The Poet

The poet drew the line in the sand;
Connecting it to another.
She knew where it began
But not where it was to end.

And so she followed the line,
Searching for the other.
She went through heat,
Through snow and weather violent.

The end never seemed to come,
Her dimming hopes having enough.
With feet so tired, eyes so weary,
How could the gentle poet go on?

So she sank; in spirit, in body,
Her knees hitting sand so rough.
Head falling, hanging in defeat;
And in her despair, the poet missed the gleam.

Bad Day

Sometimes things just don't work out right. You get up, everything seems fine, you go about your day without any worries, without any problems, and then suddenly it hits you. It comes from nowhere, that first chip in the armor, that first crack before the inevitable break. You may not even see it as bad at first, it's small, inconsequential. Then it starts to grow, a snowball rolling down hill it swells exponentially. More and more pile on, each action leading to a worse consequence, it's overwhelming, it all started out so simply...

I find myself today in a very off mood, which is only compounded by the fact that the day started so well. But then I got a text message from a co-worker, asking for me to cover a shift. Now this in itself wasn't a problem, a simple no would take care of the problem I figured. I had a lot of small chores to handle, a couple movies that needed to be returned today, and I was unwashed and generally feeling at ease and relaxed. Today was not a day for work.

But then the texts continued to come, my co-worker, with no ill intent I could detect continued to pry, asking me why I wouldn't take the shift. Each time I felt my mood dip, my general attitude shift from content to annoyed. He may have had some good points, but the discussion of the virtue of being lazy vs making money was not something I was looking for. I had given him my answer, and each stab at my reasoning just brought me lower and lower.

It soured me, I still feel the general malaise of sullen dullness. I want now to just curl up and forget the day, sit back and do something mindless. I want to vent myself of the weighty emotions, they do nothing for me. Those chores I was supposed to do now seem distant in my mind. I don't want to get a shower, don't want to do laundry, don't want to sit and write. I just want to be... sullen. Be dark, be moody. I want to just stare at the world with a heavy brow. I want to hide away in the darkness of my mind.

These feelings, these emotions, this tainted day. I know they'll all pass, sooner than I imagine I will be uplifted again, feeling lighter, a weight off my mind. Nothing dragging me to the floor anymore, I'll be me again. But for now I just stew in my own soured state of being. I lay around and gruff at things that would normally make me happy. I become a beast that has been awoken, slowly stomping about till I can once again slumber.

All in all, I'm just having a bad day.

Sex: A Reply, A Metaphor and A Ramble

So, Will... It's come time for a reply.

Sex.... What is it? Is it daunting? Is it... beautiful? Is it necessary?
A question I often ask myself, just to see where I am in life, is "Is the relationship making the sex or is the sex making the relationship?"
While it doesn't always need to be taken strictly in those terms (A more open translation being "Is the cake making the icing or is the icing making the cake?"), it helps me realize what is going on around. What is

And for me... Sex is just that. Icing. I don't NEED it. In fact, without cake, I get sick of icing really fast. But on the flip side.... Cake can get a bit boring without icing from time to time, right?

Well maybe you just haven't gotten the kind of cake you need.

Ok, Manda... I get it. You need a balance, right?
Wrong.

Some people can sit down and eat a whole damn tub of icing, fuck the cake. Who needs cake when you've got sugary, amazing icing in front of you?

Some people can sit and eat a cake as is. No extra toppings. They don't need the outside sugar, just what's inside. Who needs icing when you've got moist, delicious cake?

.....And some people get stomach aches from all the sugar. And some peoples' mouths get dry after too much cake.


What is the point of all this obvious, semi-metaphorical rambling, Will?

It's this: Everyone's taste is different. No one is wrong. No one is right. Not when it comes to this basic act. If you leave out all the moral and ethical problems introduced later by humans and their ever-loving need to make things complicated, that's what you get. Variety. The spice of life. The difference between each and every one of us. My brain patterns, just as unique as fingerprints and retinal scans, revealing my thoughts being different from her, her, him and you.

So maybe not everyone wants the icing and maybe not everyone's a fan of cake.

Who cares? You have your body. I have mine. They have theirs.


So, in the end, does it matter; their view?

It doesn't to me. But then... I'm still mixing my batter.

Born to Do

Today I'm going to talk about something very close to my heart. Something very close to all of our hearts, really. Today I'm going to talk about sex. Whether you like it or not, we're all here because of it. Your mom, your dad, they enjoyed a night of carnal bliss, and now you're here. Me, I have a very casual outlook on sex. It's a natural instinct in all men and women to mate, it also feels very good, and if done responsibly, can be done with no unwanted outcomes. So I wonder, in the year 2010, why we're still so hung up about it...

It's not that hard of a question, really. The reason why America is so worried about sex is our founders, the Puritans. A bunch of happy go lucky bunch that felt dancing was too loose and garish a practice. These were the first off the boat of settlers for America, and for it's entire history their influence has plagued us.

It's not a secret that American media displays a harsher outlook of sex over violence. Movies with a single sex scene, or too much lewd reference to sex at all run the risk of getting an R rating, while Sam Killall mows through an entire legion of men with automatic weaponry, and gets a PG-13 as long as he doesn't drop an F-Bomb. In our culture, pretend violence is more widely accepted than pretend eroticism. Doesn't that seem a bit off?

Sex is a natural instinct, the natural instinct. It's the propagation of our species, without it we do not exist, and yet people still get in an uproar when a pop icon shows her breasts on camera. We have had several sexual revolutions in our history whether for a woman's right to sexuality, or just in the name of free love, and yet the puritanical influence of a people who came to this land over four hundred years ago still hold sway over us.

We need to get over it. We need more than just the sexually adventurous to have a healthy attitude about sex. Our bodies are beautiful, and enjoying our bodies is one of the most beautiful acts that can be preformed. Exploration of another, the ultimate act of sharing, the drive and need to be with someone else. It is the strongest display of affection, it is the strongest display of what being human is.

And it's also really fun.

Introspectiveness Sucks

So... today I had a conversation with my mother. We talked about relationships, love and what people need, in general, to be happy with another person.


And it got me thinking or, more specifically, worrying.

I wonder if I'm too picky in what I look for in a person.

I want to laugh, to cry, to argue, to be agreed with, to be given space, to be held, to drive them up a wall, to be loved, to feel hands in my hair, to feel fingers in mine.

I want to be awkwardly comfortable. I want to them to be maturely childish. Cynically hopeful.

I want an impossible balance.

I used to think that love was enough. I've learned differently.

I don't know if what I want is so.... hard to find. I don't know if my standards are too high.

I'm worried they are... but I'm also afraid of compromising and settling for something less than actual happiness.

And then I worry... What if I find them or found them.. and I just am not/was not what they wanted.

What if my balance doesn't mesh with theirs?

I know it fits my personality, but I really don't want to be the crazy lady with all the cats. I don't want to be "Aunt Amanda" forever... I want to be "Mom" someday.

I know humans, by nature, fear loneliness. We are social creatures. I know my thoughts are normal... I also know that sometimes people like me end up just like I am afraid to. Alone.



The poet knelt in the sand,
Her eyes on the grains as they slipped away.
And she knew, feeling the softness contrast
The coarseness she knew could be,
That her fears were validated
By the simplicity of regret.



Have a good weekend, friends.

-Manda

Out with the Old

16. When we're young we want to change the world. When we're old we want to change the young. -Anonymous

Generations come and generations go, but one thing that has always remained constant is the conflict. In the 20s Jazz was corrupting children, the 50s brought the evils of rock and roll, the 70s sexual liberation plagued the young, the 90s rap was turning young men and women into criminals, and now today video games are training kids to murder. With every passage of time, the old look back on the young, and wish it were like the days of old.

With the passage of time our culture grows, it changes and alters itself. It evolves, slowly, but moving forward. Every now and again a hiccup comes along, and we take a step back, but eventually we come to move forward once more. With every passing of the torch from one generation to the next, we lose some of our hatred, we lose some of our ignorance and prejudice. As the young grow old, we as a society become more and more open minded. But only just a little more.

Traditionally our leaders and politicians, those who govern us are of the previous generation. They're men and women in their mid to late years, they remember back to their own childhood, they believe truly that it was the right way to live. They look upon the young, so radical, so different, they fear them. It's not that hard to understand, it is human nature to fear change, to fear the unknown. They see in the young such untempered and untested ideals, they see what the young stand for, but they also see the lack of aged experience. They hold back what they believe is too wild and broad to be stable.

The young look at the old, and shake their head. How could someone be so closed minded, how could they be so wrong about how the world works. Why can't they see that we all have the answers? It would all be so easy, making the world right. With blind optimism, and no knowledge of the complexities of how to make any of our wonderful new ways work. We see the old as tired, we see the old as clinging to the obsolete. We're just as ignorant as them in our inability to understand.

The old against the new, the traditionalist against the modernist, the rigid masters against the radical free thinkers. It's a constant loop, a routine, a dance of the world. As the old slowly pass, as the young slowly age the reigns are given up. The young are now the old, now experienced, their ideals now secured by wisdom. The old now have the ability to make their desired world happen, and watch as the young cry out for new and wild ways.

It's going to happen again and again. It's simply the progression of civilization. It's bitter sweet, really, by the time we young minds gain the ability to control the world, our ways are going to be inefficient to the eyes of the new generation. But we can know, that each time the cycle repeats, the world is becoming slowly better. Always forward, always on a forward path.

I wonder what will be evil to me in thirty years...

Overwhelming Calm

It’s funny how when I was lost, alone and down
I was constantly surrounded, always in a crowd.
I felt alone in the arms of the many I called love
I felt alone in the company of the ones I relied on

But here I am, fresh faced and adorned in cheery outlook
New, revived… And alone.
Sure, the company is still around
Just a small reach and I can touch, feel, breathe in another

But for the first time since I first cried “Out, damned spot! out, I say!”
I feel a calming wave inside my mind
I feel at ease
I feel myself, in all my faults and charms, alone

So here I stare, seeing what I’ve become
Beautiful, victorious, myself
So here I am, floating on the edge of past and future
Scared, enthralled, compelled

Isn’t it a beautiful irony
That you cannot be happy in another’s company
Until you are at ease and satisfied
In your own?

Wow… rambly poetry for the win. I just wanted to add a little note crediting my friend mr_engineer on flickr for letting me use his beautiful photograph. It is, of course, used with full permission!

I took a look at this picture… and got overwhelmed with thoughts.. which exploded above… Maybe I’ll write on it again.


Be well!

-Manda

Planning Ahead

5. What do you hope to accomplish within the next ten years? Explain.

This year I will be twenty five, in ten I will be thirty five years old. In ten years I will have no right at all to call myself a kid anymore. I will be expected to have my life on track, to have a career, to maybe have a family of some sort. I will have to have my own place, my own life, I will have to be an adult. The problem with this is that I have no real plan, no ideas, no clue as to what ten years from now where I'll be.

I have hopes, I want to be a successful writer. Not famous, I just want to be making a living out of it, have a regular opinion column, and possibly have a few novels published. But you know what? Ten years ago, I didn't want that. Ten years ago I wanted to be a cartoonist, I wanted to draw and make people laugh. I wanted to be the next Charles Schultz, the next Bill Watterson. Ten years prior to that I wanted to be a 'Tool man' as I put it, not an engineer, or a mechanic, just a Tool Man.

Ten years... It may not seem like it, but it's a long time. Ten years I was still a teenager. Ten years I was still in High School. My life has changed so radically, so drastically. I have changed, I'm a different person than I was back then, so if I had gone through and planned to be a Cartoonist, and came to be the man I am today, what would my life be like? Is it smart to plan so far ahead? Is it smart to even think about ten years?

I see people who have these vast lifelong plans, they know how it's going to work. They're going to get their degree, then get a job, then find a husband or wife and settle down. They're gonna start a family in the suburbs and then grow old together. It sounds solid, but what happens to these people when the plan goes awry? What happens when life happens? I just cannot plan that far ahead, it's too distant, and there's too much to think on now. All the branches of choice and consequence create path I could never predict.

Now I am not saying plans are bad, you need plans, need to know where your going to get there. But shooting for the distance is sometimes not gonna work. You need to let life come in to it, need to let it rock the boat and change your mind. Need to allow some room for fluidity, when you come to the end you may find yourself in a place you never thought possible, and would never want to leave.

In ten years, I just hope I'm still doing this.

Returning As Something New

HI! Miss me, folks!?!

Let’s get back in the swing of things with a loverly angsty poem from your own resident Manda!


Just Ask

Ask me again, why I won't sing you my song.
Ask me again, what I think went wrong.
The answer will change.
Isn't it strange,
That there are so many don'ts?
But I know the problem is all of my won’ts.

Ask me why I walk away
Ask me what I want to say
My eyes should reveal
What my mouth must conceal
I’ve lost my fight with my heart
And it has no will to start



Something a little more cheery, why don’t we? ^_^

FRESH

It’s like someone opened a window, let the breeze roll in
It’s like someone opened my heart, let the love begin
It’s like someone took my hand, and told me I was good
It’s like someone looked in my eyes and finally understood

No more hiding under blankets or living under guilt
No more stifling my laughter and balancing on stilts
No more living day to day in horror and fear
No more relying on the hate, the fake smile and the tears

Who am I?
Fuck if I know

Who am I?
I’m just starting to grow

Who am I?
I am your love, your friend

Who am I?
I’m the one who made it to the end.




There are two poems for your reading pleasure...

It feels good to be back!

Interpretation

11. The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. -Mary Heaton Vorse

I just had a rather nasty argument with Manda. The argument had to do with this quote, one of our prompts, the lines we are supposed to use as inspiration and motivation. The problem came when I apparently had no idea what this quote meant. I saw it as a line referring to the reader... The art of writing is the art of making a piece of work interesting enough for someone to sit down and read. Apparently I was very wrong, the quote is actually about discipline and consistency. My problem was that the quote in no way says that. I could not comprehend how sitting on your ass is supposed to be synonymous with the ability to sit down and get to work. I would think it was a slight against writers before a mark on their determination.

This argument between me and my closest friend became rather heated, words came about that neither of us are proud of. And this brings me to my point of interpretations, and how defiantly we can defend them. Our views on the world are just that, ours. Someone else could have vastly different views on what is and isn't. When these two people, two people who's views are so contrast meet, their opposing opinions in fact challenge each others reality. You cling to what you know to be true so deeply that you can sometimes become violent and lash out against someone who is just doing the same.

If you will allow me to show my inner nerd, I can recount another experience, this time with me being on the 'right' side of what a particular piece was saying. I was discussing an episode of Star Trek with a friend, one that is quite explicitly about Homosexuality and the social fear of it. It was an awesome episode, and one of my favorites. But my friend for some reason saw it as about conformity. I wondered how the lines could be so clearly drawn yet such a different conclusion could come to be. I saw it, sure, it was in essence about everyone being the same, but I still knew the actual message was acceptance of people with an alternate sexuality.

I can see how the quote here says that writing is about sitting down and doing the work. I just simply do not see how one who looks at this quote for the first time, with no background as to the context of it, can assume that meaning without being told outright. Looking at a line with nothing but the line, I took from it my own meaning. I took from it a message about what a writer does for his readers, as oppose to what a writer first does for himself. I think it simply tells something about who I am, as a writer, it's less about the writing as much as it is about capturing someone, entertaining them.

Though it is hard to write standing up.