As I sit here crying because I’ve just rewatched my favorite film “Cloud Atlas”, I am reminded of change and dreams.
For a long while now, maybe a year, I’ve been in a slump. I’ve been thinking over and over about how my life is a “drop of water in an endless sea”. Pondering over how tiny I am, how mortality is so finite how could any of us bare the idea of immortality? How I will die inevitably and everything in our waking world is a distraction away from this death, it’s a monolithic movement toward a fake idea of eternal life. It doesn’t come from the Christians, although they now propagate this idea, and it was before the Greeks, before the Babylonians (pre-Judaism), and it was before writing. Humans lie. We lie to ourselves about our fate.We try to block it out, pretend death isn’t lurking under every rock, waiting to trip us up and break us, we shout “DANGER” so quietly.
I’m trying to be honest to myself. Telling myself of my death, that whatever I do, I will die. I’ve been giving up hope, I’ve let all my dreams go. In my depression and in my turmoil I have said “It’s impossible, I’m 1 and 8 billion+ and I am nothing.” I am nothing because I choose to be, but not because I am.
In Cloud Atlas Sonmi said “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”(David Mitchell, author). When she said this, she is staring at a room full of fighting. Everything knows death is inevitable but they are fighting for a better life. Dying for a better life for the other.
My eternal best friend Savannah said to me: “You aren’t great because you are great, but because I say you are great so you have to be, because I want you to be.” Now this sounds very backwards, but I knew exactly what she meant. She meant that even though I don’t think I’m great, or have purpose, or meaning, I am great because she knows so. Then she said “You may think you don’t have a purpose, but that doesn’t mean you can’t give yourself one. Make one up!!”
A few hours later a woman came out of an Irish bar on to the sidewalk where Savannah and I were standing, I gave her a light and she said to me “I want to be your mothah!” and then “Go do something amazing, change the world.”
More than all the religious and socio-political philosophical truths, I know that humans are only human with other humans. And we can only change when we step into the view of the other. The moment we see the point of view of someone unlike ourselves who is apart from us can we begin to understand we aren’t so different. The only way we can learn or affect the world is by changing ourselves.
I heard once that you don’t have to change the whole world to be marvelous, you only have to change one tiny world of someone else’s to make an impact. I hope to change a few, even if those worlds are just my immediate friends and family, I can be ok with that.
I won’t give up though, I’m revisiting my dreams of being a writer, a musician, an archaeology, a teacher, a lifelong learner. I am finding another path and I don’t walk alone, but I am connected with those I find, everyone’s whose path touches mine.
Those who are great most of the time never knew they were. They died, maybe for a cause to fight for the other and are remembered as great because they changed one tiny world, that created a wave to affect many. They weren’t great because they thought they were great, they are great we because we think they are. We think. Present active Indicative plural. We are plurality and individuality and we are being.
The lost art of really listening to people. The secret to it is we communicated with our bodies. Open stances or closed stances, fiddling and looking away, shifting glances, wild gestures or uncomfortable arm crossing. The saying “Actions speak louder than words” is a lot of the time true. That’s why reading body language helps tell us when we are being lied to or how people really feel versus what they are saying. A good listener can see these things. A true listener can start to understand someone better by these things. Seeing how a person responds physically can communicate their insecurities and their confidences, the things they like and dislike, and also whether they are extremely selfish or are relaxed and loving. Someone who really listens can see right through people.
Then sometimes silence (or the lack of action) speaks louder than words. Whether that inaction is someone saying one thing and doing another or being completely passive and not communicating at all.
That’s why I wrote a song called “Silence is death”
I wrote this because the lack of communication is a huge scream in itself. Crying silently, suffering in silence, sighing silently. It’s all a way of showing a burden, communicating pain or indifference. Especially indifference. “The silent treatment” is a way to communicate my pain that doesn’t need words to describe it. Everyone knows what it is. Everyone understands why. It’s because sometimes the amount of weight I’m carrying inside me is boiling under my skin and its turning my eyes red and soggy, its breaking me so much I can’t even speak. Sometimes the silence is necessary because I’m screaming so loud on the inside I can’t bear to speak anymore. Or maybe its the opposite, maybe it’s because the world and people around me are so loud I can’t handle the noise anymore so I stopped trying and shut down. Maybe I’m too tired of this sick mess to speak anymore. Words fall short of the things I want to say.
This is why people say things like this:
“If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so that it can hold evermore wonders.”
― Andrew Harvey
Sometimes its really hard to be bursting at the seems like this always. I take a chill pill and reseed into a happy numbness, which sometimes solves the problems and I start to see that I don’t have to hate and hurt from all the noise around me and inside me. I can let it out and in and breathe and be one with it or separate my self from it. Nothing is permanent. But I do wear my anger on my heart and not on my skin. I wear it on the inside where it festers and starts to boil again and I start my silence.
There’s a difference between serenity and being numb.
Communicating like this isn’t all there is though. Sometimes small talk and social interaction in the trivial pursuits can be a fueling ground for socialites or a draining all-consuming pit of terror. Sometimes I love to gossip and joke with my friends, and other times it tears me apart inside to hear idiotic and pointless words. I get so upset I give a silent tantrum and stop speaking to people.
‘Cause I’ve seen more spine on jellyfish
I’ve seen more guts in eleven year old kids
Have another drink and drive yourself home
I hope there’s ice on all the roads
And you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt
And again when your head goes through the windshield
Is that what you call tact?
You’re as subtle as a brick
In the small of my back
So let’s end this call and end this conversation
This is my problem. It leads to me never believing that others can love me, because I’m simply not worthy of it.
It isn’t women that I don’t believe though, I mostly trust girls. But I can’t trust guys, (sorry if this sounds sexist but… it has been my overarching experience through my life).
I’ve never been good enough for my dad, never strong enough to chop wood or athletic enough to draw the attention of my Dad’s dad, (my grandad). I was never good enough for a lot of guys I liked or dated in the past. There was always something about me that needed to change for them to be pleased. Mostly my body. I was never enough for a lot of other people because they wanted me to be there constantly, and well, I have a life I need to live too.
I’ve never felt good enough to love someone else because of this. As if I wasn’t worth enough to give someone else adoration. But then at the same time I’m too worthless not too, because everyone else must be more deserving than I to receive love. I’ve felt so unworthy in the past that I just summed it up to being incapable of loving others. Incapable of commitment and loyalty because I’m not good enough anyways.
“A Bed Full of Safety”
Even though I have no reason to really think I’m not enough right now. I know I’m talented, intelligent, strong, and mature, I can’t shake the feeling of never being good enough. I can’t help but remember that I couldn’t love, and I couldn’t truly be loved by others, I can’t stop feeling helpless in the fact that I’m just starting to live, just learning how to be.
But being isn’t easy.
I know I shouldn’t believe that I am not enough, but it’s hard to not believe it when I’ve disappointed so many people.
1. Some how reacquaint myself with Alejandro
2. Get more people to accidentally flirt with
3. Cuddle with everyone
4. Fail an audition
5. Environmental Science class is still not accomplishing anything
6.English Composition II is still not accomplishing anything
7. Be annoyed by my ENG II teacher
8. Talk to Dr. Teacher
9. Send love notes
10. Get rejected
11. Cry pitifully to oneself during class
12. Throw papers manically.
13. Throw oneself onto couch in desparity
14. Devise evil plans
15. Watch stupid videos
16. Facebook too much
17. Listen to depressing music
18. Argue with That Pirate Kid
19. Get Married
20. Disappoint my father
21. Dont drive
22. Drink a lot of tea
23. Microwave a lot of tea and meals
24. Eat alone
25. SHIT TON OF MOISTURIZER
26. LIP BALM
27. Have cold hands
28. Play guitar till my fingers almost bleed and my hand falls asleep.
30. Try to forget
31. Get depressed by the holidays
32. Cancel New Year’s Eve Party because I hate everyone
33. Unfriend a lot of people on facebook like a pro
34. Go shopping.
35. Video game therapy.
36. Block people on Xbox
37. Make new friends
38. Scrap four blog posts.
39. Pretend to do work .
40. Write long lists.
41. Go to Church
42. Send this link to people
These past weeks have really sucked. Not because nothing good happened, but because all the good things were spoiled by disappointments, and disaster took ever shining moment into a tainted crimson version of what it could’ve been. Which was a nice sepia, but that’s not what these weeks look like now, they are sad.
Lyrics that I relate to right now: (Here With Me by Dido)
Oh I am what I am
I’ll do what I want
But I can’t hide
I won’t go
I won’t sleep
I can’t breathe
Until you’re resting here with me
I won’t leave
I can’t hide
I cannot be
Until you’re resting here with me
“Let’s still be friends.”
Ha. You’re funny.
So maybe I’m not motivated at all to do things like:
1. finished the last 11 chapters of my Algebra 2 book.
2. Study for the ACT.
3. Be polite to certain individuals.
4. Learn how to control my emotions.
And all these things, I really need to do.
I need to finish my Algebra in order to graduate high school. I need study for the ACT in order to get good grades so I can apply to schools that are worth my time.
And another thing.
I’m feeling really useless. I’m feeling like nothing matters. I’m feeling like no matter how much I study, how much I learn, how much money my parents spend on my education, I will never be good enough. Doesn’t matter exactly what I’m “not good enough” for, but that I’ll never get there anyways.
Or maybe, I’m just hitting the cusp of my teen angst and there is no looking back now. Maybe these are my defining moments and I need to make the best of my algebra 2 and ACT while I still have time, or maybe this is just the end for you my friend. (New Found Glory). Sometimes I have a better hold of what I’m trying to say while I’m typing then when it actually is read… Context is all there is in my brain.
Then I heard this song, Selfless by New Found Glory, and they say “I’ll catch up on my sleep when I’m dead.” I really appreciate this. I dont get very much sleep anyways, since I think very well between 9pm and 2 am, but also that I like to get up at 9 and still enjoy a morning cup of tea and feel the morning breeze, and listen to the birds. I dont want to miss any second of the day, which means I dont want to be sleeping through the wee hours of the morning/night.
Yesterday’s check list:
1. Not know how to feel about who you had lunch with.
2. On one hand, they were acting fine, being fine, treating others kindly.
3. But on the other, they are also all those people you can’t seem to form a proper opinion of.
4. Question the definition of “proper”.
5. Environmental Issues was canceled so I made friends with my classmates in our empty time.
6. Reveal more about oneself’s life and hear about others more than you thought you should.
7. Here about That Pirate Kid’s strange summer sex.
8. Try not to look at The Fucking fuck face.
9. Be instructed by Dr. Teacher to contact Teemo.
10. Regret ever telling Dr. Teacher I still had his number.
11. Have bloodshot eyes, all day, errrday.
12. Be concerned about my own two faced actions,
13. I hate bisexual girls.
14. Why can’t they make up their minds.
15. I need better friends.
16. Crush on someone
17. Become irrevocably disappointed in myself.
18. Forget to reschedule counselling.
19. Don’t tell therapist about You’re In Fucking California X’s return……
20. Try to forget about it.
21. Cry because he doesn’t want to talk about it
22. Wonder why we have to “talk” about these things.
23. Forget exactly why I keep feeling this way.
24. Psychoanalyze self.
25. Remember that I like philosophy better.
26. Philosophize about why I’m like this.
27. Metaphysics sucks.
28. Is it Cause to Effect? Or Effect = Cause? ugh.
29. Listen to really bad indie music.
30. Have band practice.
31. Remember why I love music and laugh hysterically with my mates 🙂
(Yesterday) I got 2 A’s on my papers! 😀
Well, I had a really amazing weekend.
I’ve contemplated a lot of things that could go wrong in my life, such as a familial death, a disability, or my death. I posted before an entire list of how I want my funeral and burial to be done and also what way I would like to be proposed to, but I’ve never talked about what I fear.
I’ve thought how I might die one day. Whether it be in a giant catastrophe, a murder, a freak accident or a suicide. I’ve thought about being accidentally disemboweled by a lawn mower or chain saw. I’ve thought about what it would be like to be raped and murdered and what my family would be put through. I’ve thought about jumping off a roof and breaking my neck. I’ve thought about going splat on pavement.
I’ve dreamt about being deaf, blind, paralyzed, or riddled with cancer. I’ve thought about dying from AIDS, HIV, and many other horrible diseases. But I’ve never fully contemplated being any of those things.
Right now, I’ve met a new friend, he is completely blind. He also happens to be one of the most amazing people I know.
(Today Tuesday 15th of April)
I asked my friend what it was like to be blind and he said: “Its easy, just close your eyses.”
As simple as that.
I really like that. Even though its a little crazy, he still looks at me even though he cants see. It’s funny. He rolled his eyes at me once.
I have this fantasy now and then about what my funeral would be like. I have asked people if they also fantasize about this, but it seems not many people do it as often as I do.
It’s not that I want to be dead, or that I have an extreme interest in things pertaining to, associated, and related to death, but I do have an interest in the psychological idea of death. The philosopher’s analysis of death is very good, and I have found through much research in new and old texts whilst writing that mortality does have a meaning. It is not simply a curse or a new cycle of reincarnation (recycling back into mulch and outwards again.) nor is it a form of elimination to support evolutionists idea of survival of the fittest; mortality is all about moving on, living fully, and know if we all lived forever, what would it matter?
So what does it matter? That I will die, at a time where I will most likely be unprepared to die, my financial life will be a mess, and my last testament will most likely be written in an old diary from 8th grade. What does it matter that I could die tomorrow or not for 80 years? What does it matter that I think about my death, my mortality, my shelf life, my expiration date.
It matters because I am not living life avoiding my death. It matters because, I don’t say: “Yolo”, I say “I live once because living forever is meaningless, so I should make my small meaning especially perplexing, influencing and beautiful. ” I’ve been thinking about my own funeral everyday for a while now. How I want it to be, what the flowers will look like, what kind of decoration there will be, if I will insist people dress in rainbow or as animals or not… whether I want to be cremated or buried. If coffinated, will it be open? Will my mother die before or after me? What will my friends say? Who will cry the most at the altar? Who will throw a fit and punch my xboyfriends? I have questions.
Here is a list of what I think I want:
All flowers will either be rainbow, or black.
Chairs should be more like movie seats.
Pictures of me should be posted better than on poster board…
The podium should have vines all over it.
Attendees should either wear all white, all Rainbow, or if preferable, black.
ushers are encouraged to wear rainbow.
The service itself should be filled with what other people have to say about who I was, telling many stories, and presenting different items of writing/art/music that I liked or created. My family should have last words.
None of my xes are aloud to speak. (unless they rock)
If forcefully buried, coffin should be gratified so should grave. Please give me art on my place of “rest”.
I don’t believe that heaven arrival happens immediately after death… so I will just chill with Aristotle and Plato a tad… maybe have a chat with Parmenides and Heraclitus.