Favorite things to do with Paulina that start with 'S'

~Study French at IVC.

~Spy museum. Need I say more?

~Sight reading in Orchestra.

~spending time together outside of Mrs. Sellway's classroom during a storm.

~Soccer at the park.
After denying you, I thought we both could use a reminder of more important things to do together. :P

Divine Bannana Bars

Heavenly Banana coconut macadamia nut bar, toasted, with energy kiwi strawberry juice. Dancing in the rain. Screaming (cuz it can't be called singing) with Avril. Loving you, and knowing you love me. These are just about the greatezt things in my life. at least while I am at home and have them. OK so its the spin Doctors now but still. May I have this dance?

Econ & Me

Wow. I just spent ten minutes doing an assignment, got a B, then spent an hour and 9 minutes redoin it to scrape out a 92% (A). Econ Rocks.

Record: Write what is wanted. Won't want it in the future.
Decide on interests. What am I interested in?
Purpose?
Do we ever know even the outside fringes of another?

The Fallen.

I am happy. So tired, but the daylight is here, it is a beautiful day. I think I should turn off all my electronics, they are all about to die anyway. Perhaps I will find a charming person to spend the next hour with. I can dream, can't I? "Two are better than one, because together...if one falls down, the other can help him up...but if someone is alone and falls...there's no one to help him." Ecclestians 4:9-10 (GN)
Maybe I can find someone who has fallen...

I am

I am worried about if you are alright, If perhaps I should not have left so soon. I am worried about your safety, I am knowing that I am not here to protect you anymore, I am hurt in how easily you change from one to the other, or rather, you change to become comfortable of showing your affection of him in front of me and Jonathon so quickly. I am worried for you. I am selfishly motivated right now, it must be, this pain. I must avoid you or else I will just make things worse. As it stands you know I am having my thoughts: I am deep within me. I am distracted, I think my love is too forgiving, this pain is not ending, not ebbing, constant, not healed, your beauty is now the sinful side, he doesn't even do more than play with you right now! ... I don't want to speak against him. Even as I 'gave in', said give him a chance...you could have chose me. You didn't because, one, you love him, and two, you think I will be there for you if it doesn't work out with Chase. I feel I should block you, block you from this post. Even if what is here is but the pain of the morning, the pain of mourning. The pain of the night is less caustic, if that is the right term, not necessarily based on reality in the details. My promises, I will keep. No matter how much I love my sleep. No matter the tears. You! You could choose between the guy who understands yet does not feel and the man who feels but does not understand! I am not capable of understanding! I am So not wanting to talk about him, what you see in him is way different than what I see, as it should be, but I should not point out anything. I am a stone. I will let the river run by, smoothing my roughness. I know I have brothers. I know that most likely, if I find one, we may end up hurting one another. I fear for his sake; my pain is great. Those days where I only had to deal with the demons in my head! It is human to feel. It is man to be attached, it is straight to be attached to a woman. These things have been taught to me. Would they teach me, those that I cherish so much, to unattach myself, to not turn cold but instead love you as my enemy? Not you as a person, oh no, you as a concept, you that could have all my love and move on to him. "Does anyone ever know even the outer fringe of another?" (Steinbeck 51). I know you. May the pain wash away, let me run through it, run miles and across ennumeral possibilities of terrible things, when one becomes reality, I want to be there. If none happens, I want to be there. Amazing, 15 minutes of typing, and I come back to my point of wanting to be here for you...actually, not amazing, because that is behind all of this. Except. There is the doubt. The doubt that I can accept you accepting his flirtations, kissing him, holding him, the worst part, loving him so easily, so trasitionally. You went from me to him with pain, yes, but not so much as to ease into his relationship. No, you went right into it, like what is happening is something that you have wanted to happen for a long time, like it is something you have desired, like this guy who hasn't asked you out, you WANT him to play with you, to eventually get around to asking you out, or maybe not, just to be there with him. The sad part is for once, my assumption is right. I loved you. Singularly. No competition. I gave you my heart, and a part of my soul. You say you loved me more. Is that so? I do not know. I know only my pain is such that when I run, I must be careful not to hurt others... I am the stone. I will love you longer. Perhaps if I lay here long enough, the words you said about loving me always and about being mine until he asks you out will comfort me. I say that with sourness: they do not. In fact, I try to think of you as single, single without anyone pushing you to become 'theirs'. Me with my issues, you honestly said. Well, yes. I have issues. I am human. I feel. I am man, I am attached. I am straight, it is to a woman. I am young. My love is too old for this supple-yet-young body, for this conscience, for this mind. I trust in God.
Back to the mundane: I won't call you. I don't think you want me to chase after you. You want this chance. I will give it. I hope you don't read this soon, you might get a chance to feel this pain grow into something else. Happy (Day After) Haloween!

Crave

I went to a retreat about craving God. Right now I want to sleep, but I hope in the near future we can just talk about Him, and, well...other things I want to discuss. Sometimes I wonder who I write this for. Not often.

No one said it would be easy. I said I want to make the road easier, that I want to help with your burden, that I want to protect you hold you...all true. I am convinced of my love, and yours.

I know we tend to find an issue to argue about, and if there isn't one we might just make one of nothing. I say this only partially in jest. I cannot order my thoughts, the music is too loud in my head and the thoughts too fleeting. Hopefully the inportant parts get across; I love you! Hold me close. Ryan Wassenaar

Something written before. Good to visit you, Ryan.

Wet the fingers again. Then, smooth out the cracks. I wonder how often I have done that with the clay I work on in ceramics, and yet, I know I do it not nearly enough. I can mold it, especially at times when it is the moistest. I can bend it, shave it, score and slip it. But I seem to fail to smooth out the rough edges. The seams fall apart under pressure, the slip slipped, I am stumped on how to describe what went wrong with the stamps. With the effort I put in that class, I could be a failing student. Smooth out the cracks in the clay. My skull came out rather awkward-looking. I hid it, or rather made the oddness more natural, by making the colors as incompatible and unnatural as possible. My mug, however, lacked not in the structure, though it was far from perfect. No, it’s fault stemmed in my lack of innovation, the Muses’ silence made an eyesore. The best thing that can be said about it is something I cannot think of right now, so instead, I will say that I hope the color does something to the mug, just like the paints did for Bronchitis the Monkey Skull. I forgot what the Mug was named; it should be something like Mull, or iSore. Actually, I like that one. Its new name is the iSore. Just smooth the cracks.
Running. Fast, slow, tempo, distance. Warm-up, race, interval, sprint, cool-down. Tough class. Today crunches. 45 and started over on the pushups. Trembling. At 25 team stopped. 2 grass loops. No point in distance, if no distance is run. So run. Hurdles warm-up. Coach cut his practice. Complaint of cut. Peer is injured. He went to Coach Guzman and got the day off, but Aseem practiced. And it seems I practiced. I ran. Wrong shorts. Could not jump. Not properly, anyways. Sprint for hits and giggles. Not bad. Not good. Just Running.
In the locker room, I change back into jeans and my black Hawaii t-shirt with the annoying format of a smaller logo in the back than on the front. Tends to make me start to put it on backwards. I waited. Kind of like at the end of fourth period. Then, I was waiting lucratively for surplus exhaustion in my consciousness to usurp in a slow cat nap. I daydreamed into the direction of Ceramics, it was lunch time. With no lunch. And, worse, no appetite for food. Instead, a teenage boy begged to be released in sentimental compliments and earthquakes. Apparently, I need you around…you who should never read this. You eventually existed, but not before a transcending of present and ribbons of the past. It used to be that Ryan, Jonathan, and Andrew were the three amigos, the three musketeers, the Mafia; now, I am not a single crazy. Jon has lost his athan. And rew the day opera was born. =>Emma the self-proclaimed twin interrupted the scream contest I entered in the seventh grade to tell me existence is not bicameral. A shamble, that. But, the ipod that I am listening to, mine, switched to relaxing Margaritaville. Perhaps the junctions between or of my life are the channels of the Rian Islands. Who knows, less, who believes? I suck at insomnia, I keep keeping myself from fearing the sleep and drifting to remote seclusion of eyelids and esculent opportunities on the Dreamland Express. I wonder what Esculent Means. A book, or perhaps a song. That which, or perhaps which that fulfills, satisfies, replenishes, invigorates, and resolves my spirit.
So, a soul mate, as whole great but, asshole sates nothing. Interesting. Perhaps too strong for me. I prefer seductive pricks, they tend to burn without cause while cuts are flaws without concern. Subtleties are immaculate to the carnation. Depth is density without concern of capacity. I slid my foot incautiously in and down my left-foot-flip-flop, resulting in a left-hurt-skin-flap on the ring toe of what is left. Well, it was left as well. Compared to a wing of a claybirdbox, it is unfinished.
So perhaps reflection is what gleams of significance. Then, God can mock our mocking of reality at his pleasure in his awe-some plans.
Paulina.
No single emotion drives this writing. Don’t get me right, no good reason, single or otherwise, drives me either. I am underwhelmed with the success of my life, and the occasional inundating roller coasters, which are of course rescheduled on account of fires.

The Inside Conflict

To be divided inside. That is my opening statement. Between saying what is on my mind, even if in my reflection on A PART of a peer's post, I write close to 1/3 more than they wrote! ... or saying the expected and minimum comment, get my grade, be as timid/friendly/neutral as possible in a basically bogus bulwark to protect my grade, but in no serious way help my peers in their writing, or at least not attempt to. see, choice A, the obvious choice to me, has a few draw backs: for one, it takes more energey. It also sets a higher standard for future posts, but that could be negative or positive. But the most worrisome aspect is that whether I do end up helping fellow students or alienating myself, it can be bad for me. Helping other's in their writing is beneficial for the community of student's good, a lofty and virtuous goal, if my grade was not tested against their's. But alienating myself turns myself away from the possibility of their aid, the very aid I am debating giving. Further, my grade depends at least partially on group work. What am I to do if no one would work with me, or worse, would not work cohesively with me?
On the other hand, if I do the very least possible to get a grade in a class, I will be tempted to do less, will have a harder time under the pressure of more difficult work, and be less interested with the subject matter (or matters) of the class, which in itself matters. Even the most tepid subject, under the right circumstance and with the right light, can become at the least interesting and on another level might even be vital. Therefore, with various voices voiced, and some speeches suppresed, I am agreed with myself that I made the right choice. Go Me!

Me

ME. no need to hide, just release it all. no blocks, no changes from one person to another. am i always cold? sad? upset? auto pilot? what to do when i just don't want to deal with people. by people u mean you. fear is part of why i cannot jsut be mad or upset, not fear of you hurting me or leaving me...no i've come to realize its the thoughts and pain that come, from no one but me, the thoughts plans, no world. only the darkness. i fear the darkness in my head. i hate the depth, how pathetic and weak pointless. no need for reason. what are the reasons of a sheltered and untested mind? i am so spoiled, so self aware and so unaware of the world, so unfeeling that each feeling is meshed and mashed in pain and joy, the utiles of my hypocrisy and joy. i am the vessel of my voyage, but that is not how i get anywhere. i want need the connections i love you i dont need you but i want you in my life i dont like the pain, but i accept it if it means i can have you, but when there is the pain, the knowledge that i cant understand you cuz i am not around you, you start to have the doubts, and so forth, then is the beginning. the beginning of the end. i dont want that. please, let us both give in just once, say that it was legitimate, a real worry, both of us are to blame and that you will work with me to work through it.

Motivation with a 'z'.

Woke up to the phone this morning. Can't believe who had called. It was Urian b4 his class and...well i woke up is all. After the call, I checked the table. To see if instructions layed there. None but yesterday's were laying. Of that one I threw somewhere. I went and had a shower following...throwing away that trash. I made a mental note to get a new trash bag. Breakfast...low on stock. Read the paper about pool drains. figured I would write this to motizate me. yes, motivate with a z. I may or may not add to this, to prove if I actually did something of value today...or I might be too busy living. With a 'v'.

Props

A man loved music. He decided to play the music he loved. This song is not the most difficult song he can do, but it shows his love for the music and it inspires me. The man born without hands, Big Toe: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK-Pv0VLjQE

A comparison of Day B and Day A

Day B was an unplanned day. I woke up and wondered what was going to happen to me (notice, not what I was going to do, only what would happen to me). Day A I braced for all I would do. Textbook case right, B loses, A wins? Not quite.... Day A ended up being a do-little day, not my fault but not exactly, not entirely out of my control. I could have done stuff, but I did not do much. Day b, I just did the Yes Man thing: said yes. I had alot of fun. Thank you for helping me see the glass half full my love, my friends, my family. I don't know what I want to do with the sunlight still out.....hopefully not video games or piano like normal. I'll start by editing this...

TJ's mommy called me, and she was not ok.

Paulina called me, and she was not ok.

I knew something was wrong but I did not know what to say.

She crying, in distress.

I wanted to know what happened but didn't want to press.

She told me, on the bright side, she had learned a few bars of Fur Elise.

If anything more had happened, I would have called the Police.

I want to protect her, to tell her it will be alright,
to let her do what she wants, but to defend her with all my might.

I don't know how to help more.
Tell me. Hold me.
I love you.
Always:
Ryan.

???poem??? (not really)

Start with a feeling of something amiss.
A hollow feeling, a body without healing,
a need for a tender kiss.

Then add the knowledge of being without;
for the wanting to be haunting,
to the point that I shout out:

Shout for her attention!
A moment in time, screw having to rhyme,
I just want her to talk to me, to remind me of her love

To tell me she is doing alright,
That life is good. How my heart jumps when the IM sound sounds but it is just files being transferred, Maybe I am not always calling first but I always want to speak to you, or hear you; I hardly ever say I don’t want to talk to you, and even when I do, it is not your fault at all, I still love you, I just am absent of my normal self I don’t even know if that makes sense, it doesn’t to me, but it is true, sometimes I want to be alone so much, that even the darkness seems too warm a companion, and I want to escape it…probably the time I need you the most. That warms me a little. Perhaps right now I need to suffer a little without you so I can have you at the time I need you the most. Better, you don’t need me right now…you or doing something spectacular, and I must keep my loneliness in check so I can have some left over when you need me. Dark times are coming or have come for you, and by that I mean when I went through the year you are going through it was very Dark for me, and the dark wasn’t my friend…Hopefully I can help you through this year in the ways that no one could help me through my respective Junior year.

Stuck in my mind

Warning dont read if you want a comprehensive or even compehendible blog this is a rant and so it shall be, no need for perfection or a backspace, spaces punctuation whatever.
What is it a girl wants! DONT ANSWER THAT!
THEY LISTEN TO MUSIC BY ARTISTS RAVING ABOUT LOOKING AT A GIRL (SAY IN FURS EVERYBODY LOOKING AT HER) TALKING ABOUT HER BODY, TALKING IN ALL SORTS OF UNPLEASANT WAYS. GIRLS ARE LISTSNING TO TRASH, WITH EVERY SO CALLED 'YEAR'S BEST MUSIC' INTRODUCING PERHAPS ONE NEW SOUND, A NEW SCRATCH IN AN ELEMENTARY BEAT THAT IS THEN USED AND REUSED AND RECYCLED IN ALMOST EVERY 'NEW' REMIX FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF YEARS, WITH THE SAME SUBJECTS RESURFACING EVERY COUPLE SONGS, AND SO CALLED UPBEAT SONGS TALKING ABOUT VIOLENCE OR GOING TO THE DANCE FLOOR LISTENING TO THE SONG THAT IS PLAYING, NAMELY, "this song"!!!!!!!!!! tHEN THE GIRLS WANT TO LISTEN TO THE CRAP, GET CLOSE TO STRANGERS, OR EVEN PEOPLE THEY KNOW, EITHER WAY THEY GET ALL INTO EACH OTHER AND OTHER PEOPLE AND JUST A COUPLE MINUTESS BEFORE THEY WERE ALL SENSITIVE ABOUT BEING TOUCHED AND WHATNOT AND PEOPLE WANT TO LEARN TO DANCE BUT SECRETLY (not any more) AND HONESTLY I WOULD BE EMBARRASED TO KNOW HOW TO DANCE IN THIS DAY AND AGE WITH THE (changed to stuff) WE LISTEN TO!!!!!!!!! YOU SAY: WELL THEN DON'T LISTEN TO IT, JUST IGNORE IT LIVE YOUR OWN LIFE AND GO BACK TO THE SOFT BORING TUNES YOU LISTEN TO! WELL, I WOULD BE PERFECTLY HAPPY WITH GOING BACK TO MUSIC THAT HAS WITHSTOOD THE TEST OF TIME AND HAS BEEN LISTENED TO AFTER DECADES, EXCEPT IN MY PRESENT SITUATION, i ENCOUNTER THIS TERRIBLE MUSIC QUITE REGULARLY AND IT HAS BECOME "UNCOOL" TO NOT LISTEN TO IT, OR WHATEVER, AND I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND WHO LIKES TO DANCE TO THIS (changed to stuff). SHE ACCEPTS THAT I DONT LIKE THE MUSIC BUT I CANT EXPECT TO LOVE HER AND NOT ACCEPT HER TASTES TO SOME EXTENT, I CANT CHANGE HER, I WOULDN'T WANT TO BUT WHY MUST SHE LISTEN TO THAT (changed to stuff)!!!!!!!!!!!! WE USED TO HAVE TALENTED ARTISTS IN THE MUSIC WORLD, BUT NOW THE MAJORITY OF THE POOPULAR MAINSTREAM MUSIC is written by 'artisans' not artists, and for the music industry, not for the music world. Luckily, after this, Flo-Rida is out of my head, and I can relax. Peace!

I don't know. Don't ask. Thank you four.

yesterday, a pain in my mouth, more of a sore really, bothered me. I want to write this, so that day does not go done in my memories as one devoid of pain. Like Cesaer at his fall with the slave to tell him to remember 'mortis', I must learn to write of the good, the bad, and the "e-bil''. This pain, one on the inside of my bottom left jaw, one one the right bottom lip inside, and one at the opposite bottom inside lip, bled a little. It reminded me with excrutiating acuity at each huge smile the pain of others. Bazarov and Chekov would be proud of me. I will be cruising. I want to use this cruise not only as a model, experieinceing a new thing and observing my pleasures and displeasures for future reference. I also want to use it as a way to get closer to my dad's side of the family...at least right now that is my intention. Perhaps, even, I will party. More likely and something I expect to do is to workout. If not to get my legs back in shape, then I hope to develop my arms to the shape they never had. i reflect that perhaps the lingo and style of internet slang, of no capitolizing and justifying and so forth is brought on not only by laziness, nor by the variance in certain programming programs in doing things like underlining text, but perhaps in making all the writing seem more

Connected. Like, the beginning of one sentence flows right from the thoughts before, because there is no capitolization or justification to seperate them. Its just a thought. (I like that song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bdai_1LlSA0)

Talking about pain, and a want to be connected, It will be a While before I get to be as close to Paulina as I have been in the recent past. But, I have chased you. You wanted to ride away. I followed, then you hurt me. you are sorry for you. I have begun to make amends to our past-begun to forgive you. I love you. amazing how I seem to be able to type those words faster than the others...yet I am slower to take them back. I love you, and whatever Someday brings (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwNuQulK6N0), now I have you, and I have contentment. I am connected, but by a bond lighter than chains, stronger than twine, more transparent than water, as difficult to explain as a pink invisible unicorn. You have filled my Śūnyatā, in that now I wish not to pursue it...

but i digress. And I need to pack. o.O

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NX0II7JAGY

Monday

Emotional day, come to a close. Writing is a good way of expression: someday, I will want to relive each moment, each feeling I am experiencing right now. Now, I am neither fully living it nor fully recording how alive my world is. But I love my life. I love my family, my ex-girlfriend, my friends including her...my world. I just am not always totally here, you know? Something to work on. I am surprised at how well I can stop thinking about...things. I suppose I can even supress my own grief at this point...ok i don't mean that. I love you Uncle Frank! I know you are watching over. I have so many things I want to say, but it would be silly for me to say them here. Rest in Peace.

Sunday

I will most likely not keep up with one post a day. Regretfully I do not always finish what I have begun. Some good music was heard today. Phone: is it for me? Probably not. Ok, it's not. I have a bad habit of putting semicolons instead of apostrophes when I am typing too fast. Someone once told me that they would do anything for me, if it made me happy. Conceptually, it is a warming thought, but really, sometimes what makes someone so special to you isn't what they give you. Perhaps it can be what they take from you, what they would like to give but can't, what they refuse to give, that allows me to see them as I do. Or maybe it is all my perspective, with little to no bearing on that person's judgements or actions. I hope and suppose it would not be any one of these things. Most likely, what makes someone so amazing to me is a combination of my attitude, their attitude, my relationship to them, and their relationship to me. Telephone! These things would be both in the moments that intersect, our time spent together, and the grains of sand of these moments mixed with the millions of other moments, actions, thoughts, and relationships that make up the shoreline of our world: our feelings. Anakin once said a cool romantic line about sand, something I would not remember from the many times I watched the movies...

My uncle. Uncle Frank. They, the unkown nd unknowing doctors, found cancer. It was too late to save him from death. They hooked him up to the machine today. I llost the train for what i was writing about i am going to go our lives are connected, each death ripples sadness to those living, but those who knew him best know he is watching above.

A Century Plant

[written Saturday May 30th]
A century plant, native to the desert, has many leaves that shoot out like fireworks from the ground. One stalk, one particular neck of green, watches from above the leaves, a patriarch. This overlooking shoot stands sentry over the leaves with little buttercup-like seed-flowers. Well, more aptly seeds; they have a very short life as flowers. When the plant is green, the seeds develop over the course of decades until, a century later, the seeds are fully mature. At this point, if no other century plant is mature, then the plant browns, dies, and will never pass on life to another century. I saw a battlefield of these timepieces. Some, past their prime, were dried, crisp, angled, falling for decades or already fallen or, worst of all, standing dead for eternity. Yet, in the midst of the dead were two green century-plants. They were five feet apart, the closest and farthest five feet in all of the earth. One, within its ninth decade, was still a little young to flower. The other plant, a short but sturdy specimen who had withstood the torment of sandstorms, had not drowned in the quick rain-showers that brought enough water for months, had envied neither the lonesome chase of a coyote nor the relatively fast crawl of a desert tortoise, and had grieved the death of its elderly neighbors, had nonetheless found the purpose of its life. It had 12 yellow-tan bulb-like flowers, dainty things that did not look particularly beautiful at a quick glance. Three on four sides. She held them up proudly if stiffly, her young lover had no knowledge of the brood. Desert bees, coming every other spring, had liked the two and agreed to rendezvous at the stalks. Pollen had happened upon the mature plant, as well as the immature miniature. One Hundred years, and she had flowers.

I went motorcycling. While riding, I saw a whole bunch of dead looking plants. I went up to one of the few that still had a little color, saw it had flowers. I tried smelling it but it smelled of dust. I picked one. The petals dissolved in my hand. Oh well.

Ode to a Lost Experience

I am a leaf in the lost wind
A warm soft rain of rustling dust.
To ditch was, in trying, how I sinned;
Yet jumping a ditch was not how I was bust.
A date, unknowingly by a man who could not make it
under the strain of not making it, became but a boy.

Lord knows the test I am taking. And I will take it.
He knows my faith, if not in Him, in getting through
the Impassable. the Impossible.
Lord knows that I am neither a man nor a boy.
Nor am I becoming a ‘one-syllable’.
I am a Teenager. Es verdad, yo soy
Una persona individual.

If I am different, may I remind you that so are you?
Different than those eyes around you,
Each man with his own size, shape, shoe.
Different than the face in the mirror of yesterday;
What does tomorrow’s reflection have to say?

If I am troubled, may I remind you that these are troubling times?
School infiltrated by cynics saying
we are on one side too rich,
on the other, needing every dime!













Without direction, my boat is floating. I attend
To the jib sheet, but the sail is wing-&-wing
For my relaxation I am on vacation. But in the end,

Will my life be worth anything?

here i am. back at the blog. i come with message: i have had things happen to me, have been away from islands, form mountains, form birds and sailboats and happy things. yes i put form instead of from. i am imperfect. i am secretly glad no one knows what goes on my mind. i prefer not thinking things through sometimes so i can enjoy the thought that everyhting is perfectly fine. if you examine any one thing, even the concept of perfection, that one thing is so riddled with flaws, with problems, with simple or difficult extrenalities, if you examine it thoroughly and in reference to every application of that thing. my escapade of Rianislands is imperfect because i have told to many people, it has become very detailed, now i need a less-tourist-infested trap of the mind. nothing doesn't work, too many people reccomend it. its like approaching money, realizing that billions of people would kill for the amount of money....it disgusts me. i read an appalling passage today for english, and i thought to myself, to quote the talking heads, that people could make the same criticism i made of it to whatever i write, that in people's heads they probably do, that most people think at one point or another....well, more than one point if they think about me for more than one passing glance: that i am awkward, nerdy, white, something distasteful, unpleseant, cracilicious. the bearditude of such phenomena is copesetic. burn in heaven, oh passionate critics! Leave me in pieces. And, now, so you learn something about me: that made me feel better. ask me what is wrong, and you wrong me. Say never mind, and you will never know. Don't try to read my mind. Just do what you know I want, not always just kissing, carressing, physical things, or attention. If you don't know what I want, that is something you should ask, preferably not in English. My mind is troubled right now, but don't help solve the problem, I must solve this one by myself...well there is one thing you could do Paulina. it would help if i talked to someone adult about it. bye!

Profoundity

If, in the time allocated to wasteful relaxation, profound thought is discovered, it must of course be at a wasted time that the body is too lax, the mind too sloth, to record the enlightened thought. Because, at the time the epiphany occurs, the body is naturally left behind and the mind struggles to recall the body's mechanical dexterity to record the fleeting thought, the moment of brilliance, and, blessed thought by nature, is floundering, opaque, a shadow, not the bright calling as in its birth but a reminicence of a thought: made so by the effort of summoning a pen, a keyboard, a recorder.
So is the descriptions of the feelings, the expressions of joy and of suffereing, of many emotions, a fleeting or lining of the emotions expressed outwardly. So, when I am melancholy, when I am joyous, doubt only the validity of those emotions you do not wish to desire in me, or even those that you don't desire. The rest are as fleeting as the shade of a snow bank in April. This is even more true as the snow approaches Mei. For the cold attitude, the darkness does not exist...only a comparative absence of heat, of light, of expressed happiness.
The title=profoundity is my form of profanity?

Can't Express

Welcome to the Can't Express. Our next stop will be confusion. i say moods like a botamist i can't have spelled that right i can't write whats on my mind. trees. like a botanist says the names of trees, the scientific name, to a kid that doesn't know or care.
those are my moods! unknown, and unknowingly not what i am talking about. i can't talk about what i am thinking about, you see. because you are on the line, the Can't Express.
a soup manufacturer, Preggo, has a new prototype, we'll see if it stays on the market or not. its called like, May Pretty Rain, or cherry blossom poppers, or something like that.
being sheltered, i am. don't like getting hurt but i like the adventure, the blood, the fight, the adrenaline, the breathing, the coolness. unfortunately, due to myself i dont have any of that in my character. i run. drudgery, on and on, nothing truly new, it's all been done by the barenaked ladies.
Blake was right. I am insecure! But I am also strong, stonger than i know sometimes. I am proud of my small accomplishments in my life, the xbox 360 blloop thing comes at the bottom of my screen every once in a while. blloop! and i am on the road to success and if i am not always the one behind the driver's wheel, i am the one with the map. I will run on and on. maybe the first will be (say-it). She'll C. or, if not, i will beat my record of 24 hours without sleep.
Shame on you, Ryan-Devils! Teri, Chase, Janelle, Sam, all those 'know-it-all' muners that don't know anything.
"part of the problem was the timing" (Matthews 122 Hardball) "Of course, you need to be aware" (Garfield Creative Dreaming 172) "Stop for a minute and take a look around." (Ed Oakley, Doug Krug Enlightened Leadership)
playlist jan31,2009: Break Away-Baha Men, One Particular Harbor-Jimmy Buffet, So Lonely-The Police, Love & Honesty-Hawaiian Style Band, Not About Us-Genesis, Drakinbala-biekbala mujik.
I used to question myself. But then i started getting answers, and I learned not to.
Forgive me if I ram page to the islands.
rampage is my msn word
If you are lost, climb to the highlands.
from there you have the sight of a bird.
There is nothing mysterious about me
I just want love, a challenge, and to be free.
shut up ryan you dumb. when she told me today, she was so pale, so less the activo in my head, and she said ryan lots...now my name has become, lets say, a word of harm-to-come, a reason to pray. I am here for you Paulina...and here I will stay.

The Sound of a Woman's Touch

I had a song in my head. it was one of those songs that can't truly ever be transcribed to cleffs, captured by a reed's whistle or a violin's resonance. A beat that is there in the song, but not physical, not sound sound sound sound, not a repetitious roll or thum of string or drum. Too beautiful for this world. is thought in this world? the song grievously told of a melancholy tale. Before it was heard on a piano, i had called it the sound of a woman's touch, a very synastegic syntactic anomaly. but, after the ivories possessed me for a duration of world-time, a new name undulated. how phenomenal! an undulation of the titillating title. the song did not transgress sound, touch, or a woman, though those were undoubtedly all part of it. it was greater: a man and a woman, conversing, touching. and, with how pathetic and accentuated the feelings! the man and woman must be at the apex of a relationship, the touching must be 'al naturale', the song of dialogue must not be happy, for the song is sad...no they must discuss in the moment that Donne would consider other-worldly or even supernatural something that is dark, is tainted. A confession! but, let it be that it is a confession neither of blame or lacking blame to either member. that is, it is neither entirely his or her fault, neither is it entirely not their fault. let it be that another man affixed himself on the divine lips of either the man or the woman, and, the other member had feelings about such a matter. that is not presumptuous. let us hope the conflict was between another man and the woman. let us say that it was not once, not twise, but some number of times, of world-time that he kissed her...and the greatest moment arose when she would confess. Of course he would still love her! perhaps not the her that he had dated, perhaps not the girl he first thought he knew, of course it couldn't possibly be her that had wanted this...she said she did, but for good reasons right? not out of love, but out of egotism? vanity, a need to be seen? how is that right? or is it that it is wrong, but it is less wrong than the alternative, that she loves him? she did, you know. she loved him, in a puppy love kind of way. here is the shift in the center of the song, the possibly minor, maybe major interlude...and yet it drifts back to melancholy madness. not madness, more magnanimous, if that is a word, more moreness and less timid taciturn tickling feeling. the morals and lessons, i once wrote. morals are what you have going in, the lessons are what you have going out. i am in the moment, when the moral is the lesson, but the lesson is not yet defined by the morals. there is a resolution to the song. i know it! i feel it coming, like the expected ending to a story that still surprises you. i hope i find the true song as beautiful.

Home

Is a home where you live, or where you feel most relaxed and at ease with yourself? I have found peace, then, in a thought. Not always comforting, to have the greatest sanctuary in the least quantifiable and absolute form possible. Nevertheless, The Meditations says it must be because it was thought. That bit isn't entirely true. Mom and I discussed names today. I fingered A minor today. I also played Kanon, also known as Canon, a Pachebel piece with an unbelievable personal history. I play the cello, you see. Already you see a piece of me! Eventually, you will hear me, smell me, and perhaps even heal me. For now, I wish you to feel the sound of a caress.

Visa

Ew Era Ereh!

"minimums often become maximums." -Mr. Elderidge.

• So I don't have time for a proper welcome. But welcome!