Life.

It’s long lived, and living is a long and tumultuous journey of up and down roller coasters of coasting and seeing and experiencing.

Life.

* * *

Here I am.

My place.

My usual.

With half my usual. The tea of green, sucking it down, living it up, typing away in my lyrical nonsense that I think I might be getting back into. This is a time for celebration.

A time to celebrate life as I take a break from it. Living the slowed down pace that I am use to, the snail’s pace of just living just outside of life, of the happenings and going ons and ons.

Life.

I am here, in this Volcano typing away, in my usual usual groove.

Life.

It feels normal, it feels natural. It feels like the way that it should be.

Filled with drama, filled with the tumultuousness that makes life interesting; the stuff that movies are made of.

Love. Action. Drama. Comedy.

Welcome to my movie.

It’ll be a tired, slow paced, artsy-fartsy, independent style of nature with a mixed bag of everything.

It definitely won’t be for the masses, for it wasn’t catered to it. It’s catered to those who may have interest to just have a peek into what it is that I am about.

It is what it is.

There’s no apology for it. I’m not apologizing for it.

Not at all.

Just a senseless rambling ramblings.

Gone gone.

* * *

Ahhhh, to be able to type away freely in the comfort of this client.

This little chat client on the Windows side. Semagic.

OSX.

There isn’t really a great one, an easy one like this one, the one I am in love with.

Quoma or some other spelling that is similar.

Typing away typing away.

I just love the semi HTMLness of it. The ease of just typing without any shortcuts and just typing along with the semi-coding that I do.

Love love love.

* * *

Routine.

Life, at least for me, is a series of events tied together. These events are very routine. The usual of the usu…

But tis my life; tis is me; tis is it.

Coming here on the weekends, typing away, sometimes with distractions, other times not, just typing away.

It seems for the most part, my life is just a series of typing away. Typing away.

Type type type.

Putting thoughts into words, connecting the dots, trying to figure out what it is that I want to say or trying to find that elusive direction.

Am I lost again?

Am I at another quandary that I can’t find my way out of?

I don’t know.

Things seem different.

Things seem strained ever since the trip.

Things seem very quiet — always searching, like a hanging silence that shouldn’t be there, but it’s just a deafening silence.

Things are amiss.

I can try to figure it out, which I do in my background processess, but there are times where I just have to let things play out. Things will just have to play out and then I’ll come to a realization that things weren’t really much different at all, that things weren’t WRONG to begin with and it’s just my hypersensitivity of spider senses tingling into extra full force on-ness picking up things that isn’t there.

I think I just need an adjustment, a fine tuning, trying to find the right frequencies of proper working order.

I’m broken and need a fixing.

* * *

Mindless ramblings.

I know it is a senseless thing that I am doing here; this senselessness of typing words for the sake of typing words.

But I don’t know, it is just something that I need to do. It is just something that I have to do; to get whatever it is that is in me fighting to get out, out of my system.

OUT.

My thoughts. My brain. My mind.

It’s full and I need to purge purge purge everything. I need a clear mind. I need something so I can focus on other things, like work.

From the past post and this one, I may have found that -ness that I have been searching so long for in these blog entries of mine.

It’s back.

The sing song madness of mindlessness is back.

Chubby baby wiggling for joy in his mother’s arms.

Wiggling Wiggling away as I just sit here, as the two girls are silently waiting for their new clients and waiting for their orders.

Tea.

That’s what they serve. Their drug of choice and I’m a fiend, needing my fix. Needing this lost solace of mine, this emptiness of place, freedom from distraction, typing away, clearing my thoughts.

Clearing away.

Erasing. Formatting.

Looking out the window, as another distraction will come my way.

Small petite Asian.

Distraction indeed.

Sneaking a peek and worth the sneaking for the peek.

* * *

New found audiences.

Not knowing with this is all about.

Just reading along. Not use to the sing songs of yore, but more use to the direct interims of life and what the haps in my daily, weekly, monthly grindings of what I am.

Making no sense.

I’m sure not all of my future posts will be like the last couple and I’m sure that eventually things will get back to the forwardness that I am capable of, listing the things that are on my mind in a more direct way.

Eventually things will get there and I’m not in a rush to get there.

Let me enjoy this rambling. It’s been lost for a long time. I’m just soaking it in, enjoying it before it leaves these fingers for another hiatus.

I guess it is the jumbleness of what is in my mind, with the different subjects at hand, trying to figure stuff out and not knowing where to start or what it is that I am trying to find.

* * *

Answers.

I just need answers.

I have questions, and I just hate it when I can’t figure out the answers. It just frustrates me, so I just sit and think, coming up with solutions that never seem proper or just never work. Solutions come and then solutions go.

It just never happens that I get the right answer.

It’s always been a problem of mine, especially when it comes with people.

If I can’t figure them out, it just frustrates me more.

For the most part, I can read people well. My intuition just does what it does, tingling spider senses, telling me this and that with unbelievable accuracy.

But sometimes, it doesn’t work that way. Feelings get mixed in, emotions get mixed in and it just clouds these conclusions that I jump to, creating doubt, not knowing, frustration.

Ahhhh!

Frustration.

What is it?

I can never figure it out. Again, I will have my theories, but they are just theories until I have tested them and they then turn into law. Until then, they will just be theories or even hypothesises until time comes for them to be tested and then I will finally know the truth…or at least the truth to my questions.

Eventually, things like these won’t bother me anymore.

Eventually, I’ll just be able to let things go, not let them bother me at all. Eventually.

They just aren’t happening right now.

I would say about 80% of the time, I don’t care, but then there are others and I’m just like, fuck, shit, what the what, what the haps?

And those are the times that frustrate me.

* * *

Time is running out.

The ticking keeps ticking and soon, it’ll run to the time that I’m usually done, out of here, away from things, back into another routine of mine.

Soon.

Tying things up, finishing things up.

Soon, things will just be a bygone memory. Soon, things will be something, just something that I will eventually ignore, something that I will just let me.

Whatever will be, will be.

Soon.

* * *

What does it mean?

The flickering mind movies of mine.

I know it has a lot to do with being in the mind, taking up my thoughts, but overall what does it mean?

Maybe they are just wishful yearnings that manifest themselves in my mind’s eye.

Putting situations together to show how much she means to me, or how much I think of her.

Putting her in that pedestal, like most of the girls in John Green novels, but realizing when it is too late that she isn’t or will never live up to that image that we have of her, only seeing the side that we want to see, the side that makes our hearts go pitter patter, but not the full story, that may taint her image in our mind’s eye.

Maybe.

But isn’t that, shouldn’t that be something that we come to find out once we have the experience to get a chance to see more of her, see her in a different light?

Maybe.

Life.

It comes and it goes.

Life.

Time.

It ticks.

Tick.

Tock.

Writing.

I wanted to try and write something today, this morning, but it never happened.

I was focused on writing something, but nothing really came.  The thoughts just pooled in my head, my brain; swimming and coasting but these finger taps never came in the short time that I had.

Distractions.

A call tore me away.  A call killed the drive, the urge to put finger to keys to press to words – sentences – paragraphs.  Getting my thoughts out of this brain of mine into this void of 1s and 0s.

It never came.

Now I sit here, not in my usual place of typing, but in my home trying to get into the grove, trying to find the words that I needed to say; the thoughts that were swimming in my mind just a few hours ago.

*    *    *

Flickering mind images startled me last night.  Not in the way of nightmares or tremors, but in a different way, a way I wasn’t expecting.

It was another flickering mind movie that involved family and Ms. D. 

It’s been a while since those two combinations happened, but it happened. 

The first, was me introducing her to my mom.  This one, I’m standing up for her to my Auntie, because my Auntie was upset that Ms. D did something.

I don’t think she did anything wrong, it was just that Auntie was annoyed.

She, with family, interacting with family, like she is mine, with me, my partner, my girl, my wife.  Mine.  A part of my life.

What does it mean?

I don’t know.

She’s just on my mind I guess, constantly on my mind. 

*    *    *

Don’t want to think, don’t want to think.

It’s neither here nor there that she’s in my dream.  She’s just on my mind and there’s nothing I can do about it.

*    *    *

So I sit here, trying to piece together my thoughts, to empty this mind of mine that has been tired as of late. 

Empty.

Nothing flows as I try to get into this habit of typing out letters on a keypad, as I try to continue on my journey of finishing my script and emptying my ramblings and contemplations out in this void of mine.

Getting back into it, getting back into the groove.  It shouldn’t be so hard as I try to write cohesive thoughts into this blog of mine, but again, it has been difficult as of late.

My last entry flowed with the excitement that I once had for these type of things.  The strong conviction of my thoughts put down in this blog, but now, with each finger, with each press, with each letter, I wonder, if that was the right thing that I wanted to say.

There’s no focus.  There’s nothing that ties anything together.

Even in my previous writings and ramblings, my previous oh lyrical style of yore I was able to just finger tap with gusto, putting my thoughts down in a cohesive focused nature even though they were just jingle jangle of rambling thoughts with their little cute hidden meanings that I only know.

The cryptic sing songs of someone that has lost his mind and is trying to find it by emptying his stream of conscience out of the way, hoping that he can at last figure what it is that he wants, and where it is that he is going.

What happened to those lost days?

My brain just doesn’t seem to want to work that way anymore.  What is wrong with that way? 

Was it just a immature trapping of a fledgling new writer and that I am now more matured, more direct, more succinct in my thoughts and my finger tappings?

Wishing.

Hoping.

Why don’t things these words just come easier? 

*    *    *

…and now all I want to see is a sky full of lighters…

Searching in this ever long search of searches, finding the ever elusive findings of things hidden in the hidden nature of my heart.

Ramble ramble.

These sing songs aren’t going anywhere fast but they just need to go and get where they need to go. 

My thoughts just need to flow and flow into this pool of ideas and free me from this cage that I seem to have locked my self in.

He shot me down. BANG BANG.  I hit the ground. BANG BANG….

Goes the words that is softly whispered into these deaf ears of mine.  BANG BANG…

It is an awful sound indeed.  I use to shoot myself down down…indeed.

Shot and bleeding.  Dying.  Bleeding out, with the pains of pangs that I am quite familiar with, but they simply don’t hurt anymore.  They just don’t hurt.  They just linger and pass, faint, as if it really isn’t anything at all.

Those heart pangs just seem to disappear, as I can just sit there, with you in proximity and in a way, not be uncomfortable as I just sit and socialize with the others in the group.

*    *    *

How deep is your love?

Sing songs of quiet rumblings that erupts in these ears of mine. Coming to me in this warm summer night breeze. 

I ask again.

How deep is your love?

*    *    *

Never.

It’s just never. 

Never indeed.

Always.

Always just a few feet away, off in another conversation, separated by separation and just off, each aware of each other, but just off.

We can never be like how we usually are when we are together, but in a way, we just act like we are these distant strangers that only come together once in a while in these off chance meetings of get togethers and hiyas-howyas and there’s nothing more between us.

Yeah, I’ll tell you something that I think you’ll understand…

What is it?

Say to me…

Please.

Say to me…

Please.

Now let me hold your hand.  I want to hold your hand.

These soft words, sung, not by the fab, but by the horrendous movie musical, but best song of the bunch.  The T.V. Carpio that sings to my heartstrings, pulling the rhythms, culling the timbre, crying the words and tearing at the yearnings that is in my heart.

Pluck me out of this misery and let me fall asunder. 

*    *    *

Ramblings and ramblings. 

Resemblance of the ones of yore, the old ones that I am trying to get back.

The just mindless mind ramblings and thoughts of mental diarrhea that I am use to. 

The mixture of musical lyrics mixed in with my tapping lyrics, creating the emotions that I can easily manipulate, only going when the words that flow into my ears fit the equation that I am trying to make, to solve the issues, to come up with a solution to this little problem that I am having.  The problems of the PANG.

BANG BANG.

Bang bang indeed.

*    *    *

Back to me, back to here, back to now. 

Come away with me…

To me.  Here.  Now.

Come away.  Here and now, with me, here and now.

Coming back to this old mind of mine, putting the pieces together, putting me together, trying to get me going, rejuvenated into the me that I am finally growing accustomed to.

Me. 

Coming back.

Coming away.

Soon, will I even resemble myself.

Will it be me staring back when I stare at you?  Will you even recognize me as I constantly change and hardly recognize myself. 

Me yesterday is not the same as the me the month before, nor the year prior or the many year before.  The man staring back at me now, my reflection, is definitely someone that I have only a vague recollection of.

He is someone that looks like he knows what he’s doing, someone who seems to have a life that is worth living.

He sure took me by surprise the first time that I actually got a good glimpse at him.

He definitely looks like a man that I surely would like to be.

He is me.  I am him.  We are we.  Let us be.

One.

*    *    *

It’s a heartache…

It’s a fool’s game…

I’m a fool, standing in a the cold rain. 

Dancing, getting wet, jumping for joy. 

The quirky quirk of mine, celebrating the things that many would just whine about, the wetness of wet precipitation palpitating down on the earth, drenching everything in the refreshing our mother Earth’s wonderful tears of joy and sometimes angered sadness.

These are just emotions that she needs to shed, and eventually it cleanses our soul, washing away the problems that we may have.

Like us, standing in the rain, boom box (or ipod/ipad speakered-up now-a-days) in hand, arms extended, blasting without shame, without embarrassment, that sappy love song that just moves us, hoping that it moves her too.

The sentimental man that will do anything to win, to win, in this game of fools. 

It’s all just a game, played by fools.  There’s no winners here.

Only mindless, blind fools with nothing to lose.  Unafraid of baring one’s soul.

Say you want the same thing too.  Say you feel the way I do.

*    *    *

My time is on a schedule.

Seconds tick by, as I wait, wait for the allowed NEXT.

NEXT.

As I try to patiently suffer through my punishment by doing other things, like these finger tapping breakdancing of mind thoughts, to scouring the web for thing that keep my interest, so I can just let the seconds tick my so I am allowed to click NEXT.

NEXT.