I find that kind of clarity, or after I've just awoken. I love the moments void of tension.

I forgot what it's like to have friends. Specifically, girlfriends. Old friends and I have grown apart, and I am left with just Eric. I love him but spending too much time with him is unhealthy because I have a dominant personality and I completely dominate him in almost every way and he knows and is okay with this, which further proves my argument. It kind of turns me off, but whatever, he's still the best ever. This is why I need a friend or two, someone with a bit more of a dominant personality than me, but not too much, because then I'll throat punch her and run away forever. Watching too many shows likes Parks and Rec make me miss having friends. I wish an Ann Perkins, but not a Leslie, Knope, she's too fucking crazy. And eats way too waffles. How is she not obese? I do not understand. Nobody can eat that much whipped cream and weight 125 pounds. NOBODY. Anyway.
I'm hard to be friends with, though.  I don't like drinking, bars, staying up late, being in the cold, groups, parties, dancing, expensive things, shopping, chit chat, talking about other people or celebrities, and generally all degrees of nonsense. I have grown to know what I like and don't like so I will never change or like the aforementioned things.
Are there people out there for me? sure. Where?
Who the fuck knows. I don't frequent enough places to find out.
Plus spending money is not in my immediate future so that's a lost cause.

Ok I think I'm done for now.

I don't spell check because I don't feel like it. Deal with it.

Love u, bye.

How to love:

I used to live beneath an over-sized question mark made of tiny question marks,
it looked like a colorful mosaic that seemed appealing and safe but really it was more of a dense cloud, obstructing my vision every time I grasped a tiny glimpse of pure goodness or joy.

I'm not saying I've reached some existential castle in the sky, allowing me to escape this heavy
conglomerate of question marks upon question marks....
it's more of...like I've been handed a leaf blower that has granted me the ability to blow the cloudiness away as I take my strides through life. That's how life is really. You've got no idea if shit will be fantastic or if something unexpectedly disastrous will happen.
It is what it is, different every day.
What I mean by the leaf blower thing is that life will remain as it is, strange, unsure, confusing and
way too short.
But how I RESPOND to all of these *AWESOME* characteristics of being a living, breathing, self aware human being can change, it kind of has already.
The leaf blower is my tool,
My consciousness is my comb to untangle all the non-nonsensical shit that seems to occur on the regular,
Growing knowledge are the puzzle pieces to finding logic and understanding in the bat shit crazy chaos,
My dreams and subconscious are the hidden gems to which I am beginning to pay attention to,
and
Love is the glue with which I am able to connect all the aforementioned tools I've been handed.

Without love, without the pure-ness of being completely devoted to another human being for no other reason besides some kind of inexplicably cosmic sensation to which there is no adequate description to justify its tremendous importance...
there would be no ability to escape the great question mark cloud of life.

But there is, the ability is there, and I have it.... and every time life begins to waver without warning, love lets me know I can face it.

I am TELLING YOU, love is the secret. I do not mean the irritatingly superficial, glossy and sickening kind of "love," -- better termed "lust...,"
I mean the devotion that is as real as you and I, as real the keyboard I am creating this essay with...the kind of devotion that is steadfast and heavy in a good way.
The kind that graciously permits you to be un-apologetically yourself,
The kind that doesn't berate, doesn't judge, doesn't rush,
The kind that opens the doors from the tiny house you've been living in,
The kind that makes you feel more sure than you ever thought possible,
The kind the remains with you everywhere you go,
The kind that forgives without reprehension,
The kind that dissolves your worries and soon manifests into an unseen but ever present
completeness that is unlike any other sensation.

This is what I've honestly written off as impossible until it fell into my lap without my acknowledging it until much later, I was lucky enough to have finally gained the clarity to welcoming this love just in time. I'm lucky patience was with me, and him.

I began with discussing the question marks that loomed every facet of my being,
and I will end with further reiterating how love is the glue that allows you to use all of these bolded keys towards removing the cloud that seemingly surrounds your life and my former life. It does not simply happen, you've gotta hone these skills as you would improve a technical skill of the arts.
You cannot ever sit with it, with any of it. Every day is a labor of love in the best way possible.
It is a joy in every meaning of the word.

You have the choice to observe it or not, you have the choice to seek what seems to lack existence,
you have all the choices, you just have to permit the vulnerability that will indefinitely occur following the choices you have yet to make. You have the choice to respond differently, and love with your whole being. It all connects, and it makes sense.

Every single day will be different, and I can't deny some of those days I will undoubtedly feel like I've been defeated and like I've fallen prey to the question mark cloud...but just as a genuine craft is never truly forgotten, neither is the skill of weathering through the storms of life. Once you are given love, you can never not understand and distinguish it, and it you. Love is strength, love binds the individuals of the world as one, love lives in our eyes and finger tips and consciousness and souls. Love forgives, and love holds you every single day of your life. Find it. It's worth it.

Ted Mosby did it.
So can you.

devoted

I love you.

Devoted to you.

--

I tend to forget large chunks of my life. Even things that have happened yesterday. I feel as if I am barely grasping this life and what's unfortunate is that I'm only mildly bothered by this habit. I'm teaching myself to change this, however difficult and quite possibility lengthy this battle with myself may be. I feel the need to fucking live goddammit, ESPECIALLY not by someone else's standards. I'm not even entirely sure what the word "live" really encompasses but it doesn't matter, nor will I seek answers from others. I create my own answers as I see fit. This may commonly be seen as selfishness in me but I see no other way to prevent my identify from being tainted by other's people ideas and hopes for me. I hope for my MYSELF, and my ideas are for the most part, MY OWN. Let it be selfish of me, let it be unfair. I don't care.

--

I've remembered what it's like to love, be in love, and be devoted. This selfishness in me, though helpful in my journey towards originality, spills over into undesirable aspects of my life that should have not ONE ounce of selfishness presence such the love created for another. I had grown restless, bored of men, almost repulsed by them. Can you blame me? Can you blame women in general? This extreme cat calling and highly objectifying society we live in has severely tainted all our views towards what women SHOULD appear to be and what they ACTUALLY are. It's unfortunate, but what could I do? Refuse to acknowledge I'm a hot blooded woman with a normal sexual and romantic desire to be with a  masculine man?  I cannot deny this intrinsic instinct, even with the mile high wall I've built between myself and potential love.

But it's gone now. The wall is gone and it's just you and me. It's not just the euphoria speaking here.
I love you. I'm in love with you.
Thank goodness (God?) (someone up there?) (idk)

Dell: "I never thought love was real. Now I think life isn't real without it."
From the movie Comet. 

a pleasure in writing

I wondered this morning:
what's the point of writing if it has no impact on anyone, and more than likely, no one will reads these words. Is there a pleasure in writing for one's own enjoyment without the external gratification of a reader? There must be.

Is there purpose to all this? I'm torn between wanting to feel like a "normal human" who craves human contact and the natural, relative loner I tend to be without effort. I love to write, but really I've no clue what's worth writing and what isn't...and also, how could I even be the judge of that? WHO actually is the judge of that? I'm not sure.

It's quite possible, maybe even obvious, that I am the creator of all these questions, that I am fabricating my own anxiety thus I have option to detach myself from these issues. Maybe I should try.

It's Saturday,
June 6th,
it's raining.
It's warm,
but humid.
I've completed the Semester with three C versions and one loosely given A.

The Summer is ahead of me. I have no plans.

 First beach visit of the year. It was what it always was: everything I needed to begin the Summer.

 I loved this day.

 Photo taken by the Pier near the world Trade Center. I was there with Sean Langhaus.

Photo taken near the pier along some cobble stone streets I've never seen. There are so many parts of New York I have never explored.

Good morning

Good morning Sunday. Crisp morning. 8am. 

Wednesdays ~

It's Wednesday.

I get so tired of things. I'm feeling-less and bored and apathetic.

But I did get a lovely vinyl from my dear friend. I am grateful.

Things that matter

Often times, we get caught up in the semantics of things.
I find myself being concerned with figuring out how to
make the most perfect zucchini noodles,
stressed over all the TV shows I intend to watch but
consistently forget to recall when searching for them,
worried if I'm too annoying or i'm overly distant or
clingy or complacent or anything whatsoever.
It's weird and everything is weird.
Why does any of this matter? Because it's how I distract
myself from answering the bigger questions,
like what the fuck am I
D O I N G with my life?

A yoga teacher read this rather conspicuous poem at the end
of class, and I walked away with it floating around in my
head, trying to remind myself to look it up... which luckily,
I remembered to do.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” 
― Marianne Williamson

Aside from the mention of God, what struck me is the part about
our deepest fear being that we are powerful beyond measure,
that we are more terrified of light and awareness than darkness.
How backwards is that? Where did this become my way of coping
with things... finding it easier to be blinded and complacent
instead of fully alive and reveling in the tremendously
spectacular nature of life? I'm sure tons of yogis heard and listened
to the poem as I did, which makes it all the more powerful and important.
I love how I often times walk into to yoga with a certain feeling,
and I walk out lighter, freed of the weights I dragged in with me.
It is a blessing.

I love my Father, whether he believes it or not.
I love his face,
I love his insanely wild eyebrows and disheveled hair,
how he is clueless to usually having a mysterious black stain on
his forehead,
how he has JUST done laundry but favors his white paint
stained pants,
his smile,
his laugh,
his hands, ones of a noticeable artist,
how sometimes he hears me blab about a new food I cooked
or intend to cook and he makes it himself and surprises me with it,
how he's the kindest man I will never know,
how writing about him makes me cry every time.
I love him just for being,
and I love him for trying to be the best he could to me,
with all he knows.

I was going to write about how I wish we could've had a different
relationship, I wish he could've been raised on different beliefs,
perhaps less judgmental and rigid ones,
how perhaps that could've helped my life positively,
how I wish my mother could've been normal,
how I wish my dad could've had more of an open mind,
more playful,
how I wish I could've had a larger family.
But I can't bear to hope for a past for me or family which could
never be replaced, for everything has already happened and I have
nothing but my future to control.
But if that is true, then that contradicts the notion that we are the
result of our past...
or maybe,
that isn't true.
Maybe,
BECAUSE I am the result of my personal past, my father the
result of his past,
and my mother's the result of hers...
MAYBE,
I could be the one to possess a little of each their pasts,
while creating a whole different one for myself.
The only problem I have is meeting judgement and adversity without ambivalence,
which I am admittedly awful at dealing with. It usually ends up tearing me
down quicker than I could finish building.
This, will change.
First, I need to find a path though. Is that the toughest part?
Or is taking the step on that path the most difficult?
I don't know.

Will be back with more thoughts.

I will leave you with this little song that I kinda love.

love,
me.

About You [directed by VASH] - this tbh

thoughts

How unfortunate circumstances are sometimes. Where did I go wrong? Was I born wrong? Or did I skew so far off the proverbial path to the point of letting the "road" rot thus deeming it unrecognizable? What IS my identity? Is this just the common quarter life crisis? But what if i'm past the quarter mark by one year, does that make a difference? What a dumb question.

Nobody Knows How Loud Your Heart Gets

I sit on the couch a lot. I'm not entirely sure what consumes my thoughts really, they seem to begin somewhere but rarely move forward with purpose and conviction. I guess it's something I have to work on. 

Time is passing. 

Before going to bed yesterday, I listened to Lucius' Wildewoman on vinyl,

for maybe the 4th time.

I have taken a liking to vinyl. It isn't serious, but I wish it would be. 

I don't think I'm serious about anything. That's something I also 

should change. 

I love the way the vinyl spins at the perfect pace, 

how the tiny ridges manipulate sound into something

real but not tangible. 

I'm unable to touch the sound once it leaves the vinyl but 

once it hits my ear drum.. then it's real. 

It's wonderful. 

Music is love, 

and love is music. 

This is just a small snippet of a song called "Nobody Knows how Loud your Heart Gets" by Lucius. 

Thank you.