So long to devotion.

Patriotism is an act of selfishness. You think this feeling that creeps up on you during these arguments or casual conversations about your country, planet, solar system, dimension or wherever it is you come from (this blog accepts all species) is national pride. When in fact you are defending your self, your stereotype. This has nothing to do with your country. You defend the actions of the people you are ashamed of. The people who feed the stereotype. The people who the world think you are. Open your eyes, everyone, so I can drop this so called patriotism that causes my blood to boil and my mouth to word vomit venomous crap. Listen to me, stop looking at them.

Concrete Loop

Why do you get up in the morning?
Do you wake up and think you have no choice but to work
And fight in the rat race of corporate ladder climbing

Why are you going to school?
Struggle with grades so other people access your intelligence

What is your obsession with the media?
You cant have it so you pretend to adore it
And then channel your hatred for the people right in front of you

When did the word of a policeman count more than yours
Or the verdict of a judge
No one fights the power anymore clearly
Because my innocence is reliant on a jury of my peers, not likely
Take my body in cuffs but free my soul to wander
The earth is mine and yours, dont kill it with lust

Are into myth or fact? What is the difference?
Ever feel like your existence is insignificant
The day you get shot
Will someone rise and kill your killer without question
A well lived life is in your head
Power is a figment of greed
The leader is only as powerful the people under him
Don't empower the evil within you to a point of no return
I see my friends and parents walk around always angry at the littlest things
They have all put their emotions on edge
I used to be sad for no real reason
The quest for happiness is really just a quest for money
Don't deceive yourself to believe other wise
The fact that you are reading this proves my point

For those of us living a life created by other's sweat
Be very careful because even the life you live in borrowed
Tomorrow is just as powerful as tonight

In a world of so much uncertainty, moronic
Some of us still go to bed with plans, idiotic

I was just back at my village
For those who dont know what is. It is not mine. I'd like to think I am a part.
Let's just say it is considered archaic and tribal by the 21st century
It's an island with no drivable roads, electricity or flowing clean water
But people live to be over 75 years old
So what if I dont drive a car or speak your English
The construct of your norm is void of true fact
You live a life of dictation with knowledge
Ask yourself how your language was created
Why you think up is up and down is down
YOU WERE TOLD BY SOMEONE BEFORE YOU, WHO WAS TOLD THE SAME
Don't be caught in a cycle and die struggling in it
Sure when in Rome do as the Romans do
But be sure to remember you will be judged as one
Putting yourself in the system puts you at risk, especially when you expose yourself
Living a ''simple life'' is really worth something
You can still have thoughts and views
Ghandi lived a simple life and still made changes
MLK was not a man of great wealth to speak his might
Many more examples live on and have passed away

Living above your means in your demise
Wanting a life you cant have is your defeat
What is wrong with little, it's enough for most

STOP your obsession with the media
Musicians and actors are paid to deceive you
It's not a job anymore, its a cargo cult
Amassing your health for their joy and inner pain

In this post I am not wearing clothes for a reason
When it comes down to it, I am a nude naive human
Putting on a like-able facade
Wake up and smell the propaganda
Laced in your daily nutrition
Ground up in your thoughts, fine powder
Don't overdose, pupils dilated

Are you under a spotlight gnashing your teeth
Singing karaoke when you have no real talent
Smiling and laughing to hide your shame
Crying with pain, under bloody drops of rain

I cant really talk if I still live with my computer
But to truly change I must break free
That day is coming, I shall get my freedom
Are you free? Are you questioning?
Own your freedom to doubt.

I am not a blog.

Dear people, I do not like the word 'blog'. I just can't stand it. It sounds almost too modern for a simple play on words and thoughts jotted down, don't ya think? Also, I hate that because I have one, I am referred to as, like so many of my fellow writers, a blogger. blech. Words will tire trying to articulate my hate for this manifestation of ugly. So, because I abhor it with every fiber of my being, I ask that you sympathize with my current state, and for my sake refer to it as an article- if you will- or a column! Ooooh my column, that sounds fancy. I like it. Try and imagine your day as a Wall Street Journal or The Daily telegraph or what have you, I am that little piece of awesome that you flip the pages like a madman trying to get to. I won't stay in one place though. I will be in Arts and Entertainment one day, and Business the next. I will be a fire consuming your bored state by way of awesome in every possible aspect. Yes, you love me. I know. It's because I'm a ten for being worth it.

Shine on and good night folks.

Shontelle - Perfect Nightmare

And then she woke up and screamed.

Glimpse Tomorrow.

History is largely told as a chronicle of great people doing great things. But, for most of us, life is not made up of big moments. It’s made up of small moments. And with every small choice, with every small decision, we are defining ourselves. Are we proud of ourselves, or are we disappointed by who we’ve become? Life rarely turns out the way that we plan. The unexpected happens, and it surprises us with new and exciting possibilities. But, sooner or later, reality hits you in the face.

My mother never imagined having to start over as a single mother with two grown kids, but, when the unimaginable happened, she adapted. She found strength. She moved on. And I hope when my life doesn’t go the way that I planned— which it certainly won’t— I can handle myself with the same grace and strength that my mother has taught me. She may not be an Olympic athlete or a world leader, but, my mom is definitely, my hero.

Liberation~*~

I cut my hair a week and some change ago, a real, blunt, shoulder-length cut. Not a trim. I've only ever always trimmed my hair. It wasn't born out of some vain desire for amelioration. It was a decision that was two years in the making; I've always wanted to but never felt I'd pull it off, or felt that I'd miss my hair too much. Then, oh how poetic, the last thursday of the decade, the desire overwhelmed me. I will cut my hair. I will cut it short. I will tell no one about it. I will take no opinions.

But because it was 3AM, I couldn't very well do it then and there. So I waited till the morning, I called the salon and the hairdresser of choice only came in on saturday, so I book an appointment, make some excuse and leave the house. They wash my hair and I sit there, killing time, not feeling any hint of guilt or remorse, hesitation or worry.
I see her reflection as she walks from customer to customer, and she begins to walk towards me. I watch her determined strides, and as she stands behind me, she asks, "How should I cut it?"
"To here," I motion a bit above my shoulders.
"Just there?"
"Yeah."
"Just a blunt cut."
I nod.
She parts it, brushes it, and holding it in her hand, she chops it off. And nothing. I felt no sadness. This coming from the girl who chokes up at the thought of getting too much cut off with a trim. I peer at the strands in her hands, and I say, "shorter."
She takes a little more off, and the only sensation I felt was joy. It was all I could do to not burst from laughter. I could feel the giggles wave through my body. Biting my lip, I had to compose myself. Three minutes later, she's done. She quickly dries it, and I look at myself, and I feel indifferent to the face, the hair. I only feel free.

I've never, in my life, made an absolutely autonomic decision. Everything was shaped by someone else: where I go, when I go, how I dress, where I study, how I live. And not just by figures of authority, friends, siblings -and to do something so drastic (because yes, cutting your hair without telling your mother is drastic) was so liberating. It's a little symbol, to my parents mainly, that although they can control so much, there is little they can't control. I know it sounds menial and petty, but goodness, this felt good.

I get into the car and put my hair up in a bun, and when I see my mother at home, I say, "I did something."
"What?" she asks, flustered.
"I did something crazy. you can't yell at me for it."
"What?!"
I take my hair out of the bun and shake it out.
With gobsmacked eyes, she whispers, "but why?"
I shrug.
"But it was so pretty," she continues.
"It'll grow back."

The representative from Jingle Town has the floor...

To paraphrase the great Jane Lynch, I’m nothing if not falsely arrogant. My mind is a wonderful place, and I tend to brag about that little aspect of my personality a bit too much- or some would say. Actually, those people are lying; I never brag, I just state the obvious. Is it my fault that I have been simultaneously cursed and blessed with a superior mind? No, so let’s continue.

But behind that air of confidence; that public façade, the veil-if you will, lies as always, an insecure little girl. Well, not little, but that’s a story for another day. Scratch that, I’ll never tell you that story. As a matter of fact, as we speak, I’m locking it away in a chest and hiding it in a scary attic. Anyway, that’s not really news to anyone. We all have our little fears and inhibitions, don’t we? We are a generation of broken people because we were allowed to speak. Because however insignificant, we had a voice. In retrospect, it seems as though that in an effort to silence said voice, it was answered with wishes of hope and promises of happiness and dreams being lived in the face of social adversity with belief as our only weapon and having faith in one’s self as a cigarette in your pocket.

But you see, my beliefs have made a pessimist out of me. Did I set the bar too high? Did I not get the memo? Because, apparently, me and a handful of people are living the lies of a promise, given to us by the people we thought wanted the world for us. But as it goes, the English dictionary needs an update on certain definitions, because by today’s standard, a promise is nothing but a blatant lie.

Moral of the story: I can fake anything I want to, from ambition to potential, because at the end of the day, nobody will ever get a chance to see it all play out. So by all means, smother me in promises and I'll shower you with, what's that you call it? Oh yeah- teenage angst.

Immortal.

What is this fire you've started?
It burns in my soul with a fury
To live with purpose
To go beyond what the living do
an eternal expansion
unrest.
As you faded
It grew
and now that you're gone
it burns hotter than ever.

I think it is you.

My breath
in and out in and out
adds fuel to the fire
and creates an unquenchable
thirst.

You live.

Sentimental Heart.

“O-o-old habits die hard
When you got, when you got a sentimental heart” –She & Him

So I’ve always been the self-proclaimed “girl who felt too much”. I let emotions rule me while logic sat by shaking it’s head in disapproval. I loved to wallow in them and feel the chemicals at work. This all began to change, however, after a major break-up. Slowly but surely, I learned to pick myself up. Stop whining. Fix the things I could. Take responsibility for the events in my life. I was reformed. Responsible. If I found that I was upset about something, I looked at myself to see if there was something that I may have contributed- something that I was doing that could have changed the situation and with that came the freedom to help control and affect my situation.

But with that realization came an unexpected irritability at the people around me who didn’t do the same- at those who still chose to wallow in those feelings without any action on their part to change them. I could no longer listen to people venting to me in frustration without offering advice on how they might reverse their situation. What I found was that most of those people did not really want to change the issue. And who was I to try and tell them to change it anyways? It’s their lives, afterall.

This change was reflected in every aspect of my life.

My belief that I should “give to those who ask of me” changed to “do not cast your pearls before swine” or “if anyone is not willing to work, let them not eat”.

In the last few months, this change has not sat well with me. I didn’t want to be so jaded- so uncompassionate. I resolved to exfoliate the soul every so often to keep from getting jaded by choosing to trust more. To be patient with people who don’t necessarily share the same world view as me (and why should they?) All this has been pretty well balanced I think until today.

It was a simple thing. I was at the gas station and an older man- in his mid to late thirties- asked if I had a couple bucks for him to get gas because he was running on fumes and had forgotten his wallet. Reformed Natalie was saying to let him fend for himself. After all, I had no cash on me anyways, just my card. But having felt so jaded lately, old Natalie was recalling the times that I’ve been in that situation, stressed, and having to call my Dad or AAA to bring me gas and I decided to try and help him out. After all, he was driving a nice car and didn’t seem like this was an everyday occurrence. He said he just needed a couple gallons and I said I’d help him out… you already see where this is going right? Well, I put my card in for him to put in a couple gallons and returned to my car to wait for Steve to come back. Next thing I know, the guy has filled his entire (empty) tank on my card when I really didn’t have the money to spare in the first place. I feel like an idiot. I let my emotions take over and predictably got taken advantage of. So my question is this: how do I balance my emotions with not being stupid? Steve later asked me why I couldn’t have prepaid? Why I didn’t say something when he was taking too long? Why I didn’t just say no?

I can’t seem to square my ideals with reality. I always expect people to do the right thing and it seems like I’m always surprised when they don’t.

I need to say the serenity prayer about a million times.

Strumming my Pain with his Fingers.

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns or watching violent videos afraid that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands, of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery, and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

-High Fidelity

Every breath I take feels like the gasp of an oncoming sob. Every time I swallow my desperate exhalations, the dam in my chest begs to break. The cement is cracking, the bricks are coming loose, the water's seeping. It's not even water anymore, just pockets of steam burning empty molecules in the air.

Procrastination.

I think I write better and am more interesting (literarily) when I'm depressed.

What I really mean is that my writing is more appealing when it's based in reverie. Anecdotal compositions just aren't my thing.

"you didn't love her. you just didn't want to be alone.
Or maybe, maybe she was just good
for your ego. or, or maybe she made you
feel better about your miserable life,
but you didn't love her.
because you don't destroy people you love."
-Grey's Anatomy

The teenage years, let's hope.

The closer I get to the possibility, the further away the reality seems. I try to run, but people are holding me back. I try to break free, but the bruises on my arm tell the story of how that goes. No matter what I do, I'll always know that I'm wasting my life, my youth. I could have done, seen, and learned more. I could have been frowning less, and smiling more. I could have loved instead of hated. Happy could have been my default emotion as opposed to a rare occurrence. I know that I'll always look back and pity myself. Though, I do hope I know better when I leave adolescence and youth behind and brace a day where all this angst and hate goes away. I really do wish that, twenty years from now, I look back at this ol' blog of mine and see the words of an immature brat and not the truth.

Current State.

HAPPY NEW YEAR Blogsville!

I completely lost track of my blog, no surpise there.
Optimism is on vacation, and I'm fretfully awaiting his return. He promised he would write. He does. But not enough. Cynicism took it upon himself to operate in his stead barking out orders he never would have gotten away with previously. He's got everyone on a Melancholy Diet. Though they slip out of his vigilant eye occasionally, he makes sure they report to the ICU and are administered The Drug intravenously. His buddy Pessimism has returned from back east choking everyone with the foreign stench of his cigarettes. The halls are consequently dark and grey requiring gas masks to get through.
Hope sleeps twentythree hours a day. Ambition is bored and unmotivated scratching his new belly while he flips through unstimulating TV channels. Attempting to get an ounce of the tonne of work piled up on it's table.

I hate The Killers

for filling me to the brim with hope

while that light has long ago flickered into oblivion

Fate.

I believe in the little impossibilities. That you and I are listening to the same song. That we’re looking at the same moon. That I just missed you at the convenience store. I believe that one day the stars will align to defy the odds. I believe that I’ll be waiting in line to order a smoothie and hear that oh so familiar, yet so distant laugh. I believe that I’ll stop breathing, that the world will stop breathing, and a smile will paint itself across my face. I believe that at that moment, and only that moment, will I be overcome with disbelief.

The stars, they all aligned.

At home or in school, the Aries child lives in a world of make-believe and reality, constantly blending, where truth is often portrayed as fantasy, and fantasy is disguised as truth. He may give the impression of exaggerating or even telling lies. But he just can’t help splashing a little color around when he’s relating an incident, and he often convinces himself it really happened that way.

Okay, so I don't really believe I horoscopes, I think they're all codswallop if you ask me. But this is scarily accurate. Mind you, I still don't believe in them, it's just...whoa.

Sick.

When all else fails, pretend to be selfish. Be social. When you want everything they want and talk to them about their interests, that’s when you seem normal. That’s when you fit in. Why are you unhappy when they’re not, they wonder. Perspective? There’s only one. Life is what you make it for them. You are what you look like; that costume in your closet, what you avoid. Not your mind; not who you are.

You’re hounded with voices telling you about this thing you have called liberty, but it’s all just another lie about you. But isn’t lying apart of the job description? What’s an actor but not himself at all times? A lie among art.

I've had all the big breaks I need and more than a few outstanding performances in my repertoire, I'm ready for retirement.

Pain(t)ed

My flight touched down paradise last week;
feels good to be home.
"You look different," my aunt shares when she first sees me.
"Different? How?" I inquire.
"Your eyes.. it's like they're wilting."