Transitions are natural in life. Things change, people change, the situation changes, but time goes on, as well as my life with it. I changed too. But what can I hold onto? What made me a friend for all this time? What do people see in me worthy of friendship, or more. Was it faithfulness, honesty, integrity, just being there, or maybe extending a hand to someone who is down. Who knows. Truly I am blessed in my life, even in the worst of times.
Our previous actions play a part in sculpting out who we are now, but we are never quite the same again. I am not the boy strange boy from years ago, or that one guy on the bus, or quite the same man from earlier this year. But I hope I have held onto the best of everything I have been. How can I judge anyone on what has happened before without understanding first. Judgement isn't mine to give, despite how much I approve or disagree.
Oh, what I would give to have just a chance. Start each day anew, making the best out of life, the good and the bad. And to have someone to share it with. Someone who can look past, the past, and be honest and truthful. Not quick to judge, but empathetic and loving. Time might tell, and as time goes on, I go on.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Sunday, December 13, 2009
]{ Just Words }[
Poetry has always been a topic that has disgusted me.
This is probably due to the fact that public schools have insisted that it should be included in standard Freshman high school English courses. which, of course, means the entire unit over poetry is more of a poorly executed joke. Probably because poetry crosses the realm of English language arts and even dabbles in... Art. Another nasty subject due to post modern views.
I find poetry enjoyable when I write it because I can write however I please.
I can follow rules, or break them.
I can write in free verse, or prose, or a haiku, or however I please.
I form my own world in words.
Reading poetry is also something I enjoy.
Ranging from dry and boring to savory or stimulating. Just words I am free to take in. I can try to find a meaning, or bask in the complete pointless and meaninglessness of it all. To intake a point of view or concept in a way I have never before thought of.
This is probably due to the fact that public schools have insisted that it should be included in standard Freshman high school English courses. which, of course, means the entire unit over poetry is more of a poorly executed joke. Probably because poetry crosses the realm of English language arts and even dabbles in... Art. Another nasty subject due to post modern views.
I find poetry enjoyable when I write it because I can write however I please.
I can follow rules, or break them.
I can write in free verse, or prose, or a haiku, or however I please.
I form my own world in words.
Reading poetry is also something I enjoy.
Ranging from dry and boring to savory or stimulating. Just words I am free to take in. I can try to find a meaning, or bask in the complete pointless and meaninglessness of it all. To intake a point of view or concept in a way I have never before thought of.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Dynamic Vibrations
I cannot live in silence.
My whole life I have spent in the constant clamor of sound in some form or another. As the 5th born in a family of nine I have never found any peace in my room which I have always shared. I have slept so long with a fan whirling and air purifier blowing, that I cannot sleep without some kind of constant drone going on. Even in the bathroom I have to have a fan running or the flowing sound of water from a sink or a bathrub.
Music for the sake of it's own sound was something I never really listened to as a child. Almost all of my family members sing or play the piano or some other instrument. My elder sisters were always either bickering, singing, talking, or laughing their heads off. My brothers talk, and talk talk. They play with their imagination, and often times express it in their words as they have done chores and what not.
My mother is a shrieker. Her varying cries range so far in pitch and random staccatos.
My father is a droner. He is quiet about what he does, humming evenly words in constant legato.
Now I find myself shut up in my room with my door closed blasting melodic metal at room vibrating volumes through my 50$ Philips speakers plugged into my laptop, washing myself in the waves of sound.
This is about as close to peace as I come.
My whole life I have spent in the constant clamor of sound in some form or another. As the 5th born in a family of nine I have never found any peace in my room which I have always shared. I have slept so long with a fan whirling and air purifier blowing, that I cannot sleep without some kind of constant drone going on. Even in the bathroom I have to have a fan running or the flowing sound of water from a sink or a bathrub.
Music for the sake of it's own sound was something I never really listened to as a child. Almost all of my family members sing or play the piano or some other instrument. My elder sisters were always either bickering, singing, talking, or laughing their heads off. My brothers talk, and talk talk. They play with their imagination, and often times express it in their words as they have done chores and what not.
My mother is a shrieker. Her varying cries range so far in pitch and random staccatos.
My father is a droner. He is quiet about what he does, humming evenly words in constant legato.
Now I find myself shut up in my room with my door closed blasting melodic metal at room vibrating volumes through my 50$ Philips speakers plugged into my laptop, washing myself in the waves of sound.
This is about as close to peace as I come.
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