The Battleground

I fly like paper
I get high like planes -- Paper Planes, M.I.A.

---

I find it odd that the local popular coffee-locale is the current battleground in the war waged between the Pious and the Gay. Perhaps not openly, and perhaps not even openly to either faction, though it remains quite obvious to the workers and "conscientious" observers that the two side vie laudably for space both inside and out; and the glares and side-ways glances from one front line to the next shout the subconscious feeling loudly.

Other than the war in Morality, there is the war in my own life of duty. I've a lot to do on my plate, and I've recently come by the time to do it, by way of quitting my serving job. Sure, I know what you're thinking, and believe you me, I'm thinking the same thing as well. However, and quite unexpectedly I might add, I've recently been conscripted to create several articles of clothing for those very same Neutrals at the coffee locale. I'm content with that. Therefore, not working as much, and deciding what I get to do with all the unadulterated free time I am now allotted, is something I'm feel I'm growing quite enamored with. I should hate to lose it so quickly. Though I mustn't complain, should it ever occur, for it is as they say: "Like sand through the hourglass". Or, do they say that?

True enough, I'll soon find myself picking up more hours in the long run, looking to turn my golden time into some form of splendor more profitable, especially when it comes time to pay the bills.

So good night from me, and a good night, indeed.

Another 9/11

So this picture to the left of me is from Dattebayo.com -- the best place for fansubbed material, insofar as it is what they choose to work on, which happens to correspond to what I like to watch... ah, I digress. The point is, it's from there, and you can clearly see their icon in the picture (note red circle). I thought the picture was keen and well-placed, as it can be seen in the upper-left-hand side of their main page.

I know what you must be thinking: "How uncouth!" But allow me to present to you their journal over the subject: "DB Celebrates the Passing of Another 9/11".

I agree with what they say, and it seems right that by this time we should be over the tears of this subject. I by no means want this to be a painful thing for anyone, as I, too, had family involved in the incident, though they were spared. Please don't think I'm being insensitive, either, when I say these things, but they're right; we should be happy we've gone another year without incident, and rejoice at how much stronger it has made us, and the changes the event is still bringing about today.

So think on that, and be happy, and realize that we've all grown a little in the past 7 years.

The Weather Outside

I bought an old home in Del Rio... -- So-So, Brooke Waggoner

---

I've been back from the race and the subsequent vacation for a couple days now, working every step of the way. Though, when I was lucky enough to find some off-time, and not being doing errands, I spent my time resting up and trying to recover the state of my health.

Today has been a wonderful experience. I went to bed early, I slept in late, and I feel great compared to what it has been. The weather outside when I rose was somewhat dark and cloudy, and I could tell by my few furtive glances through the window-blinds that there was a soft and gentle music resonating sweetly on the wind. I do have to work tonight, and that makes me sad, somewhat, but mostly because of the weather outside. I had figured that by the time I got around to walking out to work, I would find a wave of heat rising up to greet me, but instead it has just been clean, cool air rustling a playful hand through my hair.

Perhaps I should be happy that the weather is finally turning, and that for once, it seems the seasons might turn in the old fashion they used when I was a child? Still, it does rub me wrongly that I have to go in and work on a beautiful afternoon like this. It's not often that the heart of Texas sees such beautiful weather...

Alive

---

The air is alive with a subtle humidity: a warm and vibrant mist permeates the atmosphere of the city I grew up in...

In the middle of the night, I awoke to the sound of rolling thunder, crashing violently overhead. Several times, it seemed as though the lightning struck the ground outside my window, as I figured from the intensely bright light and the loud sharp crack akin to gunfire. It sounded uncomfortable. It sounded angry, and even at times it sounded joyful. Though through it all, in all its mixed emotions, I couldn't fall back asleep for long; it almost seemed as though the world was trying to tell me something.

At work today I waited to go, and I stood just inside the doorway to the patio. The juniper tree across the parking lot shuddered with joy in the ambiguous breeze, it's dark earthly colours clashing strongly and even endearingly against the bright yellow and dull kaolin-clay gray of the building's exterior. It seemed to say "hello" to a world that it had long-since grown bored with, and who could blame it? This town has done a lot to me; as I'm sure to any other person. To see it in the weather we have today is almost like falling into a world and time completely different form our own land-locked landscape. I could even feel the direction of the earth's rotation changing, and then I faced the East, and the sun was on it's way to setting across the deep lagoon of a harbour less than 50 miles away. I felt I could stand out in the weather as the gentle precipitation which came and went periodically returned, and as it fell softly on my forehead and shoulders, I could be transformed into that child that loved this kind of weather more than anything, and laughter would all but overcome my riddled, aching heart and mind...

But perhaps that is wishing for too much?

Boku wa...

The Foremost raised his hand in preparation to speak, intending his every word to be heard and felt and obeyed without question. But then a strange thing happened:

“Why is this man here?”
-- excerpt, personal writings

---

I don't think I am a good person.

I don't like who I am. I've stated that, before, and you've read it, before, as well.

I think...
I think I am not confident enough in who I am.
I don't much like others--can't seem to stand them long enough when I don't see something in them I really like.

Then again, there's those people I do "really like", but for some reason, I end up ignoring everything about them that could hurt me until it does so multiple times. And even though I've known this for a couple years, I've not been able to change that. Sure, I have been able to reduce the amount of time it takes for me to realize whether a person I see as "good" has a "bad" side or not... but it hasn't seemed to help much in the long run.

A thousand words rush to mind, an even to the heart of my tongue, when I think of all the things I want to say. I've not said much, lately, but what I have said, I wonder if perhaps they weren't the best words I could have used. And, then again, I never have been good at public speaking...

All I can think to say... I'm sorry, and I'm sorry for that.
I can try to be different the next time. I can. And I will. I want to wake up and be a different person. A better person; someone you or anyone likes to be around. Perhaps, I could see it this way, this new leaf could be a testament to who I am going to be? And, in so many words, that's that! That's it! That's what I want! I want to be different! I want to wake each day and know that what had happened in the past is not what has define me in any way but the way I want!

And so, I want to look at it and say, "I'm not going to do this, anymore" and "I've tried this, I've been through this--why do it again? Let's find a different route!"

On the Stand

“Silence.” At once the room fell still. “Are you so sure in your conviction of this man that he is a criminal without just cause? Do we not owe it to him to hear him out and grant him a fair and just trial, just as our Lord and Savior has done for us?”

More mutters grew from the crowd—-mutters of shame and piety as all but a few hands moved in the shape of the Cross. -- excerpt, personal writings

---

Many times in the life of an individual are things done that he immediately regrets; yet nothing can be said for the past. It is what it is, and it defines who we are. What he can do, however, is take what he has left in his hand of that crumbling dream and piece it together into something more bearable.

I am quickly approaching that age where the person I have become will no longer be able to change. I've seen it already. I've experienced things that I would to God I had not, and I've said and done things which I've wished with all my being, some even while they were happening, that they had and were not. What a pitiful soul I've become! What a wretch of existence, I tell myself. And all the same, is it not a self-curse? Has it not been one broken dream after another that has lead me to such a poor existence? What can I say for myself, except that I hate it all. I hate me, and what I stand for, and what I don't stand for, even.

I hate the who I've become, and the who I've not ever had a chance to be. I hate the lies I've told, and the loves I've sold. I hate the people who've broken me, and the me who's broken people.

I detest to the core of me, and yet there is not one way into that shining city; there is not one small crack in its silver walls that will let that hatred consume me wholly. And I hate that even more.

I hate that I have to say I'm sorry, and I hate that I can't bring myself to it. I hate that anyone could forgive me so easily, and I hate more that I can't forgive myself.

I hate that I lost you, so long ago, that I didn't say anything, and that I don't know still if anything would have saved you. I hate that I never tried, in the least, and I hate that, even now, I'm still losing. I hate that: losing. I can't stand what it does to a person. I can't stand what it tears from the very soul, those shards of innocence that even my own self-hate can't glean victoriously.

So all in all, I hate myself for not being the person I could be, and also for failing to rise to the occasion.

Give me another chance, and forgive me my misgivings. I'll try again for the love that I lost so carelessly years before, and I'll try again to laugh. You whom I know now are a new caretaker. You are a new friend, a new chance, a new beginning; so water me with love and understanding, and I will grow to the tree that shades you, and others, in the desert sun.

Now

I've made up my mind
No need to think it over
If I'm wrong, I ain't right... -- Chasing Pavements, Adele

---

That's the hardest part.

I can feel her eyes on me as I walk between the cars; eyes revealing a mind and spirit far too old for her young, subtle frame. The clove burning in my hand is more of a binding for me than it had been in the past -- something to keep me from wandering too far in idle fancies; like a tether 'bout my neck it keeps me grounded where I ought to be.

Living for the now... it's not easy for people like us. I reply. We hug and part ways: life holds too much to remain idle.

There are too many things we, as humans -- myself in particular, and even her, think about. Too much wends easily into our daily thoughts and aspirations; we cannot hold our own for too long before we lose what little concentration we'd managed and find our spirits and minds flying off to join our hearts in the fluffy-cloud pocked blue sky.

Each day I've had to remind myself somehow of what it is to live for the "now". I've not been able to keep it in mind for very long, too much to worry about... Is it truly possible for one to be so ignorant to History and all his lessons? Each day is just a new possible way for the myriad of events that began the day before to change or continue or even end, though not many do that. What we learn one day, what we experience one day, should these things not influence the who we are of the next? And how, then, can anyone be expected to live only in the now, not once longing for the days of their youth, when the decisions they had made then were more carefree, and should dire consequence rear its ugly head, there would be time yet for preparation? Despite appearances, things are fine; despite appearances, things couldn't be worse. That is the constant state of life for most people at this turning point in their years. It's arguable that it could be the long-lasting effects of the psyche, the unchangeable inner personality that molds the outward representation of our spirits, still hold sway at even this age, beyond most stages of maturation. I would to God fight on the side of the opposition: Let me decide with my own mind who I am going to be! Let me Fight! Let me see everything as a Challenge and not back down, no matter how hurt I get!

And please, most of all, let me stop worrying about things so insignificant, for they only cause more pain in the quiet hours, and beleaguer me in the waking ones.