Not a tourist, just a foreigner

Paris.

I've been here before, but I've never looked at it this way. I feel.... Fresh. My eyes are wide open.

I came here to have an affair, but I actually fell in love. Not with a human, but with life. These streets have inspired me. Every night was a new wonderland, wanting to create something new.

I honestly do not want to leave.

I'm scared.

I'm scared that once I get off the plane, life will go back to normal.

I don't want it to go back to normal. I want to stay here forever.

But I guess the fact that this post is two days late is a contradiction to that statement.

But I mean it.

I want people to read what I write, and people just don't do that in America.

*sigh*

I'm happy though.
I'm happy.

It is better to have loved and lost than to have never have loved at all.

Swallowed in the sea

"You cut me down a tree
And brought it back to me
And that's what made me see
Where I was going wrong
You put me on a shelf
And kept me for yourself
I can only blame myself
You can only blame me

And I could write a song
A hundred miles long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

And I could write it down
Or spread it all around
Get lost and then get found
Or swallowed in the sea

You put me on a line
And hung me out to dry
And darling that's when I
Decided to go to see you

You cut me down to size
And opened up my eyes
Made me realize
What I could not see

And I could write a book
The one they'll say that shook
The world, and then it took
It took it back from me

And I could write it down
Or spread it all around
Get lost and then get found
And you'll come back to me
Not swallowed in the sea

Ooh...

And I could write a song
A hundred miles long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

The streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well, that's where I belong
And you belong with me

Oh what good is it to live
With nothing left to give
Forget but not forgive
Not loving all you see

Oh the streets you're walking on
A thousand houses long
Well that's where I belong
And you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea

You belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea
Yeah, you belong with me
Not swallowed in the sea"

Good day sir.

Sir 1: You cold?
Sir 2: Huh? Oh no, no I'm fine.... Unless your cold...
Sir 1: Nope. You sure? I could turn off the AC.
Sir 2: Naw don't worry about me. I'm good.
Sir 1: Whatever you say boy...
Sir2: ..............
Sir 1: ..................?
(Silence. Lots of it)



Sir 2: ..... Well I really appreciate you driving me home Mr. Clause.
Sir 1: No problem boy.

(Very much silence)
(Let's say about... Eh... Ten, fifteen minutes of silence)

Sir 2: I kissed your son!!
Sir 1:
Sir 1:
Sir 1:
Sir 1:
Sir 1:
Sir 1:




.

Habits: a humble resignation

"It is easier to prevent bad habits than to break them." -Benjamin Franklin

#habitsimtryingtobreak
#chewingonguitarpicks
#andmanymore

“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.”
― Ansel Adams

She never came

Fantasies of a mountain man

Do you remember that time that you said that we would go camping together? I was so glad to finally  go like all the other kids got to.That next day at school I boasted that my dad was taking me camping. My teacher was slightly concerned...

I told them like I told myself. I told them so that I would feel better. Feel something. Pretend.

So that weekend "we" went "camping".

I put up the tent myself. Tents were never your thing.

I collected wood and started the fire. You never were very good at that.

I cooked dinner, I told us a campfire story, I tucked us into bed.

I made sure that 'we' had the best camp out ever.

And that next morning I had to be the one to explain to my angry mother (your wife) and the cops where we had been all night. I don't know why she was crying. I had you to look after me.

We had the best camping trip ever. I just wish that you could have been there to enjoy it with me.

How to YOLO

How to YOLO

Step 1: think of something. Anything. Particularly bad things.

Step 2: do it.




How to live
Step 1: don't YOLO

For Mr. Nelson

"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky"



Taken by yours truly.

Music

Noise does not require success to be perfect.
It's love.

Nostlagia

Nostalgia is a beautiful yet curious thing. It is the only thing that connects me with the happy memories of my past, but for some reason he always brings along his buddies sadness and longing.

Sometimes I like to feel sad.That sense of longing gives me something to feel deeply about. It gives me something to hope for.

 I love the smell of Christmas trees and roasting chestnuts, but I think I enjoy the memory or idea of them more than the actual thing. I enjoy the sense of comfort and happiness that they bring.

 For some reason, I can never find nostalgia when I want it. It can't be created. It simply presents itself to you whenever it so pleases, so make sure you cherish those moments. Breath them into your bloodstream and never exhale. Don't take a picture, make a memory. It'll last longer.


                                                

Care?

Who cares? Do you care? Most of us are pretty good at pretending to care. Does it actually matter to

you? Do you actually care about that sad puppy on facebook? I guess the fact that you hit 'like' means

 that you do right...? Good job. You made a difference. I check my blog more than facebook these

days. I care about that. I'd rather hear a comment about something important I wrote than about how

your Sadie's date was. Do we care about politics or do we just care that people think that we care. If

you cared then maybe you would run for office because nothing else is working. Leave the politics to

the debate kids because that's enough pretend carers. Care care care care care care. I've now said that

word a lot and it has no meaning. But who cares anyway. If highschool cliques end after highschool,

then who cares how I act. But do they go away in the real world? I don't think so, but I hope so. I care

about you.
                                             

                                                  




                                                 



                                                 

                                                         

                                                        





                                      



                                                         




                                                





                                                   


                                                    
                                                            


                                                 

My yellow Lego house

I built on these bricks

A yellow Lego house.

We lived on these bricks

You were quiet as a mouse.

We had guests on these bricks

One without a spouse.

We ate on these bricks

But never brussell sprouts.

You died on these bricks

You left me petrified.

I cried on these bricks

Till there was nothing left inside.

I tried on these bricks

To bring you back to life.

I was tied to those bricks

Like Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.





In the bricks is where you and I reside.

....

I've decided to give up on attempting to express my thoughts and ideas through writing. It's too hard to be as indie as everyone wants you to be.

Seriously though... You deep indie writers have the most peculiar writing styles. To be honest, I don't understand what you're saying half of the time, and I even doubt that you know what you're saying. Do you know? Sounds like gibberish to me.

Since when did you have to be utterly insane and twisted to be a good writer? Who was the first man to look at an incredibly abstract piece of literature and say "Holy crap this is good"? Because it seems that as soon as he said that, everyone else was just like "uuuuurrrr.. Okay :P this is gooooood sturrrf".
It's not good stuff. Why cant beautiful literature be completely understandable? Why do I have to become an alcoholic to understand what beauty is?

NONE OF YOU HAVE ANY TALENT!! YOU'RE HARDLY SPEAKING ENGLISH!! Sorry.... I didn't mean to blow up like that. You guys are very talented. I guess I'm just mad that I can't understand what you're saying. Teach me??

Writing is beautiful.

Question It

"Difference of opinion leads to inquiry, and inquiry to truth" -Thomas Jefferson


Critical thinking. It's important. Stay curious my friends.

For you

 

My original journal entry from class:

I'm thinking about you like Coldplay thinks aboout clocks.

Like cars think about open road.

Like rings think about fingers (don't be gross about that one).

I'm thinking about you like my fingertips think about steel.

Like my baby sister thinks about the backyardigans.

Like a hipster thinks about H&M.

I'm thinking about you like buttercup thinks about Westley.

Like Humperdink thinks about the hunt.

Like Fezzik thinks about ryhmes.

I'm thinking about you like you think about him.

Like he thinks about her.

Like she thinks about me.

I'm thinking about you like radios think about white noise.

Like brush thinks about tooth.

Like cameras think about every passing moment.

I'm thinking about you like nobody thought was possible.

But I'm not thinking about you like you think about me.

Inspiration

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1tbX_NJn98

I know that you can't watch this at school, and I'm sorry that I'm not intelligent enough to know how to make it so, but please please take the time to go home and watch it. You won't be disappointed.

Miedo

Okay.... Now I don't want to sound like an overconfident jerk, but I'm not afraid of the silly things that most people are. Well... when I say not afraid, I just mean that I'm not terrified to a ridiculous extent. I don't have any silly phobias. Sure, I cry a little bit inside when that massive spider disappears under my bed, but after a second of worry, I realize that it's no big deal. I'll be afraid to go talk to a pretty girl, but I'm always to get some perspective and tell myself, "what the heck, who gives a darn" (pardon my french).

So, if I'm able to go bungee jumping if it so pleased me, why am I afraid of this one thing? This one thing that will remain unnamed is what I fear may hold me back for the rest of my life. It is the one thing that could set me free and unlock the gateway to all of my dreams. So why do I fear it? Because it is also the thing that could cause the destruction of all of my hopes and expectations. It's an all or nothing deal. You get one or the other, but never both. It involves risking everything, even though you have nothing to lose but your own personal pride. Anyway it's late so I'm off. See ya in the next post. That is, if you're even reading this. Oh and if you are reading this, you are incredible. Thanks mate.
Cheerio.
Oh ya,
I'm afraid to try.

Sky diving

It's early in the morning, the roads are practically empty, there's a cool chill in the air, you have remnants of sleep in your eyes, and you've never felt so alive. It's like one of those days that you're going to the airport and you get to watch everyone driving to work, and you think "peace suckas! I'm outta here!" You don't have to live out your long and pathetic day, because today, you're going skydiving.
You're excited.
You're nervous.
You don't want to go.
But you wan't to go even more.
You feel like you're just leaving the world behind. Traveling to unexplored land. As if the plane that you're now flying in is going to take you to mars, or crash and kill you. Either way you're happy, because you're leaving the idiots on this earth. You finally get to the jump. This is the hardest part. Everything leading up to the jump. It's the anticipation that gives you the biggest thrill. You stop and wonder if this is what you really want to do, but you know you just have to do it. Like ripping off a band-aid. You just have to take a deep breath....... In....... Out...... and go. That was it. That was the hardest part. The rest of the way is pure bliss. Euphoria. You don't want this to ever end. And all you have left to do now is pull the parachute, and hope it works. You start to see people around you pull, but nothing happens. They become terrified. Then splat. They hit hard. How is it going to end for you? You can never know until you try, because this isn't skydiving. This is love.

Be an alien

Dearest aliens, if you absolutely insist on coming to earth, there are a few things you need to know about humans. First and foremost, don't expect a bunch of friendly open armed weirdos (unless you're in Utah). If you come to earth, expect to have all of your dreams and creativity suctioned out of your mind while they tell you to live your dreams and be creative. Get ready to work all of your life towards unhappiness and dissatisfaction. To dread going to work each day and always have the memory of what could have been.  Get ready to spend your hard earned money on propaganda filled infomercials selling happiness in a blanket with sleeves. Get ready to donate money to your favorite celebrity's charity, then see that same celebrity live out their life in rehab. If you want to fit in, don't ask questions. If you are happy with unhappiness, then follow the social norms. But if you want to stand out, ignore all of the above and do whatever the frik you want. Whatever it may be. ANYTHING. Don't follow the norms. Be an alien.

Intro

As a writer, I've never been all that confident. I enjoy writing, and I like to think of myself as a well developed writer, but never before had I thought my writing to be worthy of being shared like this. I guess that's why I'm glad I get to remain anonymous. People think that I don't have much to say, simply because I don't always say it, but contrary to popular belief, I have much to say, and I plan on saying it. We'll see how this thing goes.