95 cuts to stitch.

This Blog has served it's purpose.  

Good-bye. 

Lucifer, My Light Bringer.

Difficulty.

Smoldering, smothering, black, arbitrary; Difficulty.

Emotions boil and my spirits dampen as I read on towards subjects that seem to fully overwhelm Him.  The fact of the matter is that this wretched sense of insignificance has a far more persuasive effect than the inner encouraging remarks I try to bring Him.

Him, being the Kid.  The Body.  The Brain.  William Kealoha Akana.

That was the label given to this structure of flesh. 

It might not seem obvious but this blog has always been marked to blur the lines between him and myself.  Hence, "Kid Will."

That doesn't make any sense Will; it's as if you're trying to seem crazy.

I'll let you in on yet another theory I've come to recognize through my readings of historical writers and philosophers.  Every taste of an idea I've had has had a fully grown explanation by men who lived hundreds of years before myself.   Upon reading their theories and beliefs I came to identify with one particular writer:  William Blake.  It was astonishing at how similar our convictions were.  Here I was, thinking I was a fool to think myself as God, yet he brings upon a similar land of reason to suggest the same.  Specifically, that is not the topic I intend to elaborate on, but rather, to explore his explanations of Body and Soul.

Taken from a work of his:

The Voice of The Devil

Man has two real existing principles; Viz: a Body & a Soul.
That Energy, called Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, called Good, is alone from the Soul. 

This paradigm is perfect. 

Within the past months, I came to the conclusion (prior to reading Blake's principles) that the Body is a separation of the soul; furthermore, the Mind (Belonging to the Soul) directs and utilizes the Brain (of the Body).

Here, this preserved text reached my person to contribute yet another jigsaw piece to my puzzle.

  I am delighted but disconcerted all the same.  

How strange it is for all these thoughts to arise within me; none original, but preserved over years of thought, pondering, questioning.  

I am a recycled idea.

  I am old.  I am dirt in disguise of a youthful body.  But this does not make me any wiser.  It only frustrates me.  This difficult smog I attempt to swim through, hindered by vain attempts to surface and ignorant conceptions brought on by the Kid, myself, my name, who he/me is. 

He gets angry and frustrated too.  I want to read more about philosophy, religion, literature, art, historical memoirs, sciences, everything.  I could read all damned day; never to see any familiar faces nor the rays of the sun for as long as I live.  But Kid wants to play guitar.  Kid wants to waste time on Facebook.  Kid wants to talk to girls.  Kid has a fucking short attention span that won't let me concentrate on my reading nor any of my studies.  This culture has affected him in such a way where he can't tell the difference between what he holds valuable and what others deem important--even necessary.

It makes me sick.
It makes us both sick.

This ambivalence...this broken bridge filled with trivial values by society and technological means of lassitude...this has to have an end point.

Pfft, when are you going to stop playing Mr. Split Personality and just accept growing up?

Because! You bastardly italicized text!  It's much more than that!

I'm beginning to find my true voice more and more everyday.  And it's bringing him to shambles.  I shame him.  All that he's done.  I make him feel worthless.  I expose his faults.  I mock his dreams.  But I'm slowly beginning to learn that though there's so much wrong with him...that's exactly why I'm here.  That's exactly why this soul has slid beneath the skin of what could easily be taken for granted as another teenage boy under circumstances he believes are far beyond his control.  It's not the same, dammit.  And I see it.  I feel it.  There's so much more to everything, and I can only grab at glimpses that seem to elude me every chance I get close.

I'm so close.

I've never been so frustrated with what is.

But I know I'm close.

William Blake writes that if there are no contraries, there is no progression.  He has taken my "Ying Yang Effect" theory and threaded it into something so visible and coherent that it simply fills me with awe and wonder everytime I think about it.

This broken bridge is what makes this challenge worth it, I know.

They say to shun the whispers of Satan.  But how can I shun that evil which allows for my greater good?  How can I squelch the life out of Kid--so inferior and primitive in nature--without ending any possibility for a greater unification between this body, this soul?  These contrasts are what keep me alive.  This difficulty is what gives each discovery a triumphant sense of becoming a whole.  Though I may be superior by nature of reason and Good, all is cast away without the former that He brings; and it's such that that will allow for growth in this new-found life of mine, this new adventure. 

Satan was once Lucifer.

Lucifer was The Light Bringer.

And ironically...

the way I see it...

He still is.

Let's Get High. You and Me.

 Prop 19: Legalize Marijuana.  

As Prop 19 suggests in their agenda, taxing marijuana would ideally generate (with The State's tax collector, Board of Equalization estimating) around $1.4 billion in annual revenue that might aid in supporting public works, healthcare, jobs, etc. This sounds kickass as well as their proposition to siphon power from leading Drug Cartels and to redirect our Police Force towards more ''harmful'' crimes.

I think this would be helpful to save/earn revenue, as actually imprisoning a marijuana offender wastes our taxpaying dollars. (61,000 Californians were arrested for marijuana possession in 2008 according to the FBI, with your average arrest costing about $6,000 in taxpayer's hard earned cash. What a waste of money!)

It is also interesting to see that major advocates of this prop include a San Jose Police Chief, An OC Superior Court Judge, and A Deputy Chief of the LAPD, a Narcotic Detective from the LAPD, and a U.S Surgeon General (At the top of the medical field). (All retired, but rest aside, you'd think they'd know wtf is going on in terms of allocating their efforts).

"SO LET'S LEGALIZE IT ALREADY THEN!"

First off, I laugh at you kiddies who think this means everyone will be able to smoke it off wherever/whenever they want.

Prop 19 clearly states: "only adults 21 and over can possess up to one ounce of marijuana, to be consumed at home or licensed establishments"

So if you're getting high with your homeboy behind school, you're still breaking the law.

What bothers me about legalization is the amount of regulation and enforcement that it would call for immediately after being instated. I would hopefully assume jobs in CA would still require the employee to be "drug free." Just imagine yourself in need of surgery--a life or death situation. Would you feel comfortable with a Surgeon who has just smoked a bowl within the last 24 hours? The last week? The last month? And don't get me started on Air Traffic Control! Either way, there is still risk involved as far as being able to function correctly and do your job accordingly. Accidents statistically would inevitably occur (though in the long run, it might prove negligible).

Some might say that "weed is needed for those in pain." Sure, weed alleviates pain--so does Vicodin and Morphine. This excuse is a cheap way to justify the use of medical Marijuana--when you look at the fact that 90% of those who use it DON'T "NEED" IT, and even more so, the majority has no point to make for their "medical need for marijuana."

Personally, I believe that the revenue we could use from taxing this mind-draining plant would indeed be useful (though like the rest of our revenue, it would probably be wasted on bull%(@! welfare programs and other needless socialistic establishments that are pushed by the democratic agenda; For that matter, the fact that our school budgets were cut doesn't necessarily indicate that our economy is going to shit per se, but that California needs to get it's stuff together and not waste our valuable tax payer's cash.)

I feel rather disappointed with this popular condonation for a cheap euphoric pleasure that in my humble opinion, is such a frikkin waste of time and life.

Fuck Weed.  

I'll don't need a plant to help create a better reality for myself.

Hours in Seconds

If time were pain, then my British Literature class would be perpetual torture.   

It's kind of silly because I remember how much I bitched about having to do "10 Definitions and 10 Sentences" in 6th grade.

Then I thought about how easy that little assignment was when I reached High School, spending hours a week with my textbook alone in my little room thinking: "Damn....10 Definitions and Sentences are heaven right now."

And now, woopty doo, now I'm spending hours with my textbook daily.  3-4 hours with the textbook of not just "studying" but intensely studying.  Just knowing the facts isn't all important anymore, I have to actually draw conclusions and make connections with everything I'm learning in order to draw a cohesive illustration of the time period and the attributions from the literary works of the time.   AP Euro is fucking heaven compared to the workload in this coarse. 

Although....

it's kind of strange that a deeper part of me seems to love everything about it.  To the years and dates that nobody gives a shit about, to the poets, the writers, the politics, the struggles, the shifts in society and economics, to the works that we study in depth.

Well gee Kid, maybe you should major in British Literature then you sonuvabitch.  

But it's not that I'm in love with literature.  It's the fact that for once in my damn education I'm forced to think for myself about what I'm learning.  I'm not just learning who died when and who did what.  I'm seeing that every factor counts in the development in everything--how a war or an execution or some kind of drastic change in society changes the course of history and how this affects poetry and literature and the perspective of an artist living during the time.  Until now, I didn't realize how beautiful some writings were written over a fucking thousand years ago.  Sentiments I could only dream of expressing in writing were written by a man who lived in a period where people still threw shit buckets out the window and into a main street.  It's not just history, it's life as it was.  It's life as it is.  In a way, nothing has changed.

Sure, I'm getting a little into depth of what the course entails; but it's more than literature.  It's learning about the subtle works in life that has shaped what we are.  From mathematics to arts to history.


High school does not prepare you for the academia of college.  

High school was for the social experience, I believe, that's just about it.

In just 5 weeks we've covered more information in a year than in any of my classes at Chap, including my oh so dreaded Advanced Placement European History.  But...I never thought I'd be able to do this much work before and not absolutely hate my life.  It's a strange thing...

I think I like this place.

Understanding, Perhaps Is Asking For A Little Too Much

It's weird.

I really don't find any girls attractive at my school. 

It's not that there's a problem with them;

It's just me.

It's just me and my studies.  Me and my work.  Me and my work outs.  Me and...myself.

I talk to myself every morning, every study hour, always.  I'm what I lean on.  I pull creative ideas from opposing sides of the brain.  I rap lines.  I sing songs.  I yank verse, I yank skits, I yank imaginary situations out of everything I find. 

My social life has been destroyed.

But when I do socialize with people, I am far from shy.  I am open and outgoing, comforting and alive; direct and focused, humored and obliged.

The shell was broken in high school.

And now my counter balance has caught up with me.  I lie in solitude, but not unyielding to social opportunity. 

This is ...different.

But in this stage of my life; this is what I need most...

Sometimes Never.

Desire.

Want.  What.  I.  Do.  Not.  Have.

This Moment.  Right now.  

Something.  Someone.  An Idea.  A reality.  A possibility.  A concept.  A precept.  A noun.

Person.  Place.  Thing.  A Noun.

Desire.  

A strong wanting for something.  A yearning.

The feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state.

What am I without desire..?  I am ...surviving.  I ..continue..  towards..  what?

Can I go anywhere without any wants..?  Can I...be happy?

Happiness.  Contentment.  Fulfillment.

Key:  Fullfillment.

What is fullfillment; the act of filling.

What is filling?

The end of the quest.

The prize to be won.

Key:  Won.

This game, this competition, this race...is one to win.

Win....you have to want...to win.

....................................

So here I am, with precious time on my hands in a wasted away day; soon to be forgotten by the outer consciousnesses of my mind.  Ingrained by undigested recesses of the back of my memory. 

I've fallen in love with an idea again.  I've fallen into a mess.  With each mess getting more difficult to find my way out of.  It makes you wonder, when you sit in the back of your mind in a dim room, asking:  What's the point?

The point....the point...I seemed to have lost my point.  What was it?  What is it?  Didn't I have it just a minute ago?  The point...it was...for certain...for someone...for something....it was...my point.  To live; to sacrifice, to work, to be full.  Where did my point go?  And when can I find it again?

Always the right ideas.  Always the wrong people.
Always the right people.  Always the wrong idea. 

God's little game justified in a sick circle of irony.  It's all irony.  I could laugh about if for months and months until I die from exhaustion.  Peeking through small gaps between His so called "plan,"  I believe I've had my point once again.
Until I blink.
Then I'm lost in the foray in a sudden jolt of sleepiness.  I'm not so awake anymore.  I'm not present.  I'm dead.  Far from breathing.  What is death?  Death Is.  What is life?  Life is... 

Possibility.  
Function.  

Even the dying have both.  But life is dying, and dying is life--so let's put that one in the back burner, shall we?  

What happens when I want to lose grip of this human feeling of "emotion."  Human so to speak, as I've detected no such "emotion" in anything else on this planet.  Do the trees sway in joy?  Or in depression?  Does the wolf eat with sympathy?  Or with deliberate cruelty?

LISTEN TO YOURSELF.

There is no wolf.  There is no sympathy.  There is no love.  There are no trees.  There is no sky, there is no nothing, something, anything.

There is only you.  These words you speak are all that they are.  Words.  Nothing else.  This attempt is futile...what is a tree?

A tree...

You've seen trees.  I'm sure.  But a tree ...is not our tree.  When we say "tree," our lips move to form a series of vibrations and echoes from our larynx.  "Tree" is a sound we make.  We attempt to label that great life with a sound, and a symbol--a representation of something.  "Tree" is representative.


And representatives bring us no closer to the real truth.

"Love."  Human representation of an emotion, a concept, a loyalty, a reason.  A reason for living.

Yet it still remains a representative of what it actually is.  Thereby eliminating possibility to understand it fully.


But where does comprehension come into play then? 

I hate that I don't know.  I'll never be content with not knowing.  I have to know.  I need to know....

I want you to know.


I'm still falling. 

College Oh College.

It's a Monday morning; approx 7:56 A.M.  

I step out of my car.  Lot 26, behind the Track Stadium; within close proximity of the campus of University California Riverside.

I can't believe it.
Yesterday I turned Seven.
Today I'm a working college student. 
First year.  First Day.

It's going to take awhile to reach the populated buildings of campus--the parking lots are quite a bit away.  I see a boy with a messenger backpack and brown scruffy hair begin walking towards the campus, just a few feet from me.  Immediately, I catch up to him and without hesitation, give a friendly "Hey, what's up?"

Our conversation carried through the 13 minute walk to the campus.  His name was David.  He was an interesting fellow; with a heavy accent of some sort and a passion for politics.  As we departed shortly after reaching the campus to go our separate ways, I stopped to take a look around.

Large, complex buildings.  Vast open spaces with trees and green lawns.  A scatter of students making their way towards their early classes.  It wasn't crowded--not yet anyway.

So here I am I guess.  I've left High School behind.  I'm here now.  In this large facility dedicated to the purpose of learning--enhancing one's understanding and knowledge of the world around him/her.  It's a beautiful place.  On the outside, I can feel myself start to shake a little.  Feeling a little overwhelmed.  My God, what am I doing in this place?

But deep down I feel a part of me that is silent.  That never moves.  And that is always centered.  He refers to me as "Kid."  I don't know what to call him--I just listen.  Though he doesn't say anything now, I can feel that he is overjoyed and ready to encounter what this new stage of life has to bring.  I trust him, and feel a little more sure-footed.  I keep walking to find my classes.

My drama class slowly fills up to 90 students.  It's a little intimidating at first--but I find that I really like it.  It's new.  It's refreshing.  What's going to happen next?  The instructor asks for a few volunteers and I feel my hand shoot up.  For some reason my outside isn't so shaky as it used to be.  And my center seems to be taking over more and more as I actually do the things it tells me to do.  With some of my peers, I stand in a line in front of the class, facing the ocean of faces of those who would rather watch the demonstration.  Spotlights overhead illuminate all we are.   I have no idea what's going to happen.  But I stare up, and don't feel so small.  I don't feel scared.  I don't feel nervous as much.  I just feel...happy I think. 

So the drama instructor walks toward an empty student's chair, and stares at us.

The entire room is quiet.

85 pairs of eyes fall on us.

Quiet.

The threat of an awkward tidal wave threatens us. 

I look at the instructor's expression.

She's grinning.

Lightbulb. 

I whisper to the guy next to me:  "Hey, I think we're performing right now." 

So I ask him in a clear voice

 "My name is William!  What's yours?"
"Oh, my name is Aaron.  Nice to meet you."
"Great!  I'm a first year."
"That's awesome."

So I turn to the remaining volunteers who were utterly quiet and ask

"Hey guys!  Have you met Aaron!?"


And so we all proceeded to introduce ourselves--completely forgetting about the audience.

At the end of the "demonstration" our instructor taught that performing is easier when you concentrate --not on the audience, but the relationships and the scene itself with the other actors.  We had passed her little "test."  Damn, this place was interesting.

I walk out of my Drama class--time flew by--as I would learn later.  All my lectures flew by.  It was nothing like high school--where periods would drag on--seemingly forever.  In this place, lectures were intriguing.  And they all seemed so short--despite that they usually lasted at least an hour. 

I reach one of the main central areas of the campus.  And take a look around.

Teens, students, everywhere.  Walking to places.  Running to places.  Biking to places.  Skateboarding, rollerblading.  Everywhere, everyone was headed somewhere.  There were literally thousands of people all over the campus.  It was an eternal "passing period" in this place.  When students got to their classes, new ones would come out of old ones, and be making their way to the next.  People making their way to the cafeteria with friends.  Individuals finding empty tables to do some reading.  People on benches with laptops, scanning for some quick information.  Sorority sisters walking in groups, tall guys with tattoos smoking at the entrances of the library, a boyfriend and girlfriend having an animate conversation about a party last week passing by.  A band begins to play at the bell tower.  A scattered 30 sit to watch them while some others start dancing in the front.  Bike racks are everywhere on this campus--and they always seem so full.  Everyone, each with their own story--making their way to their next progression.  It's the Sims here.  It's the Sims on a gargantuan scale.  Everyone is busy doing something.

Damn I'm starving. 

I stop a guy in mid-stride and ask him where a good place to eat would be.  He gives his opinions, his directions, and finally says "The cheapest place to eat though is off campus."  I find out later that just about everyone on this campus is friendly and open.  Not like the scattered douche bags from High School.  They know why they're here, they're motivated, they're ambitious, and they're not afraid to help a fellow student out.   I spend the break between my next classes at Taco Bell.   Just a short drive away.  So I'm eating my tacos, studying the map of the campus, and it hits me.

Wow....it's all me.  Just here.  Completely self-directed.  Doing whatever the hell I want.  This is...weird--but in the best way possible.  

  I find myself filing into a crowded lecture hall--a lecture for British Literature.  It's a room that can hold probably about 300-400 students.  I see an empty seat and ask the girl adjacent to it if anyone was going to sit there.  With the A-Okay, I sat down and busted some note-taking utensils out.  The lecture would start in about 5 minutes.  So there was down time to fill up.  I turn toward the girl next to me and ask:

"Hey what's up?"
"Erhm, nothing much haha."

I realize if I'm going to make friends here I have to open up.  But it's so easy here.  Talking to "strangers."  We're all here for the same reason.  And we are all connected in that way.  It's easy to relate.  And I'm so glad I'm not the nervous wreck I was the first 3 years of high school.  I'm so thankful that in the last year, I at least acquired the confidence to talk to anyone without tearing myself down. Dammit High  School, I'll never forget how you helped me. 

As the lecture proceeded, I noticed some students with laptops in the mid-rows.  Some taking notes.  Other's on completely irrelevant websites.  Others on facebook.  Sometimes during the lecture, people would leave.  Other times, people would just arrive.  I quickly concluded that:

It didn't matter whatever the hell you did during the lecture.  You can be late, or early, or just leave whenever you wanted to.  You could put your head down and sleep--and nobody would care.  This lecture was for you.  And if you didn't want to pay attention--hell, you didn't have to.  Don't want to take notes?  Hell, just sit back, relax, and just watch!   It was this freedom that made the lecture that much more engaging.  The fact that I had a choice made the positive choice much more fulfilling--as I felt.  This is what education was truly about.  About WANTING to find out more.  And not being forced through a tunnel that shoved information down your throat.  This place had so much more leeway, so much vast openness, that it felt wonderful learning.  It felt good listening to what the instructor had to say.  It felt good calling the shots.  And to know that you are only 1 in 400 in the class, sharing this same awesome atmosphere. 

A 50 minute drive back to Temecula, and I find myself at work.  It's 6:30PM, and I'm closing to 10PM.

I'm on the road of education, and I'm making money on the side.  

There's no time to question my worth now.
There's simply no time to be miserable.
There's only just time.

And all the space in between is that much more meaningful.

When Least Expected...Clouds Connected.

Enlisted; by fears and phantoms from past anxiety. 
The smell of desperation; the edge of uncertainty; the black smoke evanescent.
The army, drunk with confusion.  

How can I think?  When I'm not sure how to think?

Splintered visions of vanity flood my dreams on all fronts.  Isolated, I fight to find ground.  But I question every second of the journey.  Do I search for the chicken?  Or do I search for the egg?  Do I waste valuable seconds on the clock wondering what to search for?  Need I take drastic action now?  There is no strategy for this unknown enemy.  Yet it closes in, ever silently and restlessly.  The impending threat to my life's meaning....


----------I blink. 

I am driving a 2001 Ford Mustang on the 15 North.  The light hum of the engine soothes the senses.
The highway is always so beautiful.  There is no question of where to go.  There is one way.  Different cars, models, colors, sizes, shapes, ages, all headed to different destinations, yet all travel the same road.  They coexist in a benevolent invention of man, but the invention itself proves an analogy to the greater picture.    At speeds of deathly capability, we, the engines, travel in harmony.  Death threatens at any second or mistake.  Yet rare is it that metal would ever touch metal in this vile format of what could-be.

I sink back in my seat and enjoy the peace.

I know where I am going.  I know not where others are headed, but I share the same concrete with them.  Risk between life and death teeters at constant; but I worry not.  I control this steel.  I control my fate.  I am independent; in control.  If I die now, it is by my own conscience, and it is by my own doing.  At this concept, I take great comfort in.

Perhaps...life is a highway.  I cannot stop this car.  To stop, is to die.  I must continue onward, and take the exits I believe will take me to my destination. 

Every exit is an entrance to somewhere.

This highway...could lead me as far as New York, or as close to a loved one's home.  This highway, branches off to any destination I would ever intend to travel. 

It doesn't matter where I start.

...it's all connected.

To Be.

Me.

I.


I am not a student.
I am not a worker. 
I am not a punk.
I am not a guitarist. 
I am not an Asian boy.
I am not desperate.  
I am not hungry.
I am not intelligent.
I am not clueless. 

I am, I am.

I am awareness.  I am frequent, constant, limitless awareness.  I am the presence of mind.  I am awareness.


I am a fluctuation of thoughts and emotions. 

I am constantly shifting.
I am constantly wanting.
I am constantly learning. 

I am everything.  I am nothing.  I am in between. 

I can't figure myself out, because there's nothing to figure out.

There is no self.  There is only....now.  The now.  Forget yesterday and tomorrow.
  There is what's happening right now.
This exactly, lethal moment.

When was the last time you were present?  

Truly present?

Death's in The Family.

Here now.  Sitting.  Sit.  Sat.  Back then.  Was.  When.

Watching television with my cousins.

Phone rings.
Automatically answer.
Second nature.
My instant robotic inquiry of a friendly:

"Hello?"

I am greeted by sobbing.  Sudden, incoherent words, spluttering out of the receiver.  My ears strain to make sense of what is now taking place.

Here now.  Listening.  Listened.  Listen.  Back then.  Was.  When.

"Anna?"  I ask, now alarmed; concerned, fearful, stricken.
"--Will"  I make out from the sobs.  I listen as she attempts feebly to control her voice between the chocking tears.
"Yes?! What is it?"  I ask.  Reality threatens to bring a blow.  Tragedy drips from the static. 
"Aunti Susie--is dead!"

"WHAT!?"

  Without meaning, I sit up.  Eyes focused, looking past the solid reality in front of me.  Confused, fearful, shocked, rejecting.  The word is reflexive.  I dare not believe the words I hear.  There must be a mistake.  I did not hear it correctly.  I am at fault.  The message is wrong.  The message cannot fit with this reality.  The message cannot fit with my reality.  And so my senses snap and spit back the message in an instance, as automatic as a flinch; a wince.

The question:  "What?" 

My aunt had died.  In a biking accident.  She was struck by a vehicle.  

That lovely woman died.   The image of her smile, broke down like shattered glass.  The associated feeling of hope and joy after a terrible day, fluttered silently away.  My aunt, whose laugh was the loudest at family social gatherings, whose humor never faltered to trigger contagious smiles, who was simply there.  She was there.  Christmas, Thanksgiving, Funerals, Birthdays--she was there.  All the time.

But no, that can't be, you see.  

She's always at the family gatherings.  Get-togethers.  She plays a large part.  She's always there with something bright to say.  She's always there to hug in greetings and leavings.  She's always there.  Always.

How can I hold my view of the world, if those concepts that made up that view--cease to exist?

  How can I understand what night and day are, if their very means of existing are suddenly pulled out from under me?

How can she just....be gone.  

My father sat down with my Grandma.  Slowly, meaningfully, to tell her the awful news.  Seconds before, I had watched my Grandma, hugging everyone--aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, son-in-laws--the family-- that had driven to our house.  All our family was there.  Hugging Grandma.  She didn't know yet... She was so happy.  She didn't ask why they were there.  She didn't care why they were there.  She was just happy to see them visit.    My father sat her down...  Everyone went quiet.  Dreading.  I leaned back against a wall with folded arms.  Feeling guilty for what I was about to witness.  I knew I should have looked away, or looked down at the ground.  Or leave the room.  Anything.  But I couldn't take my eyes off of my Grandma, who was about to receive the news that her beloved daughter had died.

With calm control, my father said clearly and objectively to her:

"This morning..."

I studied to see my Grandma's smile slowly fade to an expression of curiosity.... leaving room for a small thought-- that perhaps this wasn't such a happy visit afterall...

"...Susie Died."

A fist gripped my insides as I watched her old wrinkled face shrivel to a cry.  Her words of disbelief.  My father's confirmation.  She cupped her small hands to her face as I froze to listen to her dry sobs.  Her dry tears.

She was too old to experience this.  She was too old to feel such hurt.

It must be the worst thing in the world.  To have to bury your children. 

Fate is sick.

I walked inside, chest hurting from such an overwhelming flood of emotions.  Of what cruel reality it is to be a human being, and to feel such empathy, compassion, and understanding in so many perspectives and degrees at once.

I realized then that it wasn't just my aunt who had died.

My grandmother lost her daughter.
My father lost his sister.
Her friends lost their friend.

And our family lost a light.

I sat at the kitchen table in painful recognition of this.  At the peak of understanding, finally the gates had given in to the pressure--and I had begun to break down for the first time since hearing the news.  I did not feel hollow inside.  I did not feel anything gripping my insides.  I only felt pain.

Pain.  Unquenchable, unforgiving, immeasurable pain.  A pain that quickly destroyed reason.  A pain that quickly destroyed thought.  A body's odd retaliation to pump out salt water from tear ducts.  A pain that shook the body.  A pain that shook everything I was.  I was pain itself.  And in that instance of a depthless agony I had fallen into, I slowly crept closer to what it meant to be here;

Now.  Sitting.  Sit.  As I sat.  Back then.  What was.  When. 

I felt alive.  Human.  At peace.  At edge.  At a loving, hateful vantage point where I could see everything for what it was.  With no bias.  With no hesitation.  I felt the loss of life; and felt the value of what it was to be alive. 

How unpredictably, life can just pull things out from under you.  How it can take away all that you know, and leave you wondering if you ever knew anything in the first place.  Leaving you scared, lost, confused.

But it is by this act that life does us the most justice.  It is through the pain and heartache that we feel whole.  It is by getting sucked into the hole that we may ever truly begin to look up.  To just look up and see that everything is brighter than we had thought.   It was the darkness that clenched me that allowed for the stars to shine bright.

Life may bring darkness in this life,
But it is darkness that brings out the stars;
and all the hope their light brings. 

Rest in peace my wonderful Aunt Susie.

I will never forget the light you brought me. Both in life, and death.

All Demons Were Once Angels.

Is flight brought to he who no longer thinks the ground, but thinks the skies?

Be that true, what if he thinks the ground?  Will he fall?

May flight be brought to he who acknowledges ground, and chooses to think sky?

Yes, I acknowledge the deathly solidity of the ground and all beneath.

Yes, I choose to think over the whelms; that which God has favored in my route,

His plan for my untimely demise.  

But for as long as I may think coherently, with morality christened by soul; I choose not to lay waste to a demonic heart, whom swells in all effort to forward my undoing; but rather to speak in it's behalf for coexistence with the hope it's intended to balance. 

He is.
I am.

We Are.

And if God's will falters to destroy me; surely I will make this body commit wonders.

Deathday.

Closing the front door behind me, I walk past the dining room and notice that a low lamp is lit; illuminating the large portrait of Kristina's Memorial.  I walk a couple of steps more only to realize something...

I check my phone.

September 13th.  2010.

Oh God.  Is it...it's her birthday today.

I notice two burnt out candles on the counter, " 1 7 " cut outs.  No cake to be found, but I know my parents had a small traditional cake for her.  I know they blew out the candles.  I know they remembered. 

Part of me wants to scream "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CELEBRATING HER BIRTHDAY IF SHE'S FUCKING DEAD?"  

Part of me just wants to sit in front of her ashes and cry like a little kid.

Part of me looks away.

I've already cried.  I've already yelled.  I've already grieved.   But there's a pain that will never leave me for as long as I live.  Something so horrid and dreadful, all hope seems to vanquish in essence of each thought.  The thought that she died.  The hard God damn reality that her heart has stopped beating.  That her flesh has turned to ashes.  That her smile has been destroyed.  That her laugh has been extinguished.

That my little sister is dead.  

I lean over the door frame as I ask my father

"So...how old would she be today?"
"She would be seventeen." 

Seventeen.  Oh my God.  She would be a senior right now.  Enjoying her last fucking year of high school.  But she never made it to high school.  No.  She died an 8th grader.  She'll never know what it's like...what anything is like...

What's the fucking point of saying how old she would be?  She will never age now.  She will never grow older.  She will always be the same 14 year old little girl as I've always remembered her to be.  She will never graduate high school.  She will never go to college.  She will never have a career, or a guy who would love and care for her, or have kids, or be a mother, or a grand mother, or anything. 

She's just dead.

It feels as if my insides have hollowed.  It feels as if the devil is gripping my heart with his cold hands and continuously wrenching at it.  I feel as if the sun will never rise.  That joy will never come.  That my life should end right now.  I feel that I could bury myself in the darkest pit and sit there, waiting for the hollow screams to stop, for the pain to burn until it has nothing else to consume, for the lost times, the regrets, and all to just....stop.

I have so much regret it will literally eat at me until surely I'll turn black on the inside.  As black as her ashes lay now, inside a box in our living room.  Why the fuck did she have to die..?

Why couldn't it be me..?

Why did that wonderful little girl have to suffer such a tragedy?  I can't even hold my breath for 2 fucking minutes and she had a gripping embrace on her windpipe, with immense strain and pressure twisting at her neck, suffocating the life, suffocating hope, destroying part of my life.  destroying a part of me.

I remember walking into her room late at night and waking her up.  We'd talk for hours, sneak around the house and play video games or microwave t.v dinners at 4AM in the morning; laughing about the stupidest shit.  She'd talk about her problems and I'd talk about mine.  I could talk to her about anything.

I remember about a month before her death, I asked God if he could give me a friend I could talk to anything about.

A month later she dies; a twisted point God makes to spit at me, shaming me into taking her for granted.

Well thank you God, I sure fucking appreciate her now.

And it makes me think....

Could I ever have realized how special Kristina was if she never died?  Could I have realized how much I loved her--how much of a true friend she was to me--if she never died?  Could I even grasp how much of a kind and caring spirit she was if she were alive today? 

Maybe not.

A sick possibility....no....

If she never died, she would never have lived.  She would never have changed my life the way she did.  She would never have made me think twice.  Her death exemplified her life.  It made her life whole.  It made her who she was to me.  It defined her in a way that life could not possibly have convinced me otherwise.

Death made her beautiful. 


And now a part of me says "Will, you're just a twisted fuck.  How can death make anyone beautiful?"

...Perhaps, it is the impermanence of such beauty itself that makes it so.  That makes it special.

How can anything be special if it can never be lost? 

It's Just a Matter of Time.

So another day swings by and work steeps over at the 2:30 mark, successfully "ending" my free time at around 1:30, including time to get ready.


My boss said she'll start me off with only 15 hours a week when school starts; I'll be able to adjust everything from there.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday will be the days I have school starting on September 20th, with my earliest class starting at 8.  Because it's about an hour drive, I'll probably leave the house an hour and a half earlier, at 6:30, which would mean half an hour to get ready which would mean I'd have to be awake at 6.  Oh, good old High School days.

So reasonably, 15 hours a week means about 2 whole shifts.  So my schedule would look something like...

Monday      - School
Tuesday      - Work
Wednesday - School
Thursday     - Work
Friday         - School

Sat/Sun - Homework / Leisure

Typically of course, I'll probably have work over the weekend if not the weekdays, so we shall see what kind of work schedule Fro Yo puts me on.  I hear college homework take A LOT of time, so I will most likely be spending the mornings before work on homework.  Interesting.

30 hours every 2 weeks would mean $240 every paycheck; $480 every month excluding the amount the government will take from me. 

If I have $2,000 in the bank now, and I hope to buy a Macbook Pro 17inch and a Canon 5D Mark II in 6 months...by March...I would make roughly $2,880 from now until March if I were to save every penny from my paycheck.

If Anna pays me back my $500 over the span of these 6 months I should have about

$5,300 to spend on the two items.

Hopefully a Canon 5D Mark III will come out during the time; causing the Mark II to drop in price and saving me more money.  I think I'm going to rule out buying the items directly from their manufacturers (I've considered the additional taxing cost and calculated that I would be paying at least an extra $400 for the damn camera; damn government);  And so, I'm probably going to be checking craigslist every week to see what sales are going on where.


I'm just going to have to make wise decisions from here on out, and hopefully commit myself to enough research time to determine exactly what will best fit what I'm looking for.

 I know I can do this. 

.

"Well God, make it fly faster than I'm falling in love."

Saw Sam today at work.  


No, of course we didn't exchange any glances or any greetings; it's still on a

"I kind of...yea, I don't really want much to do with you" kind of basis.

It's weird how I could spot her from a mile away, just by the way she walks.

It's interesting to think about how much you can know about a person.  I knew her dreams, her tendencies, her motives, her fears, her insecurities, her thoughts, her body.  All in those 6 wonderful months of finally knowing what it was like to be in an awesome relationship.  Where everyday you woke up and you just thought about one person and it just made you feel light inside because you know damn well they're thinking about you too.

I was a different person back then.

I remember the way my heart jumped whenever I heard my phone's text message ringtone.  I remember how my mind swam in thoughts and possibilities every single day.  I was drenched in emotion; and it was a true experience that changed me.  I was finally able to do all those little cute things good boyfriends are suppose to do.


I made her notes everyday.

The deepest thoughts I've ever written were in the poetry I would give her every week.

I drew comics with us as the stars, and how we would overcome the odd and the evil. 

I remember times where we'd cook orange chicken and write little short stories.

I experienced what it felt like giving a girl flowers; asking someone to a dance romantically, just going up to give random hugs and kisses, holding their hand wherever you went, buying them little gifts and all that mushy stuff.

I learned how to kiss like a human being and not like a slobbery dog.

I felt more like a man because I could say a silly phrase like "Oh yea, I'm going to spend time with my girlfriend." 

Those were the days where everything meant so much to me.  Where my life literally revolved around one person.

I remember the moment I first saw her sitting on a bench at lunch, and thought to myself "Wow, never seen this girl before."  And how I literally went "Okay Universe, I want you to give me a chance on this one, because I really want to make it happen."

And look what happened, skinny insecure William got his damn first girlfriend ever.  

I remember trembling and stuttering the first time I gave her this little card I made that intended to cheer her up because "her last boyfriend was a douche."  I remember how my heart felt like it was going to explode and burst out of my chest when I asked her to be my girlfriend.

I remember the shocking reality when I realized that it's okay to like someone, and let them know about it. 


If High School taught me anything at all, it was in the social progression I made during those 4 years.  From a frightened freshman, to an insecure sophomore, to a nervous junior, and finally to a semi-confident senior.  I can't thank the damn system enough for disguising this truly amazing social bubble of teaching as a prison for "academic success."

Of course, I don't feel the same way about Sam now.  It's all changed.  I fell out of love.  And I'll be sure to never abuse that four letter word ever again for as long as I live.

But that isn't to say just because I don't feel the same way, doesn't mean I don't appreciate what we experienced together, and how I've matured in so many ways because of it.  

I can still vaguely feel the warm heart of that memory, stored in stone in the back of my mind.  I see it; but I can no longer truly feel it.  But it is now that those experiences have settled in; to a solidified frame, that I may use it as a step further to becoming a more mature adult.

Experience truly does yield confidence.  

And despite that it was "just" a 6 month junior year high school relationship,

It has helped shape me into the more mature person I am today. 

Here, I Eternally Reside.

Day, slide me by every hour I breathe in.

Sandwiches every third hour, a protein shake every week.

Fingers sliced by soft strings on an instrument.

Blood in the back of my throat from the weather.

A book over breakfast of toast and eggs.

1 Hour Workouts fill an afternoon.

10 Minute raps after every shower.

A look in the mirror to pick at imperfections.

A look outside the window to see the intersection.

But there's nothing for me there.  Not now anyway.

Just a yogurt shop with colored spoons and tips every now and then.

Wearing the same jeans for 3 hot days.

It's not so prestigious, but I still get paid.

Late night returns, everyone is asleep.

I'll be a shattered expectation if this prolongs.

$200 singing program from a torrent.

Waiting for a Camera and a Laptop to wash ashore from this current.

It's very still here, in this brain.

Silent; remain to repeat the same.

This too shall pass, but there will be a time where I look back to know

That somewhere; it is here, where I eternally reside. 

Know a little about a lot.

I'm not sure what to focus on.   But I know I'd like to be a...

• Dancer
• Comedian
• Singer
• Editor
• Rapper
• Philosopher
• Poet
• Artist
• Athlete
• Photographer
• Director
• Actor
• Writer
• Musician

Sure, why not?

I've 82 more years to live.

And damn!  There is a lot to learn :]

1 Minute for 1 Day.

Another short blog.

Life is a drag as it seems for me; quite lately.

Things will pick up when college starts though. 

I got a hold of a $200 singing program, and I'm very excited to start training on my vocals.  It will be entirely worth it, I know it!  I've got so much to look forward to; but it's all jumbled and uneven at the edges.  It's unclear.  It's mysterious.

But things always get better.  Especially at it's shittiest. 

Because when you're damned starving for something;

Even the smallest crumb carries it's weight. 

Mask

It might not mean anything anymore.

It might be just last week's flavor.

It could be a winter's chill in a summer heat that has found it's way into my spine. 

Growing to bring cold; a festering wound within a wound.

Or I could be deluded; solitary endeavors spent on a perfectly beautiful day.

I hate every beautiful day.  


What good is a gun without someone to pull the trigger? 

Black Hole Sun

It's always night in the world of William.

With short visits from the sun.

He wakes up in the morning.

For it has finally come. 

Joy lasts as long as sorrow

With hidden gaps in between

Today quickly becomes tomorrow

The sun is no longer to be seen.

Where did it go?  He starts to ask

But no reply came to end

Just the moon's awkward shrug

Reflecting the brightness of his friend.

That is life, he begins to think

Whether you suffer or rejoice

The days are far too quick

Too short to find your voice

But maybe if I sleep

The sun will come again

And end this lonely nightmare

To repeat the time again.



How can you chase something that never moves? 

Remembering Sunday

9:03PM.  Sunday, August 29th, 2010.  


Sorry August, but you're dying to become September. 


Let's see what I did...

• Woke up and ate a 500 Calorie breakfast of eggs, toast and Orange juice (seriously, I don't think I'll pull through trying to consume 3,000+ calories a day, I mean I want to gain weight and all but that's a fucking absurd amount of food with the little amount of money I have.)

• Practiced playing the acoustic with a new song "Into Your Arms" by the Maine.  (It's funny because I pretty much gave up singing but I'll try doing it anyway; I attempt to stifle hating my own cracked voice whenever I do)

• Played some on the Electric. (I learned all the notes on the guitar manually!  I know all the A sharps and B flats and that kinda deal--it really wasn't that hard to learn and I feel rather stupid for not trying to learn them in the first place!!)

• Started finishing this 700 page book I've been reading "The Host" (It's amazing!  One of my favorite books of all time!)  (yea!)

• Worked out.  (I can bench a lot more now!  And I'm very happy to say...I'm starting to see results!  Though I haven't gained a damn pound; I'm not sure how the body works that way..)

• Ate lunch and read some more, then had a nap.
  

• Had dinner at Del Taco, came home and played more guitar.

An easy day.  Tomorrow I work from 2:30 to close---a full shift.  Woot.

I want that damn camera....though I'm scared to think I'm loving the dream more than I'd love the reality...

I guess that has always been my problem.  Fear of actually getting what I want.  Getting the opportunity.  Doing what I very much want to do.  Fear of ending anticipation and fear of the beginning; for that would certainly mean the end of some dreams.

But then again...that's a whole new world of dreams, isn't it? 

Generic BLoG Post #73

Haven't blogged too much because every time I get home after a closing shift, I'm too tired to type coherent sentences.


So basically this week's work accumulates to 36 hours.  And it's a part time job.  Oh well, that means I'm making over $300 this week.  I'm still getting closer to my goal for that Mac Book and that camera...  I feel a really terrible aching inside whenever I think of the desire, and then the present absence thereof.  It's terrible I know, I shouldn't think of it that way--but I'm as impatient as the next Joe. 

So basically life has been filled with me getting up, playing some guitar or working out, going to work, and then going to sleep to do it all again the next day.  And school hasn't even started yet.  So when I'm not finishing homework or studying or attending classes 3 times a week for a 1.7 hour 2-way commute, I'll be working for zeh $$.  It's going to be a busy life, and I certainly won't have time to be depressed or pondering happiness because I'll most certainly be tied up.

Though, logically it is far from a bad thing.  This is a wonderful setup--a nearly full time student at a University and a part time job.  Living at home and not having to live off macaroni and ramen.   Not bad for an 18 year old I guess.  My father himself worked for a year before attending the Naval Academy, so technically I'm ahead of my old man.  That's one of my life's dreams.  To be as smart and successful as he.

But then again, in college he took 6 classes a semester with a major in Engineering or Rocket Science or something like that--that required a shit load of studying, and then went to Basic Training school followed by Flight school.  Not to mention he began his career flying around the entire world and seeing places I've only dreamt about.  So if I'm ever going to make that dream come true I'll have to do a lot this year to get ahead.  ^-^

It's interesting because I just realize that my dad is the only hero I've ever looked up to.  Even though he's not afraid to prove me wrong, and make me feel like a dumbass, I can depend on his honesty and no-bullshit answers.  I've concluded after analyzing my attitude towards him, that I often ask his opinion on certain subjects and then quickly change my opinion to equate to his. 

I didn't know you had no back bone!

Hah, I just think of it as borrowing a craft.  The chairs I make are shitty and wobbly as f*ck.  All of his are sturdy, strong, polished, and very well crafted--but with years of experience.  So, I take his methods of making chairs and will adjust it accordingly to how I feel a chair should be made.  Either way, stronger chairs are made.

 Right.?

Shhh bitch.  (Hm that's awkward to say out loud.)

Gosh darn it.   It's a nice day to blog and everything but it's getting hot; making it more troublesome to blog.  Which is why I mostly blog in the cool of night.  But I'm usually working every night.  Damn, I guess I'll have to try blogging in the morning then; I'm all out of steam.

It's finally over.

It's 7AM.  And I'm awake.  >:]

Summer is a Bummer.

So I wake up in an oven, at the time of 11AM.  My first thoughts of the day are:

"MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!"

Dragging myself sleepily off of my pillow, I sit and rest my face on my two hands.  Asking myself "Why dammit, why?"  Another day woken up too late.  T-3 hours until work.  My sleep cycle has been moved, all because of another stupid Social Network site that I now vow to never adventure on again.  Karma punches me in the stomach whenever I try to sleep it off.  I expect another sleepless night tonight.  

So hot.  So tired.  

It's a shame to be a night person AND a morning person. 

Nothing in Particular

"Sometimes I feel there's nothing to live for, I just want to be down and cry."

Eminem's lyrics reached my ears through my headphones one dark drive back to Temecula. 

Thinking "Yea, sometimes I feel that way too."  Sometimes I would stay up late at night as a child and experience what I can only describe as "desperation hour."  I was only able to feel this in the very early morning hours right after midnight; it made me feel that there was nothing to live for.  Everytime I stayed up late enough to experience it, I always wondered "Why am I alive?"  "Why is anyone alive?"  "What's is our purpose?"  "What's the point?"

Now that my perspective lens has hardened and filters out most of the things I used to embrace fully as a child, I no longer feel that way.  Not really ever, except in rare instances.  The trouble in my case is that I feel that there's so much to do, it's hardly worth starting.  I want to do so many different things--but I'm left in a jumbled mess to sort out filled with hidden priorities.  It's a junk yard, really. 

I'm not sure where I thought I was headed with this blog, but then again--I really only do this for me.  I'm trying to solve my problems by stretching them out and analyzing their roots.  I talk to myself a lot when I'm experiencing problems.  I find that I usually know all the answers; I just have to ask the right questions to become aware of them. 

I slept at 4AM this morning--which is very very unlike me.  I hate waking up after the sun.  It makes me feel beat.  To wake up in a hot room, dazed, lethargic, and feeling  hopeless.  Well, I'm working 30+ hours this week (which is full time basically) so I'm sure my sleep will get back on schedule; I close shop on most of those days. 

It's hot. 
I think I'll workout soon.
I think I....

Damn, it's hot.

God? What's That?

God. 

Yep, I think you know where this blog is headed my hairy-headed friend.

I've been thinking lately about what God is.  (Who, he is?)  When he was, how he is.

So I asked Google and he said:

God is:
the supernatural being conceived as the perfect and omnipotent and omniscient originator and ruler of the universe; the object of worship in monotheistic religions

So, God is a supernatural being apparently that created us.  He is a creator.  Yet, are all human beings not creators as well?  Take a look around you.  Every item you see was created by us.  The mere image took place in someone's imagination, followed by action, and was created for our use--for our betterment.  Think about the taste of Spaghetti.  Can't you imagine it?  Sure it's not as vivid as the actual food but you can imagine it.  Now, let's go a bit further.

Imagine you're in a white world of blankness.  A vast world of blankness, white all around--like in the Matrix.

You're standing there, looking around.  Can you see it?  


Now imagine that it starts raining gum drops.  Bit by bit.  gradually getting heavier.  You can hear the light taps of "clicks" and "clonks" of the gum drops as they bounce and plop on the floor and as they hit your head and shoulders.  You can feel and hear it too, can't you? 

You bust out an umbrella, a pink umbrella at that, and open it upward, shielding yourself from the army of multicolored gum drops.

Suddenly a tidal wave of gumdrops fall all at once, and you now find yourself buried under the deliciousness.

You can barely move.

You feel their dense little gelatin bodies all around you, and it's damn hard to move.   


Now you're back.  Sitting down in front of your computer.  Feeling a little stupid at having imagined that.  

But weren't you able to create something out of nothing?  Weren't you able to explore a small world, stimulate senses, and experience it, all in your head despite where you are now?  It is this type of phenomenon that brings me to believe that we, ourselves, are indeed walking Gods.  We can create anything--just by the thought of it.  Try it sometime.  Imagine yourself in the blank world and create something.  Anything.  Experience it.  Stimulate senses.  It can be quite entertaining.  That said, we can create entire worlds just by sitting here and playing with our imagination.  We can defy physics, natural laws, virtually anything--by simply imagining it.

If God is our creator.  And we can create other things.  Then are we not forms of Gods?

But Will Kid, say I did believe in God, if he made human beings, does that mean we can make creatures too?

Well, my curious reader, I cannot entirely say.  Sure we can reproduce and multiply our numbers, but we have yet to create creators.  Perhaps that is the large differential here.  God can create creators, whereas we can only create.   Along such lines, I would also like to explore another theorem of mine.

If God did not create, what would he be?

Give that a long hard thought before reading on.
What the heck would God be if he didn't create anything?

I have yet to form a plausible answer--for this had just entered my mind not minutes ago.  But I do believe that he created us, to create himself.

Lolwhut?!

Yes!  How can a king be a king if he did not have subjects?  How can a painter be a painter if he did not have his artwork?  How can a mother be a mother if she bore no children?  Our existence justifies God, God's existence justifies us.  It's a perfect circle. 

In the early weeks of this month, I felt a new emotion/sensation during a scattered few of my seconds during some days. The first instance took place where I was painting the wall in my room, paintbrush in hand, staring at the wall--watching the black paint slowly engulf the whiteness--and suddenly, I felt my heart jerk.  For a few seconds I knew everything.  I felt the energy in everything around me, in everything that was happening, the shifts in atoms of paint, the brushes, to the last bristle, the wall, the atmosphere, the air I breathed.  Everything had energy.  The only real way I can express it through my limited medium of thought--and this vocabulary--is that everything was alive.  After the short few seconds, I was found myself slightly out of breath, as if I was temporarily sucked back into a world where everything was taken for granted.  This sensation overwhelmed me only a few times more subsequently.  At a random time at work, when I heard plastic spoons falling into the sink.  The sound itself was alive.  Everything fell into slo-mo, everything sped up, everything felt icy clear.  Came clarity in all.  The counter, the ceiling, every molecule around me just brimming with infinite joy and energy.  It's such an foreign feeling altogether; my attempt to describe it fails, equal to our attempt to define love.  But it was still there.

In those few seconds, I've formed yet another theorem; that God is everything.  In those seconds, I felt that everything was fully connected, and everything made sense.  The existence of everything necessitated the existence of everything.  God is energy.  God is those eyes you're using to decipher my meaning.  God is the clothes you wear.  God is your best friend.  God is your problems.  God is the afternoon sun, the pebble at the bottom of the sea, the love and fear you feel, and the air you breathe . God is limitless.  God is everywhere.  God is you.  God is me.  God is the green grass and the autumn trees.

Will Kid, you've lost it.  God is a supernatural being remember?  How can he be anything other than that? 

Perhaps then, our term "God" should not be used to describe this theorem of mine.  Perhaps, rather, I should use the word "energy."  Yet, I might wonder what has instilled such "energy" in all that we have?  In all that there is ever to exist.  And perhaps that might align with your belief that that energy comes from God. In that case, anything that comes from God is a part of him--justifying my use that he is within all.  

You have a lot of times on your hands don't you...? 

Maybe.  Maybe not.  I think about this kind of stuff when I'm sweeping or washing dishes at my job.  I'd like to think I'm getting paid to Theorize . It's a good life, after all. 

What do you think?

PC 4 PC

By now, I've already written a fitting title to fit this blog, and surely it will have a theme or a topic by the time it hits mid page.  At least that's what I'm always counting on.  Rarely do I ever anticipate what I will actually write about until I just start spewing random thoughts out from my keyboard.  Hmmm.

What to write about....












Blank.







Blank.













Bingo.










Why are most of the pretty ones just so dumb?

  It's really a shame.  I was browsing the internet one annoyingly sleepless morning and found this website called MyYearbook.com.   Easily amused, I set up an account and began exploring what the hell the website was all about.  It turned out to be basically a website that mirrored myspace except emphasized on the dating aspect.  I won't go into the details of how it worked--but I really liked the set-up.  The admins put a lot of thought into it and although part of me wants to gag at how technology has melded into our life in such a way, I admired the design that was put into it.  On that note, it was quite genius.  It appealed to a wide variety of people, from teens to mid twenties and it made everything easy.  Talking to 'strangers' had been easier than ever before. 
 
So I get into some conversations with some pretty cute girls surprisingly (and I use the term "conversation" very loosely, as most of them probably don't know the meaning of the word)  and after an hour or two of talking to a bunch, I realize just how conceded and retarded basically all of them are.

Kid what do you expect, it's a date-oriented socially scummed website for our idiotic youth.

Okay true--but seriously, holy mother of God, these bitches thought they ruled the damned world.  As I've read the book "Generation Me" in an explanation of how this generation has been raised to put themselves before anything, I really received the full impact of its message that morning.  Shallow "About Me" blurbs ranged from anything as narcissistic as "I'm awesome" to crude "Fuk u bitches i am what i are so fuk u" to childish one sentence ones such as "Make me happy."  

Okay, so some kids are just desperate no-goes starving for attention--what's new?

 Alright aggressive, analytical reader, I suppose I could say that nothing is new.  It just bothers the hell out of me that there are people like that out there--much more because of this culture and age that we live in today.  It becomes all too easy to have your life revolve around your image and focusing on petty desires such as "Picture 4 picture comment" which is a retarded concept to begin with, seeing as how you're asking for a forced compliment in return for a forced compliment for the sole purpose of stroking your pathetic ego.  Really, get a fucking personality.

Sounds to me, Kid Will, like the website just didn't work out for you and now you're shouting your angry brain off.


I could be angry, but technically it doesn't affect me at all.  I'm just very disappointed that in this modern day and age with all our precious opportunities and advantages there are still the lingering youth stuck on computer screens living for 'pc4pc' and pointless "oh my god I hate my life and my parents and our middle-America suburban house." 

So I suppose I've answered my own question of "why are most pretty girls stupid?"

It's just the myspace/yearbook/facebook hog queens of middle America that are the dumb hoes of the block.

What an ignorant sentiment to begin with!  Ah, so very glad to reach an answer by my own means. 

 Wow Will Kid.  I'm so very glad you took the time to flesh out your discomfort in our society all through the medium of a cheap teen website.  If I may be so bold to say, why don't you just....oh, I don't know...NOT FUCKING GO ON THOSE WEBSITES THEN?  

 Dear Reader, you are a genius!

Pain is Inevitable. Suffering is optional.

I want so much in my life that my head is spinning circles around, leaving me a dizzy mess; half believing that there's nothing I can do--nothing to work for.  Nothing I could possibly take action to create success for me.

Whatever with that shit!

I calculated on my lunch break today that if I were to buy that 17inch Mac Book Pro as well as the 5d Mark II with my savings, I would need to save for approximately 8 months (to next April) to a sum of at least $6,000.  This is all including the bullshit amount of tax (CA charges 8.75% sales tax, which would equate to about $500 just to buy a $3,600 camera).  Perhaps I could buy it out of state or something and have it shipped to my house that way.  Sales taxes aren't the same in every state, you see.

But can I wait 8 months?  I think I can.  David brought up a good point the other day, telling me that when I have all the money, and I still want what I've set out to save for--that's a sure sign that I really do want it.  But that would mean saving almost every dollar of every paycheck.  But damn, do I think that it's worth it.  God gave me a set of rules to play by and he gave me this gap.  A chunk of time with my job to get what I want.  Tuition is paid for, food and housing is paid for by living at home.  All I need to really worry about is books or money for outings.  But that's all luxury.  But then again, so are these expensive items I'm drooling over.  Is it worth it?  Well--I've got 8 months to figure it all out.  Given that I'll be doing my research, keeping up to date--and most likely--the prices will go down.

Post# 65.

Fuck yea Will, keep them blogs comin'.

This suggestion may be a bit suggestive.

I'm drenched in this media saturated culture that governs the emotions of our youth like a dog and his hunter.  

You think you've got teeth until you realize the hunter has his gun.  He can reach you from your television, your internet, your friends, strangers, billboards; virtually anywhere.

He influences the rest of the dogs to think like him; identify the good from the bad--all from his discretion. 

How can you run away when he's got you on a leash?  You need money to break it, but you have to play by the rules to make it.  And even once you're out, this is his forest. 

We're trained to think like the hunter.  Look like the hunter.  Be the hunter.  But we're dogs.  And sooner or later we will realize we can't be him.  We can dress in his clothes or talk the way he talks.  Walk the way he walks, and bark the way he barks.  I won't go as far to say that he's better.


There's more of us, after all.  And he needs his dogs to function.

Oh how one day I'll have the gun, and show him what a bullet really tastes like.   

I killed him.

Today William died. 

I killed him. 

Don't freak out oh fearless reader, just keep reading.

His parents found him dead in his room.  They called the ambulance, but alas, his last breath had left the very room before he had been found.  A funeral was held and all his family and friends were there.  They saw his deathly pale skin, and shook their head at the sorry sight.

But one thing was wrong.  


You see, William didn't have friends.  He never had a mother, nor a father.  He never had any dear sisters. He never had dreams.  He never thought a single thought nor imagined any dream.  He never took any risks.  He never loved and never hated.  He didn't have a mind.  He didn't have arms or legs, or a mouth to talk with.  He didn't have any lungs to breathe with, and he certainly didn't have any senses to connect it all.  William was dead.  That's it.  And he was perfect.

You see, now that he was dead--there was nothing wrong with him. He was not flawed.  He never cried.  He never hated anyone.  He never destroyed anything or hurt anyone's feelings.  He never broke down.  He never felt sad, depressed, angry, or hopeless.  He was dead.  He was perfect.

But now, look at me. My face isn't quite so proportional, and there is dry blood on my hands.  Don't you think something is a little odd here?  Aren't I just simply flawed?  Isn't something wrong with me?  I've hurt people I've loved.  I've made so many fucking mistakes it could fill oceans, I've felt like the most worthless piece of shit on this planet, I've felt so sad I could cry my eyes out and then some more, I've felt so angry I could burn down something beautiful and innocent, I've felt so guilty that I'd think that I couldn't possibly live with myself.

But death?  Death is not an escape.  Death is.  Death has no suffering.  Death is not even nothing.  Death is.

Life is suffering.  Life is our pain.  Life is the reason we feel like miserable pieces of run down shit---so much that we think we could just lie down and stop breathing.   But suffering is our lives.  Without this suffering how can we ever live?  How could I have possibly felt like a piece of shit if I didn't feel anything higher previously?  How could I smile if I never cried?  How could I relax if I never felt stressed, or annoyed, or angry?  How could I forgive if I never held a grudge?  How could I be happy without suffering?


Human beings love to suffer.  It's a master plan.  It is God himself.  Suffering is the necessary balance to our lives--without it, we would have nothing.  NOTHING.

So William might think that this is untrue.  "Total bullshit," he says.  People die because they suffer, he says.  He told me so.  He was convinced that those who committed suicide suffered so much that they killed themselves. 

Wrong, dear boy.  They ceased their suffering.  To stop suffering, is to stop living.  


To stop suffering, is to die.  


Now in death, they no longer feel pain.  They no longer possess anything.  They never existed.  Their cause for death was erased as soon as death came.  Meaning, the very reason they wanted to die was rendered void as soon as they died.  They have successfully stopped the suffering.  Congratulations William; you are now perfect. 


But look at life.  There are billions of mistakes that can be made.  There are an infinite amount of possibilities.  Life is everything.  Everything is connected.  Everything is connected because everything balances one another.  When you cry your eyes out so much, that you can literally cry no more--you feel better.  You never feel worse after a good cry.  Your sorrow is satisfied and overturned by balance.  Crying is an effect to relief, not a cause to more pain.   When we're angry and we destroy something--we feel better.  When we kick and scream and bring the fucking house down, we feel better.  It is when you stifle the balance, that you stifle the suffering--and thus life.  The result is death.  Suffering is made complete by our joys in life.  If you cannot suffer, you will die.  Those who kill themselves cannot suffer.  They do not destroy, they do not cry those needed tears, they do not let their emotions run their course.  (e)motions are always in motion.  If you stop them, you are in dangerous waters with the balance of life.  The result is a drastic, thoughtless action.  Your life ends.

Think about middle America.  Our wonderful cures for these terrible diseases, our healthy society, our do-good schools, our happy country.  People stop suffering.  People start killing themselves when they do not know how to suffer.  

Now think about middle India, in the slums.  Disease plagues the people.  The food is terrible.  The clothes are dirty.  How many do you think rush up to their rooms to kill themselves?  I can assure you, not very many.  It is because they suffer.

So William does not believe this.  "How can you say we must go through such terrible things?  There are plenty of people who live very good lives with little tragedy, and seem to be going just fine."

Well then, I would say.  You need only look in the mirror.  Aren't you living in a suburban upper middle class home with a nice family, house, and environment?  Don't you have a job, clothes to wear, and good food to eat?  Yet you still suffer.  You must.

So, he says, you're saying that everyone is in pain right now?  Otherwise they can't live correctly?

In some way or another, of course everyone has felt pain.  Pain can be emotional, psychological, physical, but it is because of this pain that they are the way they are now.  Had this pain not existed, they would not be people.  They would be dead.

Think of one person who has never suffered in his or her life. 

William thought.  And he could not.

After his accusations began to dwindle I proceeded to the more controversial truth.  Why do you think you have had bloody noses all the time?  During work, during dances, during worse times?  They are a balance to your joys.  Everything is related.  In fact, you are alive because your sister is dead.  To this, he refused to continue.  But I persisted.  You are alive because you have felt pain in life.  You are truly alive because you have experienced a terrible death.  You are grateful because you have lost.  The saying goes "bad things happen to good people."  Bad things happen to all people.

  Everyone must experience a counter balance to their joys. 

A star football player who breaks his leg.  A wealthy family who is robbed.  A smart Joe who is beaten.  A wonderful singer who gets into a car accident.  These are all generalized large things of course but it is everything, you see.  A paper cut, lost footing, stubbing your toe, broken guitar strings, falling off the bed, a cavity, being left out of a party, having a lousy waitress, feeling alone, losing your car keys, anything you find as a misfortune is a balance to all of your fortunes.  The better you have it, the more suffering you will have to endure.

But this is life's test.  This is the test to see whether human beings can look into their hearts and accept the good as well as the bad.  Once you truly realize that the world doesn't hate you, and that the bad things that happen to you are there for a reason, you can smile as you confront them, knowing that they are there to counter balance your life.  This is where one can, with an open mind, choose happiness over sadness.  This is why human beings love to suffer.  It is counter intuitive--yes, but deep down, you know that you love the feeling of letting your emotions go.  You feel wonderful when you cry--your emotions are finally unplugged and streams of feelings are allowed to flow free once again.  Of course, this does not mean one should burn down a building when he is feeling angry--there are constructive ways to channel the energy of emotions into constructive means.  Art is an escape.  Music.  Those wonderful sorrowful songs were the escape of the artist.  Ideas.  Stories.  Books.  Anything by the nature of Art is used to make the suffering more bearable.  That is what makes Art so beautiful to us.

By this time William seemed uneasy, but I knew, he knew.

We burned his suicide note. 


We are all born into this world crying for a reason.  We are born suffering. 

Face it. You are a Dumbass.

I'm thinking too much, aren't I?

It's not enough to think about what to think about.  It's not enough to think how I should think about my own process of thinking.  It's not enough to question what priority of thought I should be considering over the next.  If I've lost you already, then perhaps you might say:

Why, yes Kid Will, perhaps you should shut that brain to rest. 

But how can I do so?  I have so many questions.  But that is where my journey starts.  With a question.

I love it when I hear little kids ask questions.

Is that creepy?


A bit--

But really.  I've realized that the only solid distinction between an intelligent person and a stupid person is by varying lines of curiosity.  An intelligent person wonders why his faucet is dripping.  Checks it out.  Figures it out through questions.

"What is that noise I'm hearing?"
"Why is my faucet doing that?"
"Why aren't all faucets dripping?"
"Can I correct it myself?"
"Where does this pipe lead to?"
"Is it cracked?"
"Will this tape do the trick?"

You see, I realize that there cannot be answers, without questions. 

"Ask and you shall receive"

That's a bible quote, but now that it's written down--I realize even further that this applies to all things.  When someone wants to start a business, they begin with a series of inquiries such as:


"HOW THE FUCK DO I START A BUSINESS?"
"Who can I ask?"
"What kind of risks does it involve?"
"How much money can I put into it's start-up?"


Then, they go from there.  Now let's exhibit a stupid person.

*Drip Drip Drip*
*Doesn't know what it is.  Doesn't care.*

"How do I start a business?  Hmmm...I don't know."

I can begin to hate those words "I don't know."  I've discovered that they are useless many a time.  The better answer is:  "Let's find out."

"Hey Bill, how many cylinders does your engine have?"
"I don't know."

Congratulations Bill, you've learned nothing.  Provided that Bill does nothing to figure it out of course.  I've learned that there is NOTHING worse than apathy. The fruits of this life are given to those who care.  Those who care, are naturally curious.  Those who are curious ask questions.  Those who ask questions find answers.  Those who find answers succeed and live a good life. 

It's a full circle of positive energy, and it starts with accepting life's challenges and taking action on your own accord. 

Wow Kid Will, congrats on your enlightenment.

But I have only begun!

Recently I discovered that all that extra weight I gained in a week (as you recall, I am trying to gain weight) was mostly water weight and more or less likely excess fat.  I gained 4 pounds, I lost 3 pounds.  It was a roller coaster of weight gain and weight loss, all through a handful of days that I ate and ate and ate and worked out on.  In result from recent research, I've discovered that healthy muscle mass gain should approximate to about a pound a week.

Upon reading this I felt, to put it blatantly, like a fucking dumb ass.   

...That's your enlightenment?  Feeling like a dumbass?

Indeed!  Because I realize that when you feel like a dumbass, you have gained the proper knowledge to realize how dumb you've been.  Think about it.  Those times you really fucked up.  And then you felt like a dumbass.  But now you can say "yea, I acted pretty stupidly" because you realize the truth and figured out how you should have acted in retrospect (that means after it happened you silly illiterate reader, you).   Do really stupid people know how really stupid they are?  Of course not!  But I, after realizing how stupid I've been approaching my weight gain plan, discovered the truth of the matter.  Only now have I truly grasped the quote:

"The smarter we get, the dumber we realize we truly are."

But this is what bothers me.  This is why I think so much.  This is why I am worried.

When I was really little, I would call people names.  I would hurt the feelings of my peers.  I wouldn't clean up my mess.  I resented the luxuries I had.  But that is because--you guessed it--I was a dumbass.  But now, I've realized the wrongs.  Now I realize that the peanut of my brain just didn't have the perspective, nor the grasp of ethics I have now.  But that is all basic--we all know that.

Kid Will, this is pointless.  I know right from wrong.  I know I should be clean--I know I should be grateful.  Why the big deal?

  Because, dear reader, everything is relevant to everything.

What the fu--

Indeed, it is another theory of my own, but I will save a deeper explanation in another blog, and explain it's correspondence in this topic.   Now that we think we have grown "smarter" since our little mishaps, things have grown more complex than you think.  Let me illustrate by example.  

My father worked hard for months and months in his youth, saved up, and bought his first mustang.

Congrats dad, your first car.  

Too bad he didn't know shit about cars and got a terrible deal--a high price for a shitty car.

He didn't know.  But he didn't know that he didn't know.  It was a dark corner of consideration he didn't know existed until he realized that it bore such negative consequences.  You see, these dark corners are everywhere.  Life isn't just a labyrinth.  Life is a labyrinth within a series of labyrinths, of dark corridors we haven't even thought would exist in this maze until we are free from their darkness and can look back on it in a light we have developed and grown to understand.



I realize that I am in a perpetual state of stupidity, else I discover why I am in stupidity.  That's right, you read that correctly.  I will remain ignorant, until I realize how exactly I am ignorant, and by then I will have reached enlightenment.  The thing is...how am I stupid?  ...I don't know.

I don't know what I don't know.   

But my mind aches to discover how, why, and what.  


And the questions of 'when' haunts my mind literally every day. 
It's all in retrospect that we understand it.  Until after we've gone through it the hard way.  But my mind wont let it rest at that--now that I know that even now I am in such a vulnerable, feeble, gullible, ignorant mind.  Am I living life inefficiently?  Should I be jumping on Mutual Funds while I still can?  Should I be discovering alternate ways to break into the entertainment industry?  Do I waste my time with music?  Am I making the necessary preparations to ensure a successful, prosperous future?  Or will Future Will look back and say:  "Fuck, I should have done this..."   Because that's how it always is for me.  I paid too much for a shitty amp.  I took a good friend for granted.  I unintentionally hurt someone with my lack of sensitivity, I should have joined a sport earlier, I should have joined more clubs, I should have taken more AP classes, I should have taken school more seriously, I should have started all this shit earlier, I should have done this, that, everything that I should have done.   Inside, I want to be close to perfect.  I want to be efficient.  I want to develop my mentality to a swift, able current. I want to develop my soul enough to finally reach enlightenment, understand who I am, what makes everything work, why, and become just--better than I am now. 

But why do I care so much about bettering myself?

When can I begin to understand my place and take the necessary precautions from there?

 Even now do I waste time and effort into taking these things in consideration? 

What should I...do?

Now that the universe has received these questions; I am bound to receive the answers.

But when?

...ah, another question.