Gander of Thought

Dear Conscience

2009-04-14T21:09:00.001-04:00

Dear conscience
Something isn’t right
Guiltless nights
Restless days
Skirting around humanity
Plowing through insanity.

Dear conscience
Teach me how to feel
Be it guilty, happy
Nervous or mad
I’m tired of empty
Nothing but numb ahead.

Dear conscience
Get back on your feet
You’ve been asleep for too long
Its time to wake up
Along with your cousins:
Passion, hopes, and dreams.

CHANGE

2009-01-20T17:43:00.003-05:00

Changing fast

The world is crazy.

Weebles wobble

Dangerously close.

Changing quick

Running in circles

No more bills

No more taxes

The world is changing

One president at a time

So take a drink,

Sit back

Relax, wonder, experience

This wonderful change

Something new

Instead of old.

Where's Waldo?

Old Vices Return

2008-08-05T10:28:00.001-04:00

I guess I'm going to have to keep wondering when you'll look back and face the real self you're letting wander in the shadows. You're refusing to trace your footsteps into reality and instead keep trudging towards what appears to be a selfish facade of indulgence. Like gluttony and lust, filling your plate too much and satisfying your very needs, you'll only end up alone and pathetic -- a perfect example of who you are versus who you could have been. Face your deadly vices, count them all on two hands, but don't dare look to me for help when your throat is clamping and you're beginning to choke. Perhaps speaking up with truth earlier would have helped you in the end. Instead, the filth lined the back of your tongue, making you the eighth vice on my list.

--dated 9/12/07... a look back to almost a year ago.

Infinity Speaks

2008-07-30T20:27:00.000-04:00

Infinite Noise, Quiet, and Force.
Exploding, Imploding. Exploring.
A moment without words – expression.

The world revolving around the evolved.
Her presence echoes, quietly.
Singing… her music tells a story.

The waves that carry miles of barrier --
Language, time, and surf,
Continuously crash, recede, and repeat.

The sounds echo without much menace
A sound that soothes and reaches
To those nearby, eyeing the rising sun.

The warmth stretches its comfort and arms
Enveloping and holding the silence
Of anyone willing to witness the sight.

Becoming and destroying, one entity of force
Strengthening, Weakening, Being.
Creation at its peak -- an infinite voice.

False Days

2008-06-29T02:12:00.000-04:00

this is a day of celebration.
we are of the bold and the free.
though
irony and its laughter plays
within these veins
for this is also a day i dread.

independence.
noun.
self-rule and self-determination.

bullshit.

From the Vault - April 2007

2008-06-16T09:34:00.000-04:00

This present anxiety,

Like nails on a chalkboard.
The screeching sound,
A terrible product of friction.
Nervous habits,
Nervous laughter.
Laughing
When logic screams solemn.

This gnawing anxiety,

Shaking all over.
Unsure of what to do,
Unsure of what to say.
Thoughts
Flowing like water,
Into a bottomless chasm.
Rubbing away,
Creating a schism.
This throbbing anxiety,
Blacking out thoughts.
Scared to reply,
Scared to ignore.
This wicked anxiety,
Consuming it's prey.

all the while

2008-06-10T02:06:00.001-04:00

the surrounding places have everything to say
lives pass through with stories to relate
and all the while, you stand
resisting against quicksand
inhaling the sadness that revels in and around
the madness of a sentient coma resounds
and all the while, you remain
resisting against constraint
emptiness embraces the lost and lonely
dissembling true emotion just barely
and all the while, you stand
resisting against all you can
a plethora of advice clouds judgement
compelling the heart to grow absent
and all the while, you remain
all this time, you've maintained
the heart that bleeds unwilled tears
the soul struggling to adhere
to the mind that sustains conflict
while life becomes the verdict
and breathing is the penance.
all the while, you grow distant.

losing time

2008-06-08T23:14:00.000-04:00

a sum of genuine discern and practiced care
reveals a pretense between her hand and his
careful in witting words as well as plastered smiles
a tall entrance marks the shadow of a withering child
a crowded room will only contain lonely persons
with minds reeling of schedules, deadlines, and dates

after all this time, where do footprints fall?
tracing and erasing the moments recalled
a grain of salt is too much to swallow
when chewing on these deafening hallows

with combined effort there may be connection
but only briefly for time does not pause
for such trivial pursuits as friendship and love
quicken your pace -- you must run
towards the inevitable
no sense of smell or even sight
for time does not pause
for such trivial matters.

after all this time, where do footprints fall?
tracing and erasing the moments recalled
a grain of salt is too much to swallow
when chewing on these deafening hallows

Conquer. Crumble. Repeat.

2008-05-12T22:47:00.003-04:00

Trapped between two vicious realities always craving the other. One you're trapped and uncomfortable. Clawing at a box for any excuse to get out. Pressured on all fronts with no feasible end in sight. The other is not too far from the first. Trapped and uncomfortable, only in a different way. Sights on a goal that is unattainable. Crumbling at its very sight, yet only close enough for a brief glimpse. Scenarios ravage you in sleep and spare thought. Always wondering, fearing, lusting. What was and what never was. Both paths always end in the same. The sickening end of two painful roads. That empty feeling in your stomach that is amplified by desire and hope. Combined with a looming numb, exasperated by experience. Two well traveled paths in the past, leaving an empty shell - looking out of a dark window, through dry and bloodshot eyes.

Fate

2008-05-04T13:26:00.001-04:00

Fate transcends time and space
There is no when or where but what is
Only if one looks within oneself will he or she truly ever find their fate
Distractions come and go in life but one will remain despite all others
In those times take hold of the opportunity that lies in front of you
Never looking back
Never questioning a move or thought

Double-Speak

2008-04-17T01:25:00.001-04:00

Hypocritical statements of how this is and how that was -- your heart versus mine. The infinite question of love we think the ability to answer we own...when such an emotion is beyond such tiny minds. Didn't you know? We speak as if we understand and think as though we will come to know -- these are the complexities of life we tend to tangle further like strands of hair caught in the wind. If only we were capable of being satisfied. Didn't you know? If only we were capable of remaining simple. Suddenly such profound questions would return to meaningless speeches over a table of steam as one mind tries to grasp the upper hand. For that is all we are -- fumbling, tumbling, receding -- every step forward is creating a wider circle. If love was meant to be understood, would it have no meaning at all? Love in itself creates no madness but the topic of madness in which men dwell upon. Didn't you know?

running.

2008-03-31T00:30:00.003-04:00

Always chasing
something more
Always running
ever faster
to a paradise
That quite simply
Is not there.

The Coldest Sun

2008-03-25T22:35:00.003-04:00

One monotonous blink of the eye
To every day footprints treading
Not running, nor skipping, nor straying

Only one footstep
At a time...
In the direction of the rising sun
Where blind men see and the others...
Well, the others are imperceptive.

Metaphorical rather than physical;
Symbolic in its warmth and glow;
Ironic in the implications of truth.

Where do the others go?
I sit in front of the sun
Where it is most cold...
Verity loves humor.

Winter Remains

2008-03-20T01:10:00.003-04:00

As the dew settles
On this new sunny day.
Our earth comes to life
In an unfamiliar way.
Birds are chirping,
Flowers blooming,
Lovers swooning.
On this special day,
The cold is over
And life begins.
Growing brightly
In such a happy way.
Except for those
Who cannot awaken
Or enjoy the moment.
Just sit there forsaken.
For it all seems gray.
When life is beautiful
Pouring out salt
into an open wound.
Reminding with pain,
For the privileged few
Winter still remains.

5

2008-02-25T23:37:00.004-05:00

*CLANG* There I go again.....it seems every time I have something important to do I have to go and black out. Jobe was not all that surprised about the perplexed state he awoke in. His liquor binges tend to put him in these situations. Was he dreaming? Had all he just thought of been a dream? Since when did Marc work for the russian mafia? Time had become very distorted since his drinking binges became an everyday occurrence, he wasn't quite sure what was real anymore. From what he could make out his room was dark....Oh no....not again...I hope I made it home without Marc realizing it. Jobe, distraught, tired, and in desperate need of a shower, got up and looked around not really realizing what he had gotten himself into. And then it set in.....the cold, damp floor was unfamiliar....and Jobe did not recall his bed being so stiff, he fooled around on the bed and picked up his glasses....I hate being fucking blind without these things....the picture began to clear and suddenly Jobe realized he was no where near home, what he once thought were walls were merely bars intricately placed keeping him in like a caged animal....he had somehow ended up in a jail cell.
"HELLO?", Jobe yelled through the bars, pleading desperately for an answer.
"Pipe down over there! Some of us are actually trying to sleep pal."
"I'm sorry but can you please tell me where I am?", Jobe was desperate for answers.
"How the hell do you not where you are boy? You're in the finest penitentiary the state has to offer, South Harmon Penitentiary. Welcome to hell." The ominous voice let out a cackle that only a true southern hick could make. Thousands of thoughts came flowing through his head like a dam giving way. How the hell did I end up here and how the hell am I gonna be able to stay with Elizabeth after this. She's already put up with so much shit from me and this was my last chance.....Jobe's unsteady hand told him it was time for a smoke and he felt through his pockets for that cold, metal case of goodness....His pockets gave way to nothing but lint and an old receipt...Fuck me! They took my cigarettes?!...How could things get any worse..

4

2008-02-25T11:17:00.005-05:00

Welcome home? This fucking dump is the last place I would call home. Jobe thought to himself. Broken windows, dirty lawn chairs used as furniture, and a horrible pile of pans and dishes covered in mold; probably been laying in that sink for at least a month, and look the ceilings and carpet are covered in the same fucking shit-fucking black mold at that, I am allergic to that fucking shit. I told myself I would never come back here, but desperate times call for desperate needs, right? God, this place is fucking nasty, it makes me want to vomit, at least that would smell better than this shit hole, but what else would a wannabe drug lord's home look like?
Marc walked towards Jobe in his unwashed blue track suit with an even dirtier wife beater underneath (it was probably white at one point, but now its a horrible shade of yellow with ketchup stains, only a shell of its former self), topped off with a few gold chains around his neck (just like every good “gangster” has). Jobe could also make out a vile stench coming from Marc, getting stronger and more disgusting with every step he took towards Jobe.
Jobe pondered to himself in half amusement with Marc's look; this fucking Russian, I guess this shit is what must be "cool" in the fuckin' motherland. If he was not so nervous, he might have even given a silent chuckle, but his nerves and muscles would not allow any range of emotions with the exception of anxiety, which was traveling through Jobe's veins like cold water.

"So, what brings you to my mansion?" Marc said with in a very heavy Russian accent. Mansion, right, Jobe thought to himself as he rolled his eyes.
"Are you here to get a shot of self medication?" Continued Marc, referring to the beast from Jobe's past, the reason he had sworn never to come back to this place,...heroin...a 3 and a half war he had finally won only a year ago.
Jobe was tempted to take Marc up on his offer, to escape this nightmare he was in, but then he thought, thought about his beautiful Elizabeth.
Elizabeth stuck with him through his fight with heroin, and he knew he could not put her through that again, she meant too much to him.
"No", Jobe answered firmly, "but I do need some help."
"Help?" questioned Marc, "With what; what kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?"
"Don't worry about that, I just need some money." Jobe answered slightly agitated.
"Don't worry about it?" Marc began to laugh mockingly, "I am not in a fucking business to give out money, especially if I don't know what you are going to do with my money. I am not one of your fucking American banks. Now tell me, why do you need it and how much is 'some money'?
Jobe knew he had no choice, if he wanted the money he was going to have to tell his Russian contact his story.

"First of all I need $125,000 dollars." Jobe spat out, but Jobe knew Marc was not going to be able to muster up that kind of hard cash, but they both knew that all Marc had to do was make some calls to his higher contacts.
Marc though himself to be a feared and respected gangster, but in reality he was nothing but a lowly drug dealer working for some powerful people (the very people who’s help Jobe needed), and the only respect he got was from the crack head living in the alley near his house. Marc was part of an intricate group, in short…Marc worked for the Russian mafia; he was a foot soldier, but he was the only contact Jobe had to get the kind of money he needed.
"I will make the call." Marc said in a slow, clam, yet gloomy voice. It was the answer Jobe was looking for.

"Now, tell me why you need the money, but I have a feeling it might have something to do with that fucked up lip you have." Marc said in amusement.
Jobe was reminded of the steel toe boot that he had taken to his ribs, and the heavy punch to his face, the memory was so vivid it which made him momentarily sick, he felt an urge to vomit, just as he had felt on the night of his savage beating.
Jobe shook off the deep claws of his recent misfortunes, and began to recap the last week of his life, which by now felt like it had consumed all 28 years he had been on this Earth. Jobe began slowly, so as not to lose the attention of the idiot in front of him...

3.

2008-02-24T13:24:00.001-05:00

Flashback, 10 hours previous.
Marc. What a fucking prick. He pours another shot and downs it with out even a grimace on his face. Half a liter of bourbon sits empty on his desk. Memories flash from earlier in the day. Some good.. Some bad. Sitting in an empty parking lot with Elizabeth around midday. Someday I’ll marry you and take you away from this hellhole. Laughter blurring into desperate pleading. Skip ahead. The sharp sting in the ribs, caused by a steel tipped boot slamming just below his heart. Just give me another day. Please. Laying on the cold tile with a small trickle of red coming from his mouth. One day. . One Fucking day. . Jobe, How are you going to pull this off. Think. The shot glass falls to the ground with a resounding thud. Jesus, I know we’re not on the best of terms. . but please, help me out with this one. I’m in too deep to run away and too guilty to hide. Two more shots until thoughts stand still. Troubled sleep and restless dreams. Elizabeth. . . I’m sorry. . The sun radiates through the holes in his vinyl tarp where a window once was. Shining directly in his bloodshot eyes. Oh No, he thinks to himself. . I’m fucking late. . .

2.

2008-02-22T01:21:00.003-05:00

As the sun continued to bare down on his back as he drudged along, he mused over a justification he could hand up to his friends. Pathetic. Fucking pathetic. Friends you must defend yourself against, sell yourself to, and kill yourself for. He glanced back up at the sun, half-wishing it would permanently blind him so the world would disappear. Perhaps he could disappear along with it. A dark void with only sounds and reverberations to accompany him. Not a bad idea. Sighing, he began to pick up pace for the inevitable could not be ignored. The air around him felt clothed in heat, forever pressing upon his chest and back. Feeling as though the atmosphere was mocking his emotions by only pretending to suffocate him, he ignored his conscious as if by habit. Turning the corner, he sighted the familiarity of the broken and sagging metal fence with the inviting dead leaves creating a footpath for him to follow. Brushing back the dark hair beginning to stick to his forehead, he inhaled. Taking a step forward, he braced himself for the welcome he was sure to receive. He could see the shadow of Marc fall upon the sunken porch before he could see him in the doorway. However, his voice was irrefutable and undeniably angry, reaching out towards him, enveloping him in the most uncomfortable embrace. Welcome home...

1.

2008-02-22T00:45:00.003-05:00

Fuck Fuck Fuck. Late again. The subtle scraping of his feet on the dry sidewalk begin to hasten. Glancing up he realizes that the sun is directly above him. The young man is walking in a concrete wasteland filled with large structures of all different sizes. Graffiti is littered around the walls carelessly, some leaving a story behind in legacy, most are just meaningless symbols - the inside joke of some poor fool with a can of spray paint and reckless disregard for private property. Edging along the edge of a wall tracing his fingers along the wispy lines representing smoke pouring off of a burning flag representing a meaningless revolution in a meaningless country, he thinks to himself of the trouble he will be in when he arrives at his destination. Pulling out a cigarette from an elaborately decorated silver case, he sits down in the shade of an abandoned gas station. A much needed welcome from the scorching heat outside. What's another ten minutes. . fucking hypocrites probably are starting without me. He knew the people he was dealing with very well. They traveled in an almost aristocratic circle. Mucking about town raping honest people of every last shred of dignity they can muster up. He felt indentured to these people, and for that he resented them. With a careless shrug he stands up and casually flicks his half finished cigarette underneath a sign labeled "Smoking Kills". . .

Alone in a populated world

2008-02-14T15:35:00.015-05:00

Time and people move around me, but I feel neither.
Silently awake, feeling the fatigue and sleep of the day that I can not succumb to.
Its cold out here, especially when not a soul walks, talks, or breaths around me;
the only warmth coming from lighting up this deadly addiction between my fingers.
The day is full of speech, but I hear none of it; a constant screech of words,
but this night, which is a twin of every other, is my blanket.
I see the occasional car or individual pass by, but I am behind my wall,
and from here they no not that I watch; as I climb just to get a glimpse, and hopefully
think..."Do they think as I do"..."Are they out here for the same reasons I am",
and these thoughts comfort me, until I realize they are just nomads; simply passing by,
these thoughts the furthest from there minds.
I see the eyes of the stray cat staring at me, they wander, and they, they must know why I am out here; she stares intensely at me, and she must know;
she must know why I stand silently in this night, this beautiful night.
I see the cigarette growing smaller, and its almost time to go in, where it is dead;
at least the night is full; silent yes, but by no means dead.
I see the last of the smoke leave my lungs...its time to go in...
but I will be back here, where my thoughts are understood, and misunderstood;
where the beautiful night covers me; yes, I do believe she understands me.

The night seems to be the mistress to my emptiness.

To My Past

2008-02-14T12:01:00.001-05:00

Impossible to convert emotion to paper;
Impractical to mold words into emotion.
As I am, I empty myself.
Forming the art that extends unto you;
A plethora of time fails to reveal
The reality of situations continuously veiled.
Time is a thief, breaking sentience;
All that's left is minimal patience.
Dog-eared memories and sun-stained photos
Leave lingering ghosts of innocence
That leave footprints trailing...
Questions left unanswered;
Words left unspoken;
Tracks left untread;
Touches left unfelt.
As I am, I empty myself.
Intersecting, identities remain.
As you are, always etched here.
Intersecting, identities remain.

Tapping away.

2008-02-13T21:08:00.002-05:00

Tap. Tap. Tap. Restless moments and repetitive beats. The foul odor of stale cigarettes and coffee. Detached and connected. Numbed sensations and gray vision. Surrounded by people yet completely alone. Tap. Tap. Tap. Cannot sit still. Nervous and anxious, bottled up into one dazed mind. Droning on yet sitting still. The bitter aftertaste and acrid smoke kill the senses. Tap. Tap. Tap. Focus. Function. Finish. Running in place, striving for something just out of reach. Realizations and dreams falling away. Desperately grasping with a weakened grip. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slowing the pace. Consciousness and perception suffocating to dark.

identified clashes.

2008-02-13T01:41:00.001-05:00

a haunting feeling of losing control while choking on the very emotion that threads through my veins and helps create the beat for my heart becomes an ironic disaster. the clashing of words and actions; the music of the lonely and the dead mingle with the verses of those that can't remember how to breathe -- this becomes the movie script, the opening credits followed by the end with no middle identity. if we live to forgive and forget, where does real pain reside? manifesting and growing into the breaking of the contract that contrasts with the place where everyone can release their memories. reading how you are supposed to act and actually following through with the plan are two separate aspects that i can't always grasp because the nightmares are far too real to be excused. i fumble along, allotting time to take its toll on the mind that contains the secrets of the skeletons that don't speak... but play on your happiness until there's nothing left.

Alone

2008-02-11T23:59:00.000-05:00

It is so simple.
To ignore this urge.
Screaming and tearing
Throughout the soul.
This innate desire
Burning throughout.
Day after day,
failure after failure.
The feeling just grows,
consumes, and devours.
Loneliness and wishfulness
lay beside me
As I goto sleep at night.

Slavery

2008-02-11T15:13:00.001-05:00

Slavery. Always working, exerting, serving. Paid in part, the debt keeps growing - into such a great structure, housing you from the cool rain drops exerted by the cloud of reality. Slaves to industry - all these things we don't need. Working to owe. Gluttonous consumers. Indentured Servants. Working for goods instead of gain. For cheap thrills and dodgy things, hopes of freedom dwindles into nothing. Mindless ants. Working all the time. Productivity to the max, there's bills to pay. When given a break, exhaustion takes hold, pacifying the billions - creativity is lost. Degenerates they scream, to those who still think. Wasting their time with nothing to show. They have no possessions, their status is null. Our society keeps on building, yet digging its grave

Oh my friend...

2008-02-08T00:33:00.000-05:00

What a simplistic moment,
When the song fades to cold.
Not a sound resonating
Unto he depths of the soul.

Lingering disaster

2008-01-31T00:40:00.000-05:00

Threatened once again,
With this disastrous notion.
Of falling in love,
Or rather out of touch,
With self preservation.
That unique instinct
That keeps us safe.

Safe, cold, and detached.
A familiar existence.
Neither happy or sad,
Just comfortable.
Just existent.
Those repetitive chords,
On an out of tune piano.

Threatened yet again,
With another failure.
Only this time its obvious
That things won't even start.
So here I sit
Uncomfortable and vulnerable
Merely Existing.

Needing Change

2008-01-24T10:59:00.000-05:00

This must mean I'm fumbling,
Seeking something deeper;
A certain variation in course,
A different version of story.

Always been good enough,
But never appreciated;
Always been determined,
But never quite noticed.

When efforts go askew
And are praised for nothing,
My accomplishments are,
And have become,
As empty as a vase in winter.

A quarter till two

2008-01-09T01:35:00.001-05:00

A quarter till two and still wide awake,
Riding down an empty road.
Ears ringing, drowning in a sea of music.

Yesterday blurs into today for weeks at a time,
Opening the mind to confusion and disaster.
Urging the body to simply shut down .

Later turns into never, always working to no conclusion.
Inside these rancid memories lie some kind of truth.
Sour and bitter, everything moves onwards
To what ends will this experience slip to memory.
Envious, we chase what feels good
Never thinking past the consequences of feeling.
Independently searching for purpose.
Niave and foolish, trusting time and patience,
Getting older, hardened into a brittle molding.

Thoughts of a rambling man.

2007-12-13T01:50:00.000-05:00

What a beautiful night to sit here and think.
About all that has passed and all that will come.
Dates have no meaning, in this fast paced life
racing by relentlessly - another page on the calendar.
Conversations and classes marking the days.
Only to be a stoic old story creeping through the mind.
When youth turns to lust, for the younger days behind.
But age does is not frightening - to those who can see,
that life is a great story - no more and no less.
Truth is skewed by years that have passed
The only thing that survives is the meaning.
So what constitutes meaning?
Is it measured in success?
Or is it the efforts that go towards a success.
That may or may not come true - but the stories
always do. Life's not predictable enough to follow through.
exactly as planned, fantasized, or prepared.
Twists and turns like water in a crack;
It spreads about evaporating into the air.
With nothing left but a dim little stain.
What a beautiful night - to sit here and think.
About all that is and that is not.

Counting Sheep to the Rythm of War Drums.

2007-11-27T16:44:00.000-05:00

With the weather cooling down, Columbia has been quite overcast since I have arrived back from thanksgiving break. Feeling withdrawn and reflexive I am realizing once again the speed that life is coming at me. Merely days away from the end of my third semester here, I am not the same person that I was a year ago. College, experiences, and several key people have changed me immensely. I do not regret this change, although I do miss my innocence and naivety that I once possessed. Relationships, friendships, classes, money, and time itself have erased much of my positive outlook on aspects of life. Nothing is simple, nobody is predictable, and most importantly – things do not get easier. On the other hand, nothing is as bad as it seems and things always work out in some way or another. I have spent the majority of this semester building friendships and networking myself out to others; where I used to be terrified of being alone, I have come to appreciate my own company more than before. So this has been a semester of reflection and self-improvement for me. Christmas is now approaching and for the first time in years, I am truly excited for the New Year because I believe I have matured enough to handle life’s challenges and adventures on my own, without anyone else. I do not expect things to improve – but I now realize that between music, friends, and family – they do not need to. Life is what one makes of it and sometimes a new perception is all you need to change for the better.

-D

Oct. 28, 2007.

2007-10-31T10:45:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, my University lost six students. Clemson lost one, as well.

Seven young, intelligent, bright young people with seven families and numerous loved ones that now mourn their passing. It seems to be hitting our community pretty hard, even those that did not know them personally. For one person to pass is hard. But for a group to pass, it truly is a tragedy. No words seem to convey how everyone is feeling. It has been a solemn week so far here at USC.

Our past few football games have not been so great, but I am proud to be a Gamecock. It is times like these that we show our true colors. We have come together and have had numerous memorials already with more to come. Although six of the victims are from our school, we also recognize the seventh victim from our rival, Clemson. We are no longer rivalry schools... just people mourning the loss of great people that we knew or will never get the chance to know.

I believe what has struck me the most is the fact that I've seen at least a couple of these students walking around campus before in passing. I never knew them, and it is sad that I only learned their names through their deaths. Maybe it's something to do with how these students lost their lives, to a fire, that makes us all feel helpless. We know that their friends were helpless in the situation and are lucky to be alive. We feel for them, too. A brother lost his brother in the fire. Friends lost friends. We all begin to realize that we are not invincible although we are young. All we can do now is offer condolences to the friends and families of the victims and help each other move on, though never forgetting.

Condolences

2007-10-31T08:55:00.000-04:00

I send out my condolences to all of the families and friends involved in the terrible tragedy that left seven students dead after a brutal fire at a North Carolina beach house. 6 of them were students at my own school and it is truly sad to see such things occur. Once again, the realization that we're not immortal sinks in. Anyone who may read this - please keep these students and families in your thoughts and prayers.

-D

Romantics Staring Into The Sun

2007-10-24T23:25:00.000-04:00

A dying glimmer of hope can stretch for miles with nowhere to rest, not a peaceful moment to cope, with a grip of mentality and strengthened mortality as an excuse upon the lips. Where are the words that are whispered in thin wisps of chilled air towards another who lies breathing and living beside? They fade and are consumed by surrounding atmospheres rather than the ears for which they were intended. Smooth sailing sinks into failing, a slice in the fabric gives way to an entire break from knowledge and wisdom and perhaps even love for if love ever lived we'd all be hopeless and romantic.

A tip of the hat in a moment in passing can express nothing and only feel habitual like the slow intake of air and the faster exhale of lies that grow and turn over in our rapidly pacing graves that sink lower into water and fill higher with dirt. What does it mean when a smile grows upon a face but is never really felt like the thought that the sun only existed to blind us? We ponder and wonder since our own existence surely means so much as we look directly at it for all of the answers that actually lie beneath us. In a capacity of minds that only use a portion, we expect so much and act on so little.

Remember.

2007-10-24T22:57:00.000-04:00

Remember the time, where your dreams came true? Laughter. Love. Joy. The moon is always full reflecting over the ocean. Smiling at a mere image in your mind, remembering everything that is grand – overlooking anything that is not. Reflecting on the time, where life was simple and care free. Ambitious. Excited. Motivated. Rising up on the crest of a wave, overlooking a horizon lined with potential. Time wears on, the wave begins to tumble – what once was clear is now amuck with sand and stones. Washed up, the steady rhythm of responsibilities slowly erode the very ground that you lie on. Stuck in this rhythm of rising and falling – life slowly moves itself on. Remember the time, where your dreams came true? Where perspective had no reach at all. Dreams of grandeur echoing through your prospective future. I remember that time, where a reality sunk in. Responsibility. Redundant. Repetition. Progressing through life, dreams replaced by work. I remember these times – these milestone moments. With tears in my eyes.

Connections of Prose

2007-10-24T20:56:00.000-04:00

This road connects us from them, one generation to the next. Many have worn down this path before; we're not the first to break down this door. The knocks are repetitious and forever conscious as thoughts stream out the open window into the trailing air that gets sucked under the motion that separates us. Think of a time when you're leaving someone behind and all you can do is remember the many moments where a smile was brought to your face. Lines around the very mouth that has whispered and spoken continuous promises and goodbyes are embedded as the seconds fly by. And you drive away.

A dancer twirls with music painting its picture, acting as her partner across the stage. She gracefully moves as if the clouds above are now her prancing grounds with hardly a sound being made from her beneath her feet. Instead, the visions and symphonies become one in front of your eyes, and you breathe it in as you recognize real passion. In a world where simplistic pleasures are taken for granted and luxuries are out of reach, this dance is what makes us alive. Breathe the music as your air and walk as if your joints could speak since there are many stories to tell... and words can fall short. I may be alone on this worn stage of worries and pains, but this will always exist -- beyond the roads, the travels, the greetings and goodbyes.

Calm Before the Storm

2007-10-24T13:37:00.000-04:00

The Calm Before the Storm

With elections around the corner, world war 3 a grim reality in the near future, and being immersed in the youthful next generation of leaders – things are surprisingly calm. Many have opinions few express them. We’re a generation of pacifists – waiting on others to make changes for us. The last generation was full of activism that has diminished into what one could argue isn’t even an echo of what it once was. Many have exclaimed that if certain candidate gets elected that they will move out of the country, which saddens me. Running does not fix things – and it’s almost to the point where the public voice isn’t really heard. One thing I have noticed though is we’re being pushed more and more every day – things are getting to the point where people are starting to lose their calm. I believe that very shortly there will be a public outcry for change. I am far from a revolutionist and I too am guilty of letting things slide in recent years, but I realize now that my generation is growing up – No longer children safe under our parent’s guidance – We’ve been thrust into a crazy world with no choice but to make decisions. I can only hope that others realize this before things get too out of hand. With disaster, war, and the constant bombardment of bad news, raising prices, and increased tensions we truly are the calm before the storm. The next several years will be defining in our history – I can only hope that we have the strength and the courage to step up to this new tidal wave of responsibilities.

--D

Sciatica?

2007-10-24T11:38:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been in pain. A year or so ago, I went to the doctor about my hip always hurting and it spreading down to my ankle. I was told that I have sciatica (not really a diagnosis since its just a term used to describe an underlying problem... which I don't know yet since they didn't figure that part out). I was given some medication that was supposed to help since it was not believed to be any of the more severe forms of sciatica.. however, it didn't help. Since then, I have moved to Columbia and haven't been to the doctor again. I quit dancing because although it is important to remain somewhat active.. dancing was too much, I guess.

So now as I walk around campus every day, I'm realizing that my "hip" is starting to hurt more, and by the end of the day, I am sometimes even limping due to the weakness it causes. Sciatica is supposedly supposed to go away after a few months at the most... and occurs at the ages of 30-50. Either the doctors were wrong... or it's worse than they thought... or both. I don't know, but I've always hated going to the doctor because it feels like they are just taking stabs in the dark until they figure out the right answer.

I suppose I'm just frustrated that I'm letting it bother me so much. Sometimes its not so bad. Other times I can't concentrate in class because all I can focus on is pain. Considering I have had a problem like this since ninth grade of high school, and I have been told its anything from growing pains to sciatica... I'm not sure on what it is anymore.

Slowing down.

2007-10-23T16:22:00.000-04:00

Slowing down, these last few days
The momentum is quickly slowing.
Music and countless thoughts -
Flowing throughout the mind.

Slowing down, these last few days
Constantly searching for clarity
Ceaseless questions and scenarios
'What if' echoes through memories.

Slowing down, these last few days
Ambition becomes put on hold.
Coasting to a stop. Weak. Tired.
Serene and eerie all at once.

Slowing down, these last few days
Life seems to be on hold.
Uncomfortably sustained .
Unwillingly halted.

Freedom and Hopelessness

2007-10-22T21:23:00.000-04:00

I have always had problems in my life, usually pretty serious. Be it health problems, family problems, or relationship problems – I’ve been through the hoops so to speak. As a result, I have learned to observe situations and interactions with a keen eye. I thrust myself into situations head first and try and document them as they happen in my mind. This practice makes up a large part of my life recently. I write sometimes, for the particularly memorable experiences – or conclusions drawn from them. Recently I traveled to the State Fair, common practice assuming I live down the road from it – but before I went, I became thoroughly inebriated – which was an experience in an of itself. By the time I arrived at the gates for the fair, the officer at the ticket desk asked me if I had been drinking, I hastily said no and proceeded to stumble into a world of what one can only describe as utterly terrifying. Growing up in the southeastern United States, I have always associated fairs with a good time. It’s the American pastime one week out of the year. It’s really a sad reflection of our society – pouring money away for cheap 3 minute thrills and tacky games where actually winning is about as probable as winning a lottery. Immersed in a world of screaming, strobe lights, shouting, and big mechanical metal structures hastily built swinging all around at speeds that are unnatural, I realized that I’ve had nightmares very similar to these. By the point we had made it across the grounds – I was deeply fixated on figuring out why so many people love this kind of setting. By that point, the clarity of it all begins to sink in. It’s a deep seated idea embedded in our heads from childhood that we can win it all effortlessly. The American dream has shifted from what was once one of hard work and taking care of each other into cheap thrills and reckless gambling. We’re worms squirming to get to the top after a heavy rain. After a few hours of wandering around this cesspool, we finally began to walk back to the apartment. I was drained, from walking through the rain and also from the poisons I put into my bloodstream. Regardless, this was an experience that I will never forget. With yet another act of debauchery and recklessness under my belt, I continue on with my life, experiencing things for the sake of the memories. Living and learning – but most importantly observing.

Footprints Receding

2007-10-18T23:58:00.000-04:00

with words dripping,
letters returning,
apologies surrounding,
and lives moving
onward, forwards...
we have this moment.

footprints in the sand
wiped down by your hands.

eyes keep searching
with guidance leaving.
keep your constant questions.
answers won't define lessons.

every nerve bleeds the same
no one views this way.
have we nothing left to do
but complain of mistakes
we only repeat.

footprints in the sand
wiped down by your hands.

capable of breathing
releasing old feelings.
our minds work in reverse,
growing up with lessons learned.
second chances go undeserved,
and life is proclaimed unfair.

footprints in the sand
wiped down by your hands.

Word vomit.

2007-10-18T23:12:00.000-04:00

I think the hardest part of writing is starting. So here's my beginning - big leap into the middle of everything.

Lately, I've felt a little bit disconnected. I've come to realize that when I have a lot of my mind, I don't turn to such substances as drugs or alcohol because it's pointless. I've been there and done that. Turning myself into a numb shell of drunken ramblings as a source of entertainment is of no use to me anymore. The things that continue to follow me around will still be there when I wake up the next morning, only to make me feel worse. So instead, I've been dwelling. It may not be much better, but at least things are being faced.

I realize that I'm coming up on twenty years of age soon, and I, if fate will have it, will have many more years to experience. But as I said before, I feel disconnected. Not alone. I have family and friends that both love me, and I'm not unaware of that. However, I know I've put up some sort of wall... I've been separating myself from everyone. And maybe I'm starting to figure it out.

Within a weeks time, I had a lot of things slap me in the face. I lost a friendship that I used to think was a major part of my life. He meant a great deal to me, and I loved his company. I cared deeply about him as a person and as my friend. Now that it's gone, I guess I'm still standing in disbelief at how it all went down. From what I understand, much of the blame rests on my shoulders. But that's how it goes, right? We obviously don't see eye-to-eye. And it happens. I'm okay with that. I'm not okay, however, with how he made me feel. I've had too many people make me feel that way in my life, and that I allowed it to happen again makes me angry. Not at him. At myself. I've been told that one of my best traits is that I look for the good in everyone. Maybe I'm just becoming a cynic, but I find it to be my worst flaw. My philosophy was to always give people a second chance... a third or fourth chance, even. See, I'm human. I have made plenty of mistakes for I am far from perfect. Thus, I do try to find the good in everyone. I do hand out trust, chances, and forgiveness. Maybe this is where I'm supposed to learn. Not everyone deserves it. But how do I decide who does or who doesn't? It's confusing because it is part of who I am. I went through a dark part of my life where I lied to a lot of people that I cared about. I was angry at the world for what a stranger did to me, and I changed. Completely. Some people forgave me. Some didn't. And through that experience, I realized why I so easily give those I care about chances... sometimes we all do dumb things for one reason or another. I feel as though circumstances can change a lot in a person. I guess after a while, a line has to be drawn. I tried with this guy. And it still stings because sometimes I do find myself missing his company. But not him. Because he isn't who I thought he was. And that happens sometimes... part of learning, I guess.

My dad has a girlfriend. I'm just assuming that they've been dating for quite a while. My sister and I would occasionally hear about her in a general way throughout the road trips and phone calls. However, I recently found out that this woman from Ohio is now living in my dad's home. The hard part? I didn't know her name. In fact, I didn't... and still don't... know anything about her. I've always been a hardcore Daddy's girl. I took comfort in knowing my dad was not far away. Over the years, we've grown apart as age seems to do to parents and their kids but... we were still always close at heart. Yet, he wasn't the one to tell me. My sister was. And the whole situation seems so wrong that I can't even wrap my head around it. All of a sudden, there's a new life back home. When I come home, it won't be the same. And I'm used to things like that happening, but not with him. I don't understand. I grew up quite used to being second in my mother's life. Suddenly, the roles are switched again.

Speaking of my mother, she is getting married in two days. I'm not going to put forth any effort in contemplating that one because for too many years, that's all it's been about. She's dated other people than my dad for a long time... I'm used to it. The only hard part is this will be the first time she will be married to someone other than Dad. The ironic part? She seemed happier with Dad. Goes to show you how easily one can be deceived. She's happy, though. That's all that really matters, anyway.

I guess to sum everything up, I have felt second in my loved one's lives for a while. Everyone has his or her own situations in which they must dwell and move through. I can't help but feel left behind throughout it all. But that's life, I guess. Hanging on where you can, struggling to make something out of yourself, to stand apart from the ghosts that hold you back. I tend to hide myself away from others when I have a lot running through my head. It isn't always intentional. In fact, it usually isn't. Looking back on this week, I can definitely see where I've put up a barrier between myself and my friends and boyfriend. I'm tired of being slapped in the face. Of things changing. My whole life seems to be a transition from one person to the next whether it be friends, boyfriends, or family. But I know that change happens a lot, and I adjust pretty well to it. Every now and then, we all need a breather. I suppose this week has just been a really long breather for me.

This hasn't been a carefully analyzed and edited editorial of any kind. This is simply word vomit onto an electronic blog because lately I feel like I've had too much on my plate. So if anyone has been wondering how I've been doing... here's your answer.

"I never knew that everything was falling through / That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue / To turn and run when all I needed was the truth"

Fall, The Ocean, and Depravity of the Soul.

2007-10-15T13:33:00.000-04:00

Day 1:

After briefly spewing out a speech on the patriot act and our freedom of speech, I hastily ran to my car, or at least what’s left of my car. After several trees, numerous road trips, and being stolen – my car has seen much better days. Now, it pops out of park if I’m not careful and there’s merely a mess of wires where my radio once layed. With Adventure in mind, I set off for Radioshack. It was finally fall break and I had to rig up some kind of device to get music back in my car – for I was going to Myrtle Beach for 4 days of adventure and tyranny. After several hours searching, I finally found a cheap boombox from K-Mart – a shopping center that I had thought was gone forever until I stumbled upon it. Flash, it’s now 11:00 – and two of my good friends are riding with me towards the beach, a 3 or so hour drive on the dullest, possibly the worst interstate in existence.. I-20. Being sober for 4 days in a row, I’m experiencing an odd clarity to my mind – something that’s both unwelcome and unfamiliar. Clarity of the mind leads to self-reflection at some point in time, and that’s just something I try and avoid at all costs. Upon arriving at the beach, going to Wal-Mart – America’s #1 feted cesspool of inbreeding, cheaply made imports, and corporate corruption – and cooking some dinner, consciousness immediately faded into sleep.

Day 2:
Waking up at noon is a truly degrading feeling. Opening your eyes and immediately seeing the sun above the sky uncomfortably thrusts the cold truth of being a lazy degenerate down one’s throat. The day goes slowly – filled with music and the ocean – a constant reminder in this trip of the depravity in me... that life is consistent with or without me, which is a beautiful and eerie reminder that I’m stuck in the middle grounds, neither success or failures really matter – unless I can somehow manage an extremity. Around noon, my blood alcohol content is steadily raising. In preparation for the upcoming show – “I’ll drink to that” reverberates throughout the apartment. The show is pretty amazing, the opening band, Fair to Midland, rocks to high heaven – after spending almost an hour trying to remember where I have seen them – flashbacks of previous concerts pour through my mind and I come to the realization that if I were deaf, I would be an utterly broken person, not to give anyone the impression that I am currently a whole person – but the point is that music is my outlet and in a sense my soul. After several hours of rocking out we head back to the condo – When we get back – a harmless card games turns into hours of slurred speech, blurry memories, and impaired judgment. At one point someone points out that “There’s thousands, possibly millions of gallons of water in that ocean – that’s a lot of water man” – at this point my mind was baffled. I was standing 9 floors up on a balcony overlooking millions of gallons of water; my friend was so right – that was a lot of water. I immediately became thirsty and staggered inside for another drink. From this point until I wake up the next day, my memories only exist in short thirty second bursts and my vision was deteriorating into what I can only describe as a static filled television. After several philosophical conversations, uncontrollable laughter, and the steady and unchanging ocean – I finally met my end for the night, only to wake up at an even later point in the next day solidifying my suspicions that I have yet to find a purpose in life.
Day 3:
On the third day we all rested both our minds and bodies. A brief adventure to get breakfast, I explained to a baffled waitress that lemon in coffee is the only way to drink it. She replied that in thirty years of waiting tables, she had never seen that before. For years I’ve been putting lemon in my coffee – what started as a drunken prank has turned into one of my favorite beverages. It gives one a sense of class and style, individuality and grandeur, putting lemon in coffee. Always there are non-believers who refuse to even comprehend the idea of zesty and bitter in a mug. Needless to say, I told the waitress that she is lucky she went to work today, because quite frankly, she learned the most amazing secret to enjoying coffee, and now she has the knowledge to pass it on to the masses. My mind has long since lost the clarity that I spoke so disdainfully about in my previous documentation of this trip. I’m mumbling to myself about trend-setting and revolutionizing the coffee industry. After a few minutes of strange looks from all sides of the table, I coolly blurt out some trivial fact about the French toast on the menu. Not that it mattered, but it was a keen distraction for those that cannot comprehend my zesty creation. The evening results in three of us driving around the strip – looking for adventure in all the wrong places. We arrive at Broadway at the beach, run around for what feels like a few hours – rent two movies – and head back to the condo. We all have a stoic look on our faces, for we have made a decision that will not be simple. We’re going to stay up till the sun rises over the ocean. Upon our arrival I immediately start drinking to ensure that I do not get involved with a little tension between my two remaining guests. Quickly after the first movie is over, my fragile mind is broken. I fall asleep holding a now-empty gallon of wine – only to wake up rambling about how it is a good girlfriend because it doesn’t call me stupid. After an hour or so of babbling and singing in half a daze – I finally awaken just in time to watch the sun rise over the ocean – one of the most beautiful sights one can witness in this area. With the mission accomplished, sleep quickly takes hold of me yet again.
Day 4-5.
The rest of the trip is absolute relaxation and rest. We stay at the condo and watch TV and movies the entire day. Nothing too much – our trip is coming to an end. The next day we clean and pack up for the trip home. Our adventure is over – with many pictures and stories to document it in our memories – we all are a little sad about leaving. The monotony of life will hit us hard on Monday. With several tests, countless of hours of homework and studying, and early classes every day, my week looks grim. Now here I am, sitting outside of a Starbucks getting my daily dose of caffeine, typing up the rest of this narrative. Once again that eerie clarity in my mind has returned and self-reflection has once again been eating away in the back of my thoughts. So my fearless readers – I’ll raise my glass to you all and drink to the next adventure in the near or distant future.

-D

Sleepless in Columbia

2007-10-09T12:19:00.000-04:00

Insomnia creeps into the mind, pulsing in the veins, keeping these thoughts alive. Creating the breaths that live between each sigh of frustration, quiet cultivates inside of an empty chamber where the silence reverberates back to a solemn heart. Counting the dust specks that collect on the ceiling, one wonders how old one has become in the time past. Questions such as these, that hold little meaning and certainly no real answer, become the sleepless as the sleepless seeps into insanity's grip. Time is a threatening factor when there is no time to rest, to reset, or even to forget. Instead -- life stares you in the face even when you close your eyes (for closing your eyes does not substitute for an unforgiving mind)... you can hear its heart beating as worthless dreams never reach the unconscious, although deemed vital to one's well-being. Never missing a moment, life becomes even longer. Embrace? Or rinse it all down in a glass of water.

101

2007-10-09T01:42:00.000-04:00

I'm so complex that it seems so simple. So easy. To sit back and let me react to the world in the ways that I know best is to finally understand me. I never react the same way, and I always am predictable in this fashion. I'm obsessive, compulsive, and a perfectionist. Everything in my world fits in the way it should, and if it doesn't, I feel a constant hovering sense of dread and anxiety. I'm a being of opposites, however, because I'm random and spontaneous at the flip of a coin.

Therefore, I write. Thus, I am sensible.

I've always enjoyed writing whether it be blogging or poetry, fiction or rants and raves. It's a sense of getting to know yourself, where it all gathers and festers... my mind holds a lot of groundwork for why I am the way I am. Writing, to me, captures the essence of the thing, as Socrates argues each individual must strive to do. Why not start with oneself? Writing is where I make sense. Therefore, I am.

I'm 19, and I have a lot of passion for arts. The arts seem to bring to light the perspectives of the world that the general public look past. The complexity of life can be found in all forms of art -- photography, paintings, dance, literature -- and somehow makes it all beautifully simplistic.

So I guess this blog is where a few of us will allow our perspectives on life and its many assets to gather and perhaps even make sense.

A quarter past midnight.

2007-10-09T00:54:00.001-04:00

A quarter past midnight is about the time where your mind starts the tedious process of retaining and sorting through the unbelievably large amount of information we gather in our heads each day. Sadly enough, although the amount of things we think about, gather, sense, and experience in day to day life is so large it’s beyond measure, what we actually retain is nearly minuscule. My aim, in this blog, is to try and capture some of these thoughts and memories that might otherwise be lost to the obnoxiously efficient and rational filtering process of the human brain. Although a Gander of Thoughts is not restricted to any specific purpose, it is not without one either. It is day to day thoughts and experiences that several people at an age and place where change and experience is inevitable. This blog will not only document our growth – but it also will prove to be a unique perspective on our surroundings, society, and even country itself. With that out of the way, who is the man behind this blog?

I’m a 19 year old college student who drinks strong coffee poured over a tall glass cup full of ice every single morning. I’ll drink anything with a bite, preferably 20 proof or more. I’m someone that lives to experience rather than experience to live. I enjoy life to its very fullest, writing about it from time to time. A happy cynic, who joyfully accepts life’s fateful realities. All experiences, both good and bad, are worthwhile because they create the person I am. Good music, good friends, and an interesting story make life worth living. I enjoy going on adventures and finding joy in things that nobody else takes the time to notice.

There’s no biography of me – but through my writings and stories you can piece together an idea of what I am like and what I have seen and maybe even a little of what I have experienced in life.

-D