2

“Well, look at all those fancy clothes
But these could keep us warm
Just like those.

And what about your soul
Is it cold
Is it straight from the mould
And ready to be sold.

And cars and phones and diamond rings
Bling, bling
Those are only removable things
And what about your mind
Does it shine or
Are there things that concern you more
Than your time?”

-Jack Johnson, Gone

I don’t feel particularly expository today, but for the sake of keeping this blog up to date and to avoid particular obligations toward my physics class, I’m going try to make this an interesting entry.

It’s Sept. 24th, the first day back at UCD, Fall 2009. Spending the last night of summer with good friends, P and J, I realized a few things.

1) People who you think you’ve figured out are never the way you think they are. Their souls reach far deeper than any deep spiritual, emotional or intellectual conversation you can have with them. I believe only through physical hardship, emotional turmoil, intellectual progression can one being become closer in soul with another.

2) Someone’s naïveté is, sometimes, another’s denial or refusal, which can sometimes be called ignorance or optimisim. And, all around, someone’s realization is another way to deny or refuse; occasionally in a negative way.

Let me expound upon my statements. For the first I relate to my close friends I’ve made here. Two years ago I didn’t know any of these people. Over the years my eyes have seen many faces, my hands haven shook manys others, my mouth has spoken many niceties, my body present for many sad, joyous and difficult occasions. Think about it, two years ago, I didn’t even know these people existed, let alone did I worry, love, hate, was envious of them. It’s an amazing thing, communication and life. Both can bring such openness and such happiness to someone, but at a price. Ups and downs are normal and expected, but the feelings of when you are so high and when you are so low is something your parents, friends, family members can never teach you. You must risk to feel it all before you can tell anyone what life is all about. You must risk your neck, your heart, your head for something you don’t even know.

As out late president Theodore Roosevelt put it, “No man is worth his salt who is not ready at all times to risk his body-to risk his well-being-to risk his life-in a great cause.”

In commemoration to Teddy, I’m have already begun my conversion to risk. I don’t want my grandchildren…if I have any…to fall asleep to my stories about my late night tea drinking nights with my laptop and stories in my head.

My mind. Hmmm.

My mind is someone on its own. Always distracting me from my life. Always making me unsatisfied with everyone’s daily action or lack thereof. But it’s a hypocritical thought. How brazen of me to say so, right?

I profess to see change in the world yet only have done mediocre volunteer work and unsatisfactorily finished pet adoption week at the Petco in San Diego a few times. I say I hate to see the want of society in such plain dress and language but, with shame and sheer laziness to use better diction, I use the same slang  and my wardrobe needs a major change from drab and lazy to…dare I say it…fab and of my age? I profess my like so much to travel yet my own shoes have seen little of the world, I express opinions of books, of culture, of philosophy yet my stories or critic papers have never seen the light of day nor can I handle another’s criticism. I cannot even boast of the super culture that festers in my mind, for to be cultured one cannot be so critical, but would be so prone to being open minded and easy upon one’s sex, generation and humanity because one has so much UNDERSTANDING. I lack so much of this. How can one judge so harshly, dismiss people easily and yet yearn to let people see who they really are and welcome them without opening a door first? Is it fear? Is it caution? Is it cowardice? It is smart? What?

My heart. Such a topic cannot be discussed without revealing too much too soon.  Think of a medicine bottle you get from the physician when you get a severe cold. It’s tiny, so powerful, you covet it  until you use it and you get the effects you want, physically/emotionally/whatever and then you throw the rest out or keep it in a dusty closet and forget about it; only to see it again and remember when you had that really bad cold and proceed to be rid forever when you chuck it to the waste basket during “Spring Cleaning” where you welcome new bottles for those pesky allergies.

Sometimes memories, emotions or, even, people are treated like that. It’s really sick. To sum this all up, I have a very bitter aftertaste in my mouth…and I hope someone out there understands my metaphor.

Here’s the fun part of my entry.

What I’m currently reading:

1) Roger Scruton, Guide to Philosophy

2) Pablo Neruda, Poetry

What I’m currently listening to:

1) Kings of Leon, Use Somebody

2) Paramore, Ignorance

3) Silversun Pickups, Lazy Eye

What I recommend YOU:

1)  James Frey, Bright Shiny Morning

2) Pablo Neruda, from Las Piedras de Chile, History (“For stone was the blood, for stone the weeping, the prayer, the procession: stone was free will…”)

3) Stephan King,  Four Past Midnight: Secret Window Secret Garden

 

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