Eulogy Time

Its the beginning of a new year. Or the first month, at least. In my prime (which I hope has only lagged behind, rather than past) It would be the time I close another writing journal, banding up another Moleskein or twisting the cheap notebook out of the make-believe leather covering. And before I'd start fresh, letting the ink sink into the first unsuspecting pages of my replacement, I'd look back one last time at what I'd written, attempted to write, or failed to complete throughout the year.

Because its always somewhat bittersweet, and because the memories soon fade and are replaced with new ones, much like new life replaces death, I called it 'Eulogy for a Journal.'

But, I haven't quite been performing like i was in that prime lately. Not only have I failed to exhaust my journal, but through some wonderful folly, I wound up with two journals. One, the same faux leather covering over a stiff, simple, easy to carry notebook. The other is something I picked up at a Borders in New York. Beautiful hardcover, magnetic flap, and covered with elegant, driven scrawl. A speech by Abraham Lincoln. In the one that's easy to have everywhere, I have the thoughts that I have everywhere. Including many of the banal things that I simply have to write down. In the other beautiful, writing inspired/inspiring book, I have my beautiful writing. Or, what I try to write, at the very least.

It works out well, I suppose. Two books. Two blogs. And going back and seeing the failed attempts, or the poor successes, has always lead to great things, in my mind. So I'll be having a eulogy for both. Check in here if you want to know some of the foolish, boring, insane, truthful things that went through my mind in 2009, and check Eulogy for a Journal, if you want fiction, poetry, and pretty words that don't quite belong anywhere. Lets remember that year together.

Why we don't hang out anymore.

Everyday I can feel the gap between myself and what was once my contemporaries growing wider, and wider, and wider.  Some of it I don't quite mind.  Some if it is based on a different level of values and morals.  I won't be talking about the high priced modifications made on my high priced car anytime soon.  I was never the guy to laugh and quip and say 'Who, her?  I fucked her last week!'  I don't really want to go through a list of 'remember that time's.  I've done that too many times already, and the only thing it does is make even more clear the bitter fact that the good ol' days are never coming back.  And speaking of the good ol' days, I think the teenage under-aged drinking year saw me using up all my 'Get drunk and weep' encounters, and should have done the same for you.  Seeing my friends get drunk and lament tearfully now is just a good way to ruin a night, and for whatever reason I hold my liquor better than all of them now.

That is not a challenge.  Those days, too, are long gone.

But there are certain things that I miss.  It's a little strange but I miss being 'The New Guy'.  There's a certain fascination that surrounds The New Guy.  He's different, a little alien, but somehow manages to be cool.  And I'm not saying that I need to be cool.  I'm twenty-six years old, I've already discovered how to concentrate my cool into physical form, like my mojo.

What I DO miss is that certain level of open minded-ness posessed by those who witness The New Guy's strange brand of cool.  To do away with the confusing allegory and get right to the heart of it: There's some shit that I want to share with you, but you're just too damn resistant.  And I guess that's just a part of growing up.  You know who you are and you are resolute in it.  There's no space in you for new ideas unless its from self discovery.  Otherwise you're still that kid saying 'Me too' after the crowd has already agreed.  I understand.  I really do.  But I miss that.  More than anything else, I miss that.

Here's an example.  Once upon a time we swam in each other's musical eclecticism to the point that we'd put our conjoined names on mix tapes and CDs.  I dn't think I'd have discovered Portishead or; being an east coast fanatic; delved so deeply into West Coast Rap if it weren't for you.  Likewise, If it weren't for me, you might all still be listening to nothing BUT west coast rap.  And we'd do this by just hanging out, just relaxing in each other's presence, letting down our defenses, and letting vibes just flow, with music in the background.  Why don't we do that anymore?  I'll tell you why, because you are resolute.  And there's some stuff I really want to open your mind to, man.  We're not eighteen anymore.  Its okay to listen to music that isn't angry or depressing.  You don't have to hate Lupe Fisaco or Talib Kwali.  Mos Def is STILL cool!  You can even listen to music that doesn't refer to sex as an act of violence. It won't make you a pussy, I promise!  In fact, it'll probably be to your benefit.  The fact that you're above the age of thirteen and still have to think of your penis as a weapon, and still think of sex as assault. is another reason why we don't hang out anymore.

Further to the point, we are in the Caribbean.  Rap, rock, and R&B are fine, but that's not really us.  Its okay to listen to Soca and Calypso.  Listening to it doesn't mean your gay.  And if you're still unsure there are some guys from germany that'll blow your mind.

Music is just one part of why we don't hang out anymore.  The rest of the list is endless.  Well, that's not true.  The rest of the list mostly goes:

• Your girlfriend is always around.  Plus, I think she's flirting with me.
• I think you're trying to kill me.
• You beat women now.  You probably did then, but I know you do now.
• You only want to hang out when YOU want to hang out. 
  
• You never want to hang out when I want to hang out.
• You expect me to be your yes-man.
• I only like you when you're drunk.
• I really don't like you when you're drunk.
• I never really liked you.
• You're always drunk.

I think that about sums it up.  I really just wanted to talk about music though.

The Road to Seaside

There are some things that catch my attention instantly.  If I were half as spontaneous as i'd like to be I'd jump on these things as soon as possible.  I'm not that.  I'm hesitant.  And hesitancy leads to further hesitancy.  Take The Seaside Institute - Escape to Create for instance.  It sounds great.  It sounds like a blast and possibly just what I'm looking for.  But then I hesitate, and instead of coming to an obstacle like normal people I go looking for one.  And they're all little things.  All 'maybe nots' and 'might not works'.

What do you suppose would happen if I took a shot?  I think I might actually explode, but then again, that's just more hesitancy.

Aside from that, I'm wasting a gift.  No, not talent, though I'm wasting that too.  I'm wasting opportunity.  July, my birth month, ought to be a month of rewards, so why not make June the month in which I'll earn it?  Yeah, that's the ticket.  This month is gonna be my personal productivity month.  Keep tuned, and I'll keep you abreast.

Heh.  Breast.

What's stopping me?

Its right there.  Its all right there in front of me.  I have two envelopes on my desk.  In those envelopes are four other envelopes, along with a letter thanking the reader for agreeing to write my reccomendation letters for college applications, and requesting they make four copies and seal them in the included envelopes.  I've thought of just about everything.  I'm prepared.  There would be three envelopes on my desk but the third one is in my messenger bag, ready to be delivered.  But it hasn't been, actually.  None of them have been delievered.  The dates on them are two weeks old.

What's wrong with me?  Why do i hesitate with these things?  Why do I tell myself that its what I want so badly, and then do nothing to bring them about?  Why am I so intent on destroying myself?

And then there's just the fact that there's SO much to do, and only one me to do them.  But I can't help but think that I only use this as an excuse really.  Who else would do them anyway?  I guess I have to suck it up, but doing these things without help feels hopeless.  Like I'm doomed without someone else input.  Maybe its a self confidence thing.  maybe its reality.  Maybe I'm just afraid of my own success, and I trick myself into thinking I'm really just afraid of failure.  I wish someone could help me sort this out. 

I wish I was strong enough to sort it out myself.

The Changing Leaves

I would very much like my life to be like the seasons.

If, by some inhuman capacity, you were able to stand perfectly still while the world blazed by you would have some idea of what I mean. You'd be able to see them changing constantly. The brown crunch underfoot inevitably turns to green, filling the air with their freshness and adding an involuntary spring to your step. Then the green matures, turns golden and regal, and eventually takes one last glorious dive from the the tips of treetops to the firmament. Trees almost shudder in Autumn, as if they want to shed their leaves, if just for the enjoyment of nostalgia. Old turns to new as if that is what was meant to be, and just as joyously what was new becomes old. You can't enjoy the seasons without enjoying the passing of them.

I want to my life to be like that. In truth it may already be like that, but what I really want is to see it that way again. I want to enjoy it all, even the less pleasant bits, the way I used to not too long ago.

This is quickly becoming maudlin, which I did not intend. But perhaps writing without real intent is precisely what I need. That's how things were back then, you see. I wasn't trying. I was just doing. Just living. Trying to make the leaves change, or make them not change, may have been my biggest mistake. And so, I'd like to get back to that feeling, and perhaps writing with abandon is my ticket there. This blog is a silly little thing, much like the silly little thing I had before. But its new, and because of that its still sort of hidden. I don't have to worry about friends and loved ones getting their feelings hurt, or family members angry at the secrets I tell. Well, I suppose I do have to worry about that, but I'll try not to. I can be honest here. I can be frank. Yes, this silly thing...this seems like a good start.