My Quinquennial Update!

Below was saved as a draft when I came to this page, presented verbatim:

All these goddamn fortunes from various Chinese restaurants litter my desk, und mein Handy ist tot. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to make some ends meet, or at least match one up with the beginning I already possess. But of no worries since we will get out of it all somehow. Some key elements always come back to me. Rooms reminiscent of a refrigerator's vegetable crisper drawer. Animals outside my windows and in my ceiling und Wand. I have forgotten how to spell, type, and exert the voice. I've been secretly searching for that promised lead paint in these walls. There are teeth marks next to jizz streaks worse than Naked Lunch.

Progress is progress, and postmodernist thinking threatens to take that from me in one final jab?! Now we must reconstruct some of the deconstructed material into some fashionable presentation(s), in whatever fashion we can contrive without a foundation to rest it on. Like a floating barge we build an entire city replete with skyscrapers and homeless men, women, and dogs. Recall that a demolished structure loses the essence of what it once was, but the rubble still maintains the character of being building material nonetheless.

I have no recollection of any of that and wonder if I had been drinking too much at the time. It sounds like my home on Fairview, my favorite place I've ever lived. Now I'm again part of the floating population. I'm not on a lease and still tend to travel and end on couches here and there but never to the extent I've always wished, as some sun-baked vagabond moving from town to town. It'd be great to build a tiny home or come upon some income source that is both "steady" and "mine". As luck would have it, however, I'm just like everyone else.

Now Hear This!

Yesterday at work I wrote this on the dry erase board:

"The Byronic hero, incapable of love, or capable of only an impossible love, suffers endlessly.

AND, as always:

Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?

All things have the potential to cripple. Fear, loss, desperation — even hope. Combined with the artificial construct of 'luck' and the American Dream, we have seen far too many sailors drown out at sea."

Don't wait for shit. People think there is endless time, and they are correct, but all the time in the universe is not afforded to you. You only have a portion.

Fuck You, How's That For First Impressions?

I hope that we can all be amazing and create something worthwhile. Just the people that remain my friends, especially ones that may read this, are either that insane or that talented to do something astonishing. What we need is constructive criticism. Who better than your friends?

"Every artist is undoubtedly pursuing his truth.... But the only people who can help the artist in his obstinate quest are those who love him, and those who, themselves lovers or creators, find in their own passion the measure of all passion, and hence know how to criticize." (Albert Camus in "The Enigma".)

There remains a pervading fear on both sides of my skull that reminds me daily just how correct Christopher Hitchens is when he discusses aging.
Wiser and older people tell you that the passions of your youth will dry up and that a more sere and autumnal condition will overtake you as maturity advances...
I feel no shame in continuing to fight for these passions.

I Say It Out Loud But You Just Don't Care

All right. I caved in and read some old entries and thought about life. One thing I have noticed is that I was very subtle in the hints I would drop from my subconscious as to who I would turn into — or at least what I have turned into at the age of 24. Before I read some of the books that "changed my life" I already thought half of their premises and theses before the reading began. So this could either mean that I was lucky to stumble upon something so agreeable or I sought out what I already knew I wanted to hear. Maybe even both of those answers would be true to some extent, or maybe there is a third one that I won't know for another six or seven years of vague blog entries.

I have been a student at Lansing Community College since the fall semester of 2006. This spring, 2011, will be my final semester. Yes, the math on that is hilarious. Five years. It is very telling of my personality to know that I stayed at a community college wandering about directionless for five years, and yet somehow I will still end up with two (2) Associate degrees in May, 2011. My transcript will show 103 credits after May, although there were only four of those credits that do not count towards either of my two degrees, one being Creative Writing and another being Wines of North America.

From what people tell me, my options for universities are endless. This does not help me narrow down my choices. One of my biggest fears would be that I am accepted to all of the schools I apply to. What then?

The past three years of sporadic entries are, believe it or not, quite true to the mindset I have held throughout said years. No. That's not true. But it is conceptually accurate in its representation of how open I have felt across that time-frame. Only once in a while, and only in meaningless notes and screeds. While I might be stepping out of the cave as of late, the blinding light still frightens me like before, but my eyes are adjusting slowly. My walls remain strong and available at any time, but it might be safe to say that during my three-year hiatus (not just talking of the blog-o-sphere, but of life) I have become wiser, happier with my self, and stronger in nearly every sense.

"Hey There, Rainmaker..."

Do one thing you are afraid to do at least once a day. And don't waste your time dreaming big, dream huge -- and absurd. Make use of the time. The mythology of the American Dream leaves out some key elements, such as hard-work, betrayal, and the simple fact that all of the best things are free anyway. But: IT WILL BE HARD WORK. Laugh it off and get on the grind. Don't get tore up from the floor up, tear up from the foundation and bring the roof down with you. Sell everything you own and wander homeless in March. (Join me! We can start a gang!) Drink your entire brain away and maintain a 4.0 grade-point average. Start a rap group. Push your friends and loved-ones to notice their potential, and if they refuse, make the choices for them. Gear your life to success and force the world to follow. Never lose your sense of comedy and rebellion. Continuously revolt and molt and create your self. Ask for help, and help those in need. Prove people right; that you will do great things. There is no other choice. Make people say: "Finally." Rip it up and Slice faces. Hold the pieces in your palm and blow them like the spreading seeds of a dandelion clock. Pop up and annoy those who have doubted you. Here I am too, motherfucker. Mow me over and I am back. And send word on how it goes.

Your friend,
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Shit, dogs!

Looks like: Nick Noble. We had better just get our shit together and have a nice little table outside at LCC during the spring and we can yell all about our books that will shit people's minds. I'll get to working on a large sign telling all how they will wind up in hell hanging out with Satan. They love that.

Also: The world is very small.

And: I have shit my mind.
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So I was thinking, and it goes like this:

2010: Mali ...though I need some sort of French and I don't know (any).

Around 2010, before or after: Costa Rica. Spanish is easy.

2009: Either Ghana, Ireland, or whatever else happens.

*Summer: Possibly Morocco, Italy, England, Spain, France, etc. Though planning is (already) a horrendous problem.

March: Boston.

And eventually, with no date or plans:

*Renting a car and driving across South Africa.

China, and general Asian area shit.




When I was writing this in my head a few days ago it came out better than this. But some people are welcome to inquire as to what I am talking about. The * are for ones that people should be concerned with.

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"Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
- Hunter S. Thompson