Struggle

“Sometimes, struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If we were to go through our life without any obstacles, we would be crippled. We would not be as strong as what we could have been.”

 

Ladies and Gentlemen of my personal Jury, I stand before you fatigued with a certain sense of despondency. To my left is my beautiful Love, whom hasn’t slept for approximately thirty-six hours straight. In her slumber, she remains peaceful and undisturbed. And while she may snore every now and then, each vibration of her respiratory structures only give testament to the hard work she has been enduring for said hours. Unfortunately for her, she also has work about twelve hours from now, followed by another night of class.

The living room around me is quiet and motionless, save for my companion and myself. Through the headphones, the orchestral compositions of Philip Glass pour into my ears like a much-needed reprieve from my own exhausting day. While I have only been awake for a mere nineteen hours, I too have faced my share of the day’s trials and tribulations. I need not share too many details for you, for that would detract from the purpose of my rant. Yes, even rants have their own purposes and messages to convey; not that mine ever had one.

The road is long and arduous. Surely, there are those whose works and deeds outmatch my own. Compared to my schedule, their abilities to maintain composure under pressure is nothing short of a miracle. Nevertheless, our own problems and trivialities always seem to be the most horrible, don’t they? It’s only natural; we are predestined to be selfish of a certain measure. Our basic instincts promote us to do what’s best for us; pushing for our survival through the cold and desolate landscape we call Earth. I jest. The Earth is not cold and desolate. However, do we often feel alone in a room full of people? Though two bodies may be within inches of one another, they may still feel light years apart. Such is the power of our mind, the power of fear and isolation. It secludes us, taking away from our humanity, as we know it. Eventually, we find ourselves becoming more cold and bitter to the world around us. Is it wrong for us to be a reflection of what we see everyday?

Not necessarily. But keep in mind that our capacity for emotion and compassion are what makes us human. Without them, we are but the lifeless dolls I see on my way home from school. On a side note, those dolls are seriously disturbing as heck, especially at night. A small room is dedicated to them in this offbeat toy store. When it’s dark, they leave these ominous lights that cast a demonic glow upon them. One would think they’d suddenly come to life and slay us all. Sorry. I’m getting off on a tangent here, aren’t I?

In the face of great adversity, the once contented calf may turn into the course donkey. That is, one of calm and concise behavior can just as easily slip into a sardonic and rancorous cynic. Our troubles and worries often serve to harden us as our winters of discontent approach. The ice of indifference builds quickly, and we grow cold of it. And so, after four sum-odd paragraphs, I come to say that it’s difficult being a good person in such trying times.

It’s easier to hate than love, I always thought. That’s why so many people have done it in the past, I suppose. It’s easier to point fingers than it is to accept responsibility. Accountability has always made us, as a species, weak to our own insecurities. No one likes to fail, unless you’re one of those people. In that case, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. In the end, at the end of the day, you are responsible for you. It’s as simple as that.

Whether you’re working six jobs or some other seemingly ungodly schedule, I wish the best of luck to you. As hard as things may be for you, keep in mind that there are always others worse off than you. In essence, try to keep things in perspective, a little bit. Learning to deal with the road bumps along the way are what make us the people we are. We have a great capacity, a great potential to achieve marvelous things. No one ever said the road was easy to traverse. If were all so easy, what challenge or interest would there be in life? None, and I hope you’d agree too. Struggles are as necessary as they are inevitable. We’re bound to hit a bunch of these in our lives. But at the moment, I am very tired and am soon to fall asleep in the warm care of the Sandman himself.

 

Nostalgia

Nostalgia

n.

1. A wistful desire to return in thought or in face to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Nostalgia

One of the most powerful images one can possibly draw from is the illustration of memory. Throughout our lives, we experience countless events that manage to etch themselves into the many neural connections within our brain. From a first "boo-boo" to a the recent heartbreak, memories are a great inspirational factor. At the moment, I have been inspired to write. With music as my muse, I feel as if words must flow from the orifice of my mouth and onto a more formal format. I want to speak from the heart here, despite the contrary remarks of the more logical sort. I suppose this kind of feeling hits us from time to time; a feeling in which we feel this longing for the past. It was a different time, back then. It was a wonderful time. It was a better time. Or so we thought. Do we remember when we were plucked from the bliss of the Innocent bosom and thrown into the mayday of this chaotic world? Maybe. Maybe. Maybe we don't want to remember such a horrendous event. Most people would think little of it. It's a natural occurrence in one's life. Everyone, at some point or another, needs to grow up. But what of us who never wanted to grow up in the first place? What say did we have? Did we ask to be shown the cruelties of this world? Were we asking for all the woes to pour out of the figurative Pandora's Box and douse us in its adulterated filth? Probably not. But it was as inevitable as it were necessary. It's moments like that, moments where one must truly cherish the peace and stability they have at the moment. Eventually, the calm seas of life will become a tumultuous storm, wishing only for our own resignation. It would seem simple, wouldn't it? The idea of giving up to the harsh winds of change would seem like a sweet release from the Hell that was seemingly bestowed upon us. Every moment spent on this Earth must be taken to heart. Who knows? I may die at this very moment, at this very spot. What legacy do I leave behind? What mark do I leave in the midst of my passing? It's almost another means of looking at our purpose, here. In ultimatum, we're here to simply exist and make it through this. But at times, it's easier to look back rather than forward. We start to miss how easy it was, how wonderful it was. We miss family, friends, and loved ones. Our past continues to haunt us, while our future seems to elude us. It's a painful yet glorious struggle, for everything worthwhile in life isn't easy to obtain. The past exists for a reason: to teach us how to live in the present. That way, we can create a better future for ourselves, and perhaps the world around us. So many of us can rarely and truly see the beauty that life has to offer. In the end, we are but a passing grain in the ever-changing sands of time. 

Post Script: If you ever have a chance, listen to "How It Ends" by Devotchka. I heard it on the more recent trailer for Gears of War 2. It's wonderful, and it served as my muse for this evening's rant.

More Shortly.

Story

I have come to the conclusion, through the collective unconscious or otherwise, that a story is like a jigsaw puzzle. A story can be massive, encompassing a domain of ten thousands pieces or more. It can also be quite small, comprised of a meager twenty-four pieces. Regardless of size, the story cannot come together unless all of the pieces fit in place. There may be some fascinating or dazzling aspects of a story, but may never find itself in the puzzle you're working on. It cannot be forced, for the end result will look sloppy and misplaced. This ends with a broken story, as is a forced jigsaw puzzle ends with broken pieces. That is why one must simply, through trial and error or by another means, find out which pieces belong in the set story line. Depending on the story you're working on, it may take a few minutes. One may even spend an entire lifetime working on it. But in the end, when all is completed, the big picture should most definitely be astoundingly remarkable. The beauty of a story, as with a jigsaw puzzle, is that there are a variety to choose and work from. Just because you can't finish one doesn't mean all is for naught. Instead, think of it in terms of preparation. Perhaps you're not ready for this particular story, and should instead spread your net wide so that you may learn to complete other stories as well. If one were to devote all of their time to one singular story, why, that would make them a one-trick pony. Wouldn't it?

In lieu of presentable artwork, I have but my own musings to exhibit. After all, this is my blog, is it not? So until the next piece can finally grace its nakedness upon the world wide web, I shall leave you with nothing but a farewell.

More shortly.

Culimnation

Here I am, at the cusp of another eleven week quarter. Things have finally (and I do mean finally) started to slow down a bit. Within a few days, I'll be sitting pretty in my short sojourn of a vacation. I'm planning to start on some side projects that I've been meaning to begin. In the meantime, a drawing. Just for you. 

More shortly.

Apologies 02

It's another quarter, ladies and gentlemen. Meaning, I won't have much time to post new work up here. Plus, I need to re-intsall everything since my hard drive died. Be back soon!

Whore

Whore

n.
1. A prositiute.
2. A person considered sexually promiscuous.
3. A person considered as having compromised principles for personal gain.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/whore

I've become an avid user of the word, lately. I use it, not just because it's funny, but because I find it to be an accurate means to describe a startling boatload of the people that inhabit this place. Whenever I see chicks complaining about how cold it is, and then come to find that they're wearing a sad (and by sad I mean ridiculously short) excuse for legwear, I can only think wow, she's a whore. In this context, I would safely assume that she's a whore by definition...this third definition. She has, without a doubt, compromised principles for personal gain. Lots of women (and some men, too) dress as if they're prostituting themselves in the Red Light district of Amsterdam. Even if you are attractive, dressing in such a way is most unbecoming. It tells me that all you are interested (and this may be one or more of the following) solely in: Sex, Drugs, Money, and any other superficial crap that may exist in the vain world we live in today. Now, as much as I would enjoy most of those, I live for things finer than those. I'm not going to list them, since we all ought to know what they are, already.
It's sad, really. I'd like to think better of you, but I just can't. Seriously, a bearded woman in blue jeans will be more appealing to me than that harlot of clothing. Of course, I am more inclined to think such, since I have this strange fascination with beards.
On the other hand, saying "whore" the way I say it just sounds funny to me. It's really awesome, since you can really draw out the pronunciation of the "wh" in "whore." But that's besides the point. I'm getting off topic here. Apologies.
As for the textbook whores, there's little to be said about them. And there shouldn't be much said about them, either. They are what they are, and I could give a pork's butt (Cow & Chicken?) for caring. So for those of you, in those short-short shorts and skirts, complaining that there's an uncomfortable wind displeasing you, I laugh. I laugh maniacally, complete with lightning and thunderbolts behind me. I'm that evil. No, not that evil. That evil. You know, the kind of evil that loves to put a cat hair in your water glass. By the way, if any of you get that reference, you totally win one hundred points that don't mean anything.
Perhaps this rant can transcend the purview of what I (and Dictionary.com) define as a whore, but to the subject of society today. I don't get it, nor will I try to get it, because everybody's different. Everyone has different views, tastes, religions, suspicions, conflictions, and opinions. Let's face it, I'm one of them. And all in all, this means little in the eyes of others. In fact, I'm not surprised if said whores would attempt to defend their positions [(which ever one that may be *wink*)(I didn't make that wink symbol because two parentheses next to each other looks weird to me)] and lambast me for the things I've said. Whatever. I couldn't care less. I'm a jerk, enough said. And if you know me well enough, you know how the word "jerk" is defined in my context. By the way, if you're thinking that's some allusion or hint to masturbation, you're wrong. Asshole. If that, you clearly don't know me well enough. And at that, I wouldn't care that much to know you, either; seeing as how you've thought up such a dirty thing. But then, I had thought that by the mere mentioning of it. Oh well. Wait. No. I can back this up. But it's 3 something in the fucking morning. I'm tired. I'm cranky. And I just hat you right now.

P.S. - The missing 'e' was intentional, but you don't care and neither do eye.

Matthew Bellamy

My rendition of one of the most talented musicians of this century. I'm just going to keep painting and painting, hoping to get better every time.