I haven’t written anything in a while. Just posted something earlier tonight. It was a private entry. Just wrote about things that’s been happening in my life right now. Things at work, situations, things going through my head. Just about my life in general. Boring stuff really.

I don’t know. I guess I’ve been reevaluating my life in general lately. What’s been happening? Work, confusion, confusion, confusion. That’s generally my life.

There are many thoughts that run through my mind on a constant basis, and I still can’t figure things out. As soon as I think I am coming close to finding a conclusion to one of my little problems, the solution never satisfies and sometimes just creates bigger problems.

I know many and almost all of you don’t know what I’m rambling on here, and that is a good thing. Don’t think I want to tell you and I really don’t think you’d want to know.

It’s almost another year come and gone. I have started this journal well over 6 months ago. Looking back, reading my posts, I have to say, some of them are intense.

A friend of mine who read it says it was very brave of me to write what I did. Especially some of my earlier entries.

Looking back, was I really brave, or was I stupid to just let everyone in the way I did. With this journal, I put myself before you, naked. You clearly see who I am, and yet have no clue as to who I am. I honestly don’t know who I am.

I guess because it is nearing the end of another year, and a new one starts in just a few days, I am starting to reevaluate my life.

What’s changed? How have I grown up? Many things changed and happened to me this year. The biggest was my father passing of course. Others are just a growing friendship with someone I most definitely don’t want to lose touch with, and I’m just growing up and dealing with new problems and situations that I’ve never experienced. Hurting people, getting hurt. Just life I guess.

Meeting new people, making new friends, experiencing new things.

Lisa said something to me the other day that struck me as a little funny. She said I’m a late bloomer. She’d always figured me as such. We were talking about something that none of you guys need to know, but anyways, it struck me as funny. It may not make sense to any of you, but here goes. I’ve always been an old soul, way mature for my age. When I was younger, my teachers would always tell me how mature I act, so on and so forth. Yet, I’m a late bloomer. Just find it ironic that I’m such an old soul, and so mature for my age, that I’m a late bloomer. It’s just stupid funny. Something that only I find funny I guess. Writing that just now, I just realized how stupid that was. But who cares.

Anywho, I’ve been a little more social than usual, and more lazy than usual. Not a good mix, cause it just means more money spent on unnecessary things. I’ve been going out and watching movies and having dinner with a friend and just hanging out. Don’t know why I go out but I do. Meh, as we say. Meh indeed.

Well, Christmas is upon us and for those who don’t know me. Bah Humbug to all. I’m going home this Christmas. It would be nice to get out of the city and see family again. To have one of those large family get togethers where we’ll just sit, talk, laugh, and just hang out. There are some new additions to the family that I would like to me and others that I would like to catch up with. I think it will be good. Be around some old friends and family. Hopefully I get a chance to relax. Here’s to hoping.

Well, here I am writing on this lazy weekend. I just recently got into the mood of writing poems. I don’t know why, maybe it is because of the lack of work I’m doing or my procrastination.

I believed a few entries ago, I asked how different my poems are going to be from the ones that I’ve written a year ago. I think I got an answer. They are the same, and somehow, they are different. Maybe some of you don’t think so, but for the most part they are.

The first two are ones that I’ve written for myself a couple days ago. The next two are ones I wrote for my cousin. He’s trying to get back into writing poems. He got a new love and he wants to write about how it came to be; how he had his eye on her, how he admired her, and how now he knows how to pursue her, how to talk to her, ask her questions. Again, they aren’t that great, but hey, for the most part, they work…I think.

Here they are.

Sitting here contemplating my thoughts
Looking for something that isn’t there
I rack my mind of all the things we’ve done
I come up with nothing
The little touches and glances don’t amount to anything
The “Hi’s” and “Goodbyes” are just formalities of civility
There is nothing between but awkward space

2003-11-20

Oh My! The joy you bring me
Whenever I am down, the sound of your voice just lifts me up
Our talks bring back the joys of my youth
How you would hold me dear and protect me from harm

You lead the life I dreamt of imitating
You were my idol
You were my God
You were my Father

Through our last days, we got closer than we’ve ever done before
You told me secrets that I never felt you were capable of
You told me your feelings
And I told you mine

Our bond is like no other
Our bond is special
Our bond is unique
Our bond made me grow up

When you were gone, there were no words I can express
No feelings I can share because you were the one I want to share them with
Only you would understand, for we are the same
I am my father’s son

2003-11-20

Oh! How I admired you from afar
Shining brightly like a star

Everyone asks what is that glimmer in my eye
Your shimmer is my reply

When I’m next to you, I don’t know how to tell you how I feel
I am all wrapped up in my peel

I dread that I lost my chance
Now all I dream of is to get a glance

I think of words since the break of dawn
Until the final time you are gone

I should have asked about you when you were here
Instead now I am wishing I was there

2003-11-22

I wander the halls lost as a zombie
Going through the routine and the monotony
Laying my eyes on you brings me back to life
For you are the cure to my disease
You are a searchlight for my lost soul
Guiding me back to life to live

I never figured how to thank you for saving my life
For I am afraid to lose you
I search myself to find the courage
But none can be found
I search for words to keep you near
But all that come are moans of despair

I see you leave and I die each day
I need something to sustain our way
I realize that I know nothing of you for we never spoke
So I ask questions that will bind our way
Questions that will let me into your soul
And your answers will ease my soul

2003-11-22

Well there are my poems. I’m really in the mood to write more. I just may. I also need to finish that short story also. Might actually get to it and finish it today or tomorrow.

* * *

My classes are ending soon. I just got one more writing class on Monday and another painting class on December 5th. After that, I have no more classes to take. I’ve looked over the class schedule for next spring and nothing looks very interesting. What am I going to do now? I really don’t know. Maybe I’ll write more to fill the void or paint more also. Haven’t been doing much lately. I thought about painting this weekend, but again, I’m not sure.

Tonight is one of those nights where I really hate writing. As I posted on an earlier post, I am writing a short story about a wedding cake and how it ended up in the middle of the road. I started that story, and I’ve added a few more paragraphs tonight. It is coming along, trudging along. I have an idea of where to go, and as I write tonight, what I wrote cements the idea in place.

I have direction, I have an idea, I have an ending, yet, I find it difficult to write. I have no idea why. A friend just told me to sit down and write. Just write. I tried and nothing comes. My fingers type words and words and my little cursor goes backwards, erasing them all. The cursor adds more and more and more are deleted before it even reaches the page. I’m editing as I go, and that is bad news.

In posting this entry, I postpone completing my story. I guess for me, it is the fear of what my story means. I guess it is my fear of not having the right to write the story I’m writing. Once I finish, if I finish, you will understand.

Another aspect of my block is the structure of the piece. I wrote some good things and I don’t know how to place them. Different yet similar ideas refusing to melt into one. I guess I just need to punch the story out and focus on structure later.

I do not see the big picture. I do not know where things should go. I’m just writing and writing, trying to tie everything together, to make sense, and it just seems my words don’t make sense. I’ve lost my train of thought, yet that train is still running on the tracks that I lay out for it.

Maybe I feel constrained, writing the story in the manner and way that I thought of weeks before. Maybe I need to just write and not focus on the story that I’ve planned weeks ago. If that is the case, then all I’ve written is for nothing for it is one story. Ahh, damn the confusion.

It’s like painting in my painting class, frustrated with the abstracts, the small picture while I just want to paint the larger picture. Painting little pieces of a master’s painting prevents me from appreciating the painting I’m doing. It doesn’t look good. It doesn’t look like the masterwork. Yet, it is supposed to be my interpretation of the work.

I guess I just don’t see what I want and what is needed of me. I’m just confused. I’m worried about it not becoming the perfection that is in my head. The wonderful story that I want to tell. I’ve captured the essence, but not the beauty.

I curse writing. Damn you.

Well, I just have to say I haven’t been following the predetermined routine that I set out for myself. I haven’t followed it at all. I haven’t written anything worth while in a while. Just the assignments in writing class. I didn’t even add onto that assignment that Lisa gave me. I left it at three paragraphs, and three paragraphs is what it is. I will get to it later this week. I will finish it this weekend. I promise.

Now, like I told you all before, I am posting my assignments from creative writing class. I have two to share tonight. One is an actual assignment; the other is a writing exercise in class.

The assignment is to write about a childhood misfit or a town misfit. Of course I didn’t do my homework until the last minute before I left work to go to class. I whipped it out in ten minutes. I gave it to a friend to critique and his biggest complaint is that I do not write in complete sentences..and I don’t. I write mostly in fragments. It helps me with the meter, it helps with the flow of the piece..in my humble opinion. I’m not worried about it being written correctly, I just want it to read fine, and I guess that sort of works into it. Well anyway, without further delay, my assignment.

There he is, the sore of my eyes, the terror of the town. All run from him screaming in fear; kids, grownups and most of all, grannies.

Smiley Two-teeth. Not because he smiles a lot and has two teeth, no. But because it sounded good to him. Just hearing the name puts the fear of God in us all. His real name is Davey Huckleberry, a name that put fear in its owner, hence the name change.

He’s a force to be reckoned with, all three feet five of him. Don’t let his small stature fool you. His little man complex makes him a giant. His angelic countenance is broken by a wretched scar from a freak shaving accident at age eight. This makes him look like the terror that he is.

To us grownups or people of height, no shins are safe. No dogs are fierce enough either. His speedy little feet will chase you down and there will be hell to pay for running away from him.

His cackle after he chases you down will make you break down and cry, curled up in a corner calling for your mother, no matter what age you are.

One man stood up to him, a hero and a giant in our eyes. He stood seven foot eight, weighed well over three hundred pounds. It was a battle of biblical proportions, a modern day David and Goliath. After the battle was done, the giant stood two feet seven; a tiny withering, puny, pathetic little ball of a man, if you could call him that.

After that historic day, no man dared stand up to this little giant. No man has, and no man ever will.

He thought I should make it grand, go into more details about the fight, add more background. Again, I would have done that if I didn’t rush into this assignment and that I only did it in ten minutes. I really didn’t know where I was going with it. So if it seems lacking, I have myself to blame.

Now onto my class exercise. It is to write about my first crush. It was actually a fun exercise, and hearing what others wrote was great also. For the most part, it was funny, listening to others little secret lives and love affairs.

She stood six feet four inches as far as I was concerned, but I’m sure she was only three foot one but no more than three foot one and a half. I was seven, I didn’t know what my height was way back then and I didn’t care. All I cared about was her. She had large brown eyes, an engaging smile, and shiny long brown hair. She was my Repunzel. Tina was her name, or was it Nina, or Gina, no, maybe I think it was Kristy; I don’t remember. What I do remember was that she was a feisty one. Her slim petite figure, as if children can have another type of figure, charges through the playground as we play tag. The boys would chase the girls, slapping them on their butts to steal a grope. At age seven too, how corrupted us boys were. Instead of sitting on the ground like the other girls, Tina or Nina or Daphne or whatever her name was would chase us back and steal a grope herself with her fist or knee or feet to our soft fleshy areas like our stomach, face, or her personal favorite, our groin. After regaining consciousness, I realized she wasn’t the one for me. I moved on, as I should. She was Kristina or Tristina or Trista or maybe Michelle. I don’t remember, but she sure was a feisty one.

I just have to say that both of my writings tonight got laughs out of everyone, and that’s all that I wanted.

I have to say, I am liking writing more and more. I am genuinely surprised that I am. I find it funny for the longest time I really hate writing. It’s a chore. I totally detest writing. Going through my journal the other night, I just realize how much I write. Maybe because I actually enjoy the things I’m writing, and I’m actually having fun writing most of the stuff. If you read these past two assignments and the last one about the sheep, they were fun reads. I never written anything fun before, mostly dark and depressing cause it is my mood at that time. I guess I’ve really changed. Funny.

Well I can’t present it here cause I don’t have a picture of it up yet. I just finished my first real painting tonight. Almost 4 hours of work. Forget those little test paintings that I just started in painting class, this is the real deal.

I really don’t have a title for the painting nor can I come up with one. I think the simplest thing to do is to number my paintings sequentially or go by date, but I doubt that I could remember any of my paintings by date. So I am forced to find a title. I think I will sit on it for now. I will call it Painting No. 1 or Rocker Cries for the King. It should be fitting.

What does my painting look like? It is hard to describe. Imagine a 11″x14″ canvas. One corner iust a small portrait of a figure that looks sort of like Elvis, leaning towards the middle of the canvas. On either side of Elvis’s head are two large eyes, as big as his head. It belongs to a large face, eyes crying tears of blood. The face is a mixture of many colors. Again, it is hard to describe. You just got to see it.

Actually, if this painting was in a museum, I wouldn’t mind stopping and looking at it. It’s pretty interesting.

How it came to be was an accident. I was just painting. Putting paint on canvas, paint on canvas, paint on canvas. It looked like nothing. Nothing was taking form, for I had no direction or no idea of what I was going to do. At one point, it looked like a flower, where we were looking inside with some petals hanging out, but then I just added more paint. Instead of small dabs of paint, I ventured into larger strokes. Soon, Elvis took form. His ghostly face staring back at me. I fixed his hair, outlined his jump suit. The ghost of Elvis, decayed and hollow, looking back at me.

Now the difficult part, what to do to balance the picture out. I thought of a face. I created a face. eyes of purple, lips of pick and yellow, a unrecognizable nose. The outline of his face takes form, coming out of darkness and gray, and I do mean, coming out of darkness and gray. It’s a very dark painting. Only highlights and some color to add depth. His mouth agape, I added tears. First blue like water, then red like blood. Streaks of long hair came next. Streaks of blue, green, red, yellow, white, magenta, pea soup, teal….and the colors go on and on mixing into gray with some remnants of colors. A masterpiece I dare to say.

Now I am damn sure no art expert will pay my painting any mind. It’s no Rembrandt, no Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, or even Dali. It’s a painting by a lost 24 year old.

I took quite a few pictures of this painting when I was finished for I promised my first painting to a friend. He might not like it, if not, I’m taking it back.

Looking at it now, I am in awe, in shock, in despair. It is intriguing yet sad. Tears of blood. Death so imminent. Almost like Jesus on the cross.

Now, my only problem is deciding which way is up. Should I have it up the way I painted it, or how it lays now, on it’s side. Decisions, Decisions. It’s going to take a week or two for the paint to dry. I hope I will have pictures of my work up.

* * *

I thought about writing a poem just now, as a follow up to last night’s entry. But nothing came. No words flowed. No feelings need to be expressed. No motivation to rhyme. Maybe this is my poem. My poem of prose. Our maybe everything I write is poetry. Every word I write is a lyric to my soundtrack in life. But I digress and I jest. My words aren’t poetry. My words are just me.

Well, I know I was supposed to write about some problems that came up, or about class, but I think I’m going to postpone that. The problems really aren’t problems, just things that I know I need to work on and something a friend brought up to me.

Tonight’s posting will be a long one, so bare with me. I’m not going to express anything in my usual flare. I am going to do something that I never thought I would do, post my poetry.

I never felt comfortable posting my poetry. I never felt comfortable showing people my writing period, but I got to a point where I’m comfortable. I guess this journal helped me a bit, but I never thought I would share my poetry.

I’ve always felt my poetry sucked. But now I don’t care.

How did this sudden fit of sharing came to pass? Well a friend of mine showed me a few of his poems. They were great. Very structured and it flowed well. Very well written. I compared his to mine. His is structured, mine free formed, and yet for the most part, we wrote about the same things. Questions to answers and answers to questions.

I started to show him some of mine. He liked some, didn’t comment on others. So I went through an old journal that I had. I remembered I wrote poems and poems in there. I just didn’t realize I wrote so many, and do I mean many.

It’s been over a year since I’ve written any poetry. Reading the poems that I wrote over again, and typing them up again, it just made me think how times were so much different back then, and yet how much they are the same. I wonder if I wrote a new poem tonight, or tomorrow, or even the next day, what would it be like? Carbon copies of the ones I’ve written before, or something different, something more telling, something more grown up and moved on? I don’t know, but I’m really eager to find out.

Until I get inspired to write a poetry, I would like to share with you all the poems I’ve ever written or could find. Some have titles, and many don’t. The only title is probably the date they were created. I hope you enjoy them, and I would like to hear any feedback you may have.

If you don’t wish to read them here, you could probably read them later on my website. I just got to figure out how to post them. I’ll let you all know when I’m done with it.

My World

It is determined by a transparent partition
Whatever it is shaped, is my world
Whether it’s round, hexagonal, rectangular or square
Everyday I go around searching for an exit, trying to find a way out
But I’m stuck
Blocked in by the World
Outside it seems everything is free and wild
And I’m caged and domesticated, oppressed by the World
My life is in the hands of my caretakers
I can only hope that they care for me and love me
At other times that just isn’t enough
If I could jump, I would
It would probably bring peace to my meager existence
So please HEAR my PLEA to free me from my World

2000-09-15

I have shelter to shield me from the cold
I have food to eat when I’m hungry
Water to drink and wash when I’m thirsty or dirty
That’s all one needs right?
The bare necessities
It seems that I have nothing more
Should I be content with what I have?
Many out there have nothing, and yet they seem far better off than I
Why is that?
Why is that indeed
Should I try
Or should I try harder to make the best of my life
I shouldn’t be so foolish and be content with what I have
I have no friends
No one to go out with
No one to call my own
I don’t need shelter, food, or water
I don’t want it
What I want
What I need is this basic interaction
So I don’t feel dead

2001-09-25

What you are to me, words cannot describe
What you do to me, I cannot put into words
But I’ll try
You pull me apart but you are the glue that holds me together
You are the cloud that darkens my day
An Angel or a Demon, I cannot make out
You bring me pain, yet you give me joy
You ease my soul, but you boil my blood
You are my death medicine, my sweet poison, my living contradiction
You are my love
You are my life
Without you, I would not be me
Without you, I would not exist
Without you, I am nothing

2002-10-01

Laundromat

I come here all worn, down and dirty
I’ve reached my peak of punishment
They put me in a place to cry, to break down
I drown in my tears until there is no more
I rub my face, trying to clean the dirt and pain off of me
Rubbing life away
I’m spinning out of control, in circles and circles
Hoping that this will help cleanse me of my sins
I stop, thinking that its over, but no
I cry again, as if the first time wasn’t enough
Again, I’m drowning in my tears and scrubbing the tears away
I spin again for the final time, drying my red eyes and cleansing myself

A sense of relief, of calmness enshrouds me
This relief warms me from my damp tears
I tumble through the air, like I’m floating, heating myself, drying myself
Getting myself back to who I was
Clean and refresh, ready to face the world again

2002-October

Where do we stand?
What am I to you?
A friend, an acquaintance, or something more?
I want to know
I need to know
Then I can finally move on
To a life with or without you

Of course I much prefer a life with you in it
Together we will walk through life
Hand in hand, guiding each other to one another’s heart
Laughing and dancing through our happiness together
Crying and consoling through our grief
Spending our nights together in an embrace, talking and cuddling till morning
Forever we will be, together forever, till death do us part

Now if it ends up me without you
That’s a different story
What will I do?
I don’t know
Try to move on, piecing my heart together ever so slowly
Put on my best face to show you that I’m not hurt
But most of all to fall out, to forget you, or else I could never move on

2002-October

The Awkward Silence

u(SiLeNcE)s

2002-10-02

At first we come into the world as fragile as can be
We are nurtured, nursed, loved and protected by those all around
Lying in our bed, looked upon as a wonder, helpless to be anything but
As we grow, we become less of a wonder and more as a person
We become more independent, weaned from our mother’s breast, to bottle, to cup, to glass
We go from diapers, to pull ups, to boxers or briefs
As we grow, we make decisions and act on them, good or bad, guided or not
We become independent and it is others that are dependent
We’ve moved away from that shameful and embarrassing time of being helpless
To time of making our past and future caretakers helpless, like we were at first
But as we grow, lost or found, confident of ourselves
We end up back at zero again
Back to diapers, to being fed, to the bottle and to bed again
From helplessness to helplessness, to embarrassment to embarrassment
And finally from being WANTED to NOT WANTED
That is life AND that is the TRUTH
It’s the vicious circle that is far from PERFECT

2000-09-?? To 2001-07-09

Confusion 1

Lost and alone with nothing to guide me
No stars, no maps, no light or direction to go
I crawl and stumble blindly in the dark
Finding my way slowly as I go
Not all is Perfect or all is right
But I try and try until I get a sign
No matter how big or small the sign maybe
It is all one needs to show him the way

2001-07-20

Little Me

Had a chance to tell you how I feel
But I was afraid of what may be
How would you act?
Awkward?
Flattered?
Or would you just feel disgusted?
Holding you I realized how deep I fell for you
Sitting at home in the dark I realized how much I Hurt for you
You are the bright beacon that guides me home
You are the sun that brightens up my day
You are my life
But now you’re gone
And I’m left alone and empty
I feel disgusted for not telling you
For I miss a chance, a possibility, a dream to be with you
Now my days will be left with nothing but pondering my lack of actions
But all in all
It was for the best
You have yours, and I have….
No one
For this is what fate intended for my little lost soul

2001-09-15

Stream of Conscience

Lost and confused
Sitting in my room
Thinking of things
Dreaming of things
No direction in my thoughts
Just random as can be
Streaming from my mind to my pen
Not making sense at all
Sometimes it feels like this forever
Going through life with no direction or light
Just doing things that comes to mind
Walking to the store or watching tv
No big plans, no big waves
Just going with the flow of traffic
Lost in thought
Watching the cars go by
Creeping along inch by inch alone as if nobody is even there
That’s how life seems, alone on your road of life
Just following until the end
Inch by inch
Feet by feet
Yard by yard
Mile by mile
Until that final destination
Where would it be?
The gates of Hell?
The clouds of Heaven?
The Garden of Eden?
Or just a plain grassy knoll?
Or even just plain blackness?
Or even just plain nothingness?
Argued by all, but still a mystery to all
Even to the deepest of believers
Life and death, though certain as can be is not certain at all
We live after death and at times we are dead while alive
The best way to go is to not get attached
Don’t care
Walk through life like a zombie, a robot
Take whatever comes, good or bad, helpful or not
Make the best of what you got
Get by a day at a time
Go home, close your eyes
Open them and start again

2001-09-19

A sudden rush of joy
A rush of blood, of life
It was everything that I dreamed of
Everything and more
The more was the disappointment
The disappointment I feel and see in my eyes
Hurting the ones that are close to me
Hurting my friends in life

2002-01-11

Why is it that we are so strange?
Minutes of silence to minutes of conversation
Then back to silence
It seems at times we are charming our way into each other’s heart
And the next we act like total strangers
Maybe it’s me
Or maybe it’s you
I don’t know how I can manage this
My heart is shattering more and more each day
Me stealing glances at you and you glancing at me
I know there’s something between us
I just do
There has to be, or else why do I love you?
I thought I was through with this sort of affair
But with you, I guess I’m not

2002-09-04

Laying here in my bed, thinking about you
How far away you are and yet so close
Waking up in the morning is getting tough
Cause it’ll mean that I have to see you again
Every time I see you, my heart falls into an endless void
Helplessly falling until it shatters when it reaches the pits of you
As I spend time away from you, I lazily piece my heart back together
Until the next day comes and it shatters again
What’s the point? What’s the use?
I should let my heart be, shattered and broken
At least there will be a chance that I can’t love no more.

2002-09-17

Why does this always happen to me?
Why do I always attract this particular kind?
The pathetic, weird, unattractive kind.
They seem to hound me like a dog on a hydrant.
Why can’t I attract the kind of dreams?
The Brads, Michaels, or Toms of the world.
But no, I’m stuck with the Screeches or the Urkels.
One day this will change
One day I will get my Brad or Michael

2002-09-17

I love her
She doesn’t love me
That’s the story of my life, plain and simple.
I wish I could say that the woman that I love loves me back
But that is not the case
It is never the case
I always end up pining away
My whole life going after the girls who wants the Brads and Michaels
I would like to think I’m a Michael, but apparently I’m not
I’m too nice, or too sweet, weird crazy or insane
Whatever reasons she comes up with to keep me away
Until that day when I meet a girl that doesn’t want a Brad
I will spend my days mending my broken heart

2002-09-27

Emptiness
All inside me
Nothing more
I would like to think that there’s something there
But there isn’t
Nothing to give to anyone
No love, no warmth, nothing
Just emptiness

2002-09-27

Is it going to be like this for now on?
Not speaking with each other unless others are around
What are you afraid of?
My love for you?
Or is it your feelings for me?
Don’t be afraid to do what you must
It seems as though we are destined for each other
Why fight it?
Please talk to me, take the risk
I have, and I’m not afraid to do it again

2002-10-02

Clickity clack, wah wah
Sounds of typing or the conversation of others
That is what is shared between us
No words but the ambient sounds around us
Why?
Is it because you don’t like me?
Because you are uncomfortable?
Cannot find the words to say?
Just say something, anything
Small words will do
Lets start with “Hi”

2002-10-02

Stuck in my little corner
Blending into the wall
I wonder could you see me
Will you ever see me, take notice of who I am?
Is it just my wishful thinking that I matter to you?
You probably don’t know I exist or you just don’t care.
Those times you talk to me are just fronts to not hurt my feelings
As sweet as it sounds, it’s not what I need or want
I want you to see me for who I am
A man in love with you

2002-10-02

Sitting here, looking into the light
I fade, fade into a blissful fantasy
Dreaming of being together with you
Walking underneath the stars hand in hand
Laughing at our own little jokes
Just fitting together, being together, without a care
Wham!
The lights turn out and I’m in the dark, seeing what really is
Blackness
We are not together, nor will we ever be
For reasons I don’t know, or can’t see
Instead of dreams, nightmares fill my mind in the dark
Visions of me without you

2002-10-02

Well that is all the poems I have. If you made it this far, pretty depressing aren’t they? Mostly longing for a love I can’t have. I don’t think I’ve ever written any happy poems. If I had to choose, I would think “Laundromat” would be the happiest and uplifting.

Again, as you go by the dates, they were well over a year ago when I wrote these poems. Things have changed since then. There are many stories behind these poems. I’m sure I could plow through my journal and get the stories, but those were more personal times, and more personal matters. Those words will never see the light of day.

Again, I hope you enjoyed these poems. Feel free to tell me what you think, if you want.

Well, I got into updating my journal tonight, but apparently my computer had a mishap and I lost my entry. Anywho, I’m not going to rethink about what I wrote and just post what I was going to post, my writings.

I will most likely write about what I said in the earlier deleted posting sometime later this week along with other problems I have been having.

Anywho, my homework in writing class.

Num. 1. Write 25 details about a person you are watching.

Num 2. Write about a life you would like to lead.

I hoped you enjoyed them.

My third assignment is to write about a town misfit. Don’t’ have an idea for it yet, but I’m sure I will this weekend and I’ll post that up sometime also.

Again, I’ll write more during the weekend.

I would like to believe that I am a person of spontaneity, but in actuality I really am not. I much prefer routine. I work better that way; it is safer. But now, it never works out that way. I usually have things planned on the weekend; it is usually work. When it comes time to do the work, something else comes up, like going out with PJ to have lunch, or a certain need to visit relatives or just go out for the sake of going out, watching a movie I have some interest in seeing, but going to see it because it is more interesting than doing work.

Many of you will think, hey that’s spontaneous, but it is really not. It is more about me procrastinating and not getting work done. There’s this Assistant Director Trainee program that I have my eye on applying for for the past two months now. I had the application sitting on my desk for the past two months, but I haven’t brought myself to fill it out and send out the application. It’s not one of those easy fill in the blank applications that many are use to. No. It is one of those college application type with the essay questions; “What is the defining moment in your life?” bullshit. It’s just too much work. The application deadline is November 7th, and I haven’t even started. Every time PJ asks me what I have planned for the weekend, I tell him I have to work; which means filling out the application. I haven’t even started. I was supposed to do that today, but I am planning on it next weekend. It will be the only time for me to do it.

Why haven’t I filled it out yet? Don’t know. Fear I guess, plus it is a long application process that spans couple of months. I guess I just want instant gratification. The time I’m spending writing this is time I could have spent filling out the application. Nah, it could wait for next week.

So where does this matter of routine come in? I’ve decided to set myself up with a weekly routine, so I can actually get work done. I have so many things on my plate and so many things I want to do, it’s just a matter of finding time and committing to that time to do it. Here’s the breakdown: Monday: Research, Tuesday: Writing my script; Wednesday: Day of rest; Thursday: Short story writing; Friday: Reading; Saturday: Painting, Drawing, and Writing; Sunday: Whatever that is left that needs to be done. Keep in mind these schedules revolve around the television schedule of the shows I watch, which means most work won’t be started until well past 10pm. Why am I giving myself this routine in the first place? Well last year when I wrote my scripts, I had a routine set out on when to write and when not to write. It revolved around the television schedule of course along with movie night. Movie night is any night when I got a movie from Netflix that I want to watch and send out. It was as simple as that. Any movie night is a night I don’t write. Any other night I write after my normal viewing schedule is over, which usually means after 10:00pm on most nights. Some nights, there isn’t really anything to watch, so I write. So I just want to get back to that time and write. To get all of these ideas I have in my head out, and also to feel productive again.

Also on Mondays and Fridays, I have classes. Creative writing class on Monday and Oil Painting class on Friday. I won’t be home until 9:30-10:00pm, so I don’t expect to do much that night. That’s why they are easy nights.

Creative writing class is a little disappointing. It is totally not what I expected. I was hoping to be in a class where the professor will give us writing assignments and we will write and have people critique our work. This is not the case. The class is like a workshop. You bring in already written work and have the group and professor read the work and they comment on the work. Nothing about giving you guidance on how to write or any direction. I am a person who needs to write with direction. I need to know what I am writing about, where I’m going to take that writing/story, and also a deadline. If I don’t have any of these things, I just stare at a blank screen. I’ll continue to take the class and take whatever value it may have and just hope things will work out. We do have little exercises we do in class and some homework. We already have our first assignment already. It is to write 25 details about someone you are watching. You can probably guess I haven’t done it yet, and you are correct. It is due tomorrow. I got one full work day left. I guess this is where my stalker tendencies become beneficial. I’ll stalk someone and quickly jot down 25 details about him or her or go by memory and write about someone. It’ll all work out, one way or another.

I told Lisa about my disappointment in the creative writing class. She’s taken one for credit at UW – Tacoma. The structure of her class was more like the class I would have liked mine to be. They were giving actual writing assignments. She gave me one of hers to write. It’s due next Friday. The assignment is to write a five page story where a wedding cake ends up in the middle of a road. I really haven’t thought about what my story is going to be yet. I was going to start tonight, but judging by the time, it just doesn’t look like I will start. Probably Tuesday or Thursday, I’ll sit down with a glass of wine to loosen me up and let things flow. I have a vague idea, but I usually don’t stick with vague ideas. Something will come up.

As for the oil painting class, one word, EXPENSIVE. I think I spent around $300 in the past two weeks buying supplies, and I am still missing a few. Of course I bought many things that I didn’t need like an easel and multiple pads of different type of paper, but they may become beneficial to me when classes are over and I start painting on my own. What can I say about the class, it should be interesting. The teacher and one of her assistants are off the wall weird. They are either mentally there or not. There is no in between. We are working on abstract art right now. I was having a little problem at first with our assignment but then I got the hang of it. I’m a quick learner. We should actually start painting next week. I’m a little excited. I have all of these supplies just waiting to be used.

With all of these supplies I have at my disposal, I decided to use some of them. Last night I went back to a love that I had when I was younger, drawing. It’s been years since that summer between my freshman and sophomore year in college that I’ve really drawn anything. During that summer I was working at Bartel Drugs up in the U-Village. I was home alone after work, trying to past the time. I had a picture of Jennifer Love Hewitt as my wallpaper. I decided to draw that. It didn’t’ look like her at all, but the drawing turned out rather nicely. That was probably the first actual face that I’ve drawn pretty well. It actually looks like a real face instead of the normal cartoon faces that I use to draw. Then next couple of nights I decided to find other pictures of beautiful fantasy women and draw them. All of them didn’t turn out well. I lost my gift. After that, I haven’t really drawn anything, until last night.

Sure I doodle when I’m in a very boring meeting at work or when I’m on the phone and need a distraction, but I’ve never drawn anything for the sake of drawing it. I did it last night. While in class, working with charcoal, I just loved the feel of charcoal, the touch of charcoal and how it looked on paper. I decided to do some portraits in charcoal, like the many I’ve seen and loved throughout my lifetime in museums, and saw on television. I found some pictures of people I knew from work, Monica and Stephanie. I had pictures of them from the time we went to lunch together for Danielle’s last day. I drew and I drew. My arms just moved unconsciously to match the shape of the faces, the little nuances, their curves, the shading, their hair etc. etc. etc. What came out were drawings with a very vague resemblance to its model. There are some resemblances that if you knew I was drawing Stephanie or Monica, you could pick out some of their attributes, but if you didn’t know, you would just think they were great drawings of people. The one of Stephanie didn’t turn out as great as the one of Monica. Actually, the one of Stephanie didn’t turn out good at all. I later did a self portrait. I drew the picture of myself from one of the pictures I have up on my website. The one with my brother and my cousins. It turned out to be a disaster. I don’t know how to draw short hair, and I have black teeth. Go figure. What I really like is the shading and how shading really brings the picture to life.

Most likely on the weekends I’ll find other pictures and attempt to draw them. Pictures of people, animals, maybe nudes (not that I have nude pictures, but I know where to find them). I’m just in a very creative high right now, and I just need to create, to do, to draw, to paint, and to photograph.

Speaking of photography, I just bought two new cameras. They should be coming next week. One is an old fashion camera; a Seagull A4 105 and the other is a cheap plastic Holga 120F. Both of them together amounted to about $150. What made me get these cameras? Well one was cheap (the Holga, $25) and the other was cool looking (the Seagull, $100). Also, they are my first venture into medium-format. They both use 120mm film instead of 35mm. Which means bigger negatives, which mean better pictures, especially if you are blowing them up. Also, the pictures are square instead of rectangular. I’ve also bought a tripod for my cameras. Now I could take self portraits, which I was very interested in doing. I could perfect taking pictures of people. See what I like and don’t like when it comes to framing, looks, posing, etc. etc. etc. What can I say, I’m vain.

This is pretty much what I’m going through now a days. Many of you are probably experiencing the same thing, but can’t really put a finger on it. Yes it has a name. This sensation of confusion, of being lost, it is the quarter life crisis.

I’ve read this a couple of years ago when I moved down to Los Angeles and stayed with my cousin for a while. I thought it interesting, but at that time, it really didn’t apply. I was young and fresh out of college. Idealistic on how things were going to be and how I was going to achieve my goals and dreams. I easily dismissed it. Now, for the most part, it encompasses what I’m going through, well the first paragraph anyway. I have to admit the last paragraph is a little to smaltzy and sentimental for my taste now, but hey, it works.

My cousin who is now in the Peace Corp in Samoa passed this on to me along with some kind words. She was reading a entry I had and thought it would be nice to send this along to me. For me, it just encapsulates many of the feelings I am dealing with into words that I cannot find. Whoever wrote this is a genius in my book.

They call it the “Quarter-life Crisis.” It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are a lot of things about yourself that you didn’t know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now. You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren’t exactly the greatest people you have ever met and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you do not realize is that they are realizing that too and are not really cold or catty or mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you are. You look at your job. It is not even close to what you thought you would be doing or maybe you are looking for one and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and are scared. You miss the comforts of college, of groups, of socializing with the same people on a constant basis. But then you realize that maybe they weren’t so great after all. You are beginning to understand yourself and what you want and do not want. Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging a bit more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and add things to your list of what is acceptable and what is not. You are insecure and then secure. You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

You get your heartbroken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you or you lay in bed and wonder why you can’t meet anyone decent enough to get to know better. You love someone but maybe love someone else too and cannot figure out why you are doing this because you are not a bad person. One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap and getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision.

You worry about loans and money and the future and making a life for yourself and while winning the race would be great, right now you’d just like to be a contender! What you may not realize is that everyone reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out. We are making a lot of mistakes, but helping one another learn from them and reaching out to pull one another up.

We are not the shiniest group of people, but we are very much a circle. We are there for one another and will listen and grow for the rest of our lives. We will piss one another off, but we will also heal one another’s hearts. We are the group who sometimes doesn’t need words but will laugh at the end of a conversation that started with angry words. We are friends and in 10 years, when we have figured out where we fit in in this world, we will still be friends always and forever!

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Why? I don’t know. Actually I do. It is not that I don’t have anything to write or to say, but it is more that I have no motivation to do anything anymore. Getting out of bed has been a chore lately. It just seems that when I wake up in the morning, I’m more tired than when I went to bed. Also, the weather hasn’t been really good down here lately. It is getting dark earlier and earlier. Waking up in the dark just makes you want to stay in bed. Thick clouds cover the blue skies every morning. It just brings me back to the times when I was up north, dreading another cloudy and depressing day. That is pretty much how things are now.

Honestly, where is my motivation to do anything? I keep thinking, dreaming, of all of these things that will happen if only I do them. Still, that’s no movtivation for me to do anything. To get up and go. I just go through a dreadful daily routine of work and home, with the occasional outing here and there. There’s really nothing inspriational or special in my life.

Sure there will be times when I have a good day, which means, I’ve had a great day with some one, just talking and getting to know each other, but it seems those days are few and far between. Sometimes, it just seems that those days don’t happen anymore. Shoot, there are even days when I feel that I’m taking a few steps backwards with some people. Instead of getting closer and building a connection, I am growing distant and severing our ties.

I’m tired. I’m just tired of everything. I’m tired of games, of rules, of restrictions. And I’ve always been afraid to break the rules. I’m always afraid to take risks. Maybe if I keep busy, keep my mind on other things, that may help.

So I just signed up for two new classes that starts in the next few weeks. One I would greatly enjoy, and the other I would absolutely hate. A painting class and a creative writing class. Could you tell which one I would enjoy better?

I love art, all aspects of art. I’ve always wanted to paint, but I’ve never had a chance. I’m doing it now. It will keep me busy. I’ve done drawing, now photography, but never painting. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Just want to build my repertoire when it comes to art. I’ve always believed that I’ll be a good painter, and now I can actually see if I am right. I think I can do well, cause when it comes to visual art, I’m okay at it.

Now creative writing class. It was either this or a screenwriting class. I think I should start with the fundamentals first and take a creative writing class, and here I am. I don’t think I will enjoy this at all, given my utter disdain for writing. But it will help in the overall scheme of things. It’ll teach me how to develop a story, build character, find my voice; things I need to know when it comes to constructing a story in a script and ultimately in film. Also, it will get me to write more. Again, I’m lazy. I usually don’t do anything unless someone tells me too.

I’ve also taken a few more pictures. These are a little more interesting, a little more abstract. Once I get them posted up at my other website, I’ll let you all know. A friend of mine says they are very good, and there are a few in there that I do like. Hopefully some of you might like them also. I’ve also got some pictures of people from work, but I don’t think I’ll post those. Not sure if they’d like me posting their mugs on the web for all to see.

Which gets me to thinking that I really need to take more pictures. All this time, I’ve been taking color pictures, and ever single picture that I’ve seen and enjoyed, they are in black and white. I am going to start shooting black and white for now on. No more color. No more color. No more color. Color is boring.