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| Word 'O the Day: BESPECTACLED
Picture 'O the Day (black forest germany): 
Shoes 'O the Day: 
Finally I'm back at xanga because I'm bout to lose my brain in Media/DECONSTRUCTIVE Criticism etccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc..........blog. So I have to look at calming places and blue shoe laces (mine are blue).
Band 'O the day
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March 6th
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| Time floats like leaves in the wind. funny how you segment life into these slots of time. always doing something, always quick, busy, too busy to take time to watch time float like leaves in the wind. But still it does float by like that (leaves in the wind), only with your back turned, you face something that at currency, is more dire, more important to you at the time. So you pay no attention, and seasons change. The leaves turn auburn. You can grow too, or you can recede.
You get excited, you chase after something, you have doubts, you pay no attention to detail, you fail, you feel sorry for yourself, you get over it, you choose life, reality, you get inspired and yet again excited. And you've got to try until you succeed because there is nothing else to keep you from going mad. Orbit the cycle until you blast off.
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| Although I have felt strongly against the writing of my daily passings here on xanga, it's due time. I haven't writ in awhile, so I write:
Amidst mental capacity stretches, my summer is fleeing from me. Just when I thought I'd be chillin', I ain't. I have a lot going on now, but it's not bad, no not at all. But taxing nonetheless.
Today was my first night of serving at the restaurant, and it went well. Phil Dub trained me in the art, which mostly consisted of getting thrown to the sharks. But I didn't screw anything up, drop anything, or experience any awkward or angry customers = knock on wood. I think I like it, and I've never felt six hours fly by so incredibly fast. I'll still be bussing occasionally, some nights. But eventually I be a full on server. yeah boii.
Alright, otherwise...
-got a random internship that will count for school credit (not to mention $10/hour) but in the words of Kent, "it's just weird."
-still in summer school (fuckin' bleh)
-going to Texas, New York, Berkeley, (Washington and Minnesota) all in the next month (while flawlessly weaving the above activities in with it).
-trying to save up money for a car.
-getting tirelessly burnt out on orange county (gotta getty outta here) ^
-biking a lot
Lastly, regrettingly, I hate to end on a sad note but, this guy Grant who was a server at OSF died last week. He was like 20-some years old. Really quiet guy, heresay is that he chose to end his life. It's sad and death effects me strangely, even though I didn't know him that well. Just wrapping my head around the fact that Grant doesn't exist anymore, I don't know. Mention Grant in your prayers if you will. Thanks folks, goodnite,
Most sincerely, James | | |
| I know I've said it before, and even regretted it, felt bad about slandering my community enforcers of the law. After all, perhaps they aren't all bad. Perhaps there are some out there serving their communities with their fellow community "members" in mind. But until I meet a cop who fits that description...Fuck tha police. | | |
| I remember when I was young(er). I had these aspirations of driving west man. Driving west until I couldn't no more. I had an unbelievably graceful way of visualizing happiness, patchy planned ideas of how I would achieve it, but absolutely no concept of how to maintain it. That didn't matter. It was almost divine, this feeling of complete serenity produced from the excercising of freedom (of which I was so unthankfully blessed) in the most beautiful way. So I moved to California. I knew no one, no place; not even the soil looked familiar. That never mattered to me anyway. I am the lone ranger, nomad at best. Vagrant suits me well. But I am a confused soul following the shadow of a distant wind, whom of which I can barely hear the cry. The word "California" (of which I will write no more in hopes that it's beauty won't be tainted) carries an aesthetic that no other english word does. It has to. It was bound to its exquisiteness after the first sun set over the great blue nothing. Write this word in cursive on a leaf of paper, and see what happens. Each letter meant to follow the one preceding it. Perfect length, height, contrast; visually this word is the epitome of wonder.
I see it, that strip of PCH just south of Malibu, everytime. I see the smog/haze/fog mix to make a lung or two hope for a gust of wind. The traffic moves too, n, s, e, w; at the end of the day it's all balanced out, we're centered. We're home. We go places. We come home. We go places. We come home. Lather, rinse, repeat.
We are rooted. We go places. We are uprooted. We are challenged. We come home. We are different. We weren't made to go places all the time. We were made to appreciate. There are too many roads to nowhere, and not nearly enough to appreciation.
Tom Petty or Van Morrison. Even Elliott Smith. But especially the Eagles. When I hear "Take it to the Limit", I can't help but be brought back to that initial feeling of illumination. When I drove up PCH for the first time, I felt it wasn't for me. It was too perfect... | | |
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