I'm baaaaaaaack!

     Just a thought in my head that I've seriously been mulling over.  I'm not really sure if I can remain committed to something like that, but I do really want to be more active on Buzznet and it will stimulate activity.  Not to mention, it is 2010.  I want to break in the new 1970s with a collection of my thoughts in imagery.

     I'm always so inspired when I go through other people's projects.

     On another note, a full year is 365.25 days; our reason for having an extra day every four years makes up for that extra 0.25 of a day that makes up each year.  I'm not sure if many people really know that is why we have leap years and the reason for the extra day.

 

     I take a sip of warm soda, and I can swear I feel the aluminum hit my stomach.  I question when the first time anyone has ever felt this same thing; I question where the need to talk about it comes from.

     I do realize that I don't blog anymore. Oy, vey!  How depressing!  I find it kind of funny that something as simple as sharing assorted thoughts and ideas with other people can be profound.  I feel that humans like to over-dramatize everything in each of our given situations, mainly because of the fact that we see each and everything that we do as part of our own personal make-up.  It is valid, yes, but we are bonded not through our uniqueness, but in our extremely immeasurable amount of similarities.

     It feels good to be a human this evening.

     I have changed a lot in the last few years of my life.  Hell, I feel that I vary from hour to hour some days.  I don't find anything wrong with being ethereal; I embrace inconsistency far too much for my own good, I feel.  I've developed into a more analytical, more cryptic, more optimistic human.  I also like to think that I am more intentional, but I don't think that I have done enough to use that adjective to describe myself.  Me, me, me.  I feel more comfortable with words that I can visually see to let out my feelings; I think that it helps me to feel more validated.  Though, I love to give realizations and seldom receive any.  It's a truth that I need to work on balancing; I've also grown quite an affinity for being more assertive in my thoughts on the progressive development of human kind. I feel like I talk a lot, and no one seems to listen.  I am very happy remaining passive; passivity doesn't mean weak if it is done with strategy in mind.

     Enough about me.  It bores me to talk about it.  It sickens me to talk about me.  Do you know of people that talk about themselves immensely?  Of course you do.  We all do.  A problem with our existence is center of narcissism that works with selfishness, absorption, pride, and a multitude of other confusing, intertwining emotions that will take many generations to fully make sense of.  Though, they do say that one should always only speak of personal experiences and reflect off of what you've learned only in those because they relate to you and you are therefore validated in speaking from experience.  What bothers me with that belief is that there leaves little room for natural empathy to come through and allow us to focus on things that connect us.  We focus on theatrical, over-exaggerated experiences that relate only to us in hopes that in relating the world to us, we have our vision constantly in the right.  Moral of this little blurb: When you relate the world to you in hopes that others can connect to you in a similar way, you are giving up the part of your humanity that first allows you to reach out and connect to another human being on that physical, mental, spiritual, guttural and/or meta-form of bonding.  We're individual worlds, walking around each other and comparing ourselves to others based on what we've learned in our worlds.  By that logic, we're really not a modern form of connected human at all; we're even more degenerated than the cavemen when it comes to our relatability.

     I'm not even sure how to adequately finish the initial thought that I had of making a blog that says, "Hey, everyone!  I miss you!  It is exceptionally hard for me to connect to other people in meaningful ways online just as much as it is online.  I did always have a soft spot for this place, mainly because the people that I have met, I have been able to develop quite a nice level of connectivity with many of you.  Thank you."  That's what my message is.  If you want to be done reading this at any time, you can finish now.  That is essentially the point of this journal entry.  My imagery has gotten quite daft, and I'm afraid that if you're looking for something good to read, disguised in a beautiful metaphor and plagued with lucrative thought behind every verse, I'm not quite ready for that yet.  To reiterate, a specialty of mine is analysis.  I just can't seem to put that into a proper facet of production.

     Me, me, me!  Again!  Can you see that I am doing it?  Like a curse, nothing is worse for myself than myself.  Oh, goodness.  Something must be done about my behaviour but I fail to care too much about this problem because I am too much of a product of this existence.  I am lazily hanging out with people I care not a damn thing about and surrounding myself with mundane opportunities to justify my being alive.  Turns out, it is so easy to be happy when you think that you are making the most out of your time.  The key word in everything that I say and do is either "feel" or "think"; doesn't that say something about the psyche of my specific product?  I don't know how we got to this point, where people cannot comprehend the notion of "thinking too much," but I would like it to end.  However, the lazy American characteristics comes back into play like a shrimp tail of food poisoning.  

     We think we get what is happening.  The world over, we think we've got it figured out.  "We think" isn't even valid for me to use because there is no personal relation in it; I'm not trying to relate the world to me.  I always work to relate the world to myself.  It is a terrible malady that drives my young brain into rampant fields of disbelief and sheer disenchantment.  It is hard to blink and not be inspired by it, but when I don't know how other people cannot feel the same way, I feel a lot less like a human and a lot more like a novelty.

     We're in a knick-knack store, collecting dust and being moved from shelf to shelf for one or many undetermined reasons beyond our control.

     I am an identity crisis that is in so much denial that I fail to motivate myself to do something for myself.  I don't know where the notion of self-worth connects with identity, but it is something that I cannot escape.  I have no worth if I cannot relate to others.  

     The world begets me and at the end of the day, I still look to it with gilded hope (often guised as bewildered worry).  I miss you all, humans behind a monitor of some sort.  We can make sense of this life through boxes of metal-fused media.  I hope that you get what I'm really trying to convey with this.  It makes sense in my head; make sense of it for yourself and try to connect the world to you instead of vice-versa.  Love is a sickness I wouldn't ever wish to infect you with, but motivation and imagination are two exceptionally important points that you should be able to easily take from this.

     The soda is finished, and the metal will soon become part of my internal make-up.  What does that say to the face of relatability? 

I feel compelled to post what I've been watching over the last few weeks in hopes that I can a) make sense of how I'm thinking the way that I'm thinking, b) take note of what popular references the following videos seem to truly have on my day-to-day interactions and c) because they are pretty alright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take what you will from any and all of these videos. I'll be reading up on the many myths of masculinities, the fraud of feminism and further philosophical inquiries.

 

:)

Okay. Begin.

"Bloody hell" is all I can muster at this point in the game. I've tried to go to sleep for hours and hours and hours this summer, but it doesn't work. It worked fine when I was in San Diego, sure, but it won't work when I'm at home, in this house. 

Maybe it is just a mental block. Insomnia doesn't even describe how much staying up hurts.

I'm barely listening to music or watching something on the computer or reading or finishing up a character anaylsis or something. I've got a migraine that hasn't gone away in days, but thanks to 4 blinking white pills every few hours, I've been able to manage it.

I just laid on my bed, under my bed, on my couch, underneath my table with every piece of clothing, blanket and coat that I own. My head feels like it is going to explode. >_<

/end dilemma

I'm working my way through it. Well, hopefully.

Meanwhile, I've got a lovely bunch of photographs that aren't that great at all, but I quite like them.

I kissed a boy in front of a park's public restrooms before. It was actually more of an intense snog session, and I like to come back to it, reflect upon the actions and question what course of action could have been done to have changed anything. It was really funny because I was on the left side of the water fountain and he was on the right side of the fountain. It's so funny to me.

I took a lay in this road here for about 20 minutes the other morning (from about 3:40-4:00am). I looked up and saw a blank street and really thought about what it means to be an empty street. And then I realized that I was hungry.

I love pillars. Ask anyone; they're one of my favorite things ever. I'm completely fascinated by them for some reason. Maybe in a past life, I was a Greek architect. Or maybe I've just read too much about pillars in my current lifetime.

My younger brother is going to grow into his ears and is going to be quite a baker in the future. He gets angry so quick, but he is quite the cool kid when he wants to be.

My sister has always been an example of what it means to be a good person. She can be extremely emotional, but she is the most "human" of all the humans that I've ever met.

I want to live a life of gold. I don't think that I ever really will, but I'll try until my dying breath. I hope that you live the same way too.

No one will ever understand the significance this photo above has for me. It's my least favorite and most hated photo I've ever had the pleasure of seeing and taking.

Construction crane was frightening me, and there was a man (not in the photo) standing on the edge of the building that looked like he was going to fall off at any moment.

I saw a gigantic pile of records and books outside of the thrift store in the middle of town the other evening. As I passed, I wondered how much literature and art has been destroyed in years passed.

I don't care for the open road. I don't use these words very often, but when I do I mean them: "Fuck that shit." I hate the prospects of an expanse of freedom; it only leads to further freedom, confusion and ultimately some form of destruction.

Just some photos that I've taken in the last few days. Hope you liked this. And if you didn't, I hope that you can sleep and dream tonight. Be well.

I will never change. Even without a sufficient amount of sleep or an intense obsession to the fake romance between Ianto Jones and Captain Jack Harkness, I'm still as jolly as a jellybean.

P.S. - I've got to re-do the Comic-Con journal. I promise to get that little book of business up and running soon. 

Again, much love.

I don't understand the point of holiday. Or at least I don't support it.

I have no natural sense of coiffed elegance. Maybe someday I will. Though, I feel that beauty comes through seriously through some sort of natural outlet. Whether it be as beautiful as a skillful craft of hand or a lie from tongue to earlobe, it is beautiful in some shape or another. And I don't think that I've directly hounded into my craft or lie. Not yet.

Other than feeling as though I was born in the wrong era (again), tonight feels just like any other night. Insomnia has crept onto my spine, and I cannot seem to  express what I want to in the correct way. I greatly dislike that stifled feeling that has befallen over my being. It's like having a permanent mind-stutter or talking through a sock stuck in your throat. I'm so focused through my mouth. I wish that I could allow my fingers to do my talking for me.

Why would you spend a good majority of your life pursuing something mundane and unexciting, only to look forward to days that you can take breaks from your constant, boring other life? I do not get it. I just don't.

I miss something. I like being bothered. And I really wish that I could accomplish the greatest of the greatest feats. No doubts can occur. It just takes a little mental preparation. Or a lot.

Maybe it has something to do with money. Lord knows the value of money does make a person go crazy. But if a person wasn't already susceptible enough, the person is at fault for their manipulative, weak character. The invariablity and quest that life ships us on makes our character strong (if you allow it). But I digress...

Smiles are burned into my corneas. Sometimes, that's all I see. Even when there is nothing good to look at, I live through some smooth sufferage and heartfelt carnage ravages the depths of my thoughts and actions.

Who knew it could work out that way?

Doesn't it bother you when your mind says something that your body doesn't agree with? Mine does too.

I've been wasting away, now that I am back in Alamosa. I have read Ray Bradbury's Zen in the Art of Writing and have worked on a puzzle; that's essentially what I've fully accomplished. Yes, I have been reading a lot more than just that book, but that is the first one that I have finished thus far. The puzzle was completed today. My victory in the last couple weeks can be broken up into a thousand different pieces that I decided to put together only so that someday, it may be broken up and completed by someone else during another time.

It is hard to talk to people anymore. Or maybe it isn't. I think that my problem stems from my fascination for mistakes and judgment. I am constantly searching for imperfections, contradictions, and error in each and every human that I keep meeting. It's like a switch that I just can't stop. It's as though Sir Arthur Conan Doyle decide to hand over his creation's perception. Though, instead of using that power to fight crime or solve ingenius mysteries, I am wasting them. I am meeting useless people that aren't worth my time to judge. I'm introducing myself to others in hopes that I can make a connection with someone, but it doesn't work in the way that I would like. I go into situations like that with bad intentions. The pit of my cherry brain has the stiffness of a pessimist with a membrane laced with optimistic tendencies.

I want to be 9,000 things before I die, but I fear that I have too few seconds in my lifetime to get through each of those chapters I want to create, draw, experience, perform.

I'm not sure what I expect with this; normally, I would post a journal like this on my secret blog that no one knows about. It's nice to go unnoticed sometime, but I'm making my way back. 

I want each of my functions working in synch with one another.

Doing is living; I'm getting off of my lazy bum tomorrow and getting started with a little more 'doing' and a little less 'nothing' with my time and space.

I can smell my atmosphere:  there are faint traces of burning rose petals and the pulp of oranges. I'm living and loving, and I recommend you do the same.

I would love to know how your day went. I want to catch up.

More and more, I feel that I have completely lost touch on here with so many people. I apologize and will apologize continuously; I feel really bad for not making more time to be on here.

It isn't like I am spending my time on something profound or exquisite when I'm not on here. I'm not sure what I am doing these days, but I do know that I have been a little busy trying to put things together and get my life stacked solid. It's somewhat working, but there is still a little while I have yet to get through.

Lately, I have been extremely fascinated with creation stories from different religions and myths from the ancient world. If any of you have any links or know of any sort of creation story (even if it does happen to be a farce), let me know where I can find some literature or a video about it!

I am going to grow into something awesome. Or at least, that's the dream. Though, that truly hasn't changed much since I was younger. Umm...

I'm still planning on doing the Buzznet takeover of Twitter; I'll be coming out with a journal soon on further instructions as to how we'll go ahead and get that done. There are some pretty brutal things happening with the Iran Election lately; if you don't know what I'm talking about, look it up.

I'm still here. Feel free to say hello anytime, and I'll work on getting back to you as fast as possible.

I miss this place. I want to explode back into the mix of things. :)

If you didn’t know, last Friday, BeatrixKiddo79 and I met for the first time, and we saw one of the deliciously vulgar musical artists of our time period: Peaches at the Metro in Chicago! There was too much going on that day, and like many good stories, a beginning is in order. Details ...

 

So, a friend of mine and I decided that we were going to go to the brand new Harry Potter Exhibit at Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry. To say the very least, it was stu-freaking-pendous. We sat on a train and a bus downtown for about a good 40 minutes or so; WE WERE SO EXCITED SO THE TRIP WAS NO PROBLEM. We showed up to the museum and we were greeted by Hedwig. Exhibit details...

Many people are well aware that there will be an Invisible Children gathering on April 25, 2009 called “The Rescue.” Not too many people know what it is all about. Let me shed some light on what the event is all about.

Read more...

 

I was pinched in the rear by a fan member of Bring Me The Horizon. Whoever you were, thank you for clarifying that I am not dreaming about hanging out with the entire Taste of Chaos 2009 line-up at their Meet & Greet in downtown Chicago's Hard Rock Cafe. That means that I am hanging with Thursday, Bring Me The Horizon, Four Year Strong, Pierce The Veil and Cancer Bats.

OMG! Vic Fuentes just shot me the creepiest glance as I am typing this. O_O

We have a little bit of ridiculousness going on: margarita orders for Bring Me The Horizon and a sweet secret conversation going on between the members of Cancer Bats. Somehow, it feels like a big Thanksgiving feast; it is most amazing. It is surely a mess of fun, and I keep hearing whispers all around about how everyone seems to look so much better in person. I can vouch for their claims; these peeps are preeeeeeeeeeetty.

Here are some photos from the Meet & Greet today:

 

 

Fun times all around, no? I will be meeting with Ms. BreeSays from Buzznet this evening at the venue, something that I am most nervous and excited for.

If you want to catch more Taste of Chaos 2009 action on Buzznet, click here.

If you want to see more photos from the Meet & Greet, I just uploaded this gallery.

If you want to go to the TOC show tonight in Chicago at the Aragon Ballroom, you still have a chance to go. There are still tickets available I've heard, and we can hang out!

Peace, guys. Geoff is calling me in for a photo.

;)

     DePaul University is an amazing college. I will just say that despite the fact that the tuition is jacked up beyond belief, the programs and specials that they decide to give out to their students are endless and amazing. There could not be anything better to do on a weekend than to attend a lecture that is offered by my university. On that note, I would like to tangent off and talk about an evening that I had most recently.

     I showed up to this thing about ten minutes late, not knowing what it was going to be. Well, that is sort of a lie: I did know that someone was going to be talking to the people that attended the lecture. I also knew that it had something to do with documentaries. My friend, Cat, and I sat quickly into two unattended seats near the back as soon as we walked in, and moments later, a man began an introduction. This did not seem like it was going to be fun. The people in the room were very diverse, and it seemed as though this was going to be just another classroom chat. I did not like this, but I swallowed my throat and looked up as the man speaking took his seat. There was clapping, and a man stood up and waved. That was Frederick Wiseman.

     He seemed like a nice old man; he spoke like a professional and was completely down-to-earth. He opened up his lecture with a 12-minute clip from one of his documentaries, Welfare. I could only describe what I saw on the screen as honest and crucial. It was in black and white, and it had to have been filmed many years ago; there were some classic demeanors that totally switched my senses to the 1970s. Not knowing what to do as I watched the projector screen, I pulled out index cards and took notes as to what I saw that stood out to me. I noticed little, but there was a lot that stuck out to me. A glance that was made at a certain time, or the brief awkwardness that made each scene stick out and seem realistic. I will never share exactly what I wrote down as I watched the movie clip, but I do remember thinking that it was exquisitely thought-out. My pen went down as the lights came up in the room once again, and Mr. Wiseman began speaking. I really wanted to see the rest of Welfare, but I guess I will have to go out and get a copy for myself to see sometime (seeing as how it is a 3 hour documentary).

     Mr. Wiseman talked about his process for going about making a documentary.  Here is what I got from his lecture to the room:

• He works with two other people when filming directly (the camera man and a specialist).
• He does not record any staged events.
• He does no research prior to recording; he relies on the film to be his research.
• He spends about 4-12 weeks working on filming and collects about 65-140 hours of footage during that time.
• There are no staged points of view or perspectives made prior to recording.
• His documentaries range (after editting) anywhere from 73 minutes to 6 hours.
• His goal is to capture contemporary America and make sure that it is viewed with clarity.

     After he ventured talked about his style in general, he decided to give us a little bit of his reasoning for filming and editing the clip of Welfare that we viewed.  The film was made in 1975 about the toils and troubles of clients and welfare workers in a New York welfare office.  It gets in-depth, covering layers of psychological issues to unemployment; it also is a great depiction as to the regulations that we follow and live our lives by in the United States.  To start filming for this, Mr. Wiseman decided to camp out a day before filming, just to get a sense of the routine that the workers and clients had developed.  He started filming bright and early the next day, taking notes of certain comments in his mind to later be further examined in editing.  He also gave a hint out there to anyone that is wanting to make a documentary: be sure to capture the presence of people within any room.  It makes for easier editing to move from one person to the next and capture emotions from one person to another.  You can use footage like that to shorten conversations, and make points in much shorter time than what you can if you film certain scenarios a different way. 

     After one month of collecting around 90 hours of film, he began to review and log each scene with certain notes.  He went into a great amount of detail talking about the logs; the funniest of the comments being that he did not do the logging for Welfare; he got someone else to do it for him!  Logging (making notes) on each different scene is a long and difficult task to do, and he said felt that it would be better to let someone else take care of that part before actual editing went on.

     He created something called his "first assembly" after three or four days of straight editing; he breaks the movie down from 90 hours to about 4 hours.  He has to break it down further and spent as much time as was needed to come up with the final product.  The documentary is astounding (and I didn't even see the whole thing)!

    There was a brief Q&A session before the evening became quite late.  Some final tips that he gave about general documenary making were:

• Construct a title and ask what type of movie you are trying to produce
• Create reasons for introductions and transitions
• Examine the function of each scene, and comprehend what each part of the film is suggesting
• Do not make the point that you are trying to get across too obvious (*cough*MichaelMoore*cough*)
• NEVER make the film for a certain kind of audience

     He was thoroughly inspiring, and let the lecture close watch a different clip from Essene.  There are no words that I can say about that clip to really describe how great I thought of it.

     So, as I type these tips this evening (and hoping that DePaul doesn't sue me for posting this up on the internet [the guy only said that I cannot post any audio/videos up online, so I should be in the clear]), I would like to thank Mr. Frederick Wiseman for his wonderful achievements in film, and I will leave you with some tiny hint as to what I might be working on in the (near) future:  AlieNation. 

Evening, folks.  I hope you enjoyed this little slice of edumacation!  Fun to learn something new, yeah?  ;)

I don't feel bad for writing blogs.  I find comfort in them.

Consider me thinking of you all constantly, bringing many of you up in my day-to-day conversations, and trying to find time to reintegrate myself on Buzznet full-time.

I'm working on it.  And until I can devote all of my energies to this place, I hope that you will like my ShoZu posts.  I'm trying to do about 3 a day, just to keep up appearances on the website.

 

I'm glad I met 99.999999% of you.  Buzznet is such a different social networking website.  I wonder why...

Bear with me:  I have gone from "ridiculous" to "absurd" too many times. 

THIS IS ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

I wrote a story, and whether you want to read it or not is your business.  I am putting this here because I know that contributing to a website that I whole-heartedly love is really what I want to do.  I also do want to keep you guys in the know as to what I am doing in Chicago (not that I do much, but still).

Alright.  Here is a working copy of my story called A Brief Stroll.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Brief Stroll

I was looking to get away, so I decided to go for a walk the other day.

Well, it wasn't exactly during the day; it was about 11:30. You know how the weather in Chicago can be around these winter months, and if you don't, can I bum some crack from you?

I'm just playing. I've been off the stuff now for months. Horrible habit to get yourself into. You start off smoking some crack, and a few minutes later, you are attacking your roommate with a broom because you know he wants to take it from you.

Oh, I'm just playing again. You use a bat to keep your roommate away from your crack.

Getting back to the story: So, I went walking outside with a big black jacket, my warmest shoes, the greatest scarf ever crafted, and a pair of straight jeans I once saw on Brad Pitt. Honey, I don't care what those tabloids and fashion magazines say: there is nothing straight about those jeans or that God. Seriously, he just hasn't met me yet. But that is another story.

Anyway, I lock my dorm room, walk out the lobby door, and begin my little adventure. I didn't expect to do much; I was just wanting to go on a walk. I head down Fullerton. I'm walking, never slipping up once. There was a lot of slush on that ground. I had made it a good two blocks down the light-polluted, sludge-filled street, and fell ass first into a gigantic pile of snow. It wasn't so cold when I fell; my ass was stinging like I had just been spanked with a paddle. Actually, it didn't feel as great as that would have at all. sigh I pick myself up off the ground and get a large pile of snow stuck in my jeans. Great. Just fantastic. Surprisingly, the sting of the fall and the cold of the snow gave me an excitement that I haven't felt since I last watched The Nutcracker. Ooh, I love a good live show.

I fell on my ass, got back up and kept trekking. I passed a salon, a Burger King, a movie store (took a note to self to come back there in the morning), a bakery, a Walgreens, two bars and a gas station. I hardly saw anyone while walking; there were two cops in a car parked at the Walgreens. They walked out of the store carrying four 2-liters of soda and a box of Trix. “Silly pigs, Trix are for kids.” I made a smirk and took another step into sole-deep slush. My shoes were starting to soak. I was almost ready to raise the white flag and head back to the dorms. I cannot stand cold, wet feet.

I took a step across street after street, enjoying the sites and the nightlife as much as a sober kid can. I got to the end of one block and the beginning of another. They weren't ending. I ended up about 3 miles down the street and decided to stop in an alley. Don't believe everything that your mother told you: getting stuck in the alley isn't the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. I sat in the snow (I was already frozen solid), and proceeded to think:

Oh, I'm just walking away from my problems. That's why I'm doing this. It's cold outside, I have homework to do, there isn't anything more to say. I'm scared. I'm freaking out. I'm going to throw up. I'm fine. I am just chilling out. I like it outside right now. I like it. I like this. This feels...good.

In a spur-of-the-moment kind of moment the kind that defines what kind of person you will grow up to be, I pulled down my zipper and proceeded to jack off.

[Pause]

Don't ask me why I did it! I don't know why I did it. But I liked it. Hell, I loved it. I moved my right hand up and down, exploring friction and the wind chill. I was cold, and to make sense of it now, I was just trying to warm myself up. Nothing wrong with that, right? Just a guy trying to warm himself up in the most natural way that he can. It totally makes sense in my head, I promise.

I got bored after about two minutes. I cannot keep myself “excited” when it's freezing out, among other factors. The bum that decided to surprise me across the street was a MAJOR factor as to why I picked myself up once again, pulled my zipper up to the button on my jeans with haste, and decided that walking back is an excellent idea; it'd probably be best to end the night.

I must be crazy if only a few days ago I decided to jack off in an alley on a Chicago winter night. I couldn't at least go to a midnight show and beat it to a movie like Pee Wee Herman? I wasn't in my right mind. Then again, I don't have to explain myself to you. I'd like to, but I'm afraid you'd need therapy after it. And to be honest, I'm not going to be held responsible for ruining the lives of so many seemingly not-fucked up people.

Cutting through the alley, moving a block down and making a turn left, I paced back to the last street I passed. I saw a glove embedded in the snow near the crosswalk. I imagined there was a kid stuck in that pile of snow. Then my mind wandered to whether I should dive in to try to save the kid. Hmm...there is really something wrong me, isn't there? The little fluorescent man lit up and allowed me to cross his street. I crossed, unsure whether the man in the car waiting was mad that he was driving at midnight or was mad because I was in his way. Either way, I made it to the other side as quickly as I could. I looked back; the man had been glaring at me, as if he knew what I was doing just minutes ago. I decided to pick a more hardcore pace and jilted across block after block after block of snowy sidewalk. That part was a blur, though I do remember passing a run-down consignment store with disgust. The dress that they had on the front window display was a medium cut, faded jade dress. The kind of dress your grandmother would wear to try to pick up a guy at the nursing home dance. I was mortified, and my quickened steps slowed.

When I arrived at the corner of Webster and Clybourn, I found a quaint café across the street from the movie theater. I saw lights on and raised my hopes. Then, my glance at the counter was caught by another set of eyes. The evening worker, having short brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and a bright teal shirt on, shot me a smile that could melt metal. His skin was the perfect tone of flesh that I had ever seen, and the muscles that were poking out of that shirt were just enough to intrigue without losing any appeal. I think he might have given me a minor stroke; that is really how gorgeous he was.

The sign on the door of the café said that it was only open until 11. He stayed watching me as I stopped in front of the door. I looked him in the eyes, and I felt like we connected. Not in the “you-are-my-soul-mate” kind of way that stereotypical women dream about, but in a “wow-you-really-are-just-as-human-as-I-am” kind of way. We shared something, bonded, gazed. It felt better than being able to shop until you drop, but not as exciting as finding out the results of your HIV test came back negative. I stared at his eyes, thinking about where his life is going to take him and where my life is going to take me. I felt hopeful, optimistic. Considering how out-of-place my last activity sent me, this was the most comfortable thing that I have ever done before. Little did I know, this was completely one-sided. One of his eyebrows shot up after about 20 seconds, and he gave me a “what-the-absolute-hell-do-you-think-you-are-doing-looking-at-me-for-so-long” look. I snapped out of my diluted daydream, tightened my scarf around my neck and began walking home again.

I passed by more stores: a bridal shop, a tattoo parlor, a pizzeria. The sky above the stores looked so dismally pale orange with the black coarseness behind the pollution. It feels so much like stepping onto a cold Mars shopping street, if Martians were into gowns, piercings and cheesy bread sticks. At least there I would be able to float from store to store. Here, on Earth, I have to carry my own weight and bear my own burden. Well, that is until I can get myself a shrink. And that will be after I can pay off my student loans. And that is something that I don't want to think about. Ever.

So, I start to see the church where I know I can navigate myself home from. Half a block up, I see a door fly open. Bursting out from a bar in front of me is this couple, a tall man with glasses and a shorter girl with pretty make-up on and bouncy black curls. The two began to hug and kiss, soon turning into the world's sickest make-out fair; they were obviously drunk. The girl tried to speak, but the man just pulled her head closer to him, shoving that tongue of his down her throat. I couldn't decide whether he was making out with her or trying to reach his tongue down into her stomach to see what she had eaten for dinner. I made an observation about the two that I will surely keep to myself, but let me just say that it was certain that there was going to be someone regretting their decisions in the morning. He moved his hands into her shirt. Gross. Get a room. There is no one that wants to see that. Clearly, this was something that I really did not want to see. But then again, who am I to judge what someone should and should not do in public?

I got to about 20 feet away from them, when the girl pushed the guy against the bar, turned her head into the pavement and vomited in the snow. Right there in front of her shaking shoes (a little landed on her coat sleeve) was a bilious belch of bubbling barf. I stopped, trying to put the pieces together before I moved any closer to her up-chuck. The man she was making out with looked a little startled and started to go white; I was not going to be around to see him retch too. I bolted directly across the street, not making eye contact with either person. Once I was away from the vomit mistress and her soon-to-be sick make-out partner, I carried on towards the church. With each new step I took, I got another chill. I will never forget how awful that woman looked when she vomited (and not that this matters really, but she totally ruined that jacket she had on.)

Finally getting everything out of my head except for counting my footprints in the snow, the church appeared in front of me. I decided to cut through the churches stairs to get from point A to point B faster. You remember the hypotenuse in Geometry class? Best lesson I've ever been taught in my life.

I make it up the stairs to a miniature statue of a man that is clearly judging me. It was as if I had done something bad that I should make up for. I looked him right in the eye, and I could tell that he was disappointed in me. I started to look down at my shoes, feeling a little disappointed in myself.

Wait. Really? I care about what this statue thinks of me? Who the hell cares what a statue thinks?! To attack the Saint for his judgmental demeanor, I pulled out a tube of lipstick and proceeded to put it all around his lips. Hell, if I am going to be judged, I at least want someone that looks good doing it. I turned down the stairs and smirked. Make-up on a saint; how fast am I going to hell when I die?

I pulled back into my dorm room, slipped off my jacket, popped off my shoes that were a little soaked though still warm and cozy, peeled my scarf from my neck and unzipped my pants until they hit the floor. I thought of the how I could end my evening on a light note and warmed up a pair of my underwear in my microwave. Darlings, you don't know the meaning of the word “toasty” until you've got boxers on that are as hot as a fireplace. I lastly made a cup of tea, and thought about recounting my little walk down the street: I went for a walk. I fell; I got back up. I froze in the snow; I jacked off in public. I felt scared by an angry man; I chose flight over fight. I made a true connection with another human being; I was being lied to by my mind. I saw an interesting pair share something primal; I have never felt more disgusted in my life. I was judged; forgive me father, for I have sinned as well. And after it all, I got home in one piece with warm feet.

It felt like hours, almost days, going through so much ridiculousness for one walk. When I got back, I was shocked to find that only 40 minutes had gone by. I slept so well that night.

The other night's walk was just a little too much life for me to take again for a good while; later on this evening, when I am looking to get away, I think that I will just take the train.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Consider this story more like something you would hear being read out like a monologue. 

Mad lubs.  :)

While driving up to the Riverwalk Center entrance in Breckenridge, Colorado, the only thing that was on my mind was Tyson Ritter; that name remained at the top of my thoughts throughout the show. Now, getting the proper credentials (an armband with a “PHOTO” written in bold text, and a level 4 media pass) and getting into the show were two completely different things. After a few altercations, which were covered by a few phone calls and an email, I was shoved into the show with a group of security guards. It was literally -11 degrees Fahrenheit outside, so I was ridiculously happy to be getting in so soon. Hand stamped and ticket received, I walked over to the AAR merchandise table and picked up a few goodies, including the new album “When The World Comes Down” finally (and the album is totally worth picking up; expect a review soon)!

I stood away from table and began to get settled in for a bit when an MTV2 camera crew raced right by me. I followed them, and they led me directly to Nathaniel Motte from 3OH!3 being interviewed in front of their cameras!! He was fixing himself up in front of the camera, not really paying attention to any of the questions that were being asked, and he finished up with a “Beavis and Butthead”-like slur, “Uhh...I think I have to go now.” He took off in my direction, and I grabbed his arm. A conversation ensued:

“Will you pose for a picture for me?”

“For you or for whoever you are taking photos for?”

“Oh. This photo is just for me.”

“Alright, then. As long as it is for you.”

Nathaniel then held up his two hands to make his band's semi-famous hand gesture:

 

(if you look at it, you see 3 fingers, a big “O” shape, and another 3 fingers, clearly spelling out “303”)

He took off backstage, and the show was getting ready to start. I got permission to skate through the barrier section of the stage to map out where I would stand at, and I met an Australian boy in the first row. He was really nice, and I told him about Buzznet. I hope that he gets an account with us because he was really cool, though, to be honest, I was really enthralled by his accent. Seriously, Ikkyg, when we meet, I just want to sit and listen to you talk for hours. Moving back on track, the skate through was nice. After all the young children were in with their parents and the college guys had beers in their hands, the show commenced. I met 4 different photographers in the barrier; one of them I will be talking more about later on, and the others were jerks, so they will not be mentioned anymore. Erm...

3OH!3 had no instruments being played and their vocals were less-than-perfect, but their stage antics and presence made their performance one of the best shows that I ever had a pleasure of seeing. Sean Foreman did just about everything, from humping the floor to pinching his nipples and driving the crowd into hysterics. If you don't know, 3OH!3 is from Boulder, Colorado and that means that the audience packed with Coloradoans were really hyped up to see them play. The place was packed, and 3OH!3 was making the center explode. After Nathaniel made a few comments about having some of the best worst times of his life in Breckenridge, they concluded the show with their new single, “Don't Trust Me.” Catch the video here, and why not make it your video of the moment? It's a good one!

Between the break, I grabbed a bottle of water (6 dollars?! REALLY!?) and returned to the barrier. I sat on stage and looked with splendor as members of AAR walked on stage and walked back offstage and then back on stage; it was pure bliss. Then, the moment of truth came, and my camera was prepared. The object of my desire walked up to his microphone and screamed, “HOW IS COLORADO TONIGHT?!” I couldn't breathe. Literally. I drank some more water, gained my breath after a quick choke, pulled the Fujifilm S7000 in front of my face and started shooting stars. I stood beside my photographer friend, Jen, and we were basking in AARs amazement. Left front stage was where Nick Wheeler stood, center back stage was Chris Gaylor's home, right front stage was where Mike Kennerty made himself grounded, and Tyson Ritter was center front stage and man, I was trembling. After the first two songs, I was able to gain some composure and made a really great observation: Mike Kennerty is so active on stage! He was right by Jen and I, and there were a few times when he leaned right at the edge of the stage, coming so close that I actually had his leg on my arm for a few seconds. Yeah, I was scared, but thoroughly impressed. And even though I was supposed to be taking photos in the front, I was still screaming out every verse to each of the songs that was being played. The third song started, and that is when our eyes locked; Tyson Ritter stared into my soul. For 95% of that song, our eyes were completely dead-on stuck. We sang the last few lines in sync: “My Dirty Little Secret! Who has to know? Who has to know?” He smiled, gave a soft wink, and I was rushed out of the barrier. Luckily, I was able to sneak into the VIP box, and I was able to enjoy the rest of the concert dancing and screaming in true fanatic fashion. After “Move Along,” the band ran off only to be called back for an encore. They finished with great strength, and the lights went out.

Two days later, and I am still pooped from the show. I guess that is a sign that I am getting older. D:

If you want to check out my Buzznet gallery, you can check it out here.

If you want to check out my concert extras, you can check them out here.

I really didn't get to take very many good photos of 3OH!3 at all (they weren't still for a second on stage, honestly), but feel free to see what little photos that I did get to steal from their performance.

If you get the chance to see the All-American Rejects when they are on tour with Fall Out Boy next year, you will be in for one of the greatest shows of your life. No joke. : )

Are you scared of the future?

It is a paranoia that is completely understandable, and it is surely one of the largest fears that humans share.  If you are scared of the future, I want to know why.

I am scared of making bad decisions.  How do I know that spending my time here on Buzznet is a good thing?  It has never once been a bad thing, but the mind wanders and that thought has been in the back of my mind for a little while now.  I value the friends that I have made here, so I do not see it as a waste of time.  I see this place as a way to live life in another outlet, without living it in my body.  Does anyone else feel the same?  Can anyone else relate to me?

I do not want to be a photographer or work for some music magazine or some band, like many of you have spoken up about wanting to do.  I applaud all of you that do want to do that and will go on to become ridiculously successful.  I have no doubt that your time spent on Buzznet will benefit you in the future, with your career.  I like to think of photography as a hobby, a way of giving my perspective of life to you.  Is that what you do too?  Am I different from you other users?

This is not doubt.  I am just contemplating.  I do not even think that I am making sense though.  That is the reason why I have stopped writing blogs:  I am afraid of wasting your time with nonsense that may pass from my thoughts to your brains.

I will stop now.  Carry on with your lives; keep a smile on your face, and stay on top of your thinking!

 

I find that I haven't changed much since exactly a year from right now.

I am just as unreliable in certain regards; further, I still resort to the same reactions that I once had.

A girl was rude to me today after I tried to compare her to her roommate.  Now, this certain girl hates her roommate, and once I finished making the comparison, the girl completely lost it.  She has turned into that overly-sensitive stereotype that some girls just seem to match.  It is wrong to classify stereotypes among the different genders, but I cannot believe that this still happens.  This is college that I am in; are there really people like this?

I thought to myself for a moment:  "Wait.  I took a year off.  These kids literally just got out of high school right before this summer."  They may be the same age as I am (this specific girl just happens to be older than me even), but our maturity levels are different.  I also know that it is unfair to say that I am more mature when I obviously cannot let something like this go, and instead have to write out a journal explaining the situation, hoping for comments that someone will agree and assure me that I am a good person.

I do not want to use this place for false back-up, and I hope that I have made that clear in my time here.

This event has brought back the monumental battle quarrel that I have been facing for a while, and I have a few bugs to work out.  The world has a long list of problems; I am annoyed by a girl that does not understand that I mean no harm to anyone, no matter what comes out of my mouth. 

I feel a little embarassed by writing this, so this might just go away.  I have some sort of social anxiety, and I do not want to go back to a high school mindset; I graduated early to get away from that.  I will be home in one week, where I can lay under my bed with my computer and my dog for the next six weeks following.

I have something to look forward to, and even though this evening went sour, I have learned a little through examination.  I recommend that anyone that is heated about something or another do the same; it does a world of good.

I have a mighty need to let the world know that I am happy.

Like not in the normal happy state that I'm always in.  Sort of like in an ascended happiness, if there is such a thing.

The world may be falling apart, but it isn't going to get me down right now, in this second.

It is a scary thought.

Though, I'm sleeping easy tonight; how about you?

Erm...College life isn't as mad as I thought it would drive me. I guess that the only stressful thing about it is the amount of work and if you can stay on top of that, you really won't sink in too badly. I have made friends, even if a majority of them are only on my floor in my dorm, and I know that I've been falling behind on my Buzznet life (I WILL BE GOING THROUGH THE PANIC COMMUNITY TONIGHT). I miss you guys, if you couldn't tell. I have only said it over a million and a half times to date.

So, to let you into my world, I've got some pictures to share with you from Chicago:

On one of the first days that I was in Chicago, I became lost ever so suddenly (it actually happens that way). I began to freak out, trying to retrace my steps and realizing that my short-term memory has completely left my building. And what do I find? Elvis. The King himself appeared to me and took me back to my campus, which was actually half a block north of where the house was. -__o?

My school has this weekly activity board thing where they have some sort of entertainment for us in our student center each Wednesday evening. Tonight's entertainment was a Mariachi band, which I wasn't able to photograph thanks to my dead batteries, but I did manage to get a picture from a few weeks back of Evan Wecksell and a man whose name escapes my mind at the current moment. They put on a comedy night of sorts, and fun was had all around.

I think this would make an awesome advertisement photo for a church fellowship or something of a similar nature. I took it a few weeks back and loved it, though, in all reality, I am still not into anything too religious. I am finding that learning about religion here is pretty cool, and anyone that hasn't seen “Religulous” should see it; it makes you question.

I GOT TO MEET TIM MILLER!

I made a post, ever so long ago, about the only man I'll ever love until the end of time, and I finally got to meet him. I actually got to spend a week-long workshop with him and about 15 other people. In the workshop, we explored boundaries, human desire, expression, voice, imagination, life, love, thought and everything in between. There has never been a person with greater stage performance than Mr. Tim Miller. Wow. I still can't believe that the workshop only happened a couple weeks back. *swoon*

Those are photos describing only a taste of what I've been up to (yeah, kids, I've finally got a life). I'm gonna be blogging more soon, if the homework doesn't take me alive. For sure, I will be back on Buzznet full time the day after Thanksgiving. Oh, boy! I cannot wait! :)

To all that I love and cherish *cough*everyoneonthiswebsiteexceptforspammers*cough*: John has crazy sunshine he wants to share with you. Accept my embrace, and live happily for the rest of your days.

(AWKWARD END COMMENT!!! O_O'''''''''')

I'm working on my social awkward skills and have actually noticed that a good majority of everything that I say is awkward...  (Damn, now, I've set the mood of the blonde to awkward; now I must add awkward to the title and tags.  -__o)

Much love,

John  :)

I've been having these crazy weird sleeping patterns.  Not that they are any different from the sleeping patterns I had at home.

I'm having a hard time sleeping in my room.  I don't know what it is, but I know that I'm working on it, and things are getting better.  :)

In the words of Gaz, "What a whiner". 

Sometimes, it's easier being straight-forward than beating around the bush.  Or beating the Bush for that matter. 

Ahem.  Damn you social justice class!  *shakes fist at invisible Jesus*

It's bedtime now.  Nighty night (I'll be up for hours trying to sleep; sounds like bed to me).