A roller coaster

              Throughout this life, this one chance as far as I know, we try to make ourselves happy.  Whether we hurt others, whether we please others, it's almost like we feel the need to help ourselves first.  Those who help others are, in fact, making themselves feel better through this seemingly "self-less" act.  I am the most egotistical person I know.  there's a joke in there for all of you... 

                 I have put myself on this roller coaster, but I forgot to strap myself in.  I didn't read the sign- I didn't think about the consequences, I just got on looking for that euphoric feeling I seem to have become so addicted to.  Now, the ride has gone out of control.  I can't get off.  There are moments of glee, followed by sorrow. 

             I've had one philosophy, adapted by myself- For every reward, there is an equal and opposite consequence.   Newton saw it first, but differently.  There is no science to this, it is no experiment by any means.  It is lives we are dealing with here.  And I've hurt someone, for no reason, that has never done me any wrong in my life. 

                              Perhaps the only time a person is putting someone else first is parent to child.  Since I do not have a child, I continue to be a selfish person thinking only of myself.  Those who do have a child, I can not understand this emotion.  It is a biblical analogy that goes all through history. 

                   Here is where I stand.  Making a bed that I now have to lie in.  Whether or not I get out of it is my desicion.  I have the choice of laying in it, selfishly wallowing in vainity, or getting out and for once in my life doing what is sensible and realistic.  I can't keep telling myself not to burn bridges, but to help someone else make a bridge with me.  A bond.  One of the few that will never leave me. 

             My whole fallacy is wrong.  My past is wrong, but what does that matter?  what is the past?  history.

                         the here, the now, that is what we survive on. 

       within the few eyes that stroke these words, i only hope that one pair does.  seeing this as hope and righting wrongs the only way I can possibly articulate myself. 

                                        I'm tired of selfishness.  I'm tired of that thought that I might not have the capacity to love... how naive is that?  what a horrible thought.  I do... i do have that capacity.  I almost wanted to say that I need people, but that goes back to the whole point, "I" don't need people- people need people...

The Magical Beauty of Paris

I walk along the bridge.  To my left, I glance at the Seine.  It’s beautiful.  Tour boats flash with the lights of cameras.  The gleaming lights of the streetlamps illuminate the epitome of all that is glorious in this world.  What man could make this?  You know a place is pretty when even the lampposts are gorgeous.   I shiver a little bit and hug my bulking coat closer to my body.  The breath from my lungs is slowly exposed out into the air.  I stop to take in the moment.  For in instant I have this epiphany.  All these people I see on the streets of Paris, in my mind, are only here when I’m here.  They are almost imaginary until I vacation here.  It’s a thought that sticks with you, but when you’re looking out onto the Seine, it’s not something you dwell on; time for philosophy can come later in my life. 

            The face of a statue, perhaps a cherub or some sort of angel, looks at me with glee.  I almost feel the need to smile back at him.  He is at peace, living amongst other magnificent works of art.  The gold olive branch that he wears on his head reflects the shimmering water of the river.  He is stuck in time.  He’s been stuck in it for years.  Does he want liberation?  I think not.  How wonderful it would be, I think to myself, to be without time.  All of these insights plague my mind until, suddenly to my surprise, appears a work of art that dwarfs all that around it.  My first reaction is, “Is she a statue?”  Surely not. 

            She stands there, looking at the same river I am, the same boat, the same cherub, the same beauty.  Well, what I was looking at.  Her hair, rolling like a waterfall down her snow-covered, black coat, glimmers in the moon’s light.  (Sappy, I know)  Her nose is rosy and cold from the night’s air.  And those eyes, boy those eyes.  An emerald I have never imagined in my wildest, best dreams.  And in a rush of adrenaline I say words as if they are the first I have ever spoken in my life.  “River huh?”  My barbaric blubbering, amazingly enough, gets a grin.  Is it because she is French and enjoys the choppy sound of my language?  Or am I really the smooth cat that I envision myself as? 

            In the past, I always have to get the smile.  In this scenario, I have to get past the language barrier.  Could it be done?  In all of that sleeping in Mrs. Strossner’s class I did not ever in my life think that an opportunity would ever bring itself to me.  What a complete imbecile. 

            “Bonjour.”  She says.  Simply- “Bonjour.”  Marvelous.  Brilliant.  I, of course, return the biggest grin my face has ever made. 

            “Dimples.”  She then says in an obvious American accent.  “I love dimples.”

            There was no language barrier!  My next thought… Score.

            My trip to Paris had been summed up in that one, simple, but amazing moment.  Who knew that Wyoming produced such beauty?  Or is it, Paris, that makes her so perfect?  What if I too, look like the hunkalicious dude that I am in my bathroom mirror every Friday night? 

            I’m going to have to go with a negative on that one.  Apparently, a twelve year old in Paris, still, isn’t attractive to a twenty two year old grad student- so I found out.

The End of Xanga.

   As many people have again and again predicted the demise of their xanga... I must do it to mine.  Put it to rest.  Closure.

                  As I have poured my heart out many times on this weblog... never has it done any good.  Maybe a few friends got some new perspective on me... or maybe people just thought I was a sappy fool.  Who Knows?

        It was an amazing addiction at one time.  If it wasn't for a few things, it might still be.  Thank god for those things.

                                  I learned many things about my peers through all of this.  I learned how far a person can be pushed.  I learned how peculiar some of my peers are. 

          I wouldn't say that I moved on to Facebook, but I simply no longer care for this oxymoronic open diary. 

                                       You're supposed to always end with a quote, they say if you can't do it better, then let someone who already has do it for you.

                                  Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
                                               -William Faulkner

Currently Watching Punch-Drunk Love (Two Disc Special Edition) (Superbit Collection) see related

  It's raining outside.  The date is 6-6-06, and there are two crows on my window.  I passed three black cats on my street coming home.  Stairway to Heaven came on the radio twice.  But most of all, I was far too happy this week. 

          The funny thing is, the news came before all the foreshadowing.

passport to heaven.

I need a drink.

Yes, Mr. Simms, there's only two syllables
in this whole wide world worth hearin', "pussy."

  bob dylan and Scent of a Woman... what more could a guy ask for?