Table Of Contents

Sunday, February 6, 2011

no. 065 [superman...]

"Superman" by Five For Fighting

I think it takes a lot for people to admit that they are wrong, that they need help, that they aren't strong enough, or that they aren't the person that they used to be. I think it's a little harder when you see the role you want to play, the role someone else wants you to fill, and knowing that you just can't do it.

I don't think we as human beings like to pretend. We know what we like, and most of us know who we are, and what we want. But what happens when who we are keeps us from what we want?

We can play make-believe all we want. We can pretend that we like our dead-end jobs, we can fool ourselves into thinking that walking the dog is enough exercise for one day, we can settle for what we already have, play it safe for fear of losing, or what have you. But how happy will you be at the end of the day?

I think some people would be happy with the norm, but I don't buy it for a second that most wouldn't strive for something more. I think deep down we are all looking for the same thing; to be happy. To be happy with who we are, who we're with, and how we got there.

The hardest thing is to realize who you are and knowing that who you have become will not allow you to have what you ultimately want; because when all is said and done the happiness won't be there. I can pretend to be your Superman all you want, and you can pretend to be my Lois Lane, but in the end I'll just be a man in a funny red sheet. And as much as it may suck to walk away from it all, and to admit this, it needs to be done. Because tonight Superman is gone, and all that's left is me. Take it or leave it.

I think deep down we all have the power to be heroes, but the first people we need to save are ourselves. I will wish you the best of luck in your own battle, but tonight I must begin my own. I can't be your Superman anymore, as much as I want to. Will the caped crusader ever return? Only time will tell. But for now all I can offer is a helping hand and the guidance of a friend, who is equally as hurt and as broken. I guess if I can't be your Superman I can at least be your shoulder to cry on; even if it hurts me.

Hopefully one day I will fly high again, but until that day comes I will find solace in knowing that men weren't meant to ride with clouds beneath their feet. I think the second we start being true to ourselves, that's the second we have the power to save the world. You can sit there and call me crazy, but even heroes have the right to dream.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

no. 064 [human...]

"Human" by Civil Twilight

I used to like the idea of being invincible. I liked being the one to be relied upon. I used to like being the hero. But it has been made very apparent that that era has come to an end.

I think the hardest part of life is looking into ourselves and admitting our flaws. I don't like who I have become. I don't like the emptiness I see inside of me. I don't like feeling this weak, this fragile, this broken. But I guess that's what it's like being human.

I think I put myself so far into that idea of being that hero that when I realized my own kryptonite it became too much. I know I've made strides in getting a handle on things, but I think that I have only just begun.

It's a long time coming, but at least it's starting to happen. I can stand here and say that I am human, nothing more, nothing less. The only thing I can do is be me. I can't save anyone until I save myself first.

I think the best thing for me to do is to just feel my emotions, because at the end of the day they are what make us human. There are just some things in life we can't solve, can't fix, can't explain. And I think I'm starting to understand that more now than ever.

It still doesn't make it hurt any less. But that's okay. I need to feel this, to deal with this. To build myself back up, to be better than I was before. There are certain things we as humans just can't do, and I think accepting that will be one of the hardest things for me.

And as it should be, I lick my wounds and heal. I live and learn. This battle is mine, and mine alone. And I will deal with it, one step at a time.

That's the single greatest thing about being human, is our determination, and our will to not give up. Well, most of us for that matter. Because when all is said and done we all hurt, we all feel, we all think, and we are all human. Nothing more, nothing less...

Thursday, February 3, 2011

My Secret Public Journal, Entry #012: Walk Away

So, at the suggestion of a friend/classmate I decided to make these journal-esk writings that don't sum up into a central theme laced with ambiguity and a cheesy song playing in the background. Instead I'll just free-write about whatever strikes me...complete with a little lacing of ambiguity...and a cheesy song playing in the background. I call it My Secret Public Journal.

Love & Waffles,

ps: don't sue me Mike Birbiglia

"Walk Away" by The Script (Feat. B.o.B)

What the hell are we doing? Tip-toeing around this issue? Staying at bay in this cold war of "impossible" love? You said never, yet you stay. I don't get it, lyrics, blog posts, maybe I'm looking too much into it. Maybe I'm being overly hopeful, but I think a part of you won't let go either.

If this isn't what you want then you should leave. "We'll never be truly happy," you said. You know the routine, I'm too hard-headed and stubborn to admit defeat and walk away. I'll fight till I'm dead as long as I feel that there is still a chance. And you still standing there is as much of a sign of hope that I need.

I'm too weak to let you go. I've tried, but I just can't. Are you in the same place as I am? I know why I can't let go, but if you can't either then why is that? Why shouldn't we give it another try? If you can then what the hell are you doing? Friends is not something we can be right now, nor is it something that we may ever be able to be again.

I know it's hypocritical, but I can't do it, but if I can't be your fantasy then I think you should leave. Walk away. Don't give me any false hope. Stay only if you want this to work. Otherwise you'll have to be the stronger person. Let me go. Let us go. Otherwise I will keep on fighting.

Am I stupid to think that you and I feel exactly the same? Why can't we just talk this over? Why can't we find a middle ground? Or if worse comes to worst, why can't we just walk away?

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

My Secret Public Journal, Entry #011: After All That, It's Come To This

So, at the suggestion of a friend/classmate I decided to make these journal-esk writings that don't sum up into a central theme laced with ambiguity and a cheesy song playing in the background. Instead I'll just free-write about whatever strikes me...complete with a little lacing of ambiguity...and a cheesy song playing in the background. I call it My Secret Public Journal.

Love & Waffles,

ps: don't sue me Mike Birbiglia

"After All That, It's Come To This" by Amos The Transparent (Feat. Amy Millan)

"She packed up her bags and she's heading out,
She said I know that I'm ready with such beautiful doubt.
It seems that you want nothing, but I want it all,
there's got to be good reason for these dead air phone calls..."

It seems as if all of these horrible writings all start out the same. "I never thought it would come to this," or "love shouldn't be this hard," complete with some cheesy VH1 Top 20 Countdown coffeehouse song playing in the background. And I know what you're thinking, "Jesus Ant, you're doing this writing to a Starbucks song, and yes it's another love writing about 'you know who'," but don't be such a smart-ass and just hear me out.

Yes, maybe I never thought it would come to this, and yes I don't think that love should be this hard, but I also didn't think we'd be this apathetic to everything. I mean I've almost had to force myself to write, to remember, to feel. How the hell did we go from walking in downtown Sacramento to this? All I see is a disconnect. I don't see it at all, and I most certainly don't comprehend it. How can something that has been so close to perfect be so horribly wrong?

So yes, I guess this is just another one of those writings. Or maybe it's not. Am I a horrible person to hang onto the memories? Does it make me a terrible person to look back and smile, love, and miss what we used to have? Does it make me stupid to want it again? To believe in love? To believe that despite where we are now that we could eventually get to a better place if we just talked it out and gave it another try? Or am I just that lonely ex-boyfriend that is ruining opportunity after opportunity at any kind of relationship for fear of losing the only person I've ever truly loved in my entire life?

I think this is stupid. We both sit on our own sides like a fucking chess game, but I'm done being a pawn; all I want is for you to be my queen. Take my bishop, take my rook, the only thing I want from you is one more chance to undo this stalemate. Am I being stupid, or do you also not want to let go? Just give me the word and I'll give you the moon.

"So when are you gonna find what it is?
When are you gonna feel the need to resist?
When are you gonna fear the world?
Are you gonna be here when I return?"

I just find it so confusing to be here, on two completely different sides, yet wanting the same thing, slowly losing our grasp, slipping away. There are only two options; compromise or walk away. It's a little sad that after all that, it's come to this.

Monday, January 31, 2011

no. 063 [the funeral...]

"The Funeral" by Band Of Horses

I have only begun to think about what this place would be like. What it would be like to face the end, to face the death of the single most important thing in my life. People don't normally go into things, start things, and think about the end, at least not in a negative light. I'm too optimistic to have ever put myself in this place, or to have ever imagined what it would be like. What makes it even harder to comprehend are the subtle messages in the sky that tell me that there might still be hope.

I think we try to prepare for the worst as best we can. And when it finally hits no amount of preparing will have us ready for it. You can think about it all you want, but eventually it will happen, because as Buddha once said, "all conditioned things are impermanent."

It's so unclear whether this may be the end or some sort of transition. I've been here before, but not quite like this, this is new and terrifying, yet exciting. Perhaps this is a sign, a sign of much needed change; a fork in the road, a new direction. And whatever the outcome will be, good or bad, I will be prepared for the best, and will do my best to be prepared for the worst.

It's human nature to wish for things to happen the way you'd like them to. It's an instinctual selfishness that persists, especially when it involves something, or someone that you want. The best way to get around this is to be realistic, and to be ready.

So I'll sit or stand at the back of the crowd, either at a chapel or at a burial site, prepared to object or to pay my respects. Perhaps one day I'll be front and center, but not alone. But any occasion I'll be ready, come what may. Whether this is the end, or just the beginning. The death of what we were, are, or what we may never become; I'll be ready for the funeral.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

no. 062 [diary...]

"Diary" by Wale (Feat. Marsha Ambrosius)

I feel a little apprehensive writing this. I think that if I had written this a while ago that it would have been a lot more emotional and a lot more impactful (is that even a word?). But either way, here it goes.

I've always felt like I was being thrown challenge after challenge in a certain relationship. I understand her past to the point that I have been allowed to, to the knowledge of said past that has been made known and available to me. And I believe that we should focus our minds on the present, yet her past has haunted not only her, but me as well. It's hard, because all I wanted to be was the one that made her forget, that wrote a new chapter, that in essence (as she worded) could be the one to save her. "Every problem that you ever had with another man I gotta face." And yet nothing I did was ever good enough to overcome these hurdles, or to keep you here safe with me.

Lord knows I tried, but maybe I didn't try hard enough, considering the circumstances. All I wanted was to be that man in her life, to be the one to make her happy. "Queen you deserve the title, but she rejects what I give, while nurses the wounds by them."

What had happened before continued to dictate what was yet to happen. "I'm just trying to be the one that'll never run, but you run away from me." It's a vicious cycle fueled by our love; yet there is this wall neither of us could get over.

I just don't get it. I have never been able to comprehend how love couldn't be enough. I mean, I get the whole long distance thing, and needing that physicality, and whatnot, but how can love not be enough when we are together? Is it her past that haunts this, or is it really something more?

I feel like just another chapter. Another boy that has entered her life, and didn't amount to anything other than another step back, another reason for things not to work between her and anyone, even if it isn't me. But it's not like I want things to work for her and someone else right now because I don't know how to move on, I can't let go of the sense that I was the best thing to happen to her; as egotistical as it may seem.

Maybe if I had tried harder it might have lasted a little longer. But as she said, she would have run away eventually. But still, I wonder; how much longer must this last? "All I want to be is relevant." But maybe it's really over, and I've become just another boy to break her heart, to let her down. "Just tell me that I ever meant anything, or that you could see me and you in another light."

All I wanted was a fair chance, and yes, I don't believe that I've ever been given that when it comes to her. And I'm not sure I ever will. But I can hope. Hopefully it's not too late and I haven't become one of those boys, one of those poor excuses, another life sentence for an unsuspecting soul, another sad song with nothing to say, another line, another chapter. "No key for release, no reason to be around, her mind's in the clouds, she writes it all down, in her diary..."

Thursday, January 27, 2011

My Secret Public Journal, Entry #010: Lost

So, at the suggestion of a friend/classmate I decided to make these journal-esk writings that don't sum up into a central theme laced with ambiguity and a cheesy song playing in the background. Instead I'll just free-write about whatever strikes me...complete with a little lacing of ambiguity...and a cheesy song playing in the background. I call it My Secret Public Journal.

Love & Waffles,

ps: don't sue me Mike Birbiglia

"Woods" by Bon Iver

I thought running a million miles away would help. I thought that running away from this would be the solution. I thought putting the blame on you would be enough to keep me from being crushed. Even as fast as I could run it wasn't enough to escape it, because the issue lies within.

My heart is broken, ripped in two, torn between what I want and what is right. I hate feeling powerless over all of this. And I hate how every writing seems to be a writing to you. Another letter I'm too afraid to send, so I post it here, for all to see.

I've run so far that I don't even know where I am anymore. A few nights ago I vowed that I would run, that things would change. I ran a million miles away from you, only to find myself caught up by these problems. I don't have the energy to keep running or to let go, nor do I want to do either or. I'm caught in a horrible catch 22. But neither outcome looks like it'll bring any happiness.

I feel like a broken record. Like all these things have been said before, over and over, just set to a different tune. A playlist of love songs that all say the same thing. Once again, every line is about who I don't want to write about anymore. I do want to write about you, about us, just not in this context.

I have found myself lost in the woods, brought here by my own two feet, running, running, running. It's time to quit running and face these issues. I am just as tired of this cycle as you are. But don't you think our love is worth one more try? Because I very much do.

I would try and try again, but I can't do it now. I won't dare attempt it right now, not with things being the way they are, between us, and for us as individuals. I'm...we're lost in the world. How can we find the love in each other when we haven't found the love in ourselves? It's time we found ourselves. And I guarantee you that when I do, I'll be there, looking for you. You may be lost in the world, but you're not alone.

Monday, January 24, 2011

no. 061 [lost in the world...]

"Lost In The World/Who Will Survive In America" by Kanye West (Feat. Bon Iver)

I feel bad. No. I feel horrible. I hate that I'm here. At this crossroads. My head; constantly telling my good intentions "no." My heart; not wanting to let go. Common sense; beating the holy hell out of me. Logic; my enemy. And here I am; in too fucking deep for my own fucking good. Broken and cynical. everything I thought...wrong. Yet everything I right. Everything I feel...cold; unreal. Everything I want...close to impossible. Yet...I sit...hoping...waiting...wishing...even though I said I wouldn't. I wear a mask, so colorfully illustrated, fighting my own private war. I pay for crimes I didn't commit, but what for? I lost everything...but one I write...

I'm lost in the world, I'm down on my mind
I'm building a city, and I'm down for the night...

The optimism; I hold dear. Why? Because it's all I have left. That's why. Why the fuck not hold onto it? Because it's the only thing that brings me comfort, the only thing that really brings me any kind of feelings of happiness, joy, or switch those around if you want it to not sound so dissonant. I don't care. Everything is and is not already. Why should order matter? Like organized chaos; a bullet through a flock of doves. What chance does it give me? Because it's all contradictions now. Love is, but isn't big enough. Because...

You're my devil, you're my angel.
You're my heaven, you're my hell.
You're my now, you're my forever.
You're my freedom, you're my jail.
You're my lies, you're my truth.
You're my war, you're my truce.
You're my questions, you're my proof.
You're my stress, & you're my masseuse...

Love and hate seem much like twins now. Yet I can't bring myself to say one of them. If you don't know which then flip a coin and take your pick. For once I feel the sting of anguish, the horrible aftertaste of despair. There are no characters in this play, no RED &'s just me and you. I fought my war, now it's your turn. You know me, I'm too weak to let go, yet you stick around. Walk away if we will never be, or suck it up and never say never. If this is worth it act like it, because I'm fucking tired of tip toeing around it. I'm lost. Come find me...but first find yourself.

No, I don't want to see another writing; the pessimistic side of you. Another half baked idea of pushing me away, because I'm still here. You can have your cake and eat it too, but you must preheat the oven first. Talk it over, reach out. I know, hypocritical it seems for me to put you on blast, but it seems to be the only way to reach you. Paper planes I've thrown fly over those walls you've erected. If I could have I would have, knocked them down that is.

So I call for it, one last time. If you say never then so be it. Walk away, leave me be, and quit fucking this up. But if not, if that voice catches your ear, saying, screaming, "don't let me go," then let me know. Otherwise you'll have to do me the favor. Love is supposed to be the idea of acceptance; of seeing a person for who they really are, flaws and all, and still sticking around. I guess I'm too fucking in love with you. A broken record train-wreck is what I've become...lived long enough to see myself become a villain. Superman is dead. And all that's left is you...both...


Friday, January 21, 2011

The Blame Game (A Prequel)

I decided after writing the actual blog to this post that this should see the light of day. Not to be negative, but to show the frustration I was feeling at the time of this writing in written word. I stand behind what I wrote, but not the manner at which it may sound. Take it for what it's worth. There are no hidden messages, no ill thoughts, or slanderous messages. Take MY words for what they are worth, and THEIR words as part of a song. That's all I want to say about this.

"Blame Game" by Kanye West (Feat. John Legend)

Let's play the blame game, I love you, more. 
Let's play the blame game for sure. 
Let's call out names, names, I hate you, more. 
Let's call out names, names, for sure. 
I'll call you bitch for sure... 
As a last resort, and my first resort. 
You call me motherfucker forlorn. 
At the end of it you know we both were wrong. 
But I love to play the blame game, I love you, more.
Let's play the blame game for sure. 
Let's call out names, names, I hate you, more. 
Let's call out names, names, for sure. 
On a bathroom wall I wrote "I'd rather argue with you than to be with someone else" (else, else, else).
I took a piss and dismiss it like 'fuck it' and I went and found somebody else. 
Fuck arguing and harvesting the feelings, yo I'd rather be by my fucking self 
Till about 2 a.m. and I call back and I hang up and start to blame myself...
Somebody help. 
Let's play the blame game, I love you, more 
Let's play the blame game for sure. 
Let's call her names, names, I hate you, more.
Let's call her names, names, for sure. 
You weren't perfect but you made life worth it. 
Stick around, some real feelings might surface. 
I had a dream last night that the world was endin' 
while you just sat there in your world of make believe pretendin' 
that all is fine, our love it shines, your heart is mine 
Time tock-tickin' away every second you livin' that lie. 
Every line is about who I don't want to write about anymore, 
but let's take a second to make sure that we settle the score.
I love you. I hate you. I can't be without you. 
I want you. I need you. But at the same time I doubt you.
My heart you may have, but my trust is on your wish list. 
Why is it the only way I can express my angst is with my fists?
So I refocus, relax, take a breath and unclench, 
put a pen in my hand as I walk away from that bench. 
Written word, rhymin', my new escape. 
But to get away from you, it might just be too late. 
So I play the asshole and tell you to runaway.
Perhaps I should make a toast, take a drink, and do the same. 
Regret you, forget you, cut you out of my life. 
With the sharp words I scribble on paper, my tongue is a knife. 
So don't kiss me goodbye 'cause I may just end your life 
by slitting a throat, and putting an end to that beautiful lie. 
But on the other side, flipped like a coin, you can't help how you're feelin'. 
But how could I go from being a hero to becoming the villain?
Don't get it twisted, once upon a time I loved you dearly,
but with RED in my eyes I think I'm finally seeing clearly. 
We're just friends, fallin', all in, the end. 
Breaking news, CNN, sorry to tell you but Superman is dead. 
Let's play the blame game, I love you, more 
Let's play the blame game for sure. 
Things used to be; now they not. 
Anything but us is who we are. 
Disguising ourselves as secret lovers, 
We've become public enemies. 
We walk away like strangers in the street; 
Gone for eternity, 
We erased one another. 
So far from where we came, with so much of everything, how do we leave with nothing? 
Lack of visual empathy equates the meaning of L-O-V-E. 
Hatred and attitude tear us entirely. 
Let's play the blame game, I love you, more. 
Let's play the blame game for sure. 
Let's call out names, names, I hate you, more. 
Let's call out names, names, for sure. 
I can't love you this much, I can't love you this much. 
I can't love you this much, I can't love you this much. 
No, I can't love you this much 
I can't love you this much 
And I know that you are somewhere doing your thing, 
And when the phone called it just ring and ring. 
You ain't pickin' up but your phone accidentally called me back, 
And I heard the whole thing. 
I heard the whole thing, the whole thing, the whole thing...

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Confession #008

I've named inanimate objects.

iPod = 9
Old Car = Buttercup
Truck = Cooper
Blue Jazz Bass = Jazzy