Monday, October 25, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
This band is my new favorite.
California, stoner- girls. Playing some bad-ass music. They have appeal to pretty much every demographic. They can sing sweet melodies, rock out, and weird you out a little. They are also all gorgeous and seem somewhat open to different sexual orientations. Hah! Every song is different. Give Warpaint a little time and I am sure you will be listening to their songs on repeat very soon.
Wrote this around 6am the other night...
Anxiety unlimited,
Restrict the intent.
Remember how to implement,
That which puts you past content.
I'd like to represent the opposite
of the status quo. Although I know
at some point I am that which clicks
with the commodity corrale.
Oh how
to find the in
between
of seen
and not scene.
Restrict the intent.
Remember how to implement,
That which puts you past content.
I'd like to represent the opposite
of the status quo. Although I know
at some point I am that which clicks
with the commodity corrale.
Oh how
to find the in
between
of seen
and not scene.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Have you ever realized....
..that you were the only person holding yourself back? Like out of nowhere a ton of bricks hits you with a note attached to them that reads " This is so much easier than you think. dummy." on it? I feel like these moments provide the rip current for the waves in my life. Those waves that make me remember once again that I am so much better than I lead myself to believe. Some may relate their phases to the moon, but I never pay attention to things like that. I would never be the type for a longitudinal study considering my lack for consideration of time. Even though it is also my main source of anxiety ( self-imposed, of course) .
I am slowly but surely realizing that my constant battle with procrastination stems from the fear of all the realisitic possibilities of the person I am. I mean, not always, but for the majority of my college career I have been able to progress with passing grades by doing work that was done in literally a considerably small fraction of the actual time that was actually provided to do something.
another sidenote: The real issue with sluts, isn't that they are sluts, it is that they have the ability to move and spread their slut. Does "fresh start" = virginity?
last sidenote:I don't have time in my day to worry about who walks first when trying to solve a maze of people.
End Transcript.
I am slowly but surely realizing that my constant battle with procrastination stems from the fear of all the realisitic possibilities of the person I am. I mean, not always, but for the majority of my college career I have been able to progress with passing grades by doing work that was done in literally a considerably small fraction of the actual time that was actually provided to do something.
It is time for a change. The change where I realize that while I have many goals, realistically this whole college thing is the biggest investment I have made in my whole life so far. Therefore it really is where I should put all my cards. Not to mention... why not get smarter? That is something NO ONE can take from you. And for all you's out there thinking to yourself " I wants the smarts but ain't got no college." No worries. Libraries are pretty much the most amazing thing you'll ever experience. That is, if you give it the time to make it an experience. The internet is great and all, but what about real tangible words? Literally, words you can hold onto. There's not much better than that. I'm finding myself getting slightly turned on by terms such as " Periodicals, Leather-bound, and Non-Fiction."
Moving on.
another sidenote: The real issue with sluts, isn't that they are sluts, it is that they have the ability to move and spread their slut. Does "fresh start" = virginity?
last sidenote:I don't have time in my day to worry about who walks first when trying to solve a maze of people.
End Transcript.
Monday, October 11, 2010
On any given Monday dusk....
I passed a woman today, on my way to Walgreens, who was watering her lawn. I waved considering she is my couple-houses-down-neighbor and at first she glanced back with a confused look on her face. Then, while I continued head-bobbing and grinning as I turned the corner I looked back to her, looking at me, smiling. It was awesome.
That is all. Today = court + no points - fines - monthly visits + no class(+/ - ) LOTS OF FRICKIN' SCHOOL WORK!
Tomorrow or late this evening I will entertain more.
That is all. Today = court + no points - fines - monthly visits + no class(+/ - ) LOTS OF FRICKIN' SCHOOL WORK!
Tomorrow or late this evening I will entertain more.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The makings of me.
After a sincerely interesting conversation with a friend last night, I immediately thought about what I wanted to write about for my first blog entry ever. The conversation being had was concerning each other's family past. At least, the past we have experienced. The thought in my mind that kept creeping up however, was the past we didn't know about. That we will never know. The past of our past. What our grandparents experienced, where they thought their lives would lead, if they could even fathom that nowadays I would be the direct link to their futures.
The unfortunate part about this is that without investing some sort of money into research, you must rely on regurgitated facts from your family members to find anything out about the people responsible for you that you never knew. Normally this wouldn't be so bad, but you don't come from my family. Considering my own unfortunate memory abilities, I have never expected much from that of my family members memory's either. Not to mention bloodlines of booze and other sorts of chemical dependencies don't make for a compatible algorithm for calculating family history. Nevertheless, once and a while you get surprised by someones convincing story telling skills.
Throughout my entire life, the one story I will always remember about my ancestry came from my Great Uncle on my father's side. Since that side of the family is of Native American descent I can assure you this story will not intend to life your spirits. ( I did not mean for a pun right there, but it happened, enjoy it. ) The story is as follows:
Apparently My Great Great Grandfather was a Native American slave owner. A nasty old white man with money. At the good ol' slave trade one day he came across my Great Great Grandmother. Assumingly strong and beautiful, he saw many opportunities to be had with her. Upon purchase and once transported back to his home, he explained to his new purchase that her job was to do nothing more than whatever he asked her. Those demands included multiple child bearings, maintaining the house, and putting up with tons of abuse. Now don't forget, she was a slave. This gave my Great Great Grandfather the inclination for his ultimate punishment to my Great Great Grandmother. Due to fear of her trying to escape the miserable existence she had been purchased for, the decision was made that to keep her around there was only one solution: Slit both of her Achilles tendons. Therefore she suffered through giving birth, raising those children, and maintaining a home for an abusive husband all while not being to barely walk. This woman is one of the key reasons I am alive today and I will never even know her name because she was traded without any paperwork and was probably given some awful name like "Beth Anne" from my model-citizen Great Great Grandfather.
That's the type of stuff you hear from a book, not what you're expecting your Great Uncle to tell you over a bowl and good conversation. If he only knew what hearing that story did to my life.
This blog and all the changes I want to make happen in my life are all in her honor. I'll hopefully never have to deal with the kind of adversity she experienced, but if it weren't for her doing so, I wouldn't be able to type this right now. Through her slavery I have been freed, and I refuse to let the fear of chains ever stop me.
The unfortunate part about this is that without investing some sort of money into research, you must rely on regurgitated facts from your family members to find anything out about the people responsible for you that you never knew. Normally this wouldn't be so bad, but you don't come from my family. Considering my own unfortunate memory abilities, I have never expected much from that of my family members memory's either. Not to mention bloodlines of booze and other sorts of chemical dependencies don't make for a compatible algorithm for calculating family history. Nevertheless, once and a while you get surprised by someones convincing story telling skills.
Throughout my entire life, the one story I will always remember about my ancestry came from my Great Uncle on my father's side. Since that side of the family is of Native American descent I can assure you this story will not intend to life your spirits. ( I did not mean for a pun right there, but it happened, enjoy it. ) The story is as follows:
Apparently My Great Great Grandfather was a Native American slave owner. A nasty old white man with money. At the good ol' slave trade one day he came across my Great Great Grandmother. Assumingly strong and beautiful, he saw many opportunities to be had with her. Upon purchase and once transported back to his home, he explained to his new purchase that her job was to do nothing more than whatever he asked her. Those demands included multiple child bearings, maintaining the house, and putting up with tons of abuse. Now don't forget, she was a slave. This gave my Great Great Grandfather the inclination for his ultimate punishment to my Great Great Grandmother. Due to fear of her trying to escape the miserable existence she had been purchased for, the decision was made that to keep her around there was only one solution: Slit both of her Achilles tendons. Therefore she suffered through giving birth, raising those children, and maintaining a home for an abusive husband all while not being to barely walk. This woman is one of the key reasons I am alive today and I will never even know her name because she was traded without any paperwork and was probably given some awful name like "Beth Anne" from my model-citizen Great Great Grandfather.
That's the type of stuff you hear from a book, not what you're expecting your Great Uncle to tell you over a bowl and good conversation. If he only knew what hearing that story did to my life.
This blog and all the changes I want to make happen in my life are all in her honor. I'll hopefully never have to deal with the kind of adversity she experienced, but if it weren't for her doing so, I wouldn't be able to type this right now. Through her slavery I have been freed, and I refuse to let the fear of chains ever stop me.
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