Aged past

Oh for goodness sakes, this website is such a relic.
It's like fooking back in time at some vague me that used to be.
I wonder why we all think our self is so eternal, it sure seems to change pretty often to me.
Or maybe there is always only one me that is the same and governs everything I do, but the details of how and in what way change every second.
Like culture for a country.
Or our very body itself.
Or the fabric of everything, constantly falling apart as fast as it's remade: everything consistantly changing.

Forgive and Forget

Hey Secret, I have a secret for you. There has not been 50 years of strong women. There has been 50 years of subdued women; of enslaved women; of women as a commodity.
And yet everybody seems to dissagree and play along with this see-through image of happiness and freedom for all that America continues to spout from it's shit-encircled mouth.
We're the ones eating it.
Everything is great, everything continues forward. Progress keeps climbing up it's mountain until we get so high up that all love and emotion freezes and we die cold and weary.
There is nothing really bad. If there is any conflict we can solve it right now.
There's nothing that resulted from anything in the past that has built upon centuries of hatred or discrimination with a hide so thick it would be nearly impossible to break through.
History has never meant anything.
The future isn't real.

Invasion, what?

Seeing as the boy never updates, I have made the executive decision to take over for a brief stint of time, informing all interested and perplexed parties of vital information about the the boy's life.

Ok, so not really. But at least we will be able to look at something new instead of the post that the boy randomly decided to actully tap out about three years ago.

Here goes nothing. And ps: ignore any German you may find; it's only a bad habit.

The excursion begins in a week. Packing, obviously, ought to begin today. Es ist mir egal. Instead, we will probably go out of town and goof around. Eventually, however, seriousness will indeed have to set in. There is a room to pack and a small-ish car to try and fit it all in. And, there is a party to be on time for and a country to traverse.

Then rooms to fill and boxes to pack and things to try and organize and coordinate and jobs to try and locate. That, I fear, will probably be the hardest part. But fear not, all will be well (and warm) in sunny so cal... especially with no a/c.

The first on the hunting list is probably coffee or music. Both are equally loveable; both are equally daunting. Life, it seems at times, can be daunting. But this isn't the place for great philosophical discussions on the state of humanity or the resiliance of certain individuals or the collaborative strength in groups. Actually, this isn't even the place for ... well, much of anything in my case (as I'm not actually the author).

So, this should probably come to a close, as I have little else to say and want to resist turning this into some rant of something that will merely work to confuse my (or rather his) audience. Also, as he will wake up sooner or later and it wouldn't be proper form to be caught red-handed, as the saying goes.

Therefore Adieu,
(The Illustrious) RaliKat

Lapse in thought

So my days of waking up and thinking, "How can I fill this empty day ahead of me?" are over. So my days of equating bright sunshine and warmth as a walking-day are done.
I go downtown to be around people. To be there. Does that make sense?
I go to just be there because it's somewhere.
I wake up to wake up and be alive and when it's a nice day I go and enjoy it and I smell it and I breathe it. And when I'm walking somewhere I feel alive. But not to nowhere, I walk somewhere and I make it there and I've done something today. I went somewhere and I was there and it was a nice place and then I went somwhere else. I tasted this and smelled this and read this and listened to this and saw this. I live sensually: taking advantage of what we can sense and so going out and sensing it.
Ah, but that is momentarily over. I am working. I am getting up at a time that I've been told to get up at and going somwhere to do things that I am told to do.
And it's ok. But eventually I am going to go back to waking up when I feel it and doing what I feel and listening to the world speak in it's various ways.
And I will sow seeds.
And I will tend my garden in peace and watch my seeds grow into beautiful plants.
And be happy.

Ah, the unconventional life.

"But Widge! You are destined for greatness! It should be so easy for you to succeed! You are so brilliant!"
But, no.
Instead, I will fail by most people's eyes,
I will take the job that doesn't show success,
I will live without the level of routine that a successful man lives,
I will waste away my time with art and creation,

and be so much happier than you.

A sadly dying vehicle

I think nature has started to pick up on my habits for I was greeted by a warm Japanese chord as I stepped to the porch (The Mad Grabber will know what I mean if he ever reads this).

Today life just makes sense and I seriously think it has to do with my few hours of sleep. It's happened before.

Today I had to take a certain new car back to a certain rather expensive dealership to have it messed with by cerain rather expensive tools (but cheap labor I'm sure). It's a nice color, I'll give it that. Also, the speedometer goes to 160 (using the American scale, I might add) so I can expect that it has a rather nice amount of power, so I'll give it that too.
It was a little awkward going to the front desk of a room filled with desks all facing out in a big corridor of desks so that you walk behind everyone's back as they sit (at their desks) with their headsets talking to hopefully prospective customers but throwing glances at you as you walk because, with a headset, you are not as tied down and, I find, tend to look about the room or at other things. I wish I could have thrown "desk" in that sentence a couple more times. Anyway, it was a little awkward going to the front desk of said room and asking for who turned out to be the manager and walking past all the little desky people straight to the back to the "man in charge" but that was my biding. More awkward was my choice of aged clothing. Revolver t-shirt and written-on pants? Silly me. You don't go to a Bent- whoops I mean, a certain rather expensive dealership in those kind of clothes. Everyone else wears suits and ties and holds a cell phone to their face between chatting to the salesmen/women.
And then I was taken to the "lounge" with orange modern leather chairs but with a certain neo-classical feel what with the persian influenced rug (although it may have been Victorian influenced, my art history knowledge is rather vague) and definately European carved coffee bar. Yes, complimentary coffee, as most dealerships are apt to offer. But not "pour it yourself!" pots of regular and decaf. And not even exiting flavored coffee.
Espresso.
Served by attractive and young European women, no doubt hired for mostly just those descriptors.
I think to myself, "What the hell am I doing in a place like this?" and this thought is only compounded when I have this urge to get up and tap the vacuuming girl on the shoulder, pass off the cafe latte, relieve her of her vacuum, and continue the job myself.
When finally the keys to my long forgotten "little, red shit-box" (a phrase which, ironically, contains more reminiscence of the Little, Red Schoolhouse Nature Preserve than something negative) arrived, I was pointed in the direction of the porsche lot. "Right there between the porsches. See it?"
"Yeah, it's the only crappy one, got it."
And yet upon reaching the car, unlocking the door, plopping my stuff on the seats, and turning it on: oh heavenly joy! I found myself delighted once again with its handling, its responsiveness, its sounds, its smell.
Taking it to an old favorite diner was bliss. The drive was unlike any drive I have driven in what seems like many driving years, although it probably is only less than one year because I was only just recently having to drive it all over the place. How is it that I could have forgotten what joy the "little, red shit-box" gave me? Could it be that the loud-stereo, power locks, power windows, eight cylinder carrying beast that is my hypocritical bane had lured me into complacency? Ah but, the ease of travel, the comfort within, the amenities!
And yet, after many months of driving it, a few hours of driving an old, beat-up, amenity-less car proved so much more satisfactory.
Like making my own meal versus going out and buying one (yeah, you like how I tied in the last post? Booya.)
But my satisfaction will be shot down unless I have the faith of the widow of Zarephath (maybe some of you will know what I mean).
If I don't, the I lament the loss.
Both in possesion and in character.

Foolish me

Why do I go out to eat when I can make such pleasant dishes at home for cheaper?

Start with spinach fettucini. Add some garlic-roasted alfredo sauce and some stir-fried red, yellow, and orange peppers and mix it all up. Garnish it with some dried romano, parmesean, whatever-suits-your-fancy cheese and a couple of peices of whole wheat bread (Hot chocolate powder, tomatoe, or lime not used).
Seriously, readers, make sure to poke and prod me about doing this more often for I would be a fool not to.

Enjoy your childhood while you can

No, Brandon, you are talking about infatuation. I understand why they say, "High school never ends."
Right now, in a college class, we are getting our pictures taken and having to say where we are from and what our greatest fear is to everyone.
I think maybe I can't do school well because I am always judging how well I'm being taught. Maybe I should do that as a job.
Why do we insist that the cart drag the horse along the road?
Colleges want to offer varied programs to their prospective students because the education system, in true capitalist form I might add, is a competitive feild. But then, instead of what capitalism enthusiasts claim happens, competition does not yeild awesome results. Instead, the schools, in an attempt to keep with paying their increasingly large bills, take whoever they can to fill the positions the programs require, regardless of if that person is really the best suited.
And then you get to sit in a class and be read power point presentations.
Competition pushes people to cut corners, settle for cheap imitations, and just cheat over all in order to make sure that they come in on top.
And sure, if people kept integrity, maybe this wouldn't be an issue. But because the majority don't, if you do, you get fucked.
Happy birthday future generations.

Poor uncultured America

I like how we in America claim that we don't have a culture all to our own or that our lack of culture is the culture. I think it is this supposed lack of culture that drives us to try and "experiment" with many other well-defined cultures' cuisine. Indian, Asian, Italian, and even Ethiopian. But we know rather commonly that what we call "Chinese food" isn't. Neither is Thai, Japanese, or any other Asian food we like to eat with chopsticks and in little bowls. Nor is Italian food really Italian food, and that I can claim pretty assuredly, seeing as I went. It's more like the people who start these restaurants only use the "Chinese" or "Italian" or whatever as a basis for a few ingredients or the staple (rice, semolina, noodles, nan, etc.) and then make something that actually just appeals to the people in the area.
I'm not saying anything new here, I've heard it a bunch of times. But then why do we deny that we have our own culture and taste and general area of things that appeal to our tastes? If not, what are the restauranteers aiming for? Why don't they just make the food the same way they would back in China / Italy / Greece / etc. "where they came from" because we also all know that ethnic restaurants are operated by people from the area the food is claiming to be from?
"Growing up with a lack of culture in America": I've heard that a bunch of times too. Maybe other countries, in Europe or Africa for instance, notice their unique culture because of their close relations to other countries with different cultures. With France being right next to Germany and having warred against them most of the time they've existed, clear definitions in the two countries cultures start to form. Maybe if America paid more attention to the huge difference it has to other countries clear definitions would form for its culture.
Not even! Just think about the different regions of the country. The South has its own culture surrounding it, the East coast has its own, California has two (NoCal and SoCal), Washington and Oregon have their own as well. How many have I missed? You can pick them out yourself without much thought.
How is this a lack of culture? More like we are brimming with it.

Remember Andrew? Well he has an interesting childhood too.
Andrew's father was the richest person of his time and everyday Andrew's father would give him money: always enough to feed himself with and save a little with to buy monthly costs. But not only did the money fufill his routine needs, there was also always a small portion that Andrew didn't need. So Andrew saw that there were other children without fathers as rich as his so he used this last little bit to help out people around him. Now Andrew had many brothers and sisters and, at first, they all followed Andrew's example and their town flourished with abundance because of Andrew's family's generosity.
One day, Andrew's father went out on a business trip. Before he left he showed his wife where he kept the fortune and gave her careful instructions as to how to portion it out to their children. Then he said goodbye to his family and left.
At first, his wife was just as warm and generous as he and the town continued to prosper. But one day as she looked at her meager attire and her modest decor she thought to herself, "I am the wife of the richest man in the world: I should look better than this."
And so she began to give less money to her children and began saving up for silk curtains on the windows, new paint for the walls, new dresses to wear in public and new cars and new everything. Everything was glamorous and everything shined in the bright sun. Soon she thought to herself, "If I look this glamorous and my children look like beggars on the street, what will people think of me?" and she began demanding that her children buy the nicest clothes and keep in with the latest fashions. Soon her children realised that with their mother giving her less each day and them having to spend what they did get on expensive clothes, they would have to get jobs to support themselves, which they did.
Except Andrew. Andrew refused to buy nicer clothes with his money and instead gave the same amount he always gave to the people around him and used what was left to squeeze a living out. He was eating barely anything at all when his mother called to him one day, "Andrew, you look terrible," she said.
"I haven't much to eat these days," he replied.
"Well, my dear boy," his mother said, "you'd do well to get yourself a job. You will need one when you are out on your own. I can't keep you in this house any longer. You are bringing down the image I am trying to maintain. As wife of the richest man in the world, I can't have a dirty child living in my house. Goodbye."
And with that he was out on the streets.

And, within a few weeks, he was in the sorry state you met him in.

I am leaking all over

You know, I've never had a single pill that helps with my sinus allergies. But that's ok, I don't like taking pills anyway.
It has nothing to do with the horse-chokingly large pills or the "dead person" flavor*.
It's more the medieval-person-in-the-modern-world-"Dear-Lord-what-are-these-rolling-iron-beasts-and-magical-boxes-with-people-in-them?!" thing.
Anyway, due to my lack of proper medication, my sinuses are, as usual, commiting their year- wait, monthly suicide. Maybe the intermitant peace I get is when they've succeeded in snuffing it (no pun intended) and my body is regenerating new "snot pockets" (a pocket of snot, good to go!).
Damn my sinuses. Damn them so hard.


*Cemetary Fresh! One of three new flavors! Try out: "Cat Bladder" and "Laundry Detergent" Available today!!

Happy Halloween

too much expense

Is it wrong of me to think the "online disaster training module" for Red Cross is laughable and mostly useless?
Honestly, I want to help already, you don't have to set up attacks on my sympathy.
Anyway, so I'm going to see about getting down to New Orleans because I got really annoyed at the idea that I am just lazily comfortable up here and there are a lot of people dying down there.
Also because I was disgusted by a rather rich mall while in "Talbots" seeing trousers for ~$80 and jackets for ~$100 and shirts for ~$50 and by expensive (admittedly tasty) food at a rich restaurant with rich smiling laughing people.
If someone who reads this has good advice about ways to help out down there (as in actually going) they can give some of that info if they so please (hint hint Jessica, I think you would know this kind of thing).
On a side note (I do this too often), money sucks because even when you are just spending it on necessity you will run out eventually.
I enjoy "I Love Huckabees" too much.

"It's okay."

It's scary enough when you haven't done anything to necessitate forgiveness. But when you need it from people who don't like you, there's not much hope.

great, now I look real responsible

Damn you Denver.
Damn you and your damn October snow.
You took the only day of the week that I was wanting to really do my best in and destroyed it.
Now I have to feel guilty and hope that I will be forgiven. I'm on a short leash with these people as is, Denver, do you want me to be unaccepted?
You've got some explaining to do.

Anyway, as a side note, I think airports should make their arrival pickup loop as big as possible, like a 15 minute loop, so that when you are waiting to pick someone up you don't go insane from going around it fifty times stuck behind the same 2 mph going sap.

Blessings

These past few weeks I've been at my old high school academy, being a general helping hand or helping mind as the need dictates.
9-5 with no pay for using my talents as best I can in a place I love with people I love.
How could I do better?

Creation, Destruction

I don't want half of what I have. But the question is: will I take it with me anyway only so that someone else isn't hurt that I don't use their gift?
Can't we just forgoe our emotional attachment to things? It would make having to pack so much easier.

So there's this guy. Let's call him Andrew. Ok, so he's hungry and in debt and on the streets and looking all mopey when a guy comes up, we'll call him Nathan. So Nathan looks at him and his heart is moved. So he goes out and buys Andrew a fish, gives it to him, and leaves with a word of blessing. Andrew eats it gratefully and is happy for a bit.
But the next day he is hungry again and still in debt. So this time he thinks, Why don't I learn how to fish so I can get fish everyday? So he goes down to the dock and sees a guy walking back from his boat with a bucket full of fish. We'll call him Chandler. So Andrew goes up to him and says, "Can you teach me how to fish?" And Chandler takes a look at him and laughs, "You? Look at your phisique! Your arms are way too weak. But I suppose you could work out or something. What about your pole? Do you even have a pole?"
"Well no but I-"
"No no, that's definately a must. And if you want to catch anything good you had better get a Bassmaster Pro 185. It's probably the best pole out on the market. Anything else just isn't worth using."
Chandler looked him up and down, "Look, it's nice that you want to learn to fish but I just don't think you are made to. You'd do better to learn to pick up people's garbage or do janitorial work or something. I mean, maybe years and years from now you might have enough money."
So Andrew thanked him for being honest and left the dock to go back to where he was sitting because he knew he would never have enough money to get a nice rod or a boat and so he gave up on that idea.
Soon after that a young girl came up to Andrew. We'll call her Wendy.
"I saw you asking that guy: you want to learn to fish?" she said.
"Yea, well I did, but I don't have the money really."
"What? Don't be ridiculous." and so she spent the rest of the day with Andrew crafting a small rod and they went out near the docks and fished and she showed him all the tricks and techniques. And then the next day Wendy came back and fished with Andrew all day again.
And everyday after that in fact.

mind and body

Lately I have been trying to expand my musical library. 6 cds in 2 days? You might say I'm suceeding but it is really only 3 new bands.
Ugh, music is such an issue.
If I ever record stuff I don't think I would feel comfortable asking for money for it because art should be free and why should I be paid for things I love to do?
But I will (albiet grudgingly) pay for cds in the store and don't even like getting them free off file-sharing networks. I do want to support bands but I don't feel like a musician should expect support.
Whatever happened to having practical skills and letting that be your job?
I feel so cheated: no one taught me how to fix things around the house or even how a house works, no one taught me how to garden, no one taught me how to fix a car, no one taught me anything physical.
I have been taught to think and explain and reason and love.
But what am I supposed to do?

Role call

I'm really not in the mood to post. I am tired, bitter, cranky, and feeling humid and gross right now. So less than anything is my need to post right now. But I am going to inflict myself upon you anyway.
Actually I just want to ask who reads this. So when you read this post either comment in the thing or send me an email if you don't know how to comment. I just am curious to see.