Background and New Truths.

Random spark of inspiration strikes at the strangest times. Not one bit do I dislike the fact that it's hit me now, though. I mean...a lot has happened in the past year. I'm not going to go that far into depth but just enough to get the basics.

I fell in love and moved out to Dallas. Then I left my job at Walmart to try and transfer and get a better position at the store closer to my new apartment with Julia. They basically gave me the run-around. They terminated me from my Walmart and I was no longer able to work for them. At the beginning of May, I got arrested because Julia and I got into a fight. I know what happened was wrong, and I really have learned my lesson. I started working at Sears and they stopped scheduling me. In order to save the apartment, I sold everything I had pretty much. Guitars, game systems, games, books, CDs. You get it... Literally everything. We ended up losing the apartment just in time for me to start working at Gamestop. We then got a storage unit and moved everything into it in a day or so. Julia and I packed up the cats and moved into the Suites of America. She was supporting that financially with her job at QT Kitchens which she lost around Halloween. From there we began a motel tango. Got kicked out of the first one for having cats. The second hotel didn't like that we had two people in one room without them knowing. From there we bounced from the streets to the Econolodge when we could come up with the money for it. Julia got arrested and from there I went and stayed with my best friend's parents. I picked up a seasonal job with UPS helping deliver packages. Unfortunately that ended on Christmas Eve. We're close to losing storage due to late payments. I've recently gone out to Mineral Wells. I'm currently living with my Mom. We're staying at one of her close friend's house. I've become what I'd like to consider friends with her son and we've been jamming together with a couple guitars. I'm fifty two days sober after a minor binge. I'm gonna lay it all out there, I got mixed up with heroin. You can judge me all you'd like, but it was my mistake to make. What's done is done and I've learned my lesson. I'm done with that shit and it's not worth it. I've seen the destruction around me and in the people I met along the way. It's not a place I'd like to be back in ever again. I'm moving on and dealing with it on my own. I have no fear of relapse if anyone is worried about it. This past year in a nutshell doesn't seem so bad, but to be completely honest, I feel like I've aged a good four or five years because of all the stress. I've grown my hair back out and I miss my beard tremendously. I blame UPS for making me ditch it, but the paychecks were worth it, even if it was just for a week in a hotel each time.

I apologize for making that sound like a very long caption you read at the end of documentary that explains what's happened since the filming. Afterword. That's what I was looking for. I know I've said that I'm gonna write again, but I think it's a good time in my life to pick it back up again. I've felt a little inspired; and hey, maybe I can actually finish something this time. I'd like to thank every one that's been there for me when I truly needed them most. I don't have to name any names because I KNOW they know they are and what they mean to me. I love you guys.

Andrew and me messing around on a song called "So Long."




I used to love ending with quotes because everyone knows I can't say it as well as someone said it once before. I read about a view on religion and faith that I never realized was exactly how I felt. It's "a philosophy of the term "God" defining not a being, but in what and how an individual is able to realize a faith and happiness."

Moine?

So this is where I've ended up. I couldn't be happier and I'm sure I've scared many people because of it. After working at Walmart for over a year, it hit me that none of them have seen me truly happy. Now that I'm creeping steadily closer to an unfamiliar realm, I'm scared. It's not the normal fear I'm used to. I'm not scared of pain. I'm scared of the nothingness that is the future. All we have is now. That is the central point that we can base time off of. Any forward thinking is nothing. Sure you can infer from your surroundings or the situation, but nothing is true until it's now. Anything before now, that's just a memory. Something we humans do out of narcissistic pleasure. We reminisce in the lukewarm past. The longer time goes, the colder it gets. Just know that you're not the only one shaking in all of this. We're in this together, and I'm ecstatic about this.

Speak the Truth Even If Your Voice Shakes.

I look at my posts and I see seven drafts sitting there waiting to be publishes. Patiently or not, they exist as words for no one to see but holders of a password: I'd like to believe that is just me, but in today's day and age, I really have no idea. Now I've obviously been thinking, maybe not apparent to you, but visible to the drafts. Some of them could be minuscule notes about meaningless nothings because I haven't quite figured out every little tool on my computer. It's a process. Much like life. Learning from mistakes, certain keys and combinations create mass destruction and chaos, or even experiences we can take with us to use in life from what we've learned on said device.
Now, I do love the small things we learn when we least expect it. Thinking out loud, talking to strangers, having meaningless conversations about what if and how comes with the closest of friends that mean more than they understand.
I used to fear companionship and all the little things with it. Now, I've started to realize that the isolation can drive a (wo)man crazy. Thinking about paradoxical information and relaying them between each nerve ending in our brains; like we can even begin to comprehend how it all works. It's mysterious in an odd yet, comforting way. The fear of unknowing and the chase to find answers. Together as one, or perfectly logical alone. Yet life will eventually hold both at the same time.
Life is borderline paradoxical. Striving for perfection but never realizing the imperfections are what make us perfect, for the only form of perfection is imperfection. I'm making a notion that it should now be known as per-fiction due to it's complete lack in truth. Fighting to fit in by not fitting in with the population. We live to die. Simple as that. It's a battle at times, but no one ever said life was easy. You hear words like successful, short and long, worthwhile, meaningless or terrible. Hard might come up when you're feeling down about a failed relationship, the loss of a job, hell even over a sour comment from a passerby that means nothing but wasted air space.
I'm sure I'm ranting now and I'd love to keep going, so if you don't mind, I don't give a damn. Some things will never change. Hopefully I won't.
One last thing on this rant: All you have in your physical life is a name. Once your dead it doesn't mean anything. Sure you might have a legacy, but people forget things.

I've now decided to combine the several, which I believe has reached the double digits, drafts. Spring cleaning in late October. I don't usually censor myself, but I need some material for tomorrow, or tomorrow's tomorrow.

"Most people might have thought I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but in actuality, I woke up on the wrong side of my mind. The mania has set in and there's nothing I can really do about it, so I'm going to do what I know how to do best.

I thought I proved everything I needed to for you, but I realized it's all one-sided. I hope it's not, but in the end, it really is us against the world. Though I know from the start it was incredibly weird and awkward, but it felt real. The truest feelings I'd ever had shown through my eyes. Your smile made me freeze dead in my tracks and my heart skipped a beat. I struggled to get back in sync, and then you were gone. Left speechless and trapped, I couldn't figure out what I was feeling. Then it hit me like a train."

To be completely honest, I'm not sure who that was written for or about, but it was in March. Still doesn't help, really. Oh how I'd kill for those feelings again, whoever you were. I'm not even sure where I was going with it.

I took the title from this draft for this post.

""Pythagoras believed that the universe was fundamentally mathematical by nature, and that the planets and stars danced along to "a harmony of the spheres." Basically, since musical notes can be translated mathematically, Pythagoras thought the workings of nature marched to the beat of a grand cosmic mathematical symphony."

So by the abstract, hypothetical, syllogistic principles:
The universe is math. Music is math. Therefore music is the key to the universe.
...or something like that. Nights turning into dawn...
A wise man once said, ‎"...and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

I am what I am. I am what I think. I think therefore I am.
I'm sure that might make a bit more sense to you now, and a little bit more to some readers than others [none readers].
Right now I am scatterbrained. I think I'm scatterbrained. Therefore this will be another random rambling."

Well that's really it other than two similarly related posts, unrelated to this one. There's another one from four years ago, of which I'm sure will sit there for even longer than I originally expected.

Materialistic Paradox.

We take personality test to figure out what kind of person we are, if we're right brained or left brained, to figure out what our inner aura is. The only problem is we have biases and take these tests with biases. We don't answer truthfully, and it's not intentional. We see the choices and consider, "Which would be more like what I want to be?"

Then I read in the small print for the first time on a personality/intelligence questionnaire.
"*Instead of retaking this test over and over again to prove to yourself that you are some sort of intellectual superhuman, or discard the results because you think the author does not share your viewpoints (which you can't know), why not instead spend a lifetime educating yourself, questioning everything you believe in and discarding ideas/values which don't actually improve you and the world (when you examine the evidence), become physically fit and maintain your physical fitness (aerobically exercise to exhaustion every 36 hours for the rest of your life), and live an altruistic life where you are considerate to people regardless of whether they mirror your values/beliefs because you understand you live in a world with them and their long term happiness benefits you, their long term unhappiness hurts you."

The end result of this survey turned me off of surveys completely because that's the answer I was looking for. I read somewhere "People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason why the world is in chaos is because things are being loved, and people are being used." Yet if we turn it around, will the chaos be irreversible?

I'm done designing my next tattoo. Where's pay day?

Dreamless Being.

So I've just come to this fascinating realization that no one, not even I, will care about.
Human relationships and interactions are extremely difficult for me to handle and take care of. "It's not intentional that I haven't texted you back or messaged you on Facebook in weeks, I just can't handle what most people would call a small amount of social interaction. It's too much for me." I could be an introvert, I suppose. Abnormal. Different. Words I've struggled with accepting since grade school, but now I think I'm coming to terms.
Why can't I be allowed to fall off the social face of the earth sometimes? I'll still go to work and everything, but just because I feel like sitting in my room with no lights on and the music in my headphones cranked up with the bass blasting my eardrums into another dimension shouldn't make it seem like "something" is wrong with me. Because in actuality, at that point in time when one would consider that something is wrong with me, it's more than likely that I'm most content with everything. When you need to worry is when I start writing about things. Thinking into the keyboard for no one and everyone to read.
Granted, all of this wasn't as bad as it was before. I'm receding back into my hermit ways with no intentions or desire to come out from under this rock. If anything I'll just burrow deeper in the ground to get away from any disturbance of said rock. The further away from it I go, the sooner I'll forget it's there and nothing else will disturb the rock. It might be moved, but when they look underneath, they won't see me, even if I am there. Further down the rabbit hole if you will.
This is something I came up with, and as soon as I post it, it'll get stolen and trademarked and someone will find a way to make money off it. Oh well. I thunk it first. It's not necessarily how I feel or anything, but it could be something I consider deep down inside of me.

It's not the night of my death I fear, but the mourning after.



Okay..it probably is. My dreams can't be crushed because I don't have any.

The Number Twelve Is You.

The most impossible thing for me is holding onto something that no one else can have. Somehow, someone finds a way to pry it from your death grip. Even if it's something impossible to share, they'll steal it.
I'm a strange, strange man with these stranger thoughts in my head that make me crazy. Now that I've found a stranger that will listen to these thoughts, I'm scared she'll disappear. All the crazy inside me will scare her away, but there's nothing I can do about it but hope she's willing to take the crazy from me as if it were a simple kiss on the cheek before bed.
I think of her before I pass out for bed. The first thing that comes across my mind is her name, different every morning. She's described as my better half but the only half of me that she is, is not mine. It's one giant paradox where all I can do is peer over the edge of the dashboard while no one's driving. Observing entirely, letting it all come out however it may, waiting for nothing.
There is this whole limitless space beyond us that truly isn't limitless because limitless in itself is oxymoronic and paradoxical. It is what it is because it isn't anything.

Terra Firma.

Walking and talking to nothing. Words flowing through my mind and out my mouth but never into any ears. So instead I'll sit here and type my mindless thoughts of my mind onto this blank piece of white page.
Inspiration strikes us all differently. You see a piece of art and suddenly your eyes are wide open. You hear a piece of music that alters your mind and takes you on this epic journey through your own memories and experiences. Suddenly enlightened you are; almost as if it's an epiphany.
I just recently returned from my first vacation in over a year and though some might call it a vacation, I feel as if it were the best I've ever had. Not just the experiences I had, but the time in my life is what made it as great as it was. I got to sit down and have a drunken conversation with my cousin, who has secretly always been my favorite cousin. We talked about life. We talked about death. We talked about 'life after death.' We expressed our views on different meaningless things. I was introduced to new music that I probably wouldn't have enjoyed unless I was sober, but it really grew on me.
The most memorable thing of the entire three day conversation was how he expressed what I've had in my mind for a long time. I couldn't find a way to express it verbally, but he captured it perfectly. "Life is A to B, where A is birth and B is death. A and B are permanent and static. You can't control them or decide when they happen. But what happens in between, well that's entirely up to you. YOU control the dynamic or subtle ups and downs of the life." Really, those aren't his exact words but it's a really good summary of hours and hours of conversation.
This trip really changed my perception on life, which has always been changing subtly. But this, this was a dynamic change. The biggest crescendo in the past few years of my life. Everything else in my life got really quiet and my thoughts bubbled to the top of my mind. Everyone else's bullshit got put on the back burner, where it should have been. Life turned down, and I turned up.
Now looking at this once empty blank piece of white page, I seem to lose the focus in my eyes and see hundreds of letters thrown together to make words to express my mind which is a run on and on.

""No one wants to go into space anymore," he said. "It all started with the Walkman. The kids all slipped on headphones and retreated inward.""
--The Walkman Effect.
"[The music] literally colors the visual world. Furthermore, the outside world profoundly alters its character; it is perceived like a film ... The subject speaks of his feeling of being outside reality while at the same time being aware of living in this reality. When he adds that he gains a calmer attitude to time and space, he makes us understand the significance of his experience of simultaneous absence and presence. Absence does not mean that the world is no longer worth attention. On the contrary, the subject's disengagement sets him free to enjoy the world attentively as a colorful and rich spectacle. His being-in-the world shifts from that of the participant to that of the spectator." (Rainer Schönhammer)

That last line hit me especially hard when I first read it. Truly disengaging your own mind to explore that of your own personal universe rich with your own thoughts and visions; more simply stated as your imagination. Your experiences and your memories are nothing similar to that of another. You may be looking at the same thing, but you're not feeling the same ways about certain things no matter how alike you are. Your memories. That first word is all you need to pay attention to. It makes what is yours truly yours. No one can take it away from you, no matter how hard they try. They could attach a thought sucking device to your head and extract everything you know and remember, but when they're analyzing everything it won't mean jack shit to them. I mean, yeah, they can interpret how they want to, but it's personal. You interpret it in your own way just as they do in their own way. I'll move on from this rant, I was just trying to transition everything into my next link of thoughts.
Communication. Isolation. Relationship.
Sure they could work alone as their own subjects, but what's unique about all four of those, is they coincide together. You can study them separately or all together as one conglomerate of an idea.
Without communication you have a minor form of isolation. In order to have a relationship flourish, you need communication. And their is no such thing as a relationship with isolation. Isolation works alone by itself as itself. It truly is it's own entity. It's almost as if the definition of itself is itself. I'm sure there's a word for it, but I just can't seem to figure it out right now. Too many thoughts running through the electrical wirings of my brain. But, back to the point. They all work as one and separately.

I fear, after rereading the last paragraph, I'm starting to become a little distracted and scatterbrained. So I'll say one last thing and this will be the end of one of thousands of journeys through my mind to come and to have come.
I meant to write this all in the second week of August but I'm a lot more pleased to have let i build up into the final week of August before doing anything with it. I've learned a lot and discovered even more. I've just recently come across an artist who is also a skateboarder and I plan on getting one of his pieces tattooed very soon. I'm not going to show you which one, because that will ruin the surprise, but this is currently the background on my computer.

Turquoise Eyes.

Put my monkey suit on with my organ tie, and I'm damn near ready to take on anything.
If anyone's out there, a lot of my writing will be done in the three composition books I've recently dished and entire $1.13 on. I aim to fill them up before some date that isn't really known, but exists. If I feel up to it, I'll buy a scanner and put some excerpts on here. Depends on the final outcome of said composition notebooks. They might turn into what my other spirals were...ash and a bent piece of wire.

Farewell, for now, not-friends.

Oh yeah, new design. Hope you hate it, because I love it.

I AM WHAT I AM.

People say that you make mistakes so you can reflect on them. People don't realize they make mistakes and actually have a tendency to forget about the mistakes they made. Or the stupid things they said. Or the terrible grammar they used to have.
You have to physically search your mind to find out why you dressed like you did. Or talked the way you did. Or laugh the way you still do. Or hanged out with the people you really hated. Why the fuck were my pants so baggy? My non existent ass hanging out for the world to see, if they're looking.
Don't even get me started on what I used to listen to. Why did I think that was cool?
All I really have to say is that I'm glad I finally grew up. Yes, I still have the occasional moment of immaturity or idiocy, but it's not like the past 19 years.
That's another thing that's really starting to creep me out. Not much longer and my days as a -teen will be over. I will have worked for Walmart for a year. I will have not been in school for longer. I guess I thought I was joking when I joked about procrastinating later. I guess that's all I get for not knowing entirely what I want to do with my life. If I'm not working, I'm sleeping. If I'm not sleeping I'm designing tattoos for my future self, or writing, or listening to the only thing that truly inspires me anymore.
I guess if I'm not doing those things, I'm stuck in a narcissistic nostalgic trance of hate for my previous self. But like I said, at least I'm not who I was.

The future's always the same distance away. The past is always behind us. This will never change, yet we can't wrap our heads around living in the now. That's what I'm going to do from now on..but who the fuck have I been kidding. I've been living impulsively since I was sixteen. I guess I need to live more impulsively with a little less spontaneity and some more direction.
Conform.

Remember to Reread This in a Year.

Blasting Bandits I am, still blindfolded I am. The truest free write and ramblings I will ever do will be scrawled across this notepad as I speed type blindly over these keys with very little editing. In about five seconds I will not remember what I will have written because I'm focusing so hard on trying to spell everything right. I'm pretty sure that was a run on sentence but I'm not even sure. I could be falling asleep right now because I have all these visions flashing in my mind of beautiful synchronized jumping and on key sing alongs.
I'll go ahead and start a new paragraph now.
And another. Here I go. I'm ready for a new tattoo already. It's getting worse and worse. The gap between each one is slowing, but there is so much passion in my mind that I want to spew across my body in permanent ink. Mt body is a canvas of my own imagination designed by big muscly dudes. I guess it's time to get tattooed by a beautiful woman. That'd be nice but I'd be too shy to talk to her. I'd be intimidated by all her tattoos and she'd laugh at my random little one liners and just not even bother thinking about me again. I guess I'm that worthless, but I really don't care about leaving my impression with many. Just the ones I love, and I'm pretty sure I've already left a few impressions that you couldn't forget, even if you had amnesia. I mean, I'm Zark dammit! Hear me roar, but really it's just a little squeak because I'm too damn shy.
Moving on... Following the Bandits down to Austin after seeing them in Dallas was such a life changing scenario that I'll never forget, and I'm really glad it was with Davis and Luis. They really are my blood. Those mother fuckers have been there for me and I'd like to think I was there for them once or twice in their lives. Years go by and I'm glad we're still closer than ever. Decades will go by and I will only hope that the future will be even more historical for us. I mean the only consistent thing in my life lately is everything changes, but you know....when I'm with them, I really hope nothing will ever change. Twenty years down the road I hope we're still laughing at stupid farts and giggling about white shorts. Oh those will be the days. They're pretty much the only reason I would want to live to the point of useless. Sitting in a home with those fuckers would be a good time, even if we don't remember each other half the time.
Am I cr---Am I cra---Am I cr---Am I cra---Am I cr---Am I cra---Am I crazy because I wanna touch your skin. Matt's really right. I've got nothing to believe in, but you know, that really doesn't bother me a bit. I never leave the house without a pocket of pills, operator operator---oh. I'm rather parched right now, so I guess I could believe in the hydration god or something. I don't know...going back to the song...I think I'm crazy not because I want to touch your skin, but because I'm starting to believe in a hydration god.... I might have issues, but it's not even a full year's subscription worth.
I'm gonna go out on a limb and say my rambling is rather boring and you're tired of hearing the same old shit, but you know...If you did notice the same old shit, you should have noticed this isn't for you. This is really therapeutic for me. Just venting to no one but the whole world wide internet. I could do that all day, because I know how little I pay attention to people I don't know on the internet, let alone how little attention I pay to people I DO know.
Ain't no sunshine...when she's gone. But you know, I've realized she's never been here and it's been 100 degrees for the past thirty days....what the fuck's up with that?! Oh It's a metaphor for happiness. you clever little dog you. I'm beginning to think I forgot a title, but you know...it's alright because i live in a title-less world that I just titled the world. That's what this will be called: The World. Just kidding. That's stupid and cheesy. Well at least you know knew the prototype name for this...Piece? Speed write? Free write? Venting process? Whatever it is, it's helping.

I guess this is where I drop everything and just kinda go back to not writing. It's been nice just letting my fingers speak for my mind with no persuasion from my eyes reading and correcting and changing words that I felt would have flown better or something. But yeah. This is a hard goodbye. I don't want leave but I really shouldn't stay because I'd start rambling on about ghosts and I think my fingers are getting tired because I'm starting to slow down and I feel like I'm making a shit ton of mistakes in the past two paragraphs. Only for the night will my mind be at peace.

PS- I apologize for any run-ons, confusing sentences, lists without commas, repeated themes. Just kidding. I don't give a fuck. It's not like I'll reread this for another year or so when I go stumbling upon who I was a year ago.

Sincerely,
Blindfold.

Who Needs College?

There's something about Boards of Canada that makes writing come more naturally than it already does for me. I love it. The only downside is how depressed I get when I start writing. Before it used to be the only thing that could help me get through the darkness, but now it seems as if it just makes it worse. Facebook doesn't help much either. I see all of my 'friends' being successful and meeting new people. That's probably something I'll never be good at. I try but it doesn't seem to work out. Every application I send in doesn't get a call-back. I'm beginning to think online applications are a lie the managers all came up with so they didn't have to acknowledge that you need a job. I was told that job opportunities would fall at my feet when everyone went to college. Apparently, no one is hiring.
One day, I want to have meaningless conversations with people browsing through rows of literature or ordering complex coffees. I'd even settle for stocking during the wee hours of the morning. More than anything I want to pay for my education. If I didn't need it to be successful in life, I'd move on, but like my brother said, "You need a PhD to be successful in life." The sad thing is: it's true.
I'm pretty tempted to press "Ctrl+A - Delete" at this point. That's how completely worthless I feel. When you think things couldn't get any worse, they find a way to bend you over a counter and fuck you in the ass until you can't sit down without crying.
Fuck people. Fuck death. Fuck emotion. Fuck everything. There is no such thing as love, or destiny, or luck. The is no predestination of our lives. It's composed of random happenings throughout life that add up to shit. Honestly, I'm pretty tired of these random events going the way they are. If only there was someone or something or some way to control them--but that would be entirely too easy. Everything is inconsistent and irrelevant.
Enough of the whining, it's time to change my life, one photograph at a time. Thus begins my adventure.

hTmL oveRloAD.

First off, I don't know why I capitalized the letters I did, so don't analyze it like I tried to. The only thing I got out of it was RAD which is cool. Literally? Anyways... Just kinda doing this to remind myself so if you're reading this, I more than likely wasted your time, so HA! I can think of a small handful of people that really need to read this eventually because it somewhat involves them. Irrelevant to you, so don't get cocky.
---Minor break of adding family on Facebook---
Before I go off on tangents like I always do, I'll just blow my load as fast as I can unlike an author. *Really wondering why he didn't just make a notepad document or something considering this is only for personal gain, but really it doesn't matter because there is no real reason to hide anything from something no one reads. No harm. /rant* Short list, then elaboration.
Independent movies.
Photography.
Joint website.
Job.
House/Apartment.
College.
Life? or /life? (Just kidding...in a nerdy mood)

Okay. Well then.
After seeing the Banksy film with a two of my best friends, I've been thinking about doing something meaningful. Something worth it and possibly artistically respected by friends and others, but knowing my lack of motivation and surplus of procrastination, I'm not sure how it would work. I've talked to one of the friends about maybe doing an independent movie considering her filming interest. I would just have to write and elaborate on miscellaneous ideas sporadically popping in and out of my head, believe it or not in the shower. Maybe, one day, I'll be a star? Nahhh. Okay. Well another idea I haven't brought up to her (Sarah if you're reading this, SURPRISE!) is maybe creating a joint website with her. My photography, some stories or something of that sort, and friends artistic creations such as art or music or quotes or something. I don't know, slightly scatterbrained at the moment. It's still a half complete thought. Another time Zark decided to sit on the toilet when he didn't have to shit. Heh.
Now more personal. [in short hand]
Need job ->> Receive income ->> Get new living quarters with best friends ->> Save money for college/take a couple courses to keep the fire going ->> ?
I can't tell the future, for I am not a god damn weatherman. Should I be?




Again, deeply sorry, but not really. Thanks for not reading like I know you do!

I'd rather make my children a martyr than a murderer.

The only way I could truly get the visions in my brain onto paper is by blowing my brains out onto said sheet of paper.

Sitting here and typing never does justice. Listening to the internal rants as I sit on the waterfall staring at the half-moon does it justice. Sadly, the thoughts lead to other thoughts and never end up getting expressed as badly as I want them to be. Even if they were expressed, I'm sure they'd amount to nothing; no one would care--no one cares. I don't give a fuck if you don't care because this is for me.
I want a companion that is me. As cocky as that sounds, it's really more so for the safety of me and my sanity. I cannot trust anyone entirely. As much as I would love to, I can't, but if there was someone that was me that wasn't just me, I could put trust into him. I love who I've become. Not entirely, but let's just ignore that the combination of love for other people doesn't compare to the love for myself, which is still less than that of the hate I have for myself. No one is perfect? I suppose that's my only defense in this argument. Structure is useless. Looking at the big picture, I realize that we're just microscopic pixels. Here's the analogy I can't stray from when I think of it. Ants:people::I:the world and time. We fight to make a dent in crater, but all we can do is slowly make that dent a little bit deeper. If I knew now what I knew then, I'd be a lot better. Mental reincarnation through the knowledge of life.
Dear [insert denominational belief superior figure],
Please don't let me live forever. Do not create immortality let alone ways to stay alive longer. You're doing a great job with this natural selection mumbo jumbo. War, disease, stupidity. Keep it up! Don't go soft on us now. Throw some shit at that fan; I'll still be smiling when you get bored. But if I'm still alive when it's all over, we have a problem.
Sincerely,
Asshole.

Running in Water, Crawling Through Consciousness.

I assume too much. I expect too little. Don't expect much from me.

I know I'm not the only one that questions the power of music on society and people. When a song is so powerful that it can move you physically and emotionally without you noticing, I think it could be doing its part. I found that every time I end up listening to Aphex Twin I have lucid dreams. That can't be a coincidence when you look at his work and the complexity intertwined. Mogwai has an opposite but equal effect on me. Instead of dreaming in lucidity, I completely detach myself from reality. Kid Cudi, which is on a completely different playing field than that of the previously mentioned, works magic through his simple beats and passive voice and flow. Radiohead shuts my mind up in the most beautiful way imaginable. My most recent find, Boards of Canada, has a simple nostalgic impact.
Another thing I don't understand is whenever I see the work of other photographers, I tend to get in the creative mood where I just devour everything artistic at once. I teach myself new things and work on spicing up old techniques. The most notable is light writing. That is one of the most complicated tasks for a drawing impaired person. Granted, it's incredibly fun, especially when you accidentally hit someone in the face with said light and it shows in the picture. I sincerely want photography to be in my life for the rest of its entirety. I wouldn't mind having a bit more passion in writing, but this flame has grown weak in the strong winds recently. I'm building a wall for my flames though. They need all the protection now that life has hit its limits and started running the rest of the marathon rather than walk the rest.

"Procrastination is a lot like masturbation. It's fun at first, but in the end you're just screwing yourself."

I figured that would work as a good transition. If you haven't yet, don't get a tattoo. Honestly the most addicting thing in the world. Yes, I only have one, but every second I sit and think about either how badly I want another, or new ideas for tattoos pop into my head.

Thinking tiny thoughts through thought tribulation.
For example...

"Hey dude, tell me how far my brain goes when I shoot my brains out."
"I'd rather throw a bag of puppies into a wall than listen to you talk."
"Open brain-insert filter. I seriously wonder if this kid ever thinks before he speaks."
"Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we do. Everything you do is a balloon."
"The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic."
"No God, know fear; know God, no fear."


I stopped writing twenty minutes ago...I'll represent again later.

My Beloved Polar Bear.

I think it's funny when people think they know exactly who you are. Yeah, you have me figured out down to my DNA code. You read my censored work and think you know me. Go for it, assume all you want, I can't do anything about it. I can't even give a damn, but it's all the same old song and dance. If you hate the way I write, stop reading. I don't care if you take my thoughts into consideration. You're worthless to me in every single way. Disposable. That's what everything in this world is to me. We as humans don't seek happiness, we seek instant gratification. I might be generalizing the human race, but aren't we all the same? Everyone just wants attention. You see it every single day. People pretend to be interested in you so they can tell you about themselves.
I wish I still had as much passion for writing as I did back in the day. Now I just bottle everything up because it's better for the people around me. If I don't say anything they stop paying attention to me, which is also better. Observation. They make me feel like I'm from a different planet or something. I don't understand how we are the same, but maybe one day it will all make sense. One giant epiphany in the form of a bullet. That, my friend, would be true beauty and understanding.
I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but the glass is half nothing. There is no point in looking on the bright side or seeing the worst in things. Either way, it's all over eventually, for better, or for worse. Maybe then people will fully understand worthlessness. I mean, in the instance that everything erased, would you be happy with what you are? What you have become? Have you found God? Have you fulfilled your legacy? Would you be completely okay with losing everything?
No. As much as you want to think you were happy with yourself, think that you found "God," fulfilled your legacies, you haven't. You wouldn't be okay with losing everything and letting it all go to waste. We spend our whole lives building up to nothing.
Could you fully open your mind to see the world? "Man...sees all through narrow chinks of his cavern." For one to fully understand everything, you must accept everything. Close minded people limiting their lives to similar surroundings and comfortable ideologies. We categorize everything. Conformity. Censorship. Life.
Realize real lies.

You're not the only one.

I'm going to start off by saying this is going nowhere. Basically if you're reading this, you're wasting time. I know I say this other times, but this is going to be a straight up rant. I have nothing controversial to say, though I may speak upon religion. I haven't quite decided yet, but this is really just something I feel like doing.
Every morning I wake up and whisper, "Happy birthday, you," just to make someone I don't even know feel good for a split second. If only that were true. I'd be a compassionate person, when in reality I'm quite the opposite. You can ask anyone that knows me on more than just a first-name-basis. But honestly, what do I care what people think anymore? It's just opinions they form to feel better about themselves. Everyone does it. Hell, I do. I know for a fact I formulate opinions about people I don't even know just so I can smile for a couple seconds. It's what gets you by, you know? That kinda leads into who I really am. I'm an observer. I watch people. I pay attention to my surroundings to the best of my ability. I've been taking a lot of notes lately. Mostly on people, but not limited to art, philosophy, nature, thoughts, and other useless goings on.
Music I used to listen to that I forgot existed coming back into my life is interesting. Songs I listened to every days for months; songs that had memories and emotions linked to them that I couldn't even phrase in words. That random feeling of depression you get in your stomach when you hear a song that was on during a hard turmoil in your life. The goosebumps that make your hair raise when you have flashbacks to some of the best times in your life. Most recently I remember someone talking about being in a car accident and "Dick in a Box" was on and the driver heard it all throughout the day.
That little skip your heart gets when you're so surprised that you actually end up having what I like to consider a mini heart attack. I love that fear. It's like edging closer to death. Death used to scare me but it really doesn't anymore. Life used to scare me, but that doesn't anymore either. What I'm really afraid of is me. Well, me and heights. I wonder if there is a phobia of yourself. I'm going to look into this for a second. I will be back in a moment. Well, it's not a moment for you because you'll just keep reading. I wish I had something to contain you while I search for this answer...
Sorry I was gone so long, I couldn't find anything so I'm going to make it one. εμέναphobia. εμένα is 'me' in Greek. How to say it...well, let's just translate it to English. Mephobia? Works for me.
Moving on. How do things viral spread like herpes? I mean, look at some of the stuff on video websites with over millions of views. Like I understand how it happens, people show others who show others, which is like an std, yes, but I don't understand where I'm going with this actually. But I'm not going to delete it because I told myself I was just going to write with no censoring myself.
Do animals have vulgar words? Wow, nevermind.
Once again, moving on.

Something glorious is about to happen. Would like to know what it is?!
Me too...
False hope.

You might as well just wipe your ass with a piece of paper and call it a work of genius.

769. That's how many friends I have on MySpace. 297. That's how many friends I have on facebook. 101. That's how many contacts I have in my phonebook. Unfortunately, I only care about a handful of them.
Since the beginning of the social networking sites, I've talked to hundreds of people that I've never even talked to in person or on the phone. Names I can't even remember, cities I've never even heard of, secrets I've never imagined before.
By now you might be wondering, "Why the hell are you telling me how many friends you have? Why are you telling me how little you care about the vast majority of these people?"
If you're reading this, you obviously are one of these 769, 297, or 101 people. Now I'm inside your head.
"Does he care about me?"
Fuck. No. I'm not afraid to step on people's toes. I don't give a flying fuck about you. Granted you might stop reading this now, but whose loss? Not mine because I don't care about you. I could care less about what you think about this writing, or even me. The good writers and expressionists don't care who they offend. The less talented writers walk gracefully on egg shells dodging every bullet with their words.
Now suppose you're still reading this. Shocker. I never figured you'd make it past the first paragraph. Since you're so interested I'm going to tell you my deepest secret. Granted it's not going to be for a little while.
Let's play a little role playing. You get to decide where I go with this. We're in a forest where the only thing that can hear you is the silence. I have a concealed weapon. You seem uneasy about things, but I'm just carrying on casual conversation with you. I have you so scared you won't even turn your back on me. I hand you the gun telling you that my intention was to shoot you. Do you shoot me?

Assuming you said no, you must have a little good in you. Probably why I wanted to shoot you in the first place.
Assuming you thought about saying yes for a little second, you proved to me that everyone is the same.
"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly."

You're thinking, "You're going absolutely nowhere."
So what if I am? Am I wasting your time? Yes. You reading this is a waste of time. This is where I realize that this is going nowhere, so if you read this, congratulations. Here's the big secret. I don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life. Writing? Photography? These are things playing a big role in my life. Sadly, anyone with a laptop, access to Starbuck's, and time is a writer now. Anyone with a camera that takes a picture of a flower is now a photographer to be remembered by what? Their mothers?
Here I am. Zarchary Robert Trottier. Aspiring photographer with nothing but confusion running amongst his brain. Expect to see much, much more from me in the near future.

Now you think I wrote this for me. Obviously, if you didn't know before, I don't write for you. I write for me. I don't write for reactions, I write for me. I fucking write for me. Some people punch a pillow, others find comfort in food. I write.

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge

One of my good friends, Lizzy Francis, let me borrow a book this weekend. Since I've picked it up, this is like the first time I've been able to stop reading it. It's not the typical book I would read, for it's about a person. You know, like a biography or autobiography. It's definitely not a person I can relate to, considering all the drug problems, sex addictions, and adventurous music life. I feel like I can relate to him though. Emotionally more or less. The way he feels about a woman when he actually cares and sincerely feels is rather similar to me, but you don't care. I'm not really sure why I started writing, but I did. It just kind of spontaneously started. I barely remember going to this site to type it up, but shit, I've already filled the white space.
I've needed to get a lot of things off of my mind for a while and I guess now is an opportune moment to do so.
I've wanted to be a writer longer than I've wanted to be a photographer. Most of you know this. If not, there you go. I don't care if you think my writing is shit, I'm still going to write. More power to you to tell someone how terrible they are at something. Chances are you're not even good at your own passion. Maybe you like art. Well I think you express nothing but pure idiocy. You draw an apple just because it's ever so abstract and means the world to you. It represents how stupid you are. I want to take a shotgun and rape your apple with every bullet in the world. I apologize for that.
Since I aspired to be a writer, I figured why not take creative writing? Oh boy did the year start off fantastic. Mrs. Heck was so cool. She made me enjoy everything there was to enjoy about the most simple aspects of writing. Then I got pretty sick. I was out for a week and when I got back things were starting to change. This new Amish bitch slowly started changing my views on writing. Mrs. McFuckshit [McGrady actually....]. I didn't know what she was doing there and I just assumed she was some kind of substitute or whatever, so I didn't think much of it. I got sick again for another week. Then I got back and she was running the class. It turns out she's a student teacher who's here until May somethingth. No one likes her. I don't even think Mrs. Heck likes her. The only thing I've learned from that class thus far is that if you would like to pursue something, be careful with whom you pursue it with. The bitch made me not want to write. So I didn't. It wasn't until last week that I finally wrote again. Before she started running the show, me and a friend in that class decided to start a project from one Mrs. Heck assigned to us. If you remember from a previous post [Coming to Terms] I mentioned it a little. To be completely honest, I don't think it's gotten farther then the grade we earned on it helping out his GPA. I feel bad bashing on people, but I hate when people ruin things for me like this. Like ignorant people. I hate them. I don't mind stupid people, because they don't know the difference. Ignorance is just ugly. Stupidity can't be helped.
Since I started reading Scar Tissue, it's made me start writing more lyrics and poetry. I sort of like it, but I know I'll never getting around to putting music to it. That truly doesn't bother me. That was another thing I could relate to Anthony Kiedis on. Writing. It just came natural to both of us. We didn't know at the young age that we wanted to pursue. It just started falling into place. I had known for a while that we shared the same day of birth. He explained something I found quite interesting.
"I was nearly a Halloween baby, but being born on November 1 is even more special to me. In numerology, the number one is such a potent number that to have three ones in a row is a pretty good place to start your life."
I always wanted to be a Halloween kid. I tried celebrating on Halloween, but then I just kinda admitted I was born the day after. I'm not really into the -ology things [numerology, astrology, etc.] but I think it's pretty interesting at times. I'm not going to follow them religiously though. If you do, more power to you.
This brings me to my next serving of expression. Religion. I am atheist. I apologize if there are conflicts with my ‘choice of religion'. I'm sorry I don't follow your God and pray daily. I'm sorry I'm not interested in fighting a never-ending intergalactic space battle after I die. I'm sorry I don't believe in reincarnation. if this is you, like I said before, more power to you. I'm not here to tell you, "There is no God." I'm not going to preach my ideas onto you which is sort of ironic if you're reading this. Let me just say my religious views. I'm tired of people getting in fights about there religions in front of me. I just wants peace between others and myself. Just because I view something different than he views, and he views something different than she views something that just so happens to be different than what you believe. Fuck it. Don't let that become one of those moments that could be monumental to you in your future. But who gives a shit about what I think. Live your life.
"Life is worth living." --Lizzy Francis.

I just realized how far I am into writing this and started thinking, "Shit, I don't have a title." I typically start with a title. Like the last thing I wrote. That title was far beyond what was even conceived in that post. At the same time I'm feeling a bit of Untitled thanks to Sigur Rós.

I wish that if I spent days writing, you would spend hours reading. I know a select few of you would, but I also know a handful of you would get the just of it and say, "Cool! I really like it!" Disgusting batch of liars is what you are.
I wish that I could turn my brain off. Just for a moment so I could experience a simple day. Even if I'm zoned out, thinking about 'nothing' I'm probably thinking about everything.
I wish that I had the ability to capture you with my words like a few of my friends can do.
I wish that I could finish with something as strong as I started with in my mind, but this will have to do.

PS-I finally thought of a title.

Coming to Terms

I'll start off with how I feel...

The lies flying through your teeth,
As I listen to all the deceit.
You act like I won''t know
Or ever find out...

I'm sick of this
Pain and sorrow.
I'm tired of
Respecting you
In exchange for lies

The tears I waste on your own faults,
And you don't sympathize with my emotions.
Now I know
About your lies.

I'm sorry I ever respected you,
I'm sorry I ever cared.
I wish that I could take back
All that wasted time on you.

If you know who I am, you know what that's all about. Since I wrote that, I have calmed down a ton, but I'm still very distraught. I mean, it's you're life so do what you want, but I just want honesty, you know?
Whatever.

One of my friends came home for spring break from college, and it was really nice just talking with them. It tied up a lot of loose ends and we let each other into our lives a little bit more, which was really nice, too. Lately, I've been kind of down, so just talking in general for hours really helped. I found out a lot about myself and a lot about the world. I feel like I'm just restating what everyone else has thought or said.
"Everything has been said before
There's nothing left to say anymore
When it's all the same
You can ask for it by name"
-If you think moving away will solve all of your problems, it won't. They're going to follow you.
-Death isn't as easy as it should be. People are over dramatic about it. Also, death isn't an escape route. I mean, as much as we would like it to be, it isn't. Just look at the world. We. Are. Fucked.

About me:
-I want to die young.
-I don't want anyone to mourn my death. I want life to go on.
-To me, life is about being content with things. I'm only truly happy when I'm content.
-I know something's wrong if I can't get a true sigh out. There is a peak to it that I have to feel for me to be satisfied with whatever is around me.
-What may seem like flaws to you are just my character traits.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. A good friend of mine, who will remain anonymous for now, are possibly going to be working on a story together very soon. If all goes well, we will have something up within the next month or so.
I'm not sure if I have much more to say to you all right now, but yeah. Final words:
Gotta catch 'em all!

I Wish I Had a Clever Title, but It's Nothing Special, Anyway

I've wanted to say so much, but haven't figured out exactly how to say them. Mixed emotions could definitely describe this year so far. Granted, it's only the first week of February, but that doesn't change anything. I've realized that this is the first time I'm completely content this year. Things aren't going great, but what do I care? Everything is in it's right place. That song makes so much more sense right now. I don't care that almost everyone in my life right now isn't going to be there for me when I need them, even though I try and stick around for when they need me. I don't care that I don't know what I want to do with my life. I don't care. I have sympathy for absolutely nothing right now. I look forward to nothing. I do have a few cravings, but they will be satisfied when the time is right. I've learned that all it takes is patience. Thankfully, I have patience. I also have time.
I'm glad I'm finally writing.
It's a great feeling, and I'm confused as to why I haven't in a while. January was a slump. Maybe the rest of this year will be great? Nothing's ever predictable with me. I don't think I mind much though. I've been thinking a lot lately. It's a nice feeling. It's relieving. I've been thinking about how much work I'm going to have to make-up after missing a week of school, damn flu. I've been thinking about my younger years. I've been thinking about music, and shows, and photography, and graphic design. I've been thinking about writing. I've been thinking, and I like it.
The younger years.
I'm not saying I'm old or anything, but a few years ago, I was totally different. I distinctly remember sitting in Coach Wombel's health class. He looked at all thirty or so of us and said, "You're going to change at least three more times before you're satisfied. Clothing. Music. Food. Interests. It's all going to change." I looked at him in disbelief with a confident 'yeah right' attitude. I wore black a lot. Not so much now. Maybe he was kinda right? I never wanted to believe anyone. Does that make me close-minded? Personally, I think I'm pretty open-minded right now. I still have my mind set on certain things, but that's the things that can be proven.
Content-ness.
As I write this, I hear shitty music and amazing music and in-between-the-two music. I want to write amazing music that people will love. I want to go to a show. I want to take pictures of live music. I want to take a picture that says two million words. I want to come up with one of the greatest metaphors that everyone can relate to. I'm completely fine with not accomplishing these things. I suppose I could turn them into goals of some sort.

I'm spending time on things lately.
Lately, I've been working on Zarkography, a lot.
During school, I've been drafting and redrafting parts of my new story in development.
I want to finish things.
Maybe I don't mind it too much. I guess this is all I had to say.