come on feet

I let myself hang from the ceiling, the ground below flickering through the outlines of my swinging legs. I hang from the rafters because I want to see what's below and around me. But I can't help but wonder if I dropped, would I feel more alive? I could do tangible things with tangible people if I so let my grasp loosen and my mind slip into repose. I think I will.

All of this is futile, and at the same time efficient, necessary, and beautiful.

Look outside and racing hunks of metal glimmer across the pale pavement. Mechanical birds take passengers to far away places. Floating fortresses carry incredible loads across an all encompassing sea.
And still, the human heart only swoons for another of flesh and bones.
So is life.

To think that my mind chose to ignore that for so many hours....is beyond me. My mind runs not off self-righteousness, but off beautiful images of every day life. Transport this weary mind to any scenario and it will still hunger for beauty through simplicity.
All is well.

No more

Nephi.

I will press forth with the faith of Nephi. All of you talking heads will be silenced. My way is clear. Opportunity awaits.

Who am I to question? I am blessed beyond belief and I stand here in bitterness.


"How blessed are we to have each other? I am alive and you are alive and so we must fill the air with our words. I will fill today, tomorrow, every day until I am taken back to God. I will tell stories to people who will listen and to people who don't want to listen, to people who seek me out and to those who run. All the while I will know that you are there. How can I pretend that you do not exist? It would be almost as impossible as you pretending that I do not exist."
-What is the What

Finished

Mandatory "I have no idea what do with my life/education" college blog post. Sorry to elaborate on the cliche.

These past few days my mind has been reverting back to that anxiety I had in high school for the first time since then. My mind is racked with and impending decision only I, myself, can make. It's slowly melting. I have no passion to do anything.

I hate this. I hate over-priced tuitions (go ahead, make a fortune putting the future of the world in debt and/or making students compromise their true dreams). I hate limited opportunities.


See, and give it two minutes and I'll regret writing this. I'll say it stupid and useless to write. But these thoughts run through my mind every other moment.
I'd like to say I have faith it will work out. In fact, I tell myself this after each one of these thoughts. But that doesn't stop my mind from running.

Amie

The Saturday mornings of my youth...
I can remember passing by suburban sprawl lit by an overcast sky. It would usually be mid-morning. I always looked out the window, my forehead pressed against the glass, autumn chill cool to my skin. My father would always play the songs of his youth. He had this old envelope box full of cds that sat in the front near his feet. The one that always seemed to be the theme to these drives was "Amie" by Pure Prairie League.

We would end up at his weekend AA meeting. Cigarette smoke heavy in the air. Donuts at the end of each table. He's a lifelong member, 30-something years sober. I'd wait for him in the lobby of the meeting room, usually reading and eating. I felt like I was wise beyond my years. I knew this key to success in life. I was so proud to be there with Dad.

From there we would make a stop at his empty office. In between trips a new CD would be played; something like "Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot or even a few old Beatles tracks. Once at his office, I would scramble in ahead of him to secure my spot at the empty computer I played games on. He would get some work done in his office across the hall and I would run to the kitchen to get hot chocolate out of the coffee vending machine. We would go home at around noon, talking about music and what was going on at school. I always secretly wished that we'd go out to lunch beforehand, it being noon. But we rarely did. "Amie" played on the ride home, Dad replacing Amie's name with "Austin" while singing. I smiled to myself, acting like it was stupid. I always loved it though.

And here I am, 9-10 years later sitting next to my father at a Pure Prairie League show. Memories flood my mind and I see the same man who used to replace "Amie" with my name voicing the lyrics at me. The music plays and everyone is singing "Amieeeeeee whatchu wanna do, I think I could stay with you for a while maybe longer if I do".

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But I am within myself, thankful for this love that sits beside me.
Thankful for weekends with my Dad.

Valley of the Giants

Teardrop
Originally uploaded by Joep R.

All that I ask


is that I may not let life pass by. I hate the idea of compromise.

I want to live among dramatic landscapes. Live in a place I know is no different than anywhere else. But I choose to romanticize it, thinking its some mecca of possibility. Because in turn, that's what it turns in to.

Lately, the top of my hand has been developing a bruise from holding the weight of my forehead. My swollen mind drops in desperation and my hand is there against it.

The most illogical, but logical choice would be to work on a boat. To be at sea and yearn for land after beautiful nights on a sometimes placid sometimes treacherous sea. That's what I want, even if that ends up just being a forgettable metaphor for what comes my way.

To those of you...

To those of you who can make music, be glad...you're the envy of the world.

It's a beautiful talent.

AND thank you for your contributions. Especially you, Supertramp. The sax solo from "Logical Song" will forever get stuck in my head at inopportune times.

I know that's it is spring because I can walk into the wind, eyes wide open, without crying. My eyes water so much outside in the winter. By the time I make my way into shelter, there are streams down the sides of my face. Maybe because of the contacts?
But this morning, I could walk into the blue-orange haze with a spring in my step. My eyes soaked in the warmth of the morning. The dew collected on the sides of my shoes. I breathed in a deep breath, almost comically, and let it sit within me before exhaling. It's mornings like these that you feel so alive. You feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be at that moment. Everything is within reach.

I guess I'm a morning person.

Out of the PaszzZzZzzZz

Out of the Past is one of those beloved, but mostly forgotten, film noirs that came out of Hollywood in the late 40s. I had heard of it before, but didn't have too much of a reason to see it. After all, there was no famous line or scene it was known for widely, unless I'm mistaken. Also, the director, Jacques Tourneur, has not really done anything else very memorable. Case in point, the movie seemed to be a bit of a one-hit-wonder. But what better way to go into a film than with no expectations!

I must say I wasn't disappointed, but I also wasn't impressed. I thought the film was merely a very average studio film noir. As I said before, there really are no memorable shots or plot lines to this film among the many that flood Cinema History textbooks. If you could say one thing, it would be Robert Mitchum. This film is probably the peak of his extensive use by directors in film noir. His character fits the very classic innocent criminal archetype used in that era. The female lead, Jane Greer, plays another film noir archetype, the "innocent until proven guilty" dame. A young Kirk Douglas really carries the acting in this film. His subtle performance goes from innocent to guilty to innocent so we never really have a firm stance on how to view his character. He does an amazing job of keeping the audience on their toes in his scenes. The film follows so many of the standard rules of classic noir, but is lost within the many other forgettable noirs that flooded the industry in that day.

I guess I'm ripping on the film a bit. But it is worth noting that I did enjoy it. It wasn't anything amazing, but to its credit, it did everything it set out to do. I'm very particular about film noir. When it's good, it's good. The most successful film noir strikes this perfect balance between over-stylized production and narrative. It wows you with canted angles and far-reaching shadows but is anchored by a very standard plot with golden dialogue. Films like The Concrete Jungle and The Third Man have an acute awareness of the genre. They play within the rules, but dazzle us with their amazing suspense and style in all the right scenes. I think it's a true testament to the director when a film noir works. I would go so far as saying that the film noir genre is one of the most director-heavy genres out there. The creative strokes of the director can be so evident in the genre. This is because of how overtly stylized every element is; saturated with the directors vision.

Out of the Past goes down the film noir checklist but doesn't have that taut subtext that drives noirs like Touch of Evil.

welp, cya later!

Hey ladies, sorry, I'm off the market. I won't ever settle for another woman again unless it's Nataly Dawn or Lauren O'Connell





This is one of the most beautiful things.

Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight

Love Alexander Fuller's writing voice....The candor and sincerity she uses to speak of her tumultuous British/African childhood makes it seem you are one of the few privileged to read from her personal journals.
Read this book!


"Kelvin almost died today. Irritated to distraction by the flies in the kitchen, he had closed the two doors and the one little window in the room, into which he had then emptied an entire can of insect-killing Doom. Mum had found him convulsing on the kitchen floor just before afternoon tea.
"Bloody idiot." She had dragged him onto the lawn, where he lay jerking and twitching for some minutes until Mum sloshed a bucket of cold water onto his face. "Idiot!" she shrieked. "You could have killed yourself."
Now Kelvin looks as self-possessed and serene as ever. Jesus, he has told me, is his Savior. He has an infant son named Elvis, after the other king.
Dad says, "Bring more beers, Kelvin."
"Ye, Bwana."
We move to the picnic chairs around the wood fire on the veranda. Kelvin brings us more beers and clears the rest of the plates away. Wood smoke curls itself around my shoulders, lingers long enough to scent my hair and skin, and then veers toward Dad. The two of us are silent, listening to Mum and her stuck record, Tragedies of Our Lives. What the patient, nice Englishman does not know, which Dad and I both know, is that Mum is only on Chapter One.

Chapter One: The War
Chapter Two: Dead Children
Chapter Three: Insanity
Chapter Four: Being Nicola Fuller of Central Africa

Chapter Four is really a subchapter of the other chapters. Chapter Four is when Mum sits quietly, having drunk so much that every pore in her body is soaked. She is yoga-crossed-legged, and she stares with a look of stupefied wonder, at the garden and at the dawn breaking through wood-smoke haze and the thin gray-brown band of dust and pollution that hangs above the city of Lusaka. And she's thinking, So this is what it's like being Me."
-Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexander Fuller

Spring

It's absolutely beautiful outside. Spring is here, and I am SO excited. The sisters and I just drove around for a while with windows down, music blaring until we found a big field to run around in.



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Saturday Night

Tonight is a cool brisk night, warmer than usual. The heavens are open for all the world to see. Stars dot every possible patch of sky the eye can see. I open my window and hear the faint cries of an animal crying to the big white moon. I didn't think NKU would have any sort of wildlife like that. We have an over abundance of skunks but that's the only sign of life I ever see. The cries started between two animals, one on each side of the patch of forest outside my window. The cries grew louder and closer, two family members shouting their whereabouts.
As the voices grew louder, I realized it was a pack of wolves. A third joined in and they screamed to the heavens. I stood taking in the beauty of the moment, a cool windless night that makes you breathe a little deeper than usual, the life outside my window - all was this moment.
I-275 runs just beyond this little patch of foliage. An ambulance flies by, its sirens in unison with the high pitched yelps reverberating off the leaf-less trees. The cries seemed closer than ever, I could hear branches partitioning as the pack weaved through. Then silence.
The ambiance of the highway filled the air. I heard nothing but the passing cars for a good while. My eyes scanned what lies below my second story room. I wanted to cry out for them to come back...soooo I did. I closed my eyes and put on my best impersonation of a cry to the moon. It was terrible.
But as I closed my eyes and yelled it as loud as I could, I felt free. I understood the meaning behind the action. When I was through, I pulled my head back in the window. I didn't feel foolish. I felt alive. I breathed in another one of those long deep breaths.
A few moments went by. And then a wolf peered its head around a tree and our eyes met. There was this trust. It was a beautiful creature, it's eyes glaring, reflecting either the huge dorm floodlight or the moon. I'd like to think it was the moon for the sake of the story. It trotted out into the open and sat, eyes still pressed against mine. We stared at each other for a while. I was struck by the beauty of this wild animal, sitting upright towards me. It confidently sat in place, aware of my human presence. Then it's head reared in each direction, scanning the area, and it slowly continued on into the other half of the forest. I stood staring at the spot we had met eyes and another wolf peered its head from behind the tree. It followed suit of the other, stopping only briefly to take in the sight of this man-made structure that a pale skinned figure hung out of. A few minutes went by and a third wolf followed, a bit smaller and timid than the others. It wandered around in the open for quite some time and then entered through another part of the trees.

The highway ambiance filled the sky once more. The passing cars a constant in the atmosphere of this place. I leaned my head further out the window and admired the clear sky. Squinting past the flood light, I could see the patchwork brilliance clearly. I feel alive. The Limelight theme entered my mind and I stood a little longer, humming the tune, soaking in the brilliance of creation.

Goodnight

Happiness is a

To the woman who always comes in and uses the left corner computer:

Don't sigh so loud.

Every day, you come in and sit sighing. Everything seems to exasperate you. You punch each new key with frustrated force. Nothing can go right.
The sighs grow more desperate as the hours pass.


I'm this woman sometimes. I choose to visibly show my exasperation to others, or to no one. It's human, sure. But it can be controlled. What good is it to walk around like that. You're neither benefiting yourself or more importantly, others. I could make some faith tie into all of this, that God supplies this indispensable love we can grasp on to if we so choose at any moment. I do believe that with all of my being.
But even outside of that, to those who don't believe...what good is it doing? Are you doing any good by moping around? Are your sighs helping your situation any more?
I firmly believe that we have the choice to be happy or not. At any moment, we can choose to make the best out of our current state. I know this. I've had to do it myself, and I've seen others do the same. Unless you'd prefer to sit letting out exasperated sighs and bringing those around you down with you.

Stop complaining. Live. Take it all in. Take in all the brilliance and beauty that has flooded our world in between the bad. I assure you there is much more good than bad at work in our world. There is beauty in the breakdown...or lack thereof.

I am sitting listening to your sighs. I will smile at you when you leave.

Valley of the Giants - "Whaling Tale"...

Soundtrack to my life from this point forward...