Thank you disillusionment

A new craze has taken over the internet. People feel the absolute need to disclose twenty-five random, little known factoids about themselves.

I shall divulge also.



First, I am in a constant state of flight.

I am an ass-man, for sure.

I have relegated myself to low expectations for others, thus rendering myself constantly impressed.

I sometimes question friendships. I question whether friendships aren't inherently more valuable than any romantic relationship.

I strive to be as benevolent as my deceased grandfather.

Career title: Professional Student. My mother coined this while I was young.

As much as a place can understand a person, Paris gets me.

Violence disgusts me.

One of my favorite feelings is the frosty lungs while running in the winter. I developed this love around a tiny lake in Verdun. Old habits die hard.

I would love to mature into a profession of interest, not wealth.

Bjork calms my soul.

My mother knew more about me in my childhood than I know currently.

My brother is my biggest fan.

I am not a fan of being 'comfortable.' I love to sit properly. I don't enjoy wearing sweat pants, tennis shoes, etc.

My father is a quarter of a million dollars behind in Child Support and South Carolina does not care.

I am terrible at commitment (for dinner plans, etc) so I am making a concerted effort to rectify it.

Today I realized that I have very little uncommon with a homeless man.

I met my future self. I loved him. In this same vein, I have a very unhealthy love for myself.

I love the questions more than I appreciate the responses.

I am not an elephant.

I am passion.

I adore pimento cheese.

I found love under a quilt in a religion class.

Sometimes I ponder a life changed: a different college, a different family. I think I would be the same, no matter the circumstances.

I am not ashamed of my family - although they think otherwise.


I cannot count apparently. I meant for there to exist only twenty-five of these useless facts. I believe that there are currently twenty-six. Oops.

You can combine two of the less significant ones. Pimento Cheese and Bjork can very easily be combined. There is probably nothing better than eating a pimento sandwich while listening to bjork.

You must decide.

she'd scrubbed the bathrooms and made them smell like pine

My mother deserves more.




A lot fucking more.

i learn

For the first time in my life, "Are you always this quiet?"

No. I'm learning how to listen. I'm learning how to listen to myself. For quite some time, I've been lacking direction. Typically I adhere some vague yet powerful mantra to my life. Since high school, I have lived deliberately per Thoreau's instruction. I strove. I achieved. Now, it seems as though living deliberately just is not enough. I've matured beyond.

In this constant quest for truth, I have become a recluse. I must admit that the original motivation was a bit askew but things come full circle. I have made a habit of frequenting a local cafe in order to get back in touch with an old friend, Adam. Adam and I have never been the best of friends, but I enjoy his company. In so doing, I developed a manner of turning inward - I began reading, once again. At first it was solely as a distraction. Quickly, however, I found myself drowning in the text, gasping for air.

Initially, I reread Thoreau. Walden Pond, one of the greatest literary feats of mankind was unable to satiate my appetite. I devoured it. It was quite pleasing to the senses.

I then thumbed through my library of literature. I tried to read something I'd never read. The problem here is that I have read through just about everything that I own at least two or three times. Finding a 'new' fascination was quite the challenge.

Late one night, as I was evaluating the contents of my library, I discovered a Kahlil Gibran book that I had never even opened. As part of a compilation, I pushed it aside attributing its contents to similar processes of thought as his other works.

Boy was I wrong. As I read through Gibran's latest sermon to Isaac, one sentence stood out. Authors usually throw these obnoxious phrases at me, no shame.

March on. Do not tarry.

For the whole of 2009, I will march on. I will not tarry.

Il y a quelque chose qui manque...

As I sit on the pier to nothing, I contemplate what I am doing.

While I enjoy the friendship of the seasons

I trust that nothing can make life a burden for me.

Happy Birthday, Phillip. ( I know that you hate this common misspelling of your name. It's intentional.)

Today has been an unusual day. It began with a desire to sleep for as long as I could humanly withstand the dark. I surrendered. I raised my white flag to combat the melancholy.

The salon introduced me to her might. She raised her strong hands. She taunted me, she slowly plowed her fists of malcontent into my visage. She ruined me. I coyly handed her my white flag, doused in crimson paint. I don't need it any longer, I said.

My mother called. I spoke with her. It was cordial. Hello? Hey, is Ian with you? No. Where are you? I'm at a coffee shop. Where is he? He's at grandma's, he said he needs to do some stuff around her house tomorrow. Oh. She sniffles. You always take their side. -silence-

I throw in that dingy white flag one last time.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Ce que je veux

Parfois, j'aime pas trop ce qui se passe dans ma vie. Je sais bien que c'est pas une question de ce que la vie emporte mais plutot une question de ce que j'avais fait.

Je suis la. Dans un sens, confondu. Dans l'autre, petrifie. Je sais meme pas quoi faire. Ca c'est nouveau. Il y a des trucs qui sont la, ils sont toujours la. Mais, je monte sur cette montagne d'incertitude. Je ne sais pas quel genre de travail je voudrais faire. Je n'ai que mes amis. Ca suffit, je crois.

Et aussi, j'ai leo. j'ai mon amour, ce personnage d'un lion. lui, il sait ce qu'il veut. il veut vivre, vraiment vivre. il veut vivre pour ecrire. ou, veut-il ecrire pour vivre? moi, je peux pas distinguer. c'est dur cette vie.

je veux son coeur. je veux le voir chaque jour. je veux me reveiller a cote de lui.

mais pas de chance, isaac.

pas de bol.

je peux pas voir la seule chose que je veux.

Alora

Voici-le.

Au debut, c'etait moi devant lui.
je ne faisais rien.
j'etais seul devant lui.
faisant rien.

Et mon regard, il le traversait.
je ne l'ai meme pas vu.
donc, c'etait moi tout seul.

Une fois, j'ai ete seul, comme d'habitude
devant lui sans le voir.

Il m'a vu.
Il m'a vu de l'autre cote de la salle.
La salle vide avec personne sauf moi.
Et maintenant lui.

Il s'approchait.
Il disait quelque chose.
Il demandait quelque question.
Bizarre.

J'ai pas vu avant.