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Dedalus86
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Name: Jon
Country: United States
State: Georgia
Birthday: 12/4/1986
Gender: Male
Interests: Reading, Piano, Sports, Movies, Music, you name it, I love it.
Expertise: Dave Matthews Band, Chopin, The Boston Red Sox and most classical literature.
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  chopinmaniac86
Member Since:
5/12/2004
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| So I guess I've been thinking a lot about friends recently. Of course
the obvious part of this is that I have ben missing my friends from
college. I thought strongly about trying to see some of them who were
in my area before I go to Italy, but I don't think that i am going to,
I would rather just leave it at that, leave it as the last time I saw
them being my exit from Athens. The bottom line is that I don't want
to get used to them being here in Alpharetta before I have to leave and
not be in contact with anyone for 8 weeks. So, just for the record,
Tyler, Drew, Caitie, Samantha, Taylor, Mariel, et al., I miss you guys
so much, and when I do get back from Italy, I am going to see all of
you.
Now, on to the more philosophical discussion on what I
have been thinking about friends recently. I have been thinking this
based on many recent developments that, for some reason, have surprised
me. The basic idea is that of the fact that some people, some people
whom I have treated horribly, or whom I have had an extremely large
amount of drama with, have recently come back into my life. It makes
me wonder, what exactly is a real friend. Is it the people that you
spend all of your time with, or is it the people that you cannot
imagine not being in your life. Is it the people that you seem to
always be around, or the people that you seem to constantly be going
back to, no matter how much you try to stay away. Is it those who you
ask to help you in your worst times of need, or those who you push away
in those same times because you are so afraid of hurting them?
I don't know the answers to these question, but I do know that I am
incredibly thankful for these recent developments, and that in the past
couple of days, I have realized that there are some people out there
that really do care about me, and that are willing to constantly
forgive my mistakes because they want so badly to believe that I am the
person they believe me to be.
I want to be that person. I am going to be that person. | | |
| And so it might go, as one would walk into the cathedral, shuddering in
a deafening blackness as one tiny thread of light cascades though the
door, casting a dim echo of gloom on a corridor of emptiness. It might
seem to keep everything to itself, to greedily hoard the sun in a room
so small when it could escape and serve to brighten the entire world.
It might seem, but it would not be, for through no fault of its own,
the sun was stolen away, imprisoned by the selfishness and
righteousness of everyone around it. It might draw one towards it as a
burning bulb entices a fly to its death. Helplessness is not a fault;
it is a fate.
And so it might go that one would gravitate
towards that star even knowing the death that it would bring. It might
happen that the door would be thrown open so that for a moment it would
radiate ten thousand times brighter, blinding everything outside in an
instant of perfect bliss. But that instant would be gone in that same
moment, and as it was adjusted to, the scene inside would seem just as
dark and terrible as the one entering it.
And so quite a
contrast might be created inside the vault, a thin path of brilliant
neon blue crosses and golden tear-drop pinpricks of fire. Flowers
carefully placed beside the pews, serving as tokens of worship to a
hidden Goddess. And so one's own journey is already decided, one's own
fate is already certain.
And so, upon stopping, upon reaching
the center of the radiance that so surely drew one in, an end might
also be in sight, a single white lamb strewn across a bed of stone. And
just as that same fly might feel the heat of the burning bulb, so might
one kiss the lips of the sacrificed.
And so one might shed a
tear, but at the same time grit a smile as the vial is emptied into his
mouth, bringing with it an inner peace that could not be found in the
darkness or in the light. One might die in the arms of that same lamb
and deem oneself lucky.
And so the lamb might issue a cry that
tears through the light, echoing upon the walls with a force so much
greater than all the mourning that had taken place before. And so she
might reach for the only answer left, and so she might pull the trigger.
And
so the porcelain angels might look on from above and shed singular
tears of frivolity and waste, that so much innocence, so much beauty
could fail to bring light to the world.
It is not so much a tragedy as it is a reality. It is a realization that I have come to. | | |
| Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
-George Santayana
I believe in this quote, which is why I had kept up every entry that I
had ever written on my xanga. But I have reviewed my past, and I
have learned all that I can from it. It is now time for me to
start over. It is time for me to create my future. Here I
go.
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