A Title

Ever have trouble when a teacher asks you to name a story or project. It's tough to make a creative and fitting title that encompasses the entirety of what's written underneath. Actually, it's impossible.

On Saturday afternoon from 3pm-6pm me and a good friend of mine from Glastonbury participated in the homeless sleep out event for my church. It goes from 9 in the morning on saturday to 9 in the morning on sunday. The past two years my friend and I had done the 3am to 6 am shift (because it was exiting and all) but we decided to be less ambitious this year. Anyways, the idea is that for 3 hours we stand in the cold holding signs on the curb on our main street as cars go by trying to collect money for the nearby homeless shelters. There is a bin w/ a fire inside but we are only expected to take short breaks sitting by it. Granted it wasn't nearly as cold as in past years, but still after the sun went down it gets chilly, especially after extended exposure. This was no incredible feat, yet is was one of the few actual "events" in my life recently. Within fitting timing, about 2 weeks earlier, there was a talk in my wednesday school class praising the book of an author who had misunderstood homeless people his entire life. To combat this he set off into inner cities and all over the country trying to get to know homeless people. He took lots of picture and gave them captions (in his book). He concluded that the homeless are only normal people who got unlucky or made mistakes and society doesn't exactly give second chances. Anyway, the point of this is that "homeless" is a title that we give people who are without a home. Fitting it may seem, but it's not. A title attempts to put the contents of the work into a couple of words. Thus the title would need to contain what the writer or "maker" thought was the most defining aspect. Homelessness is not the most defining aspect of homeless people.

I hate to feel the need to prove myself (in any sense) but through my church I have had the opportunity to meet homeless people in the heart of boston near Nathaniel hall and I can vouch for this belief.

To sum up: no person deserves a title. No matter the circumstance.

On a lighter note, my grandmother switched facilities and is doing a lot better. I feel bad that I doubted how much life was still in her. My studies in school are still rickety, as I just have so much trouble focusing. I'm loving Macbeth, it's a very entertaining story and I'm really not sure why I doubted Shakespeare's storytelling abilities. Unfortunately I haven't been very active on my blog, simply because I have very little to write about; I'm not in love, I'm not exploring the world, I haven't set any records, and I complain too much. Hopefully I'll find topics, philisophical or biographical.

Dreams, Running, Death and Clouds

There were three blog posts that I had in mind lately.

Firstly, for the past two, maybe even three years I've had dreams every night. This does seem unrealistic, but people mention that you dream every night, you just don't remember it. For some reason when I wake up and have no recollection of an actual dream, (awake) I'll have random images or strangely be thinking about something in particular (but of little relevance at the time). This in a way, assures me that I did dream. The subject of these dreams is nothing. They are simply randomly generated images in my mind. Some have a river, a lake, normally a house, surrounding trees, rooms at KO, faces that look like blurs yet in my mind I have the feeling that I know them (which would make sense). This is of little relevance, but I like dreaming because it reminds me that my mind is actually functioning.

So that's a thing.

Also, if anyone noticed (Mike did) it was a beautiful day outside. So I went for a run outside and felt cleansed, like all the worries, hopes, dreams, sorrows and any type of judgement was flushed from my body. It felt really good.

That's also a thing

Now, onto the bigger subject. My grandmother after falling (again) has been moved to a different memory care unit where the doctors suggest euthanasia. She is in her late 80s, have fallen 3 times now breaking different bones, has developed dementia and is in pain. My mom actually said that she was happy that the doctors were so honest about it. Anyway, it brought up the idea of death and such. This brought on many feelings (as it should) and in the past I haven't really been able to describe them very well, but can now: urgency. Urgency to do something, anything to make this life more worth it. I was sitting in the car on 84 looking out my window at a setting sun and a cloud filled sky and thought to myself "why not just stop and look at the sky" rather than go home and do homework/play video games/maybe run, all that day to day stuff. The rest of the car ride home I was staring out my window at a cloud filled sky. It's been a while since I've gazed onto something as beautiful. It took the thought of my grandmother's death, but I saw the sheer beauty in our world. Even if just for a little while. It is unfortunate that that type of vision cannot be simply turned on, if it could I'd just leave it on until kingdom come.

I've always been intrigued by clouds. One of my favorite parts about Colorado is how fast the clouds move; they seem so lively. Whether society crumbles or strives on, there will always be clouds.

*Maybe my mark in this world won't have been that I watched clouds, but that the clouds were watched by me.

On a side note, I thought about how people tend to like days with clear skies; I asked my mom why and she said "No chance for rain". There's something there and I know it; I'm just not sure what exactly.

Your Worth

So as mentioned in a comment in "Everything" during my weekly Wednesday school class at my church a "teacher" (more mentor/proctor/group leader) of mine talked about a recently homeless family asking the reverend of my church whether or not they could leave their belongings in the basement of the church because they could not bring them into the shelter. Mr. D talked about how that pile of belongings was everything they had...material that is. As Mr. Bristol pointed out, this idea just doesn't sit well when thought about. Is the worth of a person(s) the amount of belongings? Of course not, and this is quite the dry topic. Yet, I have some new spice to add. I was thinking about how the amount of belongings, is, obviously your worth to the functioning of society (not its improvement). But then, I started thinking. It seems to be easier for a homeless person to be appreciative. This is only a generalization and is completely situational (a new word). I thought that maybe they can be more appreciative because they're life has less aspects, thus less complex and easier to look at with perspective. This is most likely a part of it, and I thought that a good way to explain it would be that the more you have the less you have. If you have 5 belongings, they're all worth 1/5. If another person has 3 belongings they're all worth 1/3 and thus worth more. Thus (I know i overuse "thus") (and I'm sorry for mapping out my 1rst grade math problem) the less belongings you have the better. But not really. This is all completely hypothetical and not taking into account the nature of material and spiritual belongings. Yet it still somewhat applies, that the less you do, the more you care about what you're doing. This is all somewhat childish and a naive way of presenting it, yet I think this would be a decent thing to remind the power hungry businessmen of: that "staying" is the best way of moving forward.

I hope this made at least a hint of sense, for now that I can connect it to the "staying" ideology, it actually seems pretty relevant to me. Also this applies to relationships. I have only a couple friends, yet they're very good friends.

O, and I've noticed that the only comments (all of which I like) are responses of sort to my posts. If there is any kind of question on something, or misunderstanding, I'd really like to hear about it. I'm trying to get somewhat specific messages, and remain within specific topics for these posts, and if they're not getting across, there's no point. It is kind of strange, but please ask me questions. How my writing is being interpreted has become very important to me.

Everything

This past week has been strange to say the least. I abandoned my blog. This mistake was my first of many because I lost the connection with myself. In this last week I became everything I "wanted": unaware and ignorant. I can honestly say I was alright, I relaxed, didn't worry about too much and didn't really think. This was nice, but all I can remember is this tugging feeling, like something was missing in my days. I had lost my introspection. I didn't have as high highs or as low lows as I always had which was nice but I realize now that that is something that makes up my character.

Well I just stopped typing to complete my math homework and seem somewhat productive and I was thinking about interpretation and how words on a page can be interpreted differently from how I meant them. So to give a small hint to my intended interpretation: while I am writing this, I am slightly sad. Sad because I am consumed by a video game, am detaching from the "real" world, have lost track of my blog, and not kept up with my honors science class, which I feel was slightly inevitable. This life is just sad. I know it's not definite but I seemed to have "realized" that I'm not destined to be happy like Whitman is. When I'm happy (not joyous, just not worried, troubled) I lose track of the world. It escapes from my clutches and I become delirious of it. In the past week I've been slightly arrogant, thinking that I had things under control just because I wasn't introspecting about what can be improved or what is to be bettered. The reason I am stressing tone is not only for interpretation but also because I really admire in poetry how words on a page can be beautiful (primarily when read aloud) just because they sound good, or flow or just because you decide that they sound good. The tone is so important. One cannot read poetry when too upset to rationalize that not everything is bad.

When I say that I'm consumed by a video game, I am talking about a video game that I have taken up that is very fun (stimulating) and will always be there. What I mean by this is that no matter what happens, people die, friends leave, girls reject, my hearts pains, the game will still be there and will still be stimulating. It's a crutch that I've taken up that distracts me from the magnitude of reality. I'm not sure if I'd still be here if there weren't a game to distract me. I wonder if 19th century teenagers had it worse or better (mentally/emotionally).

Today I met with my psychologist. I went in feeling like everything was going pretty smoothly (except for a fight with a close friend of mine, but I had mainly blocked that to remain ignorant, unaware, "happy") we discussed everything, primarily the fight and I walked out of there feeling like the biggest waste of cell tissue on the planet. I know that I exaggerate but I really was feeling down. It wasn't that anything my psychologist said that really made me feel this way, it was my initiated (by the meeting) introspection. I felt so stupid and naive to have been ignorant for so long and to have spoiled what I have (and yadayadayda, sulk, sulk, sulk) until in the locker room when a close friend of mine told me that I wasn't a waste. He said it so evenly without emphasis yet it felt so good. It felt so good to know that I had a real column under me rather than a temporary or "fake" one under me such as a video game. To have a real person remind you that you're wanted and expected (to exist) means a lot. Then, later, another good friend of mine messaged me on Facebook demanding a blog post. If not for him I might not be writing this, and if I weren't writing this I might still be wallowing in ignorance.

I guess what I have learned from this is that I need to be more appreciative of my friends in my return to reality.

I guess I will return to being myself, so, so flawed, yet still....me.

A Barbaric Yawp (w/ addition)

I can really relate to what Whitman is trying to get across in the final two cantos of Song of Myself. He's making the world known of him through a barbaric yawp that he has put himself out there as a whole for others to take. It's scary how well this connects to everything we've studied in English this year and the entire philosophical idea of what it means to be appreciated. To feel like one is existing and with meaning it takes the recognizing of another (person) since we as humans are social beings. Whitman seems like a very joyous person but this joy can only continue if he has another to share it with (both ways). This idea is the foundation and basis of ALL relationships close or estrange.

"Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you."

(Now for an addition that I write for my personal blog)

In terms of how I relate to this, I too like Whitman want to sound my barbaric yawp for all to hear. So few of the people in my/our school really know who I am or what I'm about. Only my closest friends can really speak my language. The difference of language is a huge boundary. Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking a truly different language than some of my peers and it makes it so difficult to present myself to them. This wall between us only makes me think that they're uninterested and me think that they're simple and materialistic. I really don't want this. I wish I could present myself to all my peers on a silver platter and they could receive me if they please. Even the one's who talk of only material I would present myself to in hope that there truly is something more. If there really is visible meaning in this life (to me, at this time in my life) it would be someone effusing their secrets, fear, desires and thoughts to me. I have ears that so desire to listen to another's insight. Nothing makes me more warm inside than when someone shares an insight in English or pretty much anywhere. I wish I could shout a barbaric yawp to the world that I have ears for listening and all they need do is speak.

That is the worth of another day lived.

A Big Snowball

My blog post tonight starts with a very lame title (it was originally "appearance"). I thought about something creative but I thought why should I, if anyone is going to read a blog post by me they probably want to know what it's about before they get a headache actually reading it. This sounds very negative but it has to be because it's my transition into a discussion of appearance.

I want to make a fluffed up, appealing title but then some might misinterpret me. Recently I have come to terms with the fact that I am not a very attractive human being. It seems to matter A LOT to many peers of mine but for me it was easier to surpass because if I ever wanted someone to like me it would be for my insight. Unfortunately, I already know(in a sense) myself and thus couldn't perceive what another really would from first encounter.

This all seems really dum to me now re-reading it. It was triggered by reading that we'd have to write love poems in English on Tuesday and how immature many of my classmates can be about it.

That sounds arrogant...I know. I'm really not as mature as I think I am about love. It's very uncertain and that's one of my biggest phobias. Love seems scary, dangerous, awesome, comforting, unnerving, uncertain, stupid, wonderful and simplifying all at the same time.

I'm not sure why I'm talking about this, but I'm not going to stop just because it's really difficult to talk about. My simplistic worry about appearance was that someone who'd like me for me would never have the chance because they would be turned away by my social awkwardness or mediocre presentation of myself. My true worry on the other hand is that I would give myself as a whole to another person and they wouldn't do the same. Tied to a pole by some worry of vulnerability or fear of loss my significant other wouldn't be "significant"to me as I try to be for them.

It's tough being a fifteen year old guy. The guys around you (now much less-a swap in friend "groups") talk of sex and "action. I'm really not sure if this is really as present in their minds as it seems to be but as is already know to all, the male "want" for sex is high and thus those with big pants and small brains can't control it.

This must be so awkward to read, I apologize to anyone who's made it this far. That fear of how this will appear to any other teenager creeps down my spine, but, at the risk of never doing anything meaningful I will publish this. If I weren't to take any action and let this stew in my mind I would be crushed by the growing snowball of worries. Instead I divulge them in hope that other's feel the same.

A Quickie but Goodie

This is going to be short because it's not about really any kind of "topic". I just wanted to talk about something I want (see what I did there). I'm not sure how that's funny...

Anyway, (and in all seriousness) I want to send a big formal invitation letter to everyone I see. I want to have a key for every person I meet. Oskar was so right about the desire for E.S.P. It would make everything so much easier. There wouldn't be hurt feelings from mis-communication. Lovers would meet quicker, life long friends would find each other faster and every relationship would be so so clear like a window.

Or would that take out the "fun". Sure doesn't feel like "fun" to me most of the time (trying to develop relationships).

But in the end, inviting all those people into my home would only push out the ones already close to me.