"The First Rule Of Fight Club Is..."

For the past hour and a half, I've been feeling anxious, aggressive. There's a piece inside me that wants to feel pain, not the wussy emotional pain that we feel every day, but the pain that is the direct result of a fist of flesh slamming on another slab of it. Why? Something about it is welcoming, refreshing, and real. They say time is relative and how we (that is, you, myself, and Jane/Joe next to you) percieve is completely different. For some, there is never enough time; for others, there are copious amounts of it. And something tells me that emotional pain can perhaps be treated the same. Some of us shrug it off, as if we're acclimated to this, and as for others, let's just say that they lose the will to live. But the physical pain that's caused by our raw and primitive nature is constant. We will always bleed when we take more than our bodies can handle, our faces will grimace when we feel it coursing through our bodies, and we will always relish the taste of power when we see a limp body lying in defeat by our hands. It's a constant everyone sees and everyone fears. And now it seems near impossible to have a chance to taste that pain - only in the darkest corners of the world can we release our frustrations and have an opportunity to find that power. These opportunities are truly golden now because the culture we all live in now measures masculinity by what you own/possess, NOT by the power you can demonstrate with your fists. Also, it seems that many males are afraid to fight, to try to hold their own against someone else. Of course there will always be that rascal of a man who's willing to fight anything and anyone, but they fight, I presume, for the wrong reasons - for their girl, family, money, country or whatever else you'd like to chose. But nobody really fights for themselves anymore - to test their strenght, to get stronger, or even just for the hell of it. Nowadays, people just brandish their piece and get what they want - no punches thrown, no fight instigated, and in the end we just see a wimpering coward and his subdoer. Again, the culture that constantly measures a man by his possessions is perpetually drilled into our minds and we find on our hands and knees toiling and slaving to buy the things that define us, rather than working to define ourselves. Such a reality is depressing and emasculating, when you measure your very manhood on something so foolish as your possesions. There's nothing wrong with having nice toys, but when you allow them define you - then you f*cked yourself up.

Sparks On A Strawberry Swing

I'm finding the need to compose - nay, orchestrate - these words on freedom's twilight hours, before we are once more enslaved to school and its terrors, which can debilitate even the most halcyon spirits. On this fine day, my mind and ears have been egregiously obsessed on two songs, which I believe are capturing the state of mind I'm finding myself drowning in.

The first is Strawberry Swing - the song has a strong feeling that reminds me of daydreams, those fantasies you swear are palpable, perhaps so much you believe it to be true. The daydream, however, slowly and painfully ebbs away - we are rudely awakened by the responsibilities found on this earth: work, school, and finding a spouse to please our parents. And the song, I believe captures this atmosphere - where imaginations and ideals roam freely, if only for a little while. The song somewhat depresses me, I guess because I understood this song without really understanding its meaning - doesn't really make any sense, does it?

The second is Sparks - and with my friend's wedding in just several weeks, I can't help but question myself "Will I myself be married?" I don't think it's an aberration for a grown man to reflect on the prospects of marriage, but he shouldn't dismiss the possibility altogether, you know? Marriage, that in itself is a daunting concept - to devote you heart, mind, body and soul to just one person, the one you truly believe in the deepest crevices of your existance to be the JUST FOR YOU. And with marriage, you just don't "get together", YOUR BECOME ONE WITH YOUR OTHER and your little "get together" becomes a partnership, a life-support system, a union of two souls, or whatever you'd like to think of it. That's why your "partner" is referred to as a significant other - he/she is PARAMOUNT IN YOUR LIFE. It also translates to A PROMISE- a promise you have to carry out and be true to it, "in sickness and in health..." as it's frequently said. That's why A WEDDING IS A CEREMONY, not, say an ocasional meeting or a day-to-day occurrance. The wedding ceremony demonstrates your committment to the one just for you, and, by the ceremony's conclusion, your willingness to become one metamorphoses into that special promise you vow you'll never break. Unfortunately, such promises are frequently broken - 85% of them, in fact (but that's if you live in Sunny Cali) - because many men and women are only partially willing to devote only one or two of the four I've mentioned a while back. And where does that leave me when I got married? ONLY 15% OF HAVING A SUCCESSFUL MARRIAGE? No doubt that number will continually become slimmer! But I'm digressing once more; let's return to the song. I must admit: I have trouble deciphering the song: is the song for somebody, perhaps a conversation in progress, or even an introspective view of what's to come? All three ideas work flawlessly. Regardless, the song is lavishly simple and heavily romantic, in a meloncholy, yet meaningful way. It's a song that reminds me of two things: asking someone to be my girlfriend/fiancé or, strangely, a couple's wedding song. It's a song where its message can really reflect one's emotions and can be quoted genuinely.  Despite the affirmation of love from one to the other, there's a caveat towards the end of the ballad, that, regardless of the great promises love offers, we will be let down and be disappionted of them from time to time. The disappiontment is a good thing, I think, because if a relationship was only sunshine and rainbows, then we're hiding or perhaps internalizing the negative aspects of the relationship: aspects that can be ameliorated or eliminated. My point is that every relationship MUST have its stormy weather, and this good-natured truth rings true in the song. For a while, I was fixated on the song, listening and reciting its words to my invisible lady friend (she says hello, by the way), who shares late night trips across three cities on mundane & insipid errands across my home town. For a while, I too envisioned myself waltzing to this song, with my arms surrounding her, and lips reciting the dichotomic message of affirmation and disappiontment. I wonder just where that leaves me on the social ladder: pathetic loser or hopeless romantic?

The Last Week

In six day's time, school resumes. Yet, amidst the excitement of new prospects of a fresh fall semester can offer, there's a palpable melancholy atmosphere hanging in the air that I just can't shake. It's intimidating, daunting, and instills doubt to all the plans I, we, or whomever, have planned for the next few months. "The best laid plans are of mice and men" - is that what I'm saying here? Perhaps not, since I have but a slight understanding of the phrase here. But I digress; I'm always digressing, aren't I? Anyhow, I'm possessing this feeling that we - you, me, and whomever wants to join our little group therapy session - are not truly prepared for what's to come, despite all the effort to meticulously plan every single little snippet of our plans. Now, I'm not saying it will fail; I'm saying that we will have to endure trials and tribulations before we are acclimated to a steady pace in which we can carry out our plans auspaciously. I know this sounds so egregiously cynical and pessimistic, spending the last week of summer vacation engrossed in this tirade when it should be spent preparing the mind, body, heart, and soul for sleepless nights, broken hearts, and top ramen soup.

Open Mic Night

So last week, some of my friends hosted an Open Mic Night and I was one of the acts enlisted to play. About a month prior, I was working on material with a friend and we had just about perfected our choice song. Then in the final week before, and because of musical differences (he thought it wasn't "hardcore" enough), we decided to do our own set piece. Long story short, I was set to perform in front of a crowd of 100 alone instead of with my friend. And once the event was taking place, I grew more and more anxious as I hastily crossed off the people in the list who had already performed. My heart raced, it was difficult to breath, and I recited my piece just before I was set to play. When I was on stage, everything just ebbed away and I was in complete control. I couldn't explain it. It was perplexing, but very exciting. I hope to put myself out there more often.

Feeling Inspired

After reading other's blogs that were both asanine and sublime, but deliciously entertaining, I was feeling inspired to start one myself. I hesitated until now, of course, because I've been feeling that not much happens in my life for it to be appealing. I'm not saying that my life's boring or vacuous, but rather inconsistent and I want to be confident that I can use this blog liberally for years to come, not just for the remainder of the year and be done with it.

I have no expectations of having a blog, because 1) I never had one, and 2) I don't know what to do with it. That is to say that there are a myriad of uses for blogs and the last thing I want it be is to place where I am constantly bickering. Not that I'll do that, but I hope that I can entertain my fellow readers (if they find this blog, of course) with my stories, observations, and thought processes. As always, I am getting ahead of myself.