Shout out to Cassidy

Thank ya ma'am

lakjdscj

My thoughts on this particular day at this particular moment, are out of control. My mind races past me. I can't seem to pull a coherent idea out of my damn brain. Too much to handle. I need a moment of clarity. I'd say the there's a block, but that wouldn't correctly describe what is happening. The caffine that i depend on these mornings seems to have gotten the best of me. I try what i can, but i can't seem to locate the brake pedel. Nothig seems to make sense. With the silence, i only hear echos of the yelling occuring inside my head. Even with the the words on this page, there is no direction. What is good is bad and everything is running in reverse. Nothing is turned around, just the just chaos rewinding through my perception. I feel myself slipping.

I want to grab hold, but everything is out of reach. The work that i have been building up to is crumbling. is it the medication that i need. Everyone out there turns to this simple acheivable asnswer, but i only see weakness. It's more of a breakdown than a helping hand. It's not what i seek but it is what is acceptable. Maybe i am the crazy one, but i see no problem operating with the rest of the hive. I want to fix myself, and truely have control. a certain level of detachment is nessecary, but currently im falling off a cliff without getting closer to water. It could cleanse me.
I continue to fight against myself, searching for the better half. I know its there, but buried deep under the mistakes of my last year in the world. When i get close i stumble and lose sight. It can be done.

Not Sure

I'm not quite sure what i beleive anymore. It's just way too hard to say. So many different things going on in my head. I'm told so many different theories, but when it comes down to it, how the fuck do I know that what their saying is the real deal.

My whole life I've been around the influence of people that have a strong beleif in christianity. It seems like a good thing. People with good morals that have found their reason to conduct themselves in a certain way. It's not a bad beleif. Beyond the crazy assholes that try a force their veiws on the rest of the population, I have no problem with christian beleifs.

I went through a whole hardcore beleif thing. In a certain time in my life, it just really felt right. Everything seemed to fit together, and the people i was surrounded by felt the same way. When i was baptized, i truly felt it. But now it seems hard to decipher all the elements in the equation. Like i said everything fit, but is that because it designed to do so? Where is the line? Does God really give you that unexplanible feeling that can be acheived, or does that feeling com from the fulfillment of our natural quest to find some higher meaning? With the big brains and critical thinking that seperate us from all other organic we have to find something bigger than us. Are we truely designed in the image of a higher being or are we just some fuckin crazy chain of coincidences that somehow led to our phenomenon of an existence?

I personally have no damn clue. Even as I write this, i have a tendency in the back of my head that makes me feel guilty about even questioning this. And honestly, thats what drives me out of my mind. I don't know if thats because i really beleive, or if its just that ive bee conditioned as i grow up.

Oh well im just a bit dazed from drinking a shitload last night. First time ive done that in quite some time, and its was a lot of fun, but i am feeling a bit off today. anywho, those are just the thoughts.

Part 1

So yeah... this is part one of hopefully a few installments. I just wanted to write somethig, so this is my attempt at a first person narrative. I know there are some issues with tense agreement and things of that nature, but this is just a draft, so for those who read it, I hope it's slightly enjoyable.



“Shit!” I cried to myself as I instantly jumped out of my bed at the sound of my polyphonic Beatles ring tone. I must have over slept as I franticly scoured my bed for damn device that dared to disturb my comfortable doze. After a few moments the annoy little bastard stop screaming and I found it wrapped up between my bright red sheets, only to realize that it was my mom calling.
What time is it? I slowly scratched my head and glanced to my flat black MacBook. In the top right corner of the screen, I managed to make out that it was eight o’ clock. Why the hell was she calling me this early? We had been over this particular issue a multitude of times, and there had not once been a reason to warrant her waking me up in the mornings. After sitting on my bed for a second, I collected my thoughts and decided to give her a call back.
I opened my phone and hit send send, and waited for the ring. Still upset, I was ready to let loose and give her every reason to never call before ten again.
“Hey kiddo,” she answered.
“Mom why w---“
“Do you want a three day pass?” she asked quickly. Oh fuck, today is Austin City Limits Festival. I had completely forgotten. The entire reason I had been awoken so seemingly abruptly was because I spent all night rolling spliffs with Mike for today.
“I mean yeah, I’m not gonna turn down a free three day pass,” I replied after a brief pause.
“Alright well come up to the office and I’ll give you the money,”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon,”
I hung up the phone and ran to the shower. I turned my stereo all the way up and started singing a long at the top of my lungs. Normally, I would have had some regard for the people on the other side of wall that my mom and I shared with our neighbors, but not today. Today was one of the best days that come all year long. It’s an annual holiday to my friends and I. Today is the first day of a three-day venture called Austin City Limits Music Festival.
Every year Zilker Park transforms into a wonderland of sorts. Surrounded by stages, it’s like a massive orgy of live music. With 3 days, 65,000 people, 126 bands, and 8 stages, it’s a recipe for one the best time a music lover can have.
After getting ready as fast as I could, I left the house, jumped in my car a drove as fast as my car would allow to my mom’s downtown office.
When I arrived there, I tried to regain my composure and contain my excitement. I coolly walked up the stairs to the third floor and saw my mom through the polished glass doors sitting at her desk. She handed me a folded wad of cash, mostly twenties, which amounted to one hundred and fifty dollars. She told me to meet the guy who had the spare ticket on the sixth floor of a bank building at Ninth and Congress.
Continuing on my journey, I headed further south towards what could be seen as the business district. Hotels and other various buildings tower above everything else in Austin, except maybe the UT Tower. Driving down congress, I’m dwarfed by these giants on both sides. With the capital dome in sight I reached Ninth Street and parked in front of the pizza joint across the street from my destination. Hopping out of my car, I saw a break in the traffic and jaywalked across.
Upon entering the building, I noticed a large golden elevator door and naturally walked straight to it. However, when I got inside and tried to choose my floor, there was not a choice for the sixth floor. Bewildered and a bit embarrassed, I left the elevator that had previously seemed so promising. After taking the stairs up, I noticed another elevator. I was a bit skeptical at first, but it didn’t seem to use the same shaft, so I step in. This time I had no problems and went straight to the sixth floor. It made the loud “DING” as the number six above the door lit up. I could wait, on the other side of the door, my ticket to the fourth festival awaited.

Opener

It seems to me that lately something has been poking its head up in the back of my brain. My life is headed in a new direction. It's a direction that I can be happy with and proud of. But I'm still looking for an answer to the question that has been looming over me as far back as I can remember. What do I do now? Sure, I'm back on the right track. I've placed a leash on the uncontrolable creature that I called myself for the last year of my life. Step 1 is under way, and the master plan is still in progress. Every day can still be a small battlefield in my head, but the slacker within me hasn't been able to prevail over my deep seeded want to make something of my life. This of course is a good thing. However, the question is still bugging me. I can't quite say that I can truely pick out something that is really of interest to me. I find things that are fun and entertaining, but i constantly change what my main activity or interest is. After examining myself a million times over, I've found that i either just get bored with things or haven't quite found that one thing that really makes me tick.

With classes starting up I have begun to question where exactly I will take this new found direction. I actually care about my grades, which is a new and strange feeling, because growing up the only thing that motivated me to to do good in school was notion of my parents tearing into me when they got my report card and saw that row of numbers. I dreaded that row of numbers. Such a simple concept that determined so many things in my childhood. Just ink on paper. A stain on a processed tree. Anywho, That small amount of motivation, if you could call it that, was only enough to make me get A's. Of course, before too long I found myself testing the limits of my parents. I wanted to see how much I could actually get away with. I felt so wise. What could I say to them as their eyes peered over that folded sheet to aleviate the barrage of words that was about to knock me off my feet. I needed a real challenge. Something to push me. I loathed and cherished deadlines. I couldn't stand the fact that I had to actually do the homework, but without the deadline nothing would have been completed. I thrived of the pressure. Always thinking of the consequences to come if i didn't manage to make it. I couldn't deal with them if i had to look them in the face and feel the true weight of them. It's for this exact reason that I managed to wiggle my way out of AP courses and found a new level of procrastination.

In these "regular" classes, I literally had to do nothing. The only thing that needed to be done outside of class were the papers. Through my entire high school career, they were the only thing that could make me pull actual thoughts out of my head. However, this was shortlived. Only a few hours of work once every blue moon. Always the the night before the due date. Sometimes the morning of. Those were my favorite. I felt invincible in these moments. No deadline had ever stopped me. I was unbeatable.

I'll always remeber the last paper I wrote in high school. An analitical (sp?) paper over a short story read in class. I remember the two grudgingly long weeks spent in class staring at nothing bored outof my mind while the others in the room sat at their tables drafting, reading revising. I had accomplished nothing. Two weeks to work on seven pages of essay, and I just couldn't find single reasson that gave me even the slightest urge to put my pen to paper. The deadline approached on a tuesday night. I sat in the living room, just waiting for my dad to finally stumble his way down the hallway into his bed for the night. Finally the moment I had been waiting for came upon me. My dad kicked down his recliner, leaned forward, and lurched out of his chair with a painful but releived moan. Off balance and in a sleepy daze, he made his way down the hallway. The door slammed behind and reluctantly shut after dragging against the old door frame. He probably went straight for the mattress, but it wasn't until I heard his faint snores that I sprang from my red leather couch and ran to the kitchen. It was completely dark and my eyes hadn't quite adjusted, but in the house i grew up in the cabinent handle to my right seemed to find it's way into my hand. Once I had poured my glass of coke, I quickly made my way back to the the corner of the living room, turned off the TV, sat back in the computer chair, and rested my hands on the keyboard. It was my time to shine.

Instantly my fingers started moving and the words poured out of my brain. Once I had started there was no block in my brain. The faucet had been unwillingly opened while the idea smoothly flowed on to the screen in front of me. The writing was easy and the time flew by. After about three pages came from my fingertips, I looked at the clock and decided that I needed to get some sleep if i wanted to finish itin the morning. I crawled into bed, pulled over the covers, set my alarm and tried to calm my mind as the ideas kept flying around in my head looking for way out. I closed my eyes and fell into a light sleep.

Next thing I know, my alarm is screaming at me to get up. On any otherday i would have felt around on my headboard and searched for the snooze until I could peacefully return to sleep. This day however, the pressure gave life to everything. My bed spat me out, then I found myself in the shower alert and ready to finish the conquest that I forcefully put on hold only a few hours before. Sitting in front of the computer once again, I let my mind takeover my body and the paper was finished in an instant. I had blinked, and missed the wonderful feeling of steadily triumphing over this insurmountable task. All at once it was over, no more pressure was left with the essay complete. I started to read over to check for any flaws or typos. As I reached the end of it I leaned back in awe. It was sheer perfection in one draft, the night and morning before the due date. I printed it, bound it together with the click of a simple staple. Looking at the final copy I could only grin with satisfaction.

I arrived at school and turned in the paper just thinking of the moment it would be returned to me. I gave my teacher a smug little look as if to say " I told you so", and she returned it bye raising one brow and slightly squinting at me. She knew as well as I did that true test would be the grade. There were many like me, procrastinators and slackers, but they didn't want the same thing that i was seeking. They were looking only to pass, and wanted the A. I wanted just to prove that I could get it.

The day the paper came back to me, i'm fairly certain was one the most nervous moments on my timeline. I opened it to the last page and saw three grades below the end of my type. Drafting - 83. With only half-assed fake prewrite and a final draft, I wasn't too upset. Class participation - 85. I supose that a small amount of peer editing for my neighbor had gained me a few points there. The last grade was what had been in the back of my mind since i handed the materpeice over to my teacher. Essay - 95. I had done it.

Reflecting back on this and moment and a few others like, I realized that beyond the forced assignments I had hated so much, I really enjoyed writing. Those breif moments when I crammed all my thoughts onto a page at the last minute. At this realization, I decided to create this blog. Not to vent or have a jounal, but to simply take all things in my head and organize them into some sort of coherent structure. I'm not sure if this will workout or what it will look like, but I am certain that I will continue and try to explore this art and see where it takes me.