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. 

Rigid Habits of Frivolity

Feeling undeserving of all these precious things I have.

I am spurred to question where such useless emotions draw their energy from. 

What does it mean to be deserving?  
One must be worthy. 

What does it mean to be worthy? 
One must have value. 

What is value? 
Value is importance.

And what may importance be measured by?
  Why, how useful you are.

What is being useful?  
Bettering all. 

What is bettering? 
Improvement, efficiency. 

All I'm looking for is efficiency. 

With efficiency, I wouldn't have to worry that I'm wasting my time with such frivolous things.  My mind can rest easy with the reassurance that my present actions will benefit my future.  That I feel centered inside, knowing that I hold a place in this world.

"Stop playing guitar you stupid boy, and get to researching the Stock Market."  Says the Crimson voice.

"Quit dreaming about your films, you'll never follow through."  Says it.


"You don't need a video game, you'll waste your time."

"Why did you spend $250 on that guitar?  You don't need it."

"Why are you reading a novel?  You've better things to do."

"Facebook, is a waste of time.  Painting your room is a waste of time.  Downloading music is a waste of time.  You need to concentrate on what's good for you."  

My wall of confidence is continually under siege by my own back-water alias.  I'm slowly decaying under questionable doubt of importance, worth, place. 

Oh, how I'll remember these days; where I still questioned my footing on this beautiful planet. 

Kill The Devil.

      


    I can't remember your voice.  Was it charming or complacent?  It's easy to deny what you've lost; when you can't stand up and face it.  You wore make-up and cheap jewelry, as far as I can remember.  Your birthday was on Friday the 13th, 1993, September.  I meet these other girls; born just the same year.  Yet you still remain the younger, so far and yet so near.  I can remember late night talks.  Of girls and guys, truths and lies, anything that came up.  It didn't matter at the time, for as long as we stayed up.

But everything is gone.
It's all just gone. 
And I hate to say it--but I've moved on.

With your leave I did grow stronger.  Though indeed I wish you'd stay longer.
You were the best person I ever knew, and no one on Earth could ever replace you.

If  what the Bible says is true, and you are burning beneath me, then I will plunge and kill the devil
and dig you out believe me.   I've been thinking about it for awhile, and I realize that there's no justice.  Religion has no place to replace what God had given us.  And if your suffering is held right, and God himself agrees.  Then I will try to kill him too, for then he's no God for me.  Should instance play out to which I fail; I suppose I'll sleep in hell.  But remember that I still have dreams and those ideals will never stale.   Don't think me crazy or simply stupid, for all I am is man.  And for all I've come to hold and know you helped everyone understand.  So roast for a few more decades, and I will have God send me. 

To save your soul and all the rest,


when you died to become my memory.  

High Five from Hell.

I've finally enrolled in all of my fine dandy college classes--and am READY FOR COLLEGE!  WOOOT!

Yes, I didn't have this attitude until yesterday when my schedule turned out to be the shittiest schedule on the face of this planet (but I've fixed it so no biggy!)

Shittiest on the planet eh Kid?

Yes 'ndeed.  My schedule consisted of commuting every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday to UCR with gaps as long as SEVEN HOURS between my classes.  (I.E a lecture at 8am and then another lecture at 5pm).  The odd thing is--I'm only taking 3 classes this quarter.  (UCR runs on a quarter system, unlike high school being a semester system.  Thus, it will be my schedule for the next 10 weeks or so--and then I have those credits!  So basically college crams what you learn in a semester into half the time.) 

But I've changed it to a nice neat schedule of only MWF.

The only lame thing is that only the shittiest classes were left for me to choose because I chose a late date for orientation.  It was the 9th orientation they had--so you bet I got the some of the shittiest of the shittiest.  So I'm taking:

1. Intro To Acting
2. Exploring the Universe
3. British Literature

...your taking Brit Literature?   ...wtf?

Yes 'ndeed.  It's going to be LAME.  But then again--I suppose I just might be able to gather some interest into it after all.  I do have a bit of English in my blood.

I didn't know slanty eyed kids like you could be white Kid Will.

But YOU'RE WRONG mother FKER!  Welcome to the year 2010--where everyone is a mix of everyone.  That's right.  Sex has no boundaries bitches.

 So I might as well tell you what I am because you and I happen to be very close.  After all, it IS my voice inside your head for the duration of you reading my blog--and that's a pretty intimate thing.  Being inside your head and all.  Heheh.   HOOOHAH  LALALALLAALALA!  Am I Annoying You?

So!  This is a fairly accurate (to my knowledge) estimation of my ethnicities:

• 25%         Japanese
• 25%         Filipino

• 20%         Hawaiian

• 6%           English
• 6%          German
• 6%           French
• 6%           Irish
• 3%           Spanish 

• 3%          Other

Yes, one of my great grandfathers was 75% hawaiian, 25% something else--that of which my own father is unaware of.  So that means I could be something else...perhaps black.  Perhaps Norwegian.  Or maybe part Arctic Wolf.  Who knows.  The point is--I'm a mutt.

Can you imagine the awesomeness if I held a gigantic family get-together from all sides of my family?  The food would be fking worldly.

I suppose I'm not angry that I am a mutt of races.  In fact, I feel a sense of pride that I came into existence through an interesting route of chance and diverse backgrounds.

     Think about it--I could be related to Adelaide, the French peasant, son of Algernon from the 18th century.  I'm definitely related to a Spanish immigrant who sailed all the way to the Philippines during the time it was conquered (My Filipino grandma is a little Spanish due to her ancestor's obvious intercourse with a Spanish immigrant).  I could be related to Helga, the German mountain Nazi, strongest of her farm with Golden hair that could outshine the North Star.   I could be related to an ancient Samurai of Hayashimi, or even better--a commoner who's father was slaughtered by a samurai due to his treasonous act of looking him in the eye!  Perhaps I could trace my bloodline to Jack The Ripper from England, an Irish drunken bastard, a Spanish rapist, a Filipino dog catcher, a Hawaiian spear craftsman, or an Arctic Wolf! 

Wouldn't you like to just see a little glimpse of some of your ancestors?  All the way back in time--who have no fucking clue that somewhere along the line, after years and years...you will be born.  That their descendant will live in a grand place called The United States of America--that which didn't even exist back then!  (Well, as far as they would be concerned--the New World that belonged to the natives).  Think about how different things would have turned out, had they not met their spouse--all the bloodline would have changed, and you wouldn't exist.  What if I traveled back in time and had my great great great great great great great grandfather Garrick of Britain, trip on a stick--averting his meeting with the woman he was destined to marry and thus start a family with?  Their children wouldn't have been born, whose children's children wouldn't have been born--and thus a whole set of circumstances wouldn't have eventually led to the meeting of my mother's existence (and her meeting of my father alone) and thus my existence. 

Now think about 3,000 years from now.  A child will be born, and amidst the complex branches of bloodlines, you will be traced to have been their ancestor.  You brought on their existence.  They wont know who you are.  They wont know that you even existed.  Do they care?  Well I think I care about my ancestors.  But I suppose I'll never know about the man who grew up in Liverpool hundreds of years ago.  Or about the girl who fell in love on the islands of Hawaii far before it was taken as a U.S state.  Or about the hardships my Japanese ancestors faced in the fields, nor how funny of a Great(x12) Grandfather I had whom existed somewhere else in Europe while my other ancestors were busy with their own lives in other parts of the world. 

It's all connected.  And they couldn't have known shit how far their blood would reach.

How could they have known their very figment of existence would spew out from these fingers, onto this keyboard--electronically embedded on an internet blog?  They're mentioned, unknown--but acknowledged nonetheless. 


Could they have known that somewhere in the time mess, their blood would be in the veins of this boy, a troubled dreamer in a southern town, working at a frozen yogurt shop and on his way to saving for a Canon 5d Mark II camera to help him achieve his vision of becoming a filmmaker one day? 

They couldn't have known.
And I'll never know their names.

 But we're connected.
And underneath it all,
that is what matters.


We're all connected whether you know how or not.