yeah, you make me feel like a natural woman

What is it about Aretha Franklin that shatters every conviction of craziness?? Between Aretha and Etta, i can't say that i feel nearly as womanly-crazy. It's not only their word's and harmonies but their voices just penetrate every dark emotion and flood it with sunlight and the most positive of energy. I think i'd be less of a woman without them.

Waiting for the Revolution

People are shit. Blackened souls that wander through life with no concept of what it is to be genuine or even courteous. The world leaves behind no footprint for these people, only scars. This breed of human is dominating the majority of people and tarnishing any hopes of significant change in the near future. Kwame Anthony Appiah is correct in his idea of a difficult co-existence between those other than family. We must evolve and learn to be courteous - learn to love each other or at least care. But people are shit people don't care. Behind every gesture remains a selfish motive. There is no way to pluck this weed from humanity - it simply is. But there are ways to work against it - to work against error. To evolve in to something greater. But there is no hint of change in anything i see and everyday i lose a little more faith in the decency of people. I cannot accept this. I want to grow past this and accept all things but this, this i cannot accept. What is it that's so rotten at the core of the human being?
Where is god? Where is an answer? What's the point of consciousness if you play to your weaker instincts? We are able to grow by choice and yet, we give in to our demons. I wish i could scream out every awful color that's painted my heart black but there are no words to express the pain i feel.
In the end, i simply shake my head and decide, "i do not belong in this generation".
Where is everyone?
Where are the Abbie Hoffman's? Where are the Martin Luther King Jr's? Where are Walt Whitman's? Where is Mumia Abu-Jamal's? Where are the Hunter S. Thompson's?
Where are they Robert Kennedy's - the John Lennon's - the Socrates' - the George Harrison's? Where the fuck are all the decent people who fight publicly against what has now been created in the absence of the greats?
It's like people gave up on themselves in exchange for... for what?
There is life all around me but mostly, i just feel empty.
I know i'm not alone in these feelings and i know i'm not alone in the thirst for change.
"I'd love to change the world, but i don't know what to do"

thanks eve

What's another word for P.M.S.? Oh, bitch :/

Plaguing Thoughts

Are people all over the world lonely? With my thoughts built amongst the pillars of philosophy - everything must be determined - must be explained - must be entirely examined: to it's tiniest fragments. The marrow of my existence lies in analyzing EVERYTHING. I have so much growing up to do. I have yet to outgrow my disgust in human beings. Did all great thinkers and philosophers battle this as i do now? I want to accept this all, i do but, it's not so simple as wanting. It's understanding and i do not. I do not understand lack of common courtesy - lack of concern - lack of manners - lack of accepting (a failure of my own). I find disgust in myself but i constantly work at overcoming what makes my stomach churn. Why do people not work at being better people? Why are most people entirely self-centered? We can all be, sure but, why is everyone's basis of comparison of their own stature? How do we do right by everyone while still doing right by our selves?
There is no perfect person but their are ideal standards that can be widely accepted. And they start with understanding. And here i am back at my own front door. How do i get in? :(

The Fab Two

At a constant battle for first between George Harrison and John Lennon - i've found that i can only love them equally. For George was truly a great human being - as genuine as they come and John Lennon was truly a great composer/songwriter and put his heart in to the good of all people and all he spoke of. But here i am now and George Harrison is strumming the strings to my heart. Could anything ever be as lovely as hearing a song you need to uplift dying spirits? I think not... no.

Oh! I get it now!

I discovered, sitting in a stiff room with fellow-food-handling-card-test-takers, that life is a dark comedy. It's true, if you're not able to laugh at yourself, life is going to be a lot longer than you'd like for it to be.
There i sat, 25 years old, amongst other mid-twenty year olds who've so far wasted their time and done nothing that they've wanted to with their life.
I can't really explain the humor in it but, it's there.
Regardless, in my small experience of some divine moment that shifted me, i kind of like that i don't know whats going to be of me, even just a year from now. This is the life i chose and for better or worse, i'm the lead role and instead of whining, i could be doing a lot better things with my time. i certainly have plenty of it seeing as i haven't really done anything else memorable. Just a year and a half ago, i would ride random public transportation routes just to people watch so i could write stories about the people i saw. What happened to that?
Oh, i moved from Dallas. But Phoenix has public transportation as well. They also have plenty of places to do volunteer work. They also have poetry readings and book clubs and plenty of other nerdy activities to preoccupy those who feel lost and confused. While all feelings are fleeting and i submit myself to temporary pleasures - it seems quite fitting that i live in a place where they are so many different things to choose from. And i've chosen to sit and miss my friends and family.
Excuse the incoherent babbling, in all the excitement of watching white trash take 45 minutes on a 25 question multiple-choice test, i realized that at least i have a good head on my shoulders and, buried somewhere deep inside of me lies the optimism that i've always clung to. It just took a bit of awkward humor to awaken it.
Finally. Ja-heeze!

another point for the europeans

I believe i have found a book that will change a lot of things for me. "Resistance, Rebellion and Death" by Albert Camus. I found the book at random during an intense browse of the philosophy section at my favorite used bookstore. Crappy, frayed edges always catch my attention as it often means the books were once well-loved or read many times. I shuffled the pages, a few things caught my eye so, i stacked it on top of my other books.
Today, i curled up on the couch with my favorite blanket and my book-of-choice, after much deliberation, and felt my heart fall through the couch a page and a half in to "Letters to a German Friend".
The depth at which he writes is, of it's own, incredibly intense. But, the love he has for his country is illuminated across the pages and in thought, i considered that i bare no true love for my country... and it saddens me. I could never write of America with great passion for, i do not believe in everything we do or how we came to be. I do not hate my country, i am grateful for many things that my country offers me but, i want to LOVE my country. I want it to be part of who i am. I want to be proud of it. I want to bask in all of it's colors. And i do not.
Albert Camus has won my heart in a mere 500 words and my country has won nothing in 25 years.

Stuck inside of Phoenix with the Dallas blues again.

An avid supporter of "cruising around", i am never without my beloved ipod. Any missed turn, any "long-cut" is like a fresh blanket out of the dryer in the middle of a blizzard. Stress i've known has always been alleviated by a long, aimless drive. I suppose this derives from spending most of my teenage years being grounded and having my family errands as my only form of freedom. At which point i'd take the longest route possible to and from my destination.
The only unsettling feeling is the pitch black sensation that sinks in my stomach and spreads out inside of me when i turn around and head back home.
Today's drive took me past mountains that hugged the road and seemed to curve out endlessly across the lip of the sky. The litter of outlet malls and fast-food chains filtered out as cacti and sandy hills began to trickle in. Not to be compared to the big luscious, earthy hills of Texas flooded with trees and wild flowers but, a beauty in it's own right. My longing for Texas has subsided a bit but I can still feel part of myself not completely here.
This is why people never move to places far away from home where they know no one. But, regardless of my outer demeanor, I am still fighting against everything i feel growing brown and neutral inside of me. The numbing sensation of the days bleeding out in to one another is somewhat kind but they bring with them a slight pessimism. It has not yet overshadowed the optimistic glow of who i know i am but, unless i keep wearing myself out against the daily battles - it will drown me.
I was not raised to give up on myself and i have not forgotten those values. But, when does it get easier and what am i not throwing enough effort at?

i'd like my solitude with extra room, please.

Blank space only reminds me that i'm not writing - not taking charge of what i want to do with my life. I hate working directly with people all day long. I hate seeing the same people everyday and plastering a stupid smile on my face so that i might one day, eventually, be able to mingle with them without hesitation. Working directly with people is a form of human practice. I've come to the conclusion that if it doesn't feel "natural", it isn't.
Take Eric, for example. A customer i see everyday i work. I hate Eric. He reminds me why i do not like people. He's tall and wide and hopelessly uncharismatic. He reminds me why i hate my job. He's a boring man that orders the same drink everyday. A venti Americano with extra room. His eyebrows fall over his eyes like fat, lazy caterpillars and his facial hair exceeds the length of what's appropriate for any man his age. He's big and fat and the fact that his shirts lack grease stains is a bit of a shocker. He closes his eyes when he talks to people and he reads from a Nook. Everything about him irritates me. His jokes are miserable and his face is rosy and fleshy.
Everyday i see him, it reminds me that i'm not doing shit with my life... just like blank pages.

Cheers

I like how he forgets to check his pockets before he does laundry, so when i take clothes out of the dryer - i find crunchy, wrinkly latex gloves hidden in the warm clothes. ♥