YOLO: You’re doing it wrong.

The Internet is awesome.

Although this seems like an obvious statement, it’s not something to just gloss over.

It’s important to sit back every once and a while and look at how great we have it. Breaking news is available instantaneously. Porn is easier to find than ecstasy at a Skrillex concert, much to Rick Santorum’s dismay. Distances have become irrelevant, as you can see and hear a friend quicker than you can say “Skype.”

While all this is at our disposal, the generations before us not only had to sit in the dark waiting for day-old news but also had to use their imagination during their “alone time” and haggle with the operator just to talk to their "homie" across the country, if they even owned a phone.

Sadly, the Internet isn’t all sunshine and puppy tails. It’s also given a home to played out and misused abbreviations, the latest offender being “YOLO.”

If you’re not familiar, Drake popularized the abbreviation, which stands for “you only live once,” in his song, “The Motto.” Thanks to Drizzy, trend-chasing young adults are posting it at the end of their tweets or Facebook statuses that are either a. entirely ordinary or b. completely brainless.

“Just napped for two hours. YOLO.”

“I blacked out and woke up in jail. YOLO”

Here’s how I read those:

“You only live once, so I’m going to sleep it away.”

“You only live once, so I’ll make mistakes that might haunt me for the rest of my life.”

The point of “YOLO” isn’t to do a bunch of hood rat stuff and say, “fuck it.”

YOLO shouldn’t be a justification for ignorant behavior, but it’s used for that very reason. A bunch of pothead kids getting high and ditching class is already a problem in itself, so let’s give them a catchphrase to go along with it. That’s a great idea.

If we only live once, the importance of our decisions is heightened, not devalued. I don’t mean to sound like Buzz Killington, because there is definitely a time and place to go out, have fun and act wild. In fact, I quite enjoy those instances. I also realize, however, there are many more pertinent things happening in this world.

Look at the man who coined “YOLO.” He’s recording platinum albums, selling out concerts worldwide, winning awards, meeting his icons, appearing on magazine covers and voicing a character in “Ice Age 4.” To put it bluntly, he’s doing a hell of a lot more than most of us. So when he raps, “You only live once: that’s the motto n****, YOLO,” he can’t possibly be encouraging us to act like asses. He’s telling us to make something of ourselves.

The point of “YOLO” should be to go out and do something meaningful. That doesn’t mean everyone should hold themselves up in the library or go volunteer at the homeless shelter because, let’s face it, that would get boring. It just means that people should prioritize doing something with a lasting value. Go try a new hobby. Go to a foreign country. Go do anything with a longer shelf life than “I just beer-bonged three Four Lokos.”

“Taking surfing lessons. YOLO.”

“Roadtrip around Europe. YOLO.”

Those are appropriate things to do with only one life at your disposal. Even if most of us won’t become one of the biggest names in music, we can still do great things. We don’t have to be average.

The Baby Boomers and early Generation X didn’t grow up with the Internet, they invented it. Let’s not slap them in the face by using their gift to boast about our complacency.

Stop #stopkony.

Are you ready to party like it's 1999? Is it time for another wave of humanitarian militarism? All of the ingredients, it would seem, are present. We have an intensely mediatized campaign in which no one learns anything about the ostensible subject. The video from Invisible Children by the despicably narcissistic Jason Russell is supposedly about a conflict in Uganda, but it tells us not a thing about Uganda's politics, its rulers, the military who are hunting down the remnants of the Lords Resistance Army, Museveni or his US-backed invasion of the Congo (death toll from that war is close to 5m), or the Lord's Resistance Army. We have a US intervention. The hundred or so US advisors assisting the Ugandan army are supposedly there in part due to pressure from Russell and his organisation. We have an evil-doer about whom no one knows anything, aside from the fact that he's a Hitler or, worse, a Bin Laden. This approach, in which we learn only that Kony is a bad man, is justified with the repellently manipulative technique of having the film-maker's son stand in for the audience - Daddy 'explains' to his son that Kony steals away children and makes them shoot people, and the little treasure gurns "that's sad". We have the helpless victims, who articulate only their suffering, reduced to bare-forked creatures of the imperialist imagination, and firmly locked in the missionary position. We have the absurdity of hundreds of thousands of well-meaning but slightly silly people who have allowed themselves to be manipulated and bullied into supporting the combined forces of US imperialism and the Ugandan military in the name of human rights. We have, in all, a white man's burden for the Facebook generation. 


I will not rehearse my own arguments. Those who haven't yet read Liberal Defence now have the opportunity to go and consult the record from five hundred years of liberal imperialism. Nor will I take it on myself to explain the history and social complexities of Uganda's insurgency. It would be superfluous in the context, since people are not even being mobilised on the basis of misinformation - this is ideologically very weak - but rather are being invited to share a sentiment which taps their natural solipsism (as well as, at a vulgar level, their desire to help people, to be altruistic). All that is necessary is to alert people to the fact that they are being manipulated by slime balls into supporting scumbags. And that information is slowly getting through. The criticisms are beginning to gradually penetrate the wall of great white hype. People are beginning to notice that Invisible Children supports war criminals and rapists, which is a rather squalid little blow to the afflatus generated by the Live 8-Geldof-Bono-style promo video. I have no doubt that this campaign will prove to be as futile and anti-climactic in its results as many previous unwanted efforts to Save Africa - one recalls the idiotic Save Darfur campaign. (About Sudan, though - ahem!). 


Yet, the cultural significance of this could be far greater than the immediate range of its intended ambitions. I don't just mean this in the sense that this raises highly suggestive questions about the conditioning, the socialization, the immersion in mass/social media that makes people susceptible to this sort of offensive. (And in propaganda terms, it is a straightforward psychological assault which, like the latest US assault rifle being deployed in Afghanistan, combines sophistication at a technological level with crudity in its and somatic effects.) Rather, the formulation repeatedly used in the promo video - "this is an experiment" - raises the possibility that the techniques here deployed will, insofar as they are successful, find their way into the repertoire of the Pengagon's propaganda department. This is hardly the first campaign of its kind to use a combination of rock video imagery and soundscape with pseudo-populist interpellation (rock the power structure, make the dudes in Washington listen, stop at nothing). The imagery from the poster campaign is lifted straight from Obama 2008. Nor is it the first to strip-mine the iconography of social struggle (it's what Gandhi/MLK would have done). And it hardly breaks new ground with the social media fetishism. However, we are obviously at a pivotal stage in the development of new medias and their effective annexation by capitalist states in alliance with silicon monopoly capital. The re-deployment of MTV/Hollywood audiovisual tropes in combination with the depoliticised atrocity reportage style of the 1990s is merely a happenstance formula, one of the many ways in which a subject like this might be handled to the same overall end. What is important is the techniques allowing the manoeuvring of a notoriously ambiguous, 'lukewarm' medium like the Internet into a more coercively 'hot' form. According to McLuhan, media exist on a hot-cold continuum depending on the degree of participation from the audience that they required or permitted in determining meaning. Movies were the paradigmatic instance of a 'hot' media, gratifying consumers with intense, attention-absorbing sensation. The relation of dominance and subordination between producer and audience is increased in direct proportion with the 'hotness' of the medium. It was never quite clear how ostensibly participatory, user-generated media would fit into this, much less the new forms of communications technologies such as he Blackberry messaging systems which gave police and politicians headaches during last Summer's riots. There has, of course, been a tremendous investment by firms and states in theorising their impact. I don't know, but I imagine that quite a few PhDs have been made from this sort of research. And I would suggest that some of the fruits of all these studies in domination have been very effectively brought together in a way that blends ersatz participatory, grassroots politics with straightforward psychological compulsion. They have learned how to use these tools well enough to give the Ugandan army the face of Mother Theresa, and that, one suspects, is what makes this a really seminal moment.

Love, Hate.

If you love someone, you run the risk of not loving them one day. You run the risk of seeing them in a grocery store years later and hiding behind the display of bananas so you won’t have to say anything to them and pretend that the love never happened. It’s funny, isn’t it? When you run into someone like your childhood best friend (the one you haven’t seen in years, the one who became a Christian and has a Coach bag), you say hello. You hug, quickly find out what they’re doing with their life, if they’re happy, and then you move on. Sure, it’s awkward, and there might be a temporary ache in your chest afterwards (time can be unkind) but you acknowledge them, you pay tribute with a smile, a hug, a “How are you doing?”

With the people you once loved, the people that once had an all-access pass to the most intimate details of your life, you sometimes can’t pay tribute. You can’t ask them about their work, their travels, or god forbid, their family. Your mind can’t process it. They can only exist in black and white; they can either be everything or nothing. You say hello to the person you played with when you were five, and ignore the person whose cum you swallowed, who once cried to you in a cab because everything was going wrong and oh my god, you wanted to help them, wanted to save them.

Who do we hold on to and who do we force ourselves to forget? The hardest thing about love often seems to be the extremes. How quickly it can go from “hold me through the night” to “get fuck off of me.” One day you’re in a hotel gift shop with the person you love and you look over at them and start to see different things, things you wish you were never able to see. This is the beginning of the end, the beginning of “get the fuck off of me.” You know in that moment that you’ll be ignoring them five years from now in a grocery store.

You always have the ability to hate someone you love. Hate is passion just like love is passion. You must know this when you sign the love contract. “I hereby acknowledge that loving you carries the potential for disaster. I hereby acknowledge the possibility of hating your fucking guts!!!” Will this stop anyone from loving? More importantly, should it? No.

In a way, hate can be the best compliment next to love. Because the second you’re able to come up to your ex in that grocery store or on the street, you’ve healed and moved on.  The love exists now in a healthy compartment in your brain or not at all. This is all very well and good, but it also means that it’s truly done. Technically, this is what’s supposed to happen. This is the path you’re supposed to be on. But losing the passion can sometimes be the hardest thing to give up. Holding on to feelings, whether it’s love or hate, reminds you that you’re still alive and that the relationship happened. Or something.

Letter from the PM.

        
Dear People of Australia , 
 
Due to the current financial situation caused by the slowdown of the
economy, your Government has decided to implement a scheme to put
workers 50 years of age and older on early retirement. This scheme
will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged People Early). 
 
Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to the government to be eligible
for the SHAFT scheme (Special Help After Forced Termination). 
 
Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be reviewed under the
SCREW program (Scheme Covering Retired Early Workers). A person may be
RAPED once, SHAFTED twice and SCREWED as many times as the government
deems appropriate. 
 
Only persons who have been RAPED can get AIDS (Additional Income for
Dependants & Spouse) or HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel
Early Severance). Obviously, persons who have AIDS or HERPES will not
be SHAFTED or SCREWED any further by the government.. 
 
Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on, will receive as much SHIT
(Special High Intensity Training) as possible. The government
has always prided itself in the amount of SHIT it gives out. Should
you feel that you do not receive enough SHIT, please bring this to the
attention of your local MP. They have been trained to give you all the
SHIT you can handle.

Don't criticize, empathize.

Do we really feel people's pain
or do we think it's what we have to do
fuck that bullshit about caring
its a state of mind
you care when you want to
not because you have
i care bout starving kids
you care about the air
we see what we want do we
so when do we draw the line at right and wrong
if you have something to say don't cover identity
come out and say it
so don't stay something where you gonna end up apologising
stand by your actions to the end
in the face of death soldiers run guns blazing
so why cant you speak with your words
every sentence your ammunition
and when other people talk listen
dont criticize, empathize
i know the truth hurts but it has to be said
enought said and done, not like you will listen
reading this is enough for me

Pursuit of Happiness.

what lengths do we go to pursue happiness
do we dwell in the presence of evil
do we partake of sinful acts
do we deprive other of joy
all humans are selfish and that is a fact
in some moments of clarity we feel guilt
guilt can be described as man's bad judgement to another man
rather that feeling the error of your ways
the guilt can only come when do wrong to another
so why do wrong?

are we all programmed with evil
or do we fully kick of the good and let in the bad
what is morality apart from the eye of the strong above the weak
take a sip, take a swish, every drop closer to a state of intoxication

DUI ''doing under the influence'' is the general ways of people these days
nobody wants to own up to their stupidity anymore
we just act as we please and try to justify
before you and after you make a decision
remember, not everything that shines is Gold.

The Fine Art Of Voluntary Stupidity.

Yes, I'm back.

Before I embarked on the self-torture called a BA, I used to wake up everyday and immediately put on the TV to try to find out what was going on in the world around me. This foolish action inevitably led me to turn to CNN, BBCNews or when the weather was really bad or things were very hard, – NTA. And then it would usually begin. Bad news in industrial quantities: The financial crisis, bomb blasts, a plane crash, stories of both government and private corruption, chronicles of fools: some poor fool who has just been blown up in the name of Allah, another fool who is trying to spread freedom and democracy around the world and some more fools who are spouting varying grades of propaganda; ranging from Innocent white lies to premium brand, Class A Bullshit. Generally I would endure 60 minutes of this sensory assault on my intelligence before giving up and turning toward MTV or one of the Series/Movie channels for some mind-numbing, meaningless drivel to help me try to forget the mental torture I’ve just been subjected to.

Unfortunately, this usually didn’t help much since all the music and shows are laced with hidden intentions telling me what to think and how to think it. Young girls wearing next to nothing shake their bodies in ways that would be of concern to medical professionals with the message ‘sex is good’ while 50cents latest song is telling me ‘to get rich or die trying’. Beyonce is subconsciously trying to make your girlfriend leave you with her ‘Put a ring on it’ nonsense, Bruno mars is looking for trouble by singing about catching grenades (Who the hell would do that anyway? Pls refer to @CapoeiraPandas blog for more details on this…) and some bloody Nigerian is asking me to ‘Dapada’ and/or ‘farabale’; ‘groove utunu’ and or 4kasibe’. The TV shows are not much better, every episode presents some half-baked, hashed out ideology which it tries to sell to me as a life philosophy. Examples: all problems can be solved in an 30 minutes or an hour, Bad guys always get caught, follow your dreams, Obey your parents, Sex sells, Ok, don’t always obey your parents, humour is good, gays are not so bad, Always consult your pastor for advice, Blah, Blah, Blah… Usually, there would be only so much my brain could take before I call my friend –Mr. Remote control and finally help the environment by switching off the appliances I’m not using.

Unfortunately, with all outside influence gone, my mind would inward and begin to think (a process which I’ve been told is quite high risk, and should be attempted only by trained professinals) . But it is the result of this thinking which led me to write this note to my victi…er..erm…i mean friends and followers; lamenting the state of this world we live in and the nation we call home. Why is everything so confusing? Why is the world so disorderly? Why would some fools blow up innocent people for no good reason? Why would Jim Iyke try to rap? These are genereally the kind of thought i would think at these times. Luckily, while writing this post I came upon a revelation, it was like a vision (well more like a hallucination caused by excessive exposure to differential calculus… but whatever….) but it made clear what must be done to navigate this morally twisted world without overheating your brain engine. It is called VOLUNTARY STUPIDITY.

You see, I read once in a book (okay, fine, it wasn’t a real book, it was a comic but who wants to split hairs right now?) that comedians are the saddest people in the world. They see what’s wrong with the world but when they stand-up and try to tell the rest of us we just laugh at them. This is an example of the universal law: “It’s not smart to be too smart” as Illustrated by the lives of Galileo and Leonardo da Vinci. You see, i think stupidity is good for you, as long as you don’t exceed the prescribed dosage. And if you are asking yourself right now: “Pray tell, o wise one, how do I obtain a prescription for the stupidity I so desperately need”, then don’t worry, I have the answer, just read on….

Voluntary stupidity is the fine art of ignoring things that are real but make you feel unhappy or depressed. It is my analogy of the old concept that is referred to by the esteemed Buddhist monks as the ‘if-we-ignore-it-then-it-will-go-away’ philosophy. Just as faith is defined as the “belief in things not seen”, voluntary stupidity is the “disbelief of things seen, heard, experienced and even known.” If practiced well, it can increase your level of happiness exponentially within a few seconds. I have been accused of the horrendous and evil crime of ‘being too smart’ more than once in my life and having repented from this crime i can attest to the efficacy of this method.

On a serious note however, we do this every day. We overlook things like our friends’ bad habits, the religion of others which we don’t believe, the fact that we are not as rich or happy as we want to be, the parts of the bible and the constitution that we don’t like, etc. It is a self defense mechanism to protect our fragile psyches from the trauma of unfulfilled dreams, failures, limitations and things we cannot understand or do anything about.

So the next time some smug, self-righteous, smarty-pants starts talking about the war in Iraq, Who is sponsoring the bombing in the Nigeria, the environment and global warming, traffic situations, the plight of democracy, ASUU strikes or the appalling Suckiness of the new Black Eyed Peas album, just remember, he will die a sad, depressed old fart while you relish in your self-built, sky-castle of blissful ignorance, surrounded the lovely aura of VOLUNTARY STUPIDITY.

Thank me later,
Smiles and Love.

The Key to Social Networking That Will Grow Your Business.

If Facebook were a country, then with over 500 million active users, it would be the 3rd largest country in the world after China and India!
In the last twelve months, over 40 billion tweets have poured out on twitter.
So social media is hardly a passing fad.
Business owners must ask: "How can I leverage social media to position my business as the one to buy from?
Social media offers a massive potential market, but attracting attention and gaining a following can be next to impossible.
Building a customer base through social media demands a new communication for most businesses - a two-way conversation.
Social communication builds relationships... And relationships build trust... And trust is the "currency" of the citizens of the massive social media world.


Sent from iPad.

Amongst the Butterflies.

Lie with me a while
Down by the bed of roses,
Settle down beside me
And remind me of the stars

Wonder me with those eyes,
The palest blue and greenery
Hold me close to the skies
Watch the stars gaze down lightly

Follow my call in silence
I beseech you to be mine
Standing by your side Everes
My heart is lovingly thine

Bleeding Earth.

If you were to stand on a satellite orbiting the earth, everything would look like it’s at absolute harmony, the deep blue oceans scattered with its masses of brown and green land with cloud blankets hovering above them. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary except when you start to descend down towards it and touch down on the ground. On the surface is a totally different story, one of devastation and destruction.

Earth is in danger of losing what sets it apart from other planets, the existence of life. With everyday that goes by, some feature of earth or form of life is threatened of its existence by the phenomenon of global climate change and the avarice of man. In our callous pursuit of riches, we have abused our earths resources, endangered its inhabitants and raped the future of life.

Everyday, animals are affected as their habitats are lost to modernization, trees are cut down without remorse, skies are saturated with toxic chemicals and yet nothing significant is being done to stop it. Though we maybe the smartest species on earth and at the same time the dummest, to have engineered our own destruction, we are lucky to have realized what we have caused.

We seriously have taken for granted everything we should spend so much time taking care of and conserving. Even now as your reading this, your using electricity that maybe generated by means of a thermal power plant which pours pollutants into the air every second thereby contributing to global warming. Has that ever occurred to you?

So now we are at a crucial pivoting point to what will become of life to come. We can either change our ways and counter climate change or we cant just let it be and rape the future for those to come after us. The choice is obvious, we have to stop the pollution and end the abuse of our earth because without earth there is no life.

The earth is bleeding today because we have abused it with our so-called change. So if it is change that started this, then it should very well be change that should end it.

Happy House.

I want a house in the hills,
with pristine views of the skies
and the forgotten mills.

I want the linen on my bed,
to speak to me in riddles
and leave me with stories worthy of pickles.

I want a stone fire place,
with skewers made of iron
and a fire that mimics a dancer’s grace.

I want my cutlery to be happy and queer,
with mismatching colours of the rainbow
to leave my guests puzzled with cheer.

I want the sunshine and I want the rain,
and when you walk in through that door,
I want you to blink back in amaze.

JAMES BLAKE.

I love the mess of it. The search for harmony. And the autotune as an art.

Enjoy!

An Analogy even the Gre couldn't Think up.

losing a piece of myself. losing you. losing my identity. losing hope. losing anything... is akin to miscalculating something I know to be certain...

• walking, and over-reaching during a step. how could my legs falter like this? how could the right leg break out of formation this way? traitor.

• wearing heels and going to the home bathroom to check the mirror, reaching for the sink without looking, and grasping wildly in the air where you know for sure the sink should be. you would have staked your life on the fact that the precise angle your elbows took naturally was the correct angle to put your hand in line with the sink. you look down and see the increased height and realize the heels added length and distorted your mental map.

• driving in the snow, with all the expertise of a seasoned driver. you've had your license forever. you could maneuver through anything, you know the slight nuances of the car like the back of your hand... but the snow is an added variable that you could not account for. your hands are unsure. you are unsure of the way your car is sliding as if it had a will of its own. this creature you had tamed, understood, fed and trusted all these years is now a crazed monster on a self-destruction path.

• running down the steps you always run down. counting the familiar rhythm of the steps as toe then heel crash to each step. something happens, the rhythm is jarred, your steps are awry, you trip. you steady yourself against the railings... or perhaps sit, ego-stung, on the ground nursing skinned knees.

• closing your eyes to reach for that deep peace, and finding some kind of semi-vertigo effect happening: your body is weightless and at first, in the darkness behind your lids, you are swept back and forth gently as if by a passing wave. quickly then, you're pulled into one direction, then the other and it's like you're falling into an abyss, but in your own mind. at first, it's something fun, you try to maintain the feeling, but it slowly overcomes you and in fear, you snap your eyes open, surprised to find yourself safe on your bed, muscles tensed. and you're afraid, because how could you live all your life and not know about this dark hole in your mind? what if you hadn't regained control at the last minute, would you have fallen forever, cascading mentally and frozen physically for eternity?

Ah. The things I think of to procrastinate. I must depart.
Beautiful day people.
x

Some Deep Shi+

'in the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. in the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless [...]. do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads.

do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved but have never been able to reach. check your road and the nature of your battle.

the world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible... it's yours.'

ayn rand, atlas shrugged

So then.

I'm worried that everything will be okay. It constantly haunts me, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, where I can pretend that the dust has begun to build only because it's no longer of any use. I've come out of my depression, battered and evolved, but it's gone. I've settled into your average post-adolescent despondence; the worry of a relapse has long died. But what now? What happens? Am I to remain at this plateau indefinitely? I'm worried that I'll be okay, but not in the way that I want to be. Just that - okay. Nothing more, nothing extraordinary, no trembling nerves, no humming blood, mere complacence. I comforted myself with the prospect of eternal misery, but at least that had a fire. At least with that, I knew, or thought, I had a chance of somehow, someday changing that blaze from a harrowing blue to a glorious red. but I don't know what I can do with indifference. I don't know if I can function on it, on the remains of coal - worthless, feathery ash.

You see, before, I had an excuse. My tantrums were, if not verified, accepted. it was a battle, and in a battle, you release your claws. You fight dirty. You kick and you scream. Hey, throw a punch in if you want, too. But when you lose.. when you give it everything you've got and you lose, starting it up again is just you holding onto a dead, false prospect. It's you refusing to accept reality. It's your juvenile denial of defeat.

So what do you do now? Do you press on? Do you live within the restrictions of this new regime? Do you self-impose exile? banishment?

Really. Forget the self-soliloquies. Forget pointless words. What happens now?

I am the walrus.

I've always described black coffee as tasting like walrus feet. Now, I've never actually encountered a walrus, but books and depression have broadened my imagination's ability, and so, I transcend reality; I see things you would never see, and know things you will never know. And although I've never had the pleasure of a walrus's company, my vivid imagination tells me that should I ever, in fact, meet a walrus and by some curious chain of events, bite into his or her flesh, the taste would be reminiscent of a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

And yet, here I stand, morning after morning, and when occasionally the seasons alter my sleeping schedule and render me nocturnal, night after night, watching, with the unbearable spasm of an addict, as the ever luminous espresso machine pours its tears into my blue Peter Pan cup, offering me the satisfaction of the walrus I'll never meet.

Happy Friday Folks!

Twenty?!

I am no longer a teenager. Shocking that I discover this somewhat-well into my 20's right? But it has really hit me recently.
Did you know I am older than Kristen Stewart, Jason Derulo, and all but one of the girls on America's Next Top Model. Yes. Did you know that the UN's definition of youth is '15-24' I'm ALMOST NOT EVEN A YOUTH ANYMORE. F MY LIFE. WHAT SHOULD I DO!?
Somatic growth stops as 18.
Myelination happens the most during teenage years, so I will never get any smarter than I am now.
LIKE THATS IT. I am old. As in opportunity is NOT knocking anymore. As in I have one more egg left. As in grey hair and all that shmaz. As in scratch that epitaph into my tombstone.
Eff my life.
Anyways, that was my 'aha' moment on why I haven't been able to write anything. I over-romanticized every aspect of my life, abused the adjectives and the melodramatics to my heart's content, and now I am free- and depressed enough- to move onto my adult life. So I really should bid you all adieu, at least until I figure out what adult means. Maybe I'll be back in 10 minutes, maybe 10 days, maybe 10 months, maybe a decade. But seriously, I am lost now about everything.

A Girl Who..

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
— Rosemary Urquico

If you're wondering why some of these old posts have resurfaced, it's because I was doing some editing and the dates got mixed up. That's all. Carry on, carry on...

From a straight road to a swerve.

My mind is bleeding with the realization of its captivity. It's inability to run free, to experience, to live like they do on silver screens, is haunting my every decision. Ignorance comes in many forms, the kindest of his masks, is the one that's always with me. My mind is blind to the most horribly annoying of things, and that is of a sub-conscience choice. An invited and welcomed ignorance if you will.

I have this closet in my head where I push away the unchangeable ways of politics, man, and religion. The things I have to accept, but that don't really make it through my senses are usually found in this closet. Imagine a Narnia type wardrobe. It's pretty and in a room by its lonesome. You see, that's how my closet looks like, pretty and alone, away from human parasites. Sometimes, I open this closet, and I weep. My closet is a horrible place. As soon as I close it I accept the ugly ways of life, but in those brief moments that it's open everything is unacceptable, there is no excuse. I will make a difference someday. No matter how small or insignificant, I'll make it.

Future, on your knees, man. We are coming, through the closets, all of us.