The Life of An Individual

Often times, I write in my thoughts. I seldom can explain sitting down what I write within myself. I realize this. I need to buy a voice recorder. Outside just now, I explained to myself what I'm feeling. What I'm going through. The cycle that is occurring for me in this place and time. 14 years is a long cycle. Drumming up the past. Solidifying what will come in the future. I know very well what I'm going through. These times are the only times when I am truly afraid. I keep everyone on the outside of the truth. They know some of what I am feeling but the deepest points are never reached. These are only for me. Somehow, I feel special. I feel like no one will understand. I don't even know how to begin an explanation. These pivotal points in my life are times when I can't and won't explain it. I take solace in books I've read and experiences of others who help me push through. The mundane bullshit is just the cover. The loves lost and the trivial malaise of gratuitous nonsense that simply gives a focal point to our madness. I'm really beginning to understand how I think. I'm also understanding how that process differs from others. Life is not an easy thing. Understanding why parents protect their children from the truth of life. To shelter them as long as possible. That time is the best of one's life. Any arguments on that point are mute. As an adult, one lives for those rare moments of happiness. The best of us do I guess. Those moments where the future is bright. When life is overshadowed by joy. You wish they would last forever and they never last long enough. And you become a little stronger. A little more bitter. And after you realize, you try with every ounce of yourself to push that bitterness away. This is a much more honest thing I'm' writing now. These times it's all I can muster. With tears for life. I really need to write. I'm not weak. My feeling is a conscious choice. I've lived the other side and it's much easier. The more honest I am, the more bullshit is cast aside. The conversations are much more meaningful. These are the things we should be discussing. This is the life we should be thinking about. Our goals and happiness given priority. Not settling for anything without weighing the options. And when it's enough, we leave it. We throw ourselves into the abyss for yet another time. And we will see where this one takes us.

late night

I was about to go to bed. Those times where you are very comfortable. I didn't want to turn on my computer. I wanted to drift into sleep. Happy. Warm. I looked at the footage I've shot over the years today with a friend. Christmas time it seems very fitting. And the thought I didn't want to let go. The thought about why I do what I do. I document life. What I do is save pieces of life. It is based in the medium of what I am interested in. Half asleep. Ending sentences in prepositions. Fuck! This is what I do. I shoot and save these things. I shoot and maybe only save on facial expression. 10 hours and 3 seconds seem important to me. I see a moment. It's different than a photo. It's not an interview. Nothing is being said. I look for a moment being lived. It's not sugar-coated. It's a real fucking moment. I can look back and see what it meant to me. They can look back and see what it meant to them if there is a human subject involved. I am keeping these things for me. I store them up and reflect. It is a moment of my life where I see something in someone. Or when I see something of beauty. This is the way I see my world. This is how I shape it. This is what choose after so much scrutiny to put into some form that will sustain. I can look back and see a short glimpse of someone's life that hold a great deal of meaning to me. I knew in that moment that I wanted to keep that memory. That is why I do what I do.

I just can't help it

A friend of mine, my first girlfriend actually, set me some of my old stories and poems. A was a sick little puppy to say the least. Here is something I wrote in 90. I looked through my old shoe boxes today with all my old photos and misc. writings. Fitting that's it during a time that is really difficult. It felt good. It also felt horrible. Letting go of people in my past. Memories of good times and bad. I guess I'm feeling a little older. I'm feeling like my youth is fleeting and eventually I will be old. I apologize for my elementary speech but I'm really feeling more than elaborating. This human experience. This looking back. It changes the way we move forward. It's essential. It tells us who we are and how we came to be that way. This shit is fucked up. My mind and the way I thought. Holy shit.

1990'(exactly how I wrote it)
Hi, how are you doing I'm not doing so good. I think I am going to kill myself. I do believe that I am going to torture myself first though. I want to feel the pain of m arm being stretched until has popped out of it's socket. I believe that I create the pain then I can ignore it. I am going to cut off my eyelids. I will then swallow them. When I throw them up I will stick pins in them and poke them back on. When I start bleeding I will the blodd run down my face into my mouth. I will then stick my fingers inside a clamp and cut into the bone in my arm. I will then get to the highest place I can and jump and land on my feet. When my legs snap like toothpicks I will sand my legs with a steel file until they bleed. With my one movable arm I will pour salt onto all my cuts and then pry them apart until all the salt is devoured into my skin and when it does it will turn red, blood red. I will then laugh at the excruciating pain. Then I will pull myself out into the road where my body will be run over until there is nothing left. I will then be happy because I am dead and no one person can cure me.

(I was a pretty happy 13-year-old I guess)

Times past and memories revived

Today, I walked outside to a pool of oil surrounding my car. After 3 hours of clean-up, I realized that I'm fucking stranded in the valley. I decided to open up my shoe boxes of memories and scan some photos. I also found some of my old writings and poetry wedged and tattered in the boxes. This one seemed fitting so I thought I'd start it with this. I think I wrote this when I just turned 19 or so.

Evil Aspirations

What is your motivation
To feel unwanted, illegitimate, unreal
And the new day comes
The night pushes in and your lust for blood
Abnormality never looked so good
Destined to be fucked because you're fucking yourself

Choosing the darkness because you think it's cool
The things you do, not felt but pictured
Contrived images, conjured, a construct
You're a falsity, a lie

I don't want to be the one to tell you you're wrong
Because it's a fact that I'm anything but perfect
I just want you to know that this path is obviously a wrong turn
You have no idea of where you'll be buried
After a year's time
We've come too far to give up
To turn away from the light
the darkness is so enticing
Because you never have to fight

Matters of the heart that are just becoming palpitations
Weaker, automated, and you are determined to turn from inspirations
The decisions you make and their purpose of distraction
And the construction of your possibilities added to the mix

Isn't it great to be numb
To turn your head from everything and subdue yourself with poison
You used to want a new perspective and so there was a new beginning
To the end that came without your recognition
Turn back because it's never too late, but we all know that what has passed is gone

Does it ever end?

Picturing this scenario at this time. Picturing this life. Picturing this day. What do you dream? What becomes of those dreams? And when you reflect, how do you feel about what you've become? When you are home and all the noise goes away, what do you really feel about your accomplishments? Have you made any progress? And as your look to the future, does it look more bleak than it did in the past? Are you more tainted than yesterday? My release is in my writing. On one hand, I should be writing this for no one to read. That is the thousands of journal entries I've written in the past. A living memoir of pain is how it would read. There are good times also but they get swallowed by the bad times. I think maybe I know that in part this is just me. This is the way I react to life. This is the way I over think everything. But that's the only way I will ever do it. Seeing five steps ahead. Seeming like an asshole and really I'm just trying to make my way. Feeling uncomfortable in public. I hate lines. People stand too close. Uncomfortable laughs because I don't know how to react. Mumbling because it just isn't worth it. And somehow, this is my life. And I search for the fire that lights me up. The conversation where I can't believe that someone could be so insightful. The connection that I see in another that makes everything else disappear. I think this is the human condition. This is what we all feel in our own way. The older I get, the more I understand. No shit right? But I thought I knew it all...the kid said. You don't know shit...the man replied. I'm still having new experiences. I'm still growing. I don't want to know what the future holds because of the progression to where I am. The weight is added. It's harder to carry now. And we carry it all with us. Whether we like it or not. Each passing day, it's more difficult to get out of bed. It's more difficult to shake it off and view the world with fresh eyes. That's all for tonight.

I've been looking through my old videos lately and this one always sticks out in my mind. Although I want to shoot myself for how I film some things and the fact I didn't color correct shit during this time, this is one of my favorite experiences editing. I was editing on the beach. I'd walk down to the water and take breaks. My friend's wife would cook for us and we'd all drink beer and have a good time at night while editing. We cut most of the parts for this video together. This was difficult and I wouldn't recommend it, but it worked out in the end. I still smell the air and remember that time so clearly. Super 8 projector and this ghetto ass transfer system. Fuck man, I wish it could always be like that.

It's all an experience

My emotions are always so mixed. Gemini I guess is the culprit. I listen to lyrics that define what I'm feeling. I suppose that is why I love music so much. A Kashmir song "california" explains exactly how I'm feeling, what I'm learning in my life about relationships, and points me in the right direction. I picture myself going insane singing this song in front of an audience and them watching me to the point of disgust. Disgust that I really don't care at all what they think of me. In general, I really could care less about what strangers think of me. It won't have any effect on my life. The people I care about are the people I choose to care about. The people worthwhile in my mind and judgments. The people who are worth my time and energy. I'm so fucking fortunate to have these people. I realize that most people really don't. Not like those who care about me. Maybe that's why I try so hard. Maybe that's why I am the person I am. A good person. These people are responsible for making me who I am. Reinforced my compassion and kindness. Then I am faced with the other side. Basically, this whole city. I can't remember the last time I saw a smile returned from my uncomfortable "hello" into a face of disgust. Instead, I get a "what the fuck are you saying hello to me for" look. I can't pass someone and look into their face without saying something. I've resorted to looking down and not having to worry about relating to humanity...because I don't relate here. I live in uncomfortable skin, but it's just the way I am. I won't let this place break me down and turn me into one of them. I don't know why someone would. They lose sight of any truth they had in themselves. Day by day, they fail themselves. Convert and become that way. Busy. Insincere. Ambitious. Opportunistic. Disgusting.

Short and Sweet

I've noticed I tend to be a tad long-winded...no shit right? Was going to write an email and decided it was a much better idea to write here instead. Fuck it is the phrase I guess. Ride it out because I must. Look at the horizon and all that bullshit. I'm better off this way. I forget how decent of a person I am sometimes. How much I'm worth underneath the sea of self-deprecation. And against the bombardment of judgments. It's all going to come back to me. This time my focus and drive is much stronger. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm actually growing up. It's about fucking time.

How I'm feeling

Sometimes, everything feels bland. You turn the music up as loud as you can because you think you might be able to feel something. You don't eat for a couple days because it just doesn't seem to be worth it. You stay in bed all day because why would you want to get up anyway. Instead, you pacify yourself in a half-awake dream state because that's the only time you dream. Somehow in the back of your mind, you tell yourself that this is for the best. Even though your experience is like a blaring siren about what the future now holds. Revisiting the pain of the truth. All the worries and self judgments becoming exposed as the blanket of emotion is slowly removed. When you focus on the end in the beginning, you cut yourself off. How do you change the way in which you think? How do you become oblivious to things that are sitting right in front of you? Is it really possible to just close your eyes...to close your thought? How do you do that? The best that one can do is just decide to go ahead with it. To hope that you're wrong even though you are never fucking wrong. To try and enjoy what you have until the day comes when it disappears. When your vision becomes truth.