"I guess you could see it as bitterness, if you wanted to. I don't think of myself as bitter, but I have dissappointed myself; I thought I was going to turn out to be worth a bit more than this, and maybe that disappointment comes out all wrong. It's not just the work, it's not just the thirty-five-and-single thing, although none of this helps. It's... oh , I don't know. Have you ever looked at a picture of yourself when you were a kid? Or pictures of famous people when they were kids? It seems to me they can either make you happy or sad. There's a lovely picture of Paul McCartney as a little boy, and the first time I saw it, it made me feel good: all that talent, all that money, all those years of blissed domesticity, a rock-solid marriage and lovely kids, and he doesn't even know it yet. But then there are others -- JFK and all the rock deaths and fuckups, people who went mad, people who came off the rails, people who murdered, who made themselves or other people miserable in ways too numerous to mention -- and you think, stop right there! This is as good as it gets!

"Over the last couple years, the photos of me when I was a kid, the ones I never wanted old girlfriends to see... well, they've started to give me a little pang of something -- not unhappiness, exactly, but some kind of quiet, deep regret. There's one of me in a cowboy hat, pointing a gun at the camera, trying to look like a cowboy but failing, and I can hardly bring myself to look at it now. Laura thought it was sweet... and pinned it up in the kitchen, but I've put it back in a drawer. I keep wanting to apologize to the little guy: 'I'm sorry, I've let you down. I was the person who was supposed to look after you, but I blew it: I made wrong decisions at bad times, and I turned you into me.'

"See he would have wanted to see Barry's band; he wouldn't have worried too much about Ian's dungarees or Penny's flashlight-pen (he would have loved Penny's flashlight-pen) or Charlie's trips to the States. He wouldn't have understood, in fact, why I was so down on all of them. If he could be here now, if he could jump out of that photo and into this shop, he'd run straight out the door and back to 1967 as fast as his little legs would carry him."

- High Fidelity by Nick Hornby

1981

Well now that I've actually told more than five people about this weblog it seems that I've got a bit of stage fright. My desire to honestly express is met by a desire to entertain. Though I suppose you could find some dark humor in it all. There's probably, also, some misspelled words, missing words or bad grammer, you could hold above my head with great mockery. What am I talking about? Well, I am simply suggesting great mirth over my seeming follies rather than harsh judgement ("You like Magnolia?! You thought it was so brilliant and beautifully done it's now one of your all-time favorite movies?! ah ha ha! That jonathan. Boy, he sure knows how to tell 'em. I'm so glad I'm alive to see this boy make fool of himself like this!" And so.). Well, regardless, the whole point of this, as I stated earlier, is to express without the normal constrictions of personalities. I will still try to single people out through e-mail, or by dropping by and grabbing myself a bit to eat, of course. Not to worry. Thanks for reading.

"Everything can be acquired through solitude--except sanity." - Friedrich Nietzsche

�It�s brilliant, being depressed; you can behave as badly as you like.� - High Fidelity by Nick Hornby

"An expression called today"

Maybe it was monday, again. and the weekend had inexplicably driven by without waving or shouting my name. I'm cold, and so far from home (I think I know where home is).

Maybe it was work, again. pushing, pulling, dragging me under the water. why do I even fight (I think it is worth the loss to win).

Maybe...

[and how can I say I am poor and live like I do. Who am I fooling (sometimes fooling ourselves is all we really need).]

Maybe it was amy grant (not for the first time). grating against subconscious, in disagreement with the air.

the sight of an old nemisis (not for the last time). she won't always get the best of me, soon I will run dry.

the waking from a vivid dream. the talking of the cats. the mere existance of others, that I can not touch.

those bittersweet social interactions. those starving social boundaries. those mindfucking thoughts. that slow-motion instant replay.

Maybe it did really happen

Maybe our eyes spoke but didn't listen

Maybe we will some day wise up

Maybe...

I love you.

(Jan. 29th, 2:56 am)

"later that same day"

wrote the above just as crude, raw expression of my day earlier. Wanted to make it somewhat interesting for me to write, and for you to read. Wasn't really to focused on perfecting it, but rather just needed to release. A bit frustrated with myself b/c I'm not quite skilled enough in html to have it spaced correctly, and I had to reword the end a bit.

"since we all got carried away, couldn't we all carry ourselves back somehow?" - winnie the pooh

picking up the pieces

wishing the winter calm morning to remain

imagined sweetness of sleep broken by expectations

"We are all wounded inside in some way or other. We all carry unhappiness within us for some reason or other. Which is why we need a little gentleness and healing from one another. Healing in words, and healing beyond words. Like gestures. Warm gestures. Like friendship, which will always be a mystery. Like a smile, which someone described as the shortest distance between two people.

Yes, the highest things are beyond words.

That is probably why all art aspires to the condition of wordlessness. When literature works on you, it does so in silence, in your dreams, in your wordless moments. Good words enter you and become moods, become the quiet fabric of your being. Like music, like painting, literature too wants to transcend its primary condition and become something highter. Art wants to move into silence, into the emotional and spiritual conditions of the world. Statues become melodies, melodies become yearnings, yearnings become actions." - Ben Okri, "Beyond Words", A Way of Being Free

�...we didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey.� - Dead Poets Society

Though you may find it odd: I'm a (american) football junkie. It's one of my secret indulgences. And January is playoff time. Pretty exciting times. The big news today though is that my boys (the philadelphia eagles) won in a game I honesty didn't think they were capable of winning. My lack of faith comes from an entire lifetime of them making it to the playoffs an being able to get past the second recond. Today was the second round. They play for the NFC Championship game next week for the first time in twenty-one years!! Which was before I was even born! I didn't believe I'd be alive to see this... if only real life played out so well for me...

Just thought to give allow you into my inlet of good fortune. Thanks for caring.

�A man does not look behind the door unless he has stood there himself.� - Henri Du Bois

"track 13"

I never really likened to the idea of a weekend. Everyone in a frenzy to spend money, stay up late, and do nothing. Now, there doesn't seem to be any end to them (weekends) that will satisfy. I stay up until, mind and body, both, become mush. Which really puts me in bind because then I'm unable to stop doing nothing. Hmm. Spending money, however, is not so much of a problem, due to the lack there of... even so, where's there's a will, there's a way...

Thank goodness for music. Right now letting the sweet swelling chords of emotion, subtlety and despair of the soundtrack to the ridley scott epic The Gladiator wash over me... a bit tough to make obvious pop culture references at the same time that I'm trying to relay the fact that I'm feeling peaceful and inspired.

Speaking of pop culture, ridley scott, emotion and despair: Saw black hawk down tonight/yesterday. Recommend going to see it. Extremely well done, of course. Soundtrack done by the same guy (Hans Zimmer) as for gladiator. Based on a book, which was based on actual happenings in somalia, so they really couldn't go too wrong, as far as making it too sappy, or dramatic (well, they could, but from what my friend tells me, they stuck to the book... thank goodness). Not for everybody (what is?!), it's pretty graphic, but that adds to the intensity of it all, very easy too lose yourself in the whole thing. And it does bring the current fighting that's going on in Afganistan to home. Sorry, I know I'm not saying anything new here. Really is an experience though.

Still struggling to keep up with e-mails (and thank you notes to family... damn), if you're waiting to hear from me, I apologize.

�Mother�s handsome father was the mayor. He was so well liked that no one in town voted for his opponent. He won a contest by writing the slogan: �When better automobiles are built, Buick will build them.� He and a friend journeyed to Detroit to pick up the contest prize. The trip was a famous spree; it lasted a month. He died not long after, at forty-one, when Mother was seven, and left her forever full of longing.� - An American Childhood by Annie Dillard

tired of the ups and downs, too bad wondering will never end...

"Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately in love with suffering, and that is a fact." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

"So this is love. This is winter in whimtown. This is a bunch of people wanting to be wanted by a bunch of people who don't know what they want." - Michael Wilson

"Our brains are dulled by the incurable mania of wanting to make the unknown known." - Andr� Breton

feeling completely inspired, yet uninspiring and pretentious.

taking the drugs that make the pain invisible to me, and me alone.

"Sickness of spirit + sickness of mind = sickness of body"

Woke up in a feverish state yesterday, but I suppose I was due. After a tragic week at work, everything caught up with me. Had to take today off. Say "had to", should be "got to". Picked up a paper today hoping for a bright light to hit one of the classifieds just right, and I would know... "that's what I've been meaning to do all the while, how silly of me to think anything else would be right." But, of course, that's what I thought janitoral work would be, though not as anything except as a mean (that I'd find the type of enjoyment in, that only mindless labor can give) to an "end" (school). It seemed to be the complete opposite from my other jobs, which were in food service. I wanted to get away from people, customers. Ironically, it's b/c I'm lacking in interaction that I'm suffering. Ah look at me whimper and moan. "A little pain never hurt anyone."

Have seen two good movies in the past two nights (or 18 hours). Saw "moulon rouge" last night/this morning at 3 am. Didn't know what to expect really, which is often the best way to watch a film. Honestly I didn't even know it was so musical. A lot of fun. Well acted. Good story.
Just saw "lock, stock and two smoking barrrels" tonight. Also full of fun and subtle humor. Thinking it's probably a bit better than his (guy ritchie's) more recent film, "snatch", or maybe it juat had a tad more to it.
Ah, well. Both are recommended.
In other entertainment news, musical interests tend to ebb and flow daily, as my small mind has trouble keeping everything together. New purchases include: engine down, denali, mogwai, two rainer maria 7" that rock (just got them in the mail today, so am a little bias), bjork (!!)... as far as illegal activities I've downloaded most of the dreamy, romantic and charmingly french, amelie soundtrack (which is a fantasric film! There isn't any need for me to say anything about it except go yourself, you won't reget it).

So what?!

I hope I bug you less than me.

"(I write to find) the proof for myself, of Mark Doty's observation about the shaping forces of one's life 'becoming the lens through which you see as opposed to the thing at which you are looking.'" - Amy Hempel

So, so, much to say. Sadly, I've said it already. I've already run myself dry (at work). Really, I haven't quite figured out how to preserve the thoughts that I use to get myself through each night. i hate that feeling of having thought of something, and then forgotten it but remembering that there was something that was thought and you meant to do something with. It's odd how life can feel so briming and alive you feel too small to even begin to make any sort of dent in it all, and then you sit yourself in front of a computer... and you forget how to think, to see, to breathe... "the computer will take care of that for you." It's terrible.

"Knowing you are alive is feeling the planet buck under you, rear, kick, and try to throw you; you hang onto the ring. It is riding the planet like a log downstream, whooping, or, conversely, you step aside from the dreaming fast loud routine and feel time as a stillness about you, and hear that silent air asking in so thin a voice, Have you noticed that you will die? Do you remember, remember, remember? Then you feel your life as a weekend, a weekend you cannot extend, a weekend in the country." - Annie Dillard, An American Childhood

If I thought I could get away with it I would fill this bit of space with qoutes and references to books I never finished, to hide myself, hide my fear. I suspect that's what we all are, terrified that everyone, much less, someone, will glimpse our true, dark and often silly existence. But that terror is bred out of our own self-loathing. We believe that others will run from us as far and as fast as we would, if we weren't so obviously attached. We expect this, but there's also hope that someone, or someone's, won't mind as much and maybe stick around, hopefully from a not too terrible distance. All that being said, allow me to qoute the great Dr. Seuss, "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." I give people too much credit. This is my escape from the different boxes I put myself in when I'm around people. This is also a grasp at sanity. As I am currently working the night shift as a janitor at a middle/elementary school, here in western pa., I am surrounded and battered by my own thoughts. This is my release of them. I have no idea what form they will take, how they will be expressed, etc. But that's the fun of this. Thanks to various inspirations.

jonathan

"Talking nonsense is man's only privilege that distinguishes him from all other organisms." - Fyodor Dostoevsky