"I thought I was strong, thought I was right, thought it was better not to fight, I thought there was a virtue in always being cool"

Right now I want to be more asleep than awake, but yet I am not, and I still am existing in front of this monitor, pouring out all this banter into a box inside a box that doesn't exist anywhere. I am just masturbating with words. Had an english teacher who told us that. He said that when you ramble on it's the same thing as masturbating. That's how he introduced us to Freud, and a whole world of other methods of interpretation. Existentialism was my favorite then, and to a degree, still is. After college, I am going to be purely existential. I am only going to be what I make of myself. Otherwise I am nothing.

Today was nice and slow, much needed. I drank beer and went sledding last night. I got drunk in a place that was not my home, but some good friends helped me along, and I did get home alright. I did run across the highway without the safety provided by the walk signal, but it was way past midnight, so the road was empty. It was nice to walk alone in the cold, with that after glow of alcohol keeping me warm and keeping my mind empty of everything except for the serene beauty that lingers on this campus once all the people go away. Once the cars full of screaming assholes go away, and once the rest of us sleep, the true wonder of this place comes alive. Seeing a place that is meant to be so populated and bustling with activity go dead somehow is just warming and inspiring to me. I love abandoned factories for this single reason. These once industrious places are silent, monuments to progress and the short sighted nature of man. Nothing lasts forever, and we should all know that.

Today was nice and slow, but an event happened that somehow is telling. I smoke once in a while, tobacco products, usually when intoxicated. To Robert Manc and I complained that we lacked things to smoke. Next to my vehicle, which is warming up, pulls a familiar Subaru. Robert, inside, rolls down his window. I follow suit. We talk. Our cars are facing the same direction, so he is far from me, with a passenger. I too have a passenger. Both of our outriders are female, but that's just more masturbation. We talk of mundane things, I turn my head, then turn it back, and I see something shiny flying. This shiny object hits me in the face, right on my lip, right where it covers up my left canine. My adrenaline kicks in, and for a second I am furious. I am in defensive mode. Then I realize what happened. Robert threw a pack of cigs into the car, and it hit me in the face. It cut me a little bit, just a tiny bit, but it was very telling. There are times when you are given a gift, but it ends up hurting you more than you initially realize. I think that this was one of those cases.

You know, there are sometimes when I am completely lost, and in this moment, I am lost. I just don't know what to do. It is early, I am alone in every way imaginable, with no living thing near me, not even through the web. Nothing is out there right now. While I love to see the life drained from campus, I don't like living it. It is times like this that I remember that I don't like to be alone, and I have memories of being a child and wondering what the word "lonely" meant. I pondered that word for so long when I was younger. So many children's stories revolved around the concept. I thought and thought and thought. I wondered how one would know that they were lonely. I tried to wrap my head around it. I tried being lonely, but I didn't quite understand the concept fully, so I was being lonely when my mom was around. Not the best way to learn. It went on for a while, and eventually I forgot about it, like most things. I just grew, and figured that I would find it. This is one of those moments when I look back to being a kid, and wanting to know desperately what it was to be lonely, and I think, "God, how stupid I was."

So here I am, alone in my room, the same music going through my head, lonely, thinking about the future and exactly when I am going to have an idea of what the hell I am going to do with myself, my life, others, you, me, him, her, us, them, we, they, sie, ihr, er, es, all of it. I wonder, and to be honest, I fluctuate between terror and boredom. I don't care, and then I do. I don't, I do. It goes on like that for a long time, and then I come to the conclusion that I can't do anything about it now, at 4.44 am, and that I should instead sleep and go to Records and Registration tomorrow and try and get more time for my thesis by underpointing.

"Why does it matter?"

-ccm

I'm usually not big on letting other things speak for me, but there is a song that just encapsulates me at this moment. It is done by the Zombies, and came my way through the movie "The Life Aquatic"

"The Way I Feel Inside"

should i try to hide

the way i feel inside

my heart for you?

would you say that you

would try to love me too?

in your mind could you ever be

really close to me?

i can tell the way you smile

if i feel that i could be certain then

i would say the things

i want to say tonight



but till i can see

that you'd really care for me 

i will dream that someday you'll be

really close to me

i can tell the way you smile

if i feel that i could be certain then

i would say the things

i want to say tonight



but till i can see

that you'd really care for me

i'll keep trying to hide

the way i feel inside



So that's that.  A beautiful song.



The radio is something that I feel like I want to do forever.  I say that everytime I do it, and I mean it.  Maybe I'll look into it.

Until tomorrow, I'll still be me, and everyone everywhere will be themselves too

-ccm

Before i fell asleep i heard a fire alarm go off in my head
I thought of a song that i was trying to learn
knew that what i thought was a line in that song
and thought of how unoriginal i was.

Oh well

I had a lot of fun all around today, and i found that it is possible to be more than one chris at a time. I learn something new everyday. I had a really awesome talk like i haven't had in just over a year, and it makes me so happy that i can't even begin to describe.

I hope things go well on this first day of school, and I hope that life keeps being good...for at least one more day.

-ccm

Made of plastic and elastic he is rugged and long lasting...who could ever ask for more? Love without complications galore!

The snow is making me feel sentimental. Falling so freely, without nervous systems or thoughts, they flutter to earth, all unique, yet just a mass. They become indistinguishable from each other, and just are transformed from being beautiful to bland. They are trampled underfoot and shoveled. The beauty that they once gave to the world is lost, and they become a curse. They become troublesome, unwanted by the world and by me.

I always am sort of somber when it snows, somber and sentimental. I think of love in the snow. I think of walking past all the lights with someone I love. Snow becomes magical when illuminated by streetlamps. It dances and twirls around the beacon thrust up high into the air, it becomes a million moths fluttering to the light. It's is one of the singularly most wonderful things that one can witness. In storms like this the nights become full of beauty. I could walk through the night forever, just looking at the wonders that abound. I would never be bored, only lonely, and wanting to share this thing with someone else.

Well, now that you know, will you look? Will you wander? Will you stop for a minute and think about the little treat that this storm is giving you? It rarely snows these days, so I never get to see this anymore, but I get to see it now. It's like a sphere of light containing many sparkling flakes. Though obvious, it reminds me of a massive snowglobe. It is wonderous like those little knicknacks used to be. It is just pleasing to me.

Maybe we'll take a walk in the snow, anyone who reads this, and maybe we'll appreciate it. Most likely not. We'll think of how cold we are, or how we have things to do, how we should be doing things, how we aren't doing things. We'll think of everything else in the world that we can and we won't be able to appreciate this very simple thing that has been put before us. I don't believe in a god, or anything of that sort, but this storm is a blessing for letting me see this sight at least one more time.

In another note, amid my rantings about how wonderous life can be (though manic me will follow this with something depressing soon, trust me), school is coming back together, and to be honest I am really glad to see so many people. There are some people that I am not happy to see at all, and in fact, I'm not going to see them this semester because if I keep seeing them I will tell them just how I feel about them. I'm streamlining my life. I can't afford to bullshit myself by dealing with people that I don't like or care about at this point. There is so little time left here that I am feeling the stress. Something has got to give, and you are it. Not all of you, not most of you. If you feel something cold and icy from me, it is you, and I'm sorry to say it, but I think it would be better for both of us if we just passed each other in the night, akin to ships. Sorry to break it to you, if you think it's you.

About the last rant: if you think it's you, and you're worried, or whatever, IM me or something. In fact, this probably won't matter to anyone, myself included, but it was in my mind and needed to be said.

I can write anything that I want now, except what I need to do. Thesis, you are the enemy, and I will conquer you come hell or high water. Or snow.

On another note, I had a great night with Dana, Sarah, Jess, and Robert. It's amazing how fun watching a movie can be after you've been triple teamed in a snow war. Ah yes, the warmth of hot chocolate when combined with a film makes everything just good. Kahlua helps too.

As the wind howls outside, so do I, inside.

-ccm

(way too dramatic in my own mind tonight)

Something i can't understand, something so complex and constant in its equation, so dense that light cannot escape from

Something was just off tonight, probably with me, but something didn't seem right. I just felt out of place. It may be that I feel like college is ending, it may be that i feel like i need something more in life. It may be a lot of things, but there was this degree of personal alienation, self imposed, that i did not expect. Something didn't feel right in my gut.

I just wanted to go smoke alone and talk to some people, talk about life. Maybe i was just feeling artsy, or something. I didn't want to drink. I just wanted to talk. Talking, i've rediscovered, is what i love. there's something so nice about picking a brain, about learning something about someone. I feel like drinking and all that is empty. Or, doing it just to excess, for excess is.

So what does this mean? It means that i will drink and whatnot, but i don't see being drunk much. I've found that the happiest times i have at our parties are when i talk to people, on the balcony, over a cig or cigar, or just talking over a drink, or in the afterglow. This is me reconciling with me, the old me, the one that seemed to have been dead. I am more my mother's side: I like to know about people and their lives. I like to know, and I like to be there for them.

One day i'll throw my dream party, and no one will have fun. It'll be music that no one wants to hear, and it will be slow. We'll all wear black and berets. It would be piano...I'm big on a Gershwin album i have, this one i got for christmas. I would love to sit there with people i dig and talk about things, about life, about art, passion, all sorts of things, but people will not stand for that. People need direction, and form. The chaos that i love is not loved by all. Maybe it's me feeling all sorts of odd these days, but something just wasn't good in me tonight. That party I love will live in my head, and maybe i'll make it a dinner party. Maybe I'll cook something. I'll be proactive, and make it happen. Then we can talk and live and love and whatever over a meal and wine, and all the while, the Gershwin will play in the back.

That would be ideal, and that would be fitting of me. I'm old again, before my time, but just in time.

-ccm

What is it to worry?

Do I have time to worry?

Why should I even care?

I can worry all the time or not at all.

While I don't worry, I can build a sandcastle.

The castle will house all my broken dreams safely in its solid form, carved from the joining of ocean currents and rocks, rocks that have been ground down to less than pebbles over many years.

My dreams will take up residence inside this solid mass, shaped of a castle.

They may enjoy the view.

The view is of an ocean, long and flat, blue or green, with or without fish.

The fish, if they are there, will watch as the castle is slowly washed away.

My dreams will roll along the currents with the castle.

The currents will jostle my dreams around, maybe taking them past a jellyfish or two, or hundreds, assuming that such things exist.

The speculative jellyfish will ponder my dreams with their lacking eyes and wonder why they are rolling along the currents, potentially bound for Australia.

Australia will await the arrival of my dreams, but they will never come.

My dreams will in fact not go to the southern hemisphere, but remain quite north of the equator, settling finally in the icy waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean.

An orca might see one of my dreams, a dream of seals and sea lions, and try to eat it.

The orca will go hungry that day.

My dream, undaunted, will catch up to the rest of my broken dreams, and it will head towards Sweden, which is the topic of one of the dreams, a very talkative and convincing dream.

The talkative dream convinced all the others that Sweden is quite nice in the winter.

My dreams are stupid, and will long for warmer weather.

The warm weather is in a non broken dream, which did not enter the mass of sand known as the castle of broken dreams.

I hold onto that memory of warm weather, in my head of non broken dreams, and I think of how nice that weather is compared to Sweden in the winter time.

Though, I hear that the country is beautiful when it snows.

My broken dreams are now off the coast, wondering if there will be a castle for them to put their broken dreams into.

Their world is the dreamscape.

They want to find a landscape.

They want a room with a view, like the one they had in their second home, the sand castle.

Formed with buckets, that castle washed away.

I thought that when the castle washed away that I would never hear from my broken dreams again.

Little did I know that they would indeed contact me.

I recently recieved a postcard from them, sent from the Swedish town of Sundsvall.

The post card was very nice, not fitting of broken dreams at all.

They always did have a sense of humour, those wily dreams.

They often played cruel tricks on me, as a boy.

They kept playing tricks on me, as a man.

That's why I went to the beach.

Maybe someday they'll make it to Australia, where the Kangaroos eagerly await their arrival.

An Aboriginal man wants to walk with them in the Dreamtime.

The man wants to talk these broken dreams down.

The man wants to give them therapy, lie them down on a couch while he talks about their fragmented childhood, and why exactly it was that the dreams had to make themselves feel better by being so cruel to me.

When the dreams are mended, when they are not broken, they will travel around the globe.

They'll take the long way.

They'll apologize to the orca, they'll make amends with the jelly fish.

I'll be in my room when they arrive, reading.

Awkwardly, they will enter the room.

"Been a while.", I'll quip.

"Look, we've been through a lot this past year. Maybe we can make ammends?", they'll all jive, in unison.

"I would like that.", I'll say, dryly, whilst sipping a martini.

"Can we drink too?" They'll say, looking at my glass.

"I don't like you when you drink. Can we just stick to the subject matter?", I'll say, irked, knowing deep down inside that any good host would offer them a drink.

"Fine. We want back in. Our castle washed away, and though Sweden is nice, it is cold. We learned a lot in Australia, and now we want to show you we've changed.", they all say, snidely.

"Well, okay...as long as you promise to play nice.", I'll say to them, playfully at first, but then I'll somberly think to myself, "I wonder how I'll live these mended dreams, and if I should really let them in?"

Sensing my hesitation they chime together sing songily saying, "Don't worry Chris. This time, things will be okay...they'll be okay..."

I split my skull, and they come inside.

The non broken dreams, the old ones, offer the newly mended dreams a martini or ten when they come in.

My dreams are much better hosts than I am.

-ccm

To make money to do good things in this world, sometimes we have to do things that we don't like. Sometimes we have to do things that we don't like to people, and sometimes we have to do these dastardly things to people that we not only know, but love.

Sometimes we have to tear hearts asunder, sometimes we have to make a way for ourselves, to create an empty void where the things known as "me" can flourish. Something has to give, as is always the case in a world that lives and dies by entropy, and in that now empty space you will find who you are talking to now.

Choices need to be made, lives need to be settled. Jumbling minds bound and leap across the void right now, daring it to swallow them whole. The void would welcome these minds, the thoughts they contain, and the ambitions that they hold within. It would love to swallow them whole, it would love to tear them apart. The void feasts on hope.

The void is tempting in its oblivion. It welcomes your love and fear. It would like to know you, to know what makes you tick. For a void, it is quite warm, quite welcoming to strangers. Stay a while, won't you?

It wants you to. It would love for you to just rot there, within its nothingness. That would be its ideal, its hope, but don't grant the void its wish. Skirt the edges, jump around, and live a life full of risk and excitement, because you never know when you'll get swallowed up. Tear a space for yourself, find what you need, and don't be afraid, don't ever be afraid. Fear is the mindkiller, so it is said by others, and once you succumb to fear, you fall into the void.

Just follow your heart, and everything will be ok, eventually. You'll know which way to go, and it will be the right choice...after all, whichever choice you make is the right choice, for you, at the moment. There are no wrong choices...not today, at least.

Make the void fill up with envy of the wonderful life that you are leading

-ccm