The trouble with love is...

There really isn't one. Seriously.

I mean, there are bits that get glossed over. And awkward silences between friends.

But love is, in the end, what it is. Rather powerfully binding, love.

You...make that connection; you feel that attraction, and it's all you can do to see things objectively anymore.

So it's a struggle. An internal one; one that you fight with yourself about the definition of the world. Usually you spend a lot of time and energy on the debate and wake up the next day wondering what the hell you were thinking. But usually you see things as....

...shinier, than they are. At first. And then when endings come you remember them as duller than they were. The debate is a way of focusing your picture of your own life.

It gets out of control sometimes. Sometimes. So you have to be careful, with love. The human brain is too powerful a device to be given a task as straightforward as love.

But I guess it's all we've got. That and our gut. And respective plumbing, but that's no help.

So be careful, with love. You tend to start chewing and end up eating two days' rations in one night, so to speak.

But make sure you enjoy the flavor. Savor the taste, for god's sake. It's as good a touch as you'll feel in this world of blades and bludgeons.

Oh, and happy new year!

A debt has long been owed, and will this day be paid.

I'm very sorry for not posting any really internal stuff for quite a while. I've had other creative outlets, lately, and also little time.

But, today I feel chilly on the arms and overly warm on my head, and it's like I did something wrong and no one's telling me what. Or why, really; no one's telling me why.

That is not necessarily what's *really* going on, but I am so very confused right now about what really happens in this messy, ever-shattering world.

SO confused..

TRL!

http://members.cox.net/impunity/endofworld.swf
http://www.hackernetwork.com/flash/stickdeathx.shtml
http://illwillpress.com/
http://www.rathergood.com/

thank you, mary.

This life is odd. Is this the way it's always going to be: A few hours of happiness surrounded by a bunch of wierd, bad, draining, icky-time?

I'm not discontent, I suppose, but I don't wholly like it. Sigh. I hate having a long break looming ahead, because then you want to skip time. I don't like not wanting to live my life; skipping the less desireable bits to get to what I like.

Natural, I 'spose. But I don't like it.

It is too early.
I did not memorize my monologue.
I cannot care about that right now, but I want to.

Everything is ok, though. Last night was wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful break from (to?) reality.

I wish all of you Evan's Tuesday Nights o' Happiness. God bless us, everyone!

Mary has something to say:

poooooooooooooo

"i have little time for this", said the schnazzily dressed cassanova

I really don't. I have to write this and an email in like ten minutes.

I found Glenna's blog. I really don't feel all that bad about reading it, even after she asked me not to. I guess I just like to know what people are thinking. And if they put it online, it's fair game, isn't it?

I guess that's not true, but still. I have little idea what her life is like; it's good to find out how people have decorated their room, you know?

This weekend is gonna be an absolute *blast*. Nothing can go wrong. Outside of curfews, that is...

...four....more....days *gasp*!

wasted

Today officially felt like a wasted day. Not in that I didn't do some *very* worthwhile things, but I certainly didn't do enough of them. It just kind of trickled past. I hate those days.

Like trying to drink out of a seive when you're not all that thirsty for what you're drinking. It's really too bad.

But it's my fault. I should have gotten my chores done; now I'll have to get up early and do them all before I go help Ben at church. Blech.

But good times are on the horizon. Other than Sierra working at the exact time of day that I am available and in town, the only complaint I have about tomorrow is that it's already here. I like listening to mellow services and going to Acoustic and not having to deal with the real world for a short while. I mean, not deal with it in the nitty gritty sense. Deal with it very much in the spiritual/political/abstract sense.

No chores, no deadlines, no hassle. Just thinking and soup and tastefully obscure or classy music filtering into your head from who-knows-where at a downtown coffee shop.

WWWWWWWWWhat a school year it's BEEN so far. It makes me giddy in a very calmed way to realize what I've done and what I've experienced since summer. I can honestly look back on the summer Evan, with his job and car and college friends and being the best at things and say that he had nothing compared to what I have now.

Such is life, eh? The more you get of it the better it is, I guess. If you think about it, that is. You can't just live for 150 years and expect to have an awesome life. You'd have to examine everything, constantly. I think that's one reason I overanalyze things and get depressed a bit by them; because I see everything's importance skewed, and it makes it hard to be on the same level as the rest of the world. As other people.

Hah! (or perhaps Ho!?) I wrote a letter to Santa today. It's clever and slightly caustic, in my own special little way.

Christmas songs are *wonderful*. They really are. The serious, beautiful ones about the night and stars and cold, endless, snow-love. Not like "Jingle Bells". Silent Night and such; the one with the bells....

wow. Just...purity. Musical purity.

Makes you think, though? About which "style" of music is the "best", in a good/bad sense. Like, good/evil. I think Christmas songs are probably very high. Honoring someone who gave their life for your salvation is...well, besides romantic it's *very* in tune with our driving, biological forces. Or, at least, the major one: survival. But...lifted beyond organs and reproduction and genetics and tooth and nail. Beauty and art and good-ness and the very soul of our culture is pricked out upon the flesh of humanity; perfect pearls of blood; pearls of beauty. Unsmeared and shining in the starlight.

Oh, this season affects me so. I think I am growing deeper, the deeper I sink in the snow, the more I doze as the snow comes to rest over my body; the more I lose focus on the plastic of the keyboard, the cold of my wet shoes, the chill of the glass door. I see them for what they herald, and not what they feel like, but how they feel as I lose them to the world.

You can feel your own body, almost, wrapped in snow and isolation and the cool. You can feel it as if you were the only thing left; the only pulsing, warm, breathing thing in a world of crunchy foam.

It's a very special thing.

I said I must be fine, 'cause my heart's still beating

That is exactly how I feel. Everything very good and everything rather bad is happening very quickly, and I just can't seem to care about the worse things. Applications and all are...they're hard to finish. I mean, I'm sitting here typing and not finishing them. Sooooooo clooose.

But they will be done before Christmas break. It's really just little things that I have to ask my parents about.

Shit, Oberlin has an INSANE application. They don't accept the common application, and they ask a lot of stuff about your parents and have a couple essays and stuff. Whoof. I'm freaking out a little about the Teacher References, 'cause none of the teachers I gave them to I know very well. I don't know *any* of the teachers in this school very well, except for Walker, and he's not here anymore. I should have sent him one...

Nah, that'd've been weird. It's like one of my cousins on the East Coast asking for me to be a reference for him for a job; it just wouldn't work.

But I do like that all of them seemed pretty happy to do it. The reccomendations, that is.

You know, sophmore year or something, someone told me that letters of reccomendation weren't required, and that colleges hardly looked at them...

...riiiiiight...

That's like someone saying the military isn't interested in your criminal record if you're joining. Total crap, that.

Well, I officially really freakin' want an automobile. I hope those of you who do have one appreciate it, because it's a HUGE improvement in quality of life. Huge.

I tire of this. I really should do some essay-writing...

Many of the sentences I begin have no point, but they turn into interesting, true things. I like that.

Have any of you ever had a time when everything seemed to go right? Not just for you, but for the world?

Nothing mattered tonight; nothing could phase me. I very seldom feel this way, but I feel very good about it when I do. Very, very good.

Parents, however, are not my favorite of creatures. I appreciate what they do for us young'uns, but I also "appreciate" the fact that they make some things so difficult. Porn, for example, or staying out late.

All of this gibberish is just me skirting around the fact that I had the most wonderful night I've had in a very long time, and perhaps the one I've felt the best about ever. Not the best, felt the best about. No doubts, no regrets; nothing happened that I didn't make happen. It's like living on your own, you know? That feeling. The feeling that sure, you have to get up and make coffee, but if you don't then there won't *be* any coffee. And while that only really matters to you because you're the only one there, it's still good to be able to decide NOT to make it.

I'm having a very difficult time delving into my thoughts; they're just skimming around on the surface. So I'll bid you adieu, and wish you all a wonderfully wonderful weekend. I believe that it will be sort of like that for me.

PS: I hope karma is a lifespan thing, not a intra lifespan thing, because I've used it all up, up until break.

Memory

In the future, you will be able to save the neural impulses from your eyes and pass them on to other people. Other parts of your body, too. You could run a blow-job program you downloaded off the net in your headware in the middle of class. How cool would that be?

But the reason for starting this out like that was to say that I wish I could share with you the beauty of freshly fallen, snowboard snow being shovelled in the night. Oh, it's like glitter and icees and flour and...snow is an element. Officially, right now.

Why do I love it so much? It's kind of odd. I guess I've just missed it, what with mind-numbing school insanity and the bleak weather. It makes it a lot more bearable, the snow.

I feel bad. I'm getting a C in art when I should be getting an A. I didn't hand in a lot of the intro to drawing assignments, and now it's biting me in the ass. I've lost a lot of motivation, too. I wish we could have quarter-long classes. A lot of them you could complete that quickly.

I feel good. I'm making it to the end of hell and the beginning of break. The change of pace, no matter how hectic, will be welcome. It's reassuringly tedious at Kendall (where my grandparents live, in Ithaca), so I'll get some rest and opportunity to be arty, so it'll be restful.

I can't wait for next year. I can afford to get plastered on New Years in college, but Dylan would devour my soul if I got caught. It'd be bad.

I need to go for now.

Odd.

I have a lot of stuff going on. Too much. Way too much. But I feel really good. I haven't eaten since last night (it's lunch time now), and I have practice, and colledge apps are sucking the soul out of my body, and there's a take-home test due, and I can't find the goddamn poem that the essay (due today) is on...

...But I feel good.

It's snowing. Beautiful, huge, fluffy, clumps tumbling down through the cold like streamers in water. It's gorgeous outside. Absolutely gorgeous.

Merry Christmas season, everyone. It's gonna be a great one.

I am TIred...

That seems to be a common theme with everyone these days. Things seem to loom more in the dead of winter than they do in the summer. The edges melt into the background and instead of seeing a lot of good things and one bad thing, you see everything as bad except some better things...like, a lot of black with some grey-ish patches.

...and a few very, very bright lights, that illuminate the bad things and shed light on what is really around you.

I miss warmth that is not uncomfortable. I miss walking around barefoot. I miss waking up in the morning with birdsong instead of my alarm clock; with light filtering through the oaks instead of cold worming its way under my comforter.