Tag Archives: Thinking

The Rant…

27 Oct

This is very different from the content that I usually  feel inspiration on, actually, this is something that I wish I were not writing about, but there is an overwhelmingly huge part of me that needs to get it out!

NSA stands for No Strings Attached

No not the movie, the relationship that many involve in. And guess what it is a lie, its imaginary, its unreal it does NOT EXIST. I do not know where this term came along; I do not know why people use it. To me it devalues a relationship, it degrades sex.

Yes, we live in a busy world, one with fast transportation, fast food, fast communication, but is there such a thing as fast sex?

If you are not a hooker, than NSA should not exist. I know this is vulgar, and I do not want to stay on this topic, but I am seeing it everywhere.

It use to be college, a fling that only 20 something’s were involved in but now it is progressing to highschool! And it needs to stop.

Our lives are filled with a fast- paced- beat.

This does not mean that intimacy needs to be fast, that does not mean that we should forget the amazing feeling of getting to know another person, to love another person, to share moments of life with someone.

Why do we need or make love, sex, so fast? There is no reason, yes carnal yearnings are a part of being a mammal, but we are human. That means we think, we ruminate, we have the ability to encompass patience.

To me in a world where everything comes fast, sex has lost its value. And no, I am not talking about economic value, because we are not living in the 15th century. I am talking about the emotional and psychological value that sex once had.

Let us go back to that place. Why not? Lets change the dialogue. Because real intimacy comes from getting to know someone, just like you get to know a friend, so should romantic relationships be.

So I am saying lets put NSA in the trash because it’s NOT REAL, whoever created this term did it so people can treat sex like a pastime between strangers, and hey maybe you get out of a long-term relationship and you thinkthat’s what you need. Guess what it’s not.

Empty sex, is like dead air, there is no point to it. (This is a lesson!)

And I think that both men and women, actually, this is nothing to do with gender or race, this is about being human, life should have meaning, and the activities we participate in, the things we say, the people we have relationships with–it should have meaning, because life is about purpose, and if you destroy value then–take a step back–because every person, every life has a meaning, so don’t hurt yourself or others.

Love is everywhere, it’s all around us, do not cheapen it, and do not forget you deserve happiness, and you are valuable.

Everything in life is really a lesson; see the positive, see the silver lining.

Make every encounter,

Every word,

One of value.

Nervous Ruminations

7 Sep

 

A kiss or a cry, that’s how it is with this one. That’s why I don’t want to go tomorrow; I really don’t want to go. I am NOT going.

Can’t I just say I am sick? It doesn’t quite stick at a certain age. There are only so many days, one can hide.

It’s so much more relaxing, hiding I mean. I’ve been in hiding, for sooo long. I can’t even remember what the world looks like.

It’s so much easier, to stay here, in the passive life .Where no situation can embarrass or….hurt me.

I can imagine it now,

I’ll walk into that room and I’ll feel naked!

All my mistakes will bombard me, and I wish I had been smarter!
So what do I do? DO I go? Well what other option do I have, but to go?

I must do what must be done; I can smile at everyone, and say, hey it’s all good.

Act like it’s all fine, because if I act than I’ll feel….peace.

 

How do we learn, if we do not make a mistake? It’s all for the real world, the real life you want to achieve. All these mistakes all these problems, you really think you’ll ever make them again?
No, you won’t because you’re smart.

Because you learn from your mistakes.

And you will never ever make yourself uncomfortable.

 

So I’ll brace myself with good words

I’ll remember to smile,

And maybe, just maybe,

I’ll get through tomorrow. Let it come! I’ll be waiting.

A Short Story, Also Many Thanks

30 Aug

First Before you read what I have written, I wanted to say thankyou for everyone who has read my posts, thankyou for commenting

than you for liking, I am so grateful and I feel so blessed, that I was able to have such, kind, creative, outstanding people who would read my blog. We come from different places, grew up in cultures which shaped the people we are today. And we have come together to create these amazing inventions called blogs, and I just sincerely want to say with all my heart, thankyou for taking your time to read, really thankyou so so very much, each and every one of you has given me inspiration and hope to go on.

So today I attempted the short story. I will tell you the truth, that I have tried many times, to write books, just as practice, just to see, if I can really express the emotion, the reality of being human in each of my characters. Anyway this is a short story, one that came to me in a dream.

I will warn you, that it does end quite abruptly, but I was just hoping,

if you wish to tell me what you think.

Is it okay? What can I improve on?

Honestly, it’s not about money, it’s not about fame, it’s about being able to connect with others, to give them a few moments of happiness or curiosity and I hope one day my stories, my books can inspire people, make em happy give em courage, as all my favorite books have given me.

Okay so here it is, and again THANKYOU for reading 🙂

———————————————————————————————————————————————

 

Tuesday shouldn’t be so exciting. Should be a day of work, and a cup of Joe.

They had other plans, my friends, those rascals I loved.

Lunch break, now it is time to go get a sandwich, maybe a Panini if I am feeling exotic.

Brown haired, and grey-eyed Tommy, intentionally, bumped into my arm so hard, they keys for the car fell to the ground.

“Damn it Tom!” and his stupid grin, it came across his face, faster than you can say J-a-c-k-r-a-b-b-i-t!

“Aw shucks, Mr.Bigbuissness, you turning on me.” Of course, he had used the same line since we were in grade school,

He picked it up on some TV show about cops and robbers. I never did like the thrill that he did. Then again, I was the one in the suit

And he was the one with a white T-shirt strung over his head, his chest bear and clear for all the world to see, cargo pants, and man boots on.

“Why are you here?” he bent down touched the side mirror of my crappy red car, licked his teeth, rearranged the shirt so it resembled more of a turban.

“If your on break lets go see Rilly-B” that wasn’t his name, but Tommy made up all our names. Nicknames he called them.

At twenty-seven, I know better, he was renaming us to make us… his.

I did not want to be late to work. In that office. Cramped.

Then again, it had been awhile since I saw Rilly.

“Get in the car.” Again, the goof smile, like he’d known, appearing unexpectedly, would make me do anything for him.

“When are you going to stop dressing like a moron?” I asked when he shut the door.

“Never-ever-I’m Peter-fucking-Pan!” he laughed at himself, isn’t that what all fools do, well only charismatic people get away with that. Or Crazies.

What was I thinking; traffic, at this time, noon, in this city. Awful idea, abysmal.

I started turning on Wingam Street ” Where are you going, hospitals the other way.” he exclaimed.

I slammed the brakes; thank god, no one was behind us.

“Hospital! Did you trick me, you idiot I don’t have enough money to get you into the hospital, ask your brother!” I yelled. Should have known,

Should have known he was doing this all for himself why else, would he come see me?

But this time, I was wrong.

“You’re an asshole. Rilly, is the one in the hospital.” His eyes, those grey eyes, with strange flicks of gold, burned a little brighter, maybe it was the sunlight. Or some weird disease.

Or maybe it was his anger.

My astonishment must have shown.

“St.Peters, its half-a…”

“I know where it is Tommy.”

Silence.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Rilly, had been a fat kid, in our youth. Tommy and I were always the first to defend him, and the last to pick fun.

Now, he lay in a hospital bed, skinny as can be. Damn. How many years had gone by?

His face was sunken in, bruises up and down his neck. An oxygen mask strapped to his face, the white robe and blankets cover him.

Tommy had put his shirt back on. Maybe it was out of respect, or cuz he was cold. I didn’t know anymore.

Visit Rilly. What a shit. Rilly was unconscious, hadn’t been awake in over a month.

“What happened?”

Tommy was sitting on a plastic white chair, his elbows on the bed, face in his hands. He looked like a kid. A kid at church, with his elbows on the railing, praying.

Finally, he looked up, but as the words were about to spill out, someone else filled me in.

“I’ll tell you what happened.” She had become beautiful, Sally that was. Rilly’s sister. Long curls not quite blonde or brown, but somewhere in the middle,

Sally was a nurse, here at the hospital. I remembered now, she had a divorce. I also remembered how good she looked in a bathing suit, in her prom dress,

and how much better she looked without them on.

Tommy gave her a nasty look. Don’t know if he was still mad she never gave in, or if now it was a bigger problem.

“Sally…I didn’t know.” I was saying.

“How could you? You forgot about all of us a long time ago.”

I wanted to say, I hadn’t forgotten, how could I? I just wanted, desperately,

To have something for myself, to know I could be my own person.

Heh, which was working out perfect.

“Listen up Nurse. I brought him. I’ll tell him.” Tommy said. Crouched like he was, Tommy seemed to be, protecting his friend.

From what?

She just laughed, waved her hand, as if to say, go on, you sack of shit.

“Your not gonna be happy, it started….well you know when it started.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked him.

If only Rilly was awake, he’d make a joke, break the ice. Because the three of us were, just…

too serious. Then again, this was not an occasion for laughter.

“Come on man, the summer before you left, ten years ago. The summer we found that shit, at my uncle’s place.”

His eyes were revolving now; those gold flecks seemed to be coming out of his eyes, shooting stars at me.

“I’ll tell you what I think.” Sally said her voice raising pitch, I wondered if there was anyone in the next bed.

“Oh shit.”

“Let her talk Tommy!” Half stammering, I must have sounded like an idiot.

“You two were idiots, snooping around, looking for trouble, like two seven year olds. Well guess what the boogey monsters real,

And this is what happens when you mess with it.”

I didn’t want to stare at her. The meaning was penetrating my memories. Of nights,

Filled with adventure, blood, and even worse…the things of taboo.

I needed a distraction, I couldn’t be here. I was not ready for where this conversation was heading. Anyway I wanted to come here alone, now that I knew. I felt awful. But I could not be here, between Tommy and Sally, I thought I might explode.

I looked down at the fake gold watch my mom had gotten me years ago. Good time to exit.

“I’ll be back later. I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Don’t you dare leave; this is your fault too!” Sally screamed. She was getting closer to me; I put my hands up and walked out.

Her face so outraged,

Her lips thinning,

That face, which was once so relaxed, so supple, and excited… was now, etched with concern, worry, anger most of all.

I’d been away from my friends to long.

——————————————————————————————————–

Wake Up

7 Aug

Life has meaning when you put meaning into it,

I’ve been in a rut for the past week.

Depressed, thinking stupid things,

wasting my time so I don’t have to deal with reality.

But this morning, my brain woke me up by way of a message :

That it’s a choice I am making

it’s a choice to sit around

it’s a choice to do something

and its a choice to start being happy,

to start remembering that everything in this world….

is connected

that everything in this world has a meaning.

I was so angry because

I couldn’t think up any stories

think up a beautiful tale to tell

and that’s silly

life has so many stories

I guess it’s about learning

it’s about just trying

I’ve been too embarrassed to tell the real stories

the stories about my life

but each chapter of my life is a book.

Each place I’ve moved to

the parties I’ve been to

the things I have seen

they are all stories

and its about paying attention to the world around you.

But why I am so focused on thinking up ways to write?

When I should just write

like right now I feel so good.

It’s like finally, finally I can write and all these emotions

all these realizations

they feel real

I feel real

I feel significant

worth it.

Sometimes when I get depressed,

I’ll start thinking that success is crazy

that how could I be successful?

But that’s so stupid!

I decided today

that I am no longer going to think that success is beyond my reach.

In fact I believe it is around the corner

but its time,

being an overactive human like myself

makes me want things fast

achieve fast

get it as soon as possible!

and when it doesn’t come fast

I get frustrated

I become a zombie.

That’s no way to live,

that’s not a mentality that I want to stay in

I want to be calm

I want to accept the world around me

I want to breathe in its beauty

I am curious about everything

I want to know why the world is the way it is

And I believe, that it is through my own fiction

that I can learn, understand and most of all appreciate my life.

You see I have a theory

that when one sits down to write

they should just do that

just go through the motions

just do it,

don’t think, that what your writing is stupid

because that’s completely cutting off your value as a person.

And that’s not fair to ourselves,

Right now I feel super inspired

I can feel like this any day any time

by just remembering that even the motion of writing

even trying is significant

I am significant

This world we live in today

this era

its full of so many distractions

so many things that keep taking away

our significance.

Because by saying ah I don’t feel like studying

I don’t feel like writing

I don’t feel like working

let me watch some tv or go on the computer and play games or watch a show,

by doing that, we are essentially giving away what makes us

unique

and instead filling our minds with a pollution

that does not allow any time to think

for ourselves.

However, we can escape this bombardment of messages—

by self-control,

remembering what it is we want

remembering that every single person, every life

your life, is more important

than wasting time

and once your dreams come true,

that’s when life gives us even more

opportunities, hopes,

and most of all we appreciate.

That’s the point, isn’t it–

to take pleasure

in the work we do

in the lives we live

by remembering

we are here

we are alive

we are connected

and most of all:

we are significant

Memory of Living

24 Jul

This is a memory:

The audience was quiet, waiting for me to start. They were a collective group of senior high school students. Some of them my friends, some of them I barely knew. But we had all grown up together, and there’s no changing that. No matter who was weird, cool, or crazy.

The classroom was a small square room on the second level. The desks were pulled into a circular fashion.

I grabbed a chair, placed it in the center of that circle, so I could see every eye, make sure they could all see me.

This was a moment I had been waiting for a moment to show I was good at something.

Our final year, our final class presentation, and I had decided it was fitting, for my persona as so I portrayed, to present a monologue; which for years, had consumed me in its bitter regret, and beautiful words.

I explained the situation : A man in jail, being asked :  have you been rehabilitated? What a question.

I sat down, looked at the audience and began. What I felt was the moment, not only the words I spoke but the deep regret I felt in my own life sure I wasn’t a man in jail, but there were many things I felt at the time needed to be redeemed within me, many things I had done wrong.

When I spoke the words, they came from a place of truth, they came from that place deep inside of me which I cannot say is from the heart or the brain but something else, something utterly human.

Everyone in that room was silent listening, watching, but I didn’t notice them not really, because I was in the moment, in that scene, I was the character and for the first time in my life I didn’t care about what people thought of me if they thought I was hot or ugly, or crazy or fun, dramatic, all the old connotations dropped when I became the character.

The last line,

I look up at every person make sure my eyes reach as many as possible

make sure they see the regret written in every part of my face.

When I  finish there is a silence for a minute,

and then everyone starts to clap.

It’s been many years,

but if I go back into that memory

I can remember what it means to be alive.

A Concept Called Time

4 Jul

 

“The future is just a fucking concept that we use to avoid living today.”

 

What is time anyway? A measurement of change? Sure, we can get scientific, but to the human being time is something else entirely. We created this concept called the future, and most of the time we just use it so we can avoid the truth, living in the present. And as the great writers of Six Feet Under said it, “The future is just a fucking concept that we use to avoid living today.”

          Wow. First, these writers string these words together so delicately and perfectly, in such a way that I am left thinking: how did I not come up with that? Or at least, it is a truth that we know, yet we do not know how to out these truth’s into words.

          That is when I realized that this is what writers do; they use their words in order to tell the truth in a way that has never been said before. In a way that will astound us, shock us, make us see the world in a new way. To me, that my friend is the sign of a great writer.

          But back to the real subject, which is time. Our concepts of time. The past, present and future. In the waking state, I mostly ruminate over the past, fantasize about the future, and usually worry over it.

          It is the present that we live. Our dominion, our reality our path to success or destruction is all about what we do now. The more I accept this truth the more I utilize it. The more I stop worrying about what could have been what might be and instead concentrate on what is in front of me.

          It is not a sin to plan for the future; it is not bad to hope for the best, to dream of exciting events. What is destructive is whining over the possible fears that might become a reality.

          What is the point of wasting our precious present with the occupation of unhealthy thoughts? None. No point.     

          So here is my question—what do you spend every moment, every day thinking about—the past the present, the future? Does it matter at all—as long as it is positive? We cannot ignore the lessons the past teaches us as individuals, but we also cannot live in it forever. Or do we live in it already? Are the writers of Six Feet Under correct, or is this an extreme concept of time?

          Time is the spoon,

          Life is held in it,

          At some point,

            It will…spill.

Lamentation & Nightmares

18 Jun

Nightmares are evil things

I’m not sure why the mind produces them

maybe to warn us

maybe to freak us out a little more

But I hate it…

 

I hate the memory

the blood and glass

the skin peeling off as if made of wax

 

 

Every time I wake up from this plaguing memory,

The dream, which is so vivid

so real that I feel like I was there again

and every time I want to scream

but I don’t

I want to cry

I want to do something that’s destructive

But I don’t.

Because the real and the unreal can’t mix

 

 

Only on paper

only in ink am I safe

the only place where I have control

is between the pen and my hand…

 

 

I only hope one day

these nightmare will end

I only hope that I can come to grips

with what happened

understand that it just did.

 

 

But a part of me

that scared

fearful part

wants it all to end

wishes that I had been the person who died that day.

 

 

But I didn’t.

 

 

I kept living,

It’s been over a decade.

Wow a decade that’s a long time.

And I still remember

probably never forget.

 

It’ll take some time

before I can distinguish

what these nightmares means

because right now

it’s still to fresh

and I’m still to weak

to human

to understand the difference between surviving

and living.