internet

Sometimes I think that the internet is nearly as bad as television. Of course, while surfing the web you don't have the limitations of corporate owned ideas -- but I don't think (as an American) that it's entirely possible to escape the goverment/conglomerate owned media. For example: I find myself visiting the same dozen sites every day. It isn't that there isn't more out there, it's just that I don't know of it and undiscovered knowledge tends to remain as such. The mundane routine that has become the ritual of my perusing is a little upsetting, and quickly become very tedious.

fridays

This has been the precursor to my favorite day of the week since I can remember. I mean, Friday is ok, because it signifies the end of the work week, but Saturday - Oh, Saturday! How I love thee. Historically, Saturday was the only day I was allowed to sleep in as a child, but more often than not I chose not.

You see, growing up my father worked second shift and between me going to school and him working I rarely got to spend any quality time with him. But when Saturday morning came -- my father would shake me awake at the crack of dawn and say, "get up, get dressed, I'm heading out in 15 minutes." And adventuring we would go. The first stop was usually the Alcove, a restaurant that the local farmers seemed to frequent (they had the best breakfast ever) or if there wasn't really time for that it would be off to McDino's for some sausage-egg-n-cheese mcmuffins. After breakfast it was off to the lake for a day of bass fishing. Other times you could find us traipsing through the woods looking for wild mushrooms or laboring along the abandoned railroad tracks tirelessly picking the black raspberry bushes. And yet the most frequent activity my father exposed me to was the riotous times of a public auction. There was the excitement of the sale, even if most of the stuff that they were selling was junk. And of course there was the exhilaration of winning a sale and taking home the junk to be confronted with looks of exasperation from my mother.

As the years went by I became a lazy and selfish teenager and my father moved to first shift. And although our Saturday adventures dwindled through the years, the memories continue to live in the stronghold of my heart.

-d.

bump and grind

It's been a fairly mundane week so far. Nothing too pressing to report about. The world continues to bump and grind.

I did buy the Order of the Phoenix over the weekend (as it finally came out in tradepaper) and proceeded to read it again. I was really disappointed with JK's latest installment in the HP series. I mean, it's not a bad book in any sense, but the over all story left me a feeling of want. I also had a hard time dealing with Harry going through the regular teenaged story of angst and anger. It simply wasn't a trait that I find justifiable in the character. I suppose that we want all of our heroes to be meek, humble martyrs.

Other than that, nothing's really happening. I went on a date this week (the first one in ages) and that was (I suppose) a lot of fun. I have a really difficult time finding people who mesh with my personality. I'm not talking about just eligible women, but everyone. The girl that I went out with had a great personality, a beautiful smile, and a sense of humor -- but again, something left me a distinct feeling of want. She was lacking intellect. Not that she isn't smart -- she has a master's degree from OSU -- but she doesn't seem to be the same kind of life long learner that I find myself attracted to. The education process was just that to her, a process -- a means to an end. Ah, well -- what's the harm in having a few chucks, right?

Well, with the work week almost at and end and my roommate taking off for a corvette show in PA, I'm looking forward to some alone time coming up. I think that I'll sit around the house, play my guitar, do some writing and clean. Yes, the place really could use a tidying up. Plus it's my friend, Jay's birthday tomorrow. I don't think he's really planning on having a huge bash, but sometimes an intimate night with good friends and good wine can be the better option.

loving life,
-d.

better days

I just wanted to write and say that I feel about 10 loads better. I'm such an emotional wreck somedays (read : every single day of my life.)

I feel, just. . .sublime.

:)

Have a good weekend everyone!

Your Broken Visage

I awoke screaming this morning. It was a war cry -- Your soul attacking mine. And I was left with more than a faint impression of a dream. I was left with a feeling of anger; an anger so justified it touched the bounds of hatred. You were the object of my despise, and I the object of your betrayal.

Why must we dance, this dance of pain? Piroutte and death may take my place. The scene is one of desolation, the mood full of despair. And we laugh together. Is it that we believe that love can save us from ourselves, or that we know that devastation before us? It is not a joyous moment, but a fragment waiting, wrapped in the facade that is life.

There are no songs left to implore. Our journey comes swiftly to an end. The last battle, last dance, the last time my eyes shall behold all that I find beauteous in the world. I weep for my loss and for my newfound freedom.

All this found in the remnant of an unsettling dream.

. . . . . . . . . .

I feel more guilty than anything now. Guilty about having feelings that are only connected to some innate fear hidden deep within my subconsious. I suppose that we all fear loss of a loved one -- it's something that I've experienced many times over in my short life and it has yet to be pleasant.

I read something, some time ago, that likened a divorcee to being a widow. The article stated that often times the divorcee who still has strong feelings for their spouse has a much more difficult mourning period over their loss, namely because that person is likely to still be present in their life. And this is my cycle. The birth and death of my heart, day after day. And each time this happens, I find it harder and harder to let go of my doubt, to vanquish my fears. I hate doubt. I hate fear. These emotions are so very debilitating for me, and I suppose that I hate the feeling of helplessness more than anything, anything at all.

-d.

through the cracks

This is something that I just can't understand. How in the hell do I allow myself to continuously fall in love with the same person? Do I really think that the results will ever differ? Do I think that I can magically make the past disappear, leaving the future to me to mold?

And I come to a resounding "I dunno."

In my delusion, I really think that I can. (well, maybe I can't make the past disappear, but I can certainly see us working through this.) She is like a plague. A fucking disease that forever infects my psyche. I understand how Shakespeare wrote about all those poetic lovers that brought the poison to their own willing lips -- the strength was in their hearts, not their hands. It is blinding, sweeping, and painfully glorious - this thing we call love.

really, it's times like these that I wish that I had never even met her, never read Kierkegaard, never fallen in love. It's not that we're not having a good time right now, because we are. We are having the best time of our lives. And, in a month it will be all different. And a month after that, different yet. When will this shifting paradox that we call life ever come to a slow enough still to make sense out of anything?

And I talk to my friend, August. He says "time is on your side my friend. You two are still having the childish fight of who is going to win who over -- and in the end, you'll both end up winning because you'll have each other. One way or another, you're stuck with her for the rest of your life." And I look at him, in his sober wisdom, and I doubt. But I don't want to. I don't want to question whether or not fate will walk me down this path or another. I don't want to trouble God over this pitiful drivel. This should be so inconsequential by now. And it's not. It affects me more than I should have ever allowed.

I hate having feelings sometimes. They are so fleeting.

in fact, I feel better already.

-d.

vision testing

Do you remember having your vision tested when you were in grammar school? - those little flashes of green light on either side of your peripheral? "Please raise your left hand your your right to indicate on which side you see the flashing light."

This is how God has been talking to me lately. It seems like I've been allowed only little flashes of His vision to keep me on this beaten path. The whispers are so vague that I have been set on edge, ready for the next signal as to which direction I should now take. Matthew wrote that the gate is strait and narrow is the way, and so I have been cautious to proceed without testing the water's of my own spirituality. I think that this is something that we all go through; it is perhaps even the purpose of this finite life. How I long to be as Peter and to have the faith of the Eternal, to step into the depths, and yet time and time again, I find myself in this wood - chopping trees and trying my Lord.

I've also been working on the crucification of my flesh. sounds gruesome doesn't it? Fasting is something that I've practiced for a number of years; something that has an immediate affect on my spirituality in drawing me closer to both my own spiritual feelings and the communion of my spirit with others. The Native Americans practiced sense-deprivation, along side fasting, to enhance their ability to "see" more clearly. The Buddhists practice detachment excercises to seperate themselves from this world that they may see into the next -- upon reaching enlightenment one is made free. All of this fits in quite nicely with my intended goal - to figure out where exactly God is leading me.

I suppose that I've been antcipating this huge shift in perspective for the last five years or so. And as I said in the previous post: I'm terrible at dealing with the anxious feelings of anxiety. I feel like if I'm not totally preparred at any given moment in my life God could just move -- leaving me in the dust. And while I'm sure that this won't happen, it is a thought that plays a motivating role in keeping me talking to God.

And He walks with me, and he talks with me
And He tells me I am His own,
And the Joy we share as we tarry there
none other has ever known.
~In the Garden

Long-lost, forgotten

It was a good weekend, past. Friday night Chica, GMoney and I went down to Jay and Kristen's to say goodbye to Riley (Jay's younger brother) who has left to finish school in Oxford. It was a great time, really -- surrounded by people who are my friends and who are so creatively talented is always a good time. We usually drink a bit and play some music. From time to time we'll get some work done on whatever projects are brewing between the group. One thing that we've definitely learned is in a group that diverse, everyone has something to add. No idea must be discarded, but analyzed and rejected with sound reason and judgement. heh.

Saturday was an entirely different story. My parents and siblings were supposed to come up for the day, namely because it was alumni day at the state fair. This is an event that my family hasn't missed in the last nine years. And, it's something that I feel really proud about, seeing as it is a bit of family tradition that was inspired by yours truly. I spend the night bunked at Chica's house and so I was afraid that I had missed them in the morning (and perhaps my chance to visit the fair) but to my great surprise my father left late instead of early (::shocker::). I'm terribly impatient when it comes to something that I've been anticipating for any length of time. So I did the time killer dance around my apartment, picking up little bits here and placing them over there. I also did the dishes, swept the kitchen floor, proceded to mop, and got a load of laundry done. All in all it was a productive morning. When we finally got the the fair we had a blast! It was such a blessed day, meeting and catching up with old friends, hanging out with the fam, eating lots of great (not great for you) fairfood, and the singing -- that was the best part. Surprisingly, even after four years of being totally out of a choral setting, I picked up fantastically. My choral did a set of 8 numbers and then a finale with 5 pieces that everyone knew. It was a blast.

Upon leaving the fair Justin and I decided to go back to my place, drink a few brews and do some reminiscing/catching up. Back in the day we were the best of friends and it seems like everytime we see one another we pick up without missing a single beat. Even though he is a husband and daddy now - it's like we're still sixteen, telling the same raunchy jokes and laughing until 3 in the morning. We lots of fun, drank lots of beer, told loads of stories whilst shooting some darts. Chica came over towards the end of the night to regale us with her tales of a dinner gone bad (it was a family event, teehee.) And in the morning I was left to a Sunday of relaxation and recompense. Actually, I spent all day with Chica -- we had lunch and watched Moulin Rouge and had dinner and went for a walk around the lake at Amstil Park. All ready to come back to work on Monday and have a bunting good time.

Well, off to see if I can get these pictures loaded. wish me luck!

lost days

I wanted to write here today, but somehow got caught up in another's blog. You can check these people out at Pulp Explosion. Just another group of writer-idealists that have caught my attention here lately.

Well, I've squandered my time reading instead of creating -- but in the end, well worth it. It's almost as if by surrendering yourself to a greater understanding of other people you become better equipt to understand yourself. Awareness is amazing -- perhaps it is all that I live for.

august west

The weekend started out lovely. Jay, Adam and I met down at Beck's Tavern taking serious advantage of the $1.25 Budweiser, Friday night happy hour. We had started a film project not to long ago and along the way ran into quite a few serious road blocks. Unfortunately, it seemed the best solution to quit the project for the time being and work out the kinks. The more we talked about the situation (and the more beer we consumed) the more it seemed everyone was ready to simply throw in the proverbial towel. Without missing a beat, we all turned our minds and started dreaming up future projects. It's not that the movie couldn't have been completed, it's just that it would have taken a lot more commitment and nearly another entire year of work than we had previously planned for. All in all it was a great idea that should have remained as such. After that, we conviened back at Jay's house to do a reading of the Tony Clifton Story (an unproduced screenplay by the great Andy Kaufman.)

Saturday my long lost friend and surrogate brother came into town. August and I hadn't spent any time together since March -- and upon the meeting we were giddy as middle school girls getting ready for the first dance. (Ok, maybe not that giddy.) Myself and Chica and August and Pearly took to drinking again, lying around my apartment reminiscing of 'the good ole days.' After several hours of beer and several games of cricket we decided that it would be fun to catch the bus downtown and as the say 'do gallery hops.' If you've never experienced anything like this - you should. Probably a total of 50 artists, some local some import gather in the short north district to show/sell their work. It tends to draw quite the diverse crowd, and there's always wine and clove cigarettes all around. After the hops we met up with Jay and his new wife Kristen to go back to their house and continue our weekend of debauchery. We ended the night back at mi casa, with a white russian nightcap and a viewing of Kubrick's classic, A Clockwork Orange.

Sunday, after I made a fabulous breakfast I said goodbye to my good friends and proceded to take the rest of the day for lounging and being decidedly slothful. It is a day of rest, after all. Thankfully Chica joined me in my day of recovery as to not make me feel slothful all by my lonesome.

It was a good weekend. no, it was a great weekend.

. . . . .

It is well

"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul. "
-Horatio Spafford

These last few days have been so blessed, and at the same time so very trying. And I'm left here, this place so familiar, left clinging to my faith and not much else. I think that I must simply bear down and pray that God takes me to the place I'm going.

I just hope that I'm on the right path.

A Wet Weekend

It rained a lot this weekend. But that's not really the reason I spent most of the days drenched. My roommate left on Friday night to go camping and rock climbing with a group of guys, leaving me to fend for myself here in C-bus. It wasn't bad at all -- I get little to no "me-time" these days, so I definitely wanted to take advantage of the opportunity.

Actually Friday night, I went over to make amends with my best friend. We've been in this continuous bickering fight for about a month now. I figured one of us was going to have to give in (read, I have to go make amends here.) In all honesty, she was really understanding and we worked through some of the more difficult issues and agreed to be more congenial. We watched 21 Grams and had dinner. It was all good.

Saturday, I sat around - in my solitude - and thought that I was going insane. I haven't been alone in so long that it was just, foriegn. I tried to play the guitar but the damn g-string broke. I tried to write and just felt frustrated and inadequate. So, I ended up sitting around, watching horrible television and wishing that someone would just call or come by. Finally my roommate got home and to much of my surprise had been in town for most of the day. It seems that the guys couldn't find a suitable spot in Hocking Hills, especially because of the rain. They ended up in a rock quarry not ten minutes from our apartment complex. GMoney, being the fool that he is hadn't quite had enough abuse for the day and wanted to go back to do some more cliff diving.

I was a little aprehensive, seeing as I'm deathly afraid of heights. But, alas I 'm never one to back away from a challenge. When we got there G showed me the smaller jumps, probably 20 feet above the waters edge. That didn't look all that bad, but I knew that if these were the small cliffs, I was up to my knees in trouble. We then took a trek around the quarry to find the larger jump spots, some up to 40 feet. yikes is me!!! Like I said I'm never one to back down to fear, and when he asked me where I wanted to start, I just said "right here." and took off.

It was a blast! I couldn't believe how much fun jumping into water could be. After a couple of hours of launching ourselves off these cliffs into the depths below we were exhausted. . .but not too exhausted to come back on Sunday and do it all over again!

I think we might just swing by the quarry tonight after work.