Dear Little Factiods and Peices at Random

When you think too much about yourself it becomes very hard to discern what you really are, what you have conditioned yourself to be, what you are as a result of your "oppressors", what you want in essence to be, what you are working towards being, and what you are in this moment as a result of something. But I suppose what you are is always a result of something. It's too much. It's like those stoned thoughts you could have for five hours at a time when you were 16 and overlooking a beach somewhere and asking the sand "why, man, why?", and there was Mike Patton playing on a ghetto blaster, and your canvas shoes were soaked with salt water, and people were standing around a fire somewhere near by, and really, in the end, there was nowhere you needed to be, but there. You only had to be there at that moment. I would like that again. So many thoughts to sort out with sand.

If we can't be ourselves with someone, why are we with them? It seems like people are always so dreamily caught up on "well, I can't say what I really think, or be how I really am around them, but goddamn they're amazing and I'm going to make it work." Shouldn't the mark of something good mean not having to make it work despite yourself? It just seems to me.

I think I'm constantly tipping cab drivers more than I should. But I think driving all day in the city would be such a terrible job, I can't help it.

Sometimes the concept that everyone is mortal really hits me--out of nowhere at all--and it blows my mind. On the subway, at my shitty job # 1, half asleep, talking to my mother, looking at maybe dogs, hugging, eating, doing laundry, walking home, whenever. What are we to do when everyone around us dies? I don't feel ok about this. I know it may be childish, but I can't. Let's just love eachother for all the time that we have. Whatever time we have.

I think text messages are actually a terrible way to communicate, but they are one of the most comfortable methods we have anymore.

At some point it was like having a negative outlook on life was really refreshing and funny, and now we can't erase it and go back to anything pleasant. But you know, all those days of my life when my grandmother took me to get McDonalds for breakfast--the same egg McMuffin, hasbrown, & orange juice everyday--those were really good times, and they didn't need a qualifyer to be good, they just were. Even if I can't have that again, I can remember it happened. And when I'm 35 & have a heart attack I'll know that the breakfasts of my youth were always very delicious. (of course my grandmother doesn't read my blog, but Nanny, I just wanted to say that even if I actually had a heart attack, I in no way blame it on you or the things you fed me, however fatty they may have been, because you only ever wanted the best, and when you were growing up nobody knew jack sh*t about partially hydrogenated corn oil or caloric intake. You just wanted me to be full. And you really are my hero. I should tell you this in real life.)

Seems like no matter how many times I say "I just want people to love each other." "I just want people to love themselves" I am always finding another way of saying it. it's probably old by now. AHH but I still feel the same.

So I know it's your birthday. And I know you, it was your birthday yesterday. So many dates that mean things, and so many things to keep track of. But you, the first you, I somehow seem to remember your birthday every year weather I think of it or not. It is just one of those things that reminds me it's there; a little window of memory, or a mysterious phone call I think I should make. And I know you don't remember my birthday anymore, and I don't blame you. Anymore I think it's funny that I remember yours. But you're an important person in the world, and so, even though I may not tell you straight out that I know it's your birthday, you should know that I am wishing you well. Because you deserve well. So, good luck.

Some huge questions have begun to be raised for me in terms of who we are as people to each other, and how we form relationships. Yeah, and I'm not going to start asking them, because I'll sound like a total dick (not an actual dick, but like that guy who tries to wax poetic when he doesn't have any metaphors), but I'm trying to figure out how I could. Every way you know someone is based on something that uniquely exists between you two, and that makes your relationship important. But what if that relationship is built on something less organic, or more unfair than it would appear? Vaguarities to be discussed further.

I mean God, I already sound like the biggest hippi on the internet. Though, to be fair, I don't read so many blogs. Probably there are bigger "hippis" than me.

On an ending note, my grandmother's family founded a small town in Washington, which holds a parade for us every couple of years. They make apple / nut fruit cookies there. Those cookies are delicious. My grandmother was much more than those cookies, which while being a suggary combination of apricots/apples and nuts and powdered sugar, were still not such an important part of american life. But now she lays in a graveyard next to the factory where we visit and thank her for things, and the factory trucks pass their dust over her on their way out of town to deliver their fruit treats to the greater northwest. So Grandma Mac, though you don't know what the internet is, I want to thank you for being here, or there. Wherever you were. You're not just collecting dust along the highway.

So it's back to the velvet underground...

So Everyone's Got Someone and I've Got Myself

This has occoured to me. And by everyone I mean some people. Some people you are constantly running into. And by that I mean that occasionally I care though mostly I don't. It makes me think of the homeless men I would meet on the street in Seattle when I was out with my male friends, and in an attempt to get money from us they would talk about how pre and real our love seemed, and how "he" should never let "me" go and "we're" something special. But "we" were always something special because we were not what the homeless man thought. But he flattered us greatly none the less, telling stories about when we would be older and how we would be and how the most importnat thing in the universe was love if only we'd give him a dollar. But no one in this city gives two shits about your fake or real relationships. So it seems that everyone holds them much more dear than if someone--anyone--else was to care. But what do I know. I just wish we could all be together like a family, and that we could all ride horses in Montana. All I want is to ride horses.

It's Simple.

As long as you're distracted, you'll never have to examine who you really are. Period. Stop distracting yourself. You're smarter than that, aren't you?