Moving on, Part Two

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

-Carl Gustav Jung

September 2nd, 2015

3:52pm
As the summer days unwind, and as my conforming occupation of prepping for the final lap of the year march reigns my presumptuous thoughts, I reflect as a mitigate stimuli to cope with the surfacing roles a person detaching from dependency would soon realize. Everywhere I can, I have a small notebook to respire my spirits with. And it does wonders.
After several occasions of training, a rising concern revolves around a drama of which I'd much rather not dip a toe in. This mini preoccupation is what would happen if my second life were to be out and about without my consensus. And already, I feel a coming tide behind the gates of the internet tempting its limits. And I've been somewhat careful not to express this outwardly. To some extent, only two people of my mainstream current are even remotely aware that I am a part of a subculture as exquisitely creative and odd as one with praised anthropomorphism in the form of other organisms of the animal kingdom. Two from my high school I recognized at the convention. And not a greeting shared. I've been pressed forwardly to continue this "experimental journey" for someone more than twice my age, and wow, how have I been oblivious to this controversial difference. Although I've hinted at the loosened knot, they were tightened back when a toy depicting my character's species was bought. Now it seems obligatory to withhold this bond, however appealing to dichotomy this may appear. Only six leftover sunny-side up plates until the memory books are commenced. I sit under the outlined tree pondering "what" with my future, and reflecting on the open whiteness beyond of which I know exists in memory, and in fortune's wreath. I'll be there, soon.

October 15th, 2015

2:19pm

Wait, I think I just did something that I know I should not have done! What would that be? Where is the sanity in this argument? Oh, no. I have lost my in on the randomness of topics! Now, with integration of a schedule, I have to abide by it. Even if life butts in at times, even if an hour of isolation unwillingly props the doors of being discovered wide open, I still should be completely aware of my independent actions! What does it mean to be alone or out of ideas? Where would that result? How am I sufficient to progressive achievement?

Questions of the sort are plentiful in my database, but I hardly ever access them as often as their cries call. It is not because they are to be neglected children, but it hardly is the moment to decide what to make of their entities. I am a wholesome soul who strives to maintain his habitable innards and keep the environment within a comfortable zone. With dogma of irrefutable questions, I open a wound that needs oxygen in order to mend. Without and about these improperly established sessions, they do not get the needed amount of breath or say in what goes on with my life.

All because of a tender spot unwilling to become a wish of opportunity.

What may become of myself, from this?

October 17th, 2015

11:50pm
Aye, and so the moments of spiraling truth reveals itself further. I am not going to be the same person I was yesterday. And yet it remains so, I won't allow the passive voice to be narrowed in its margin to underestimate its obstacles by how weak of a volume it has access to. Its energy is unstable, but it wills onward, despite its dusty panel of attendance. I won't try to be something that isn't a guru or a goal simply because of how difficult it is to maintain a stable pedestal in this conforming life! Argh, what does it mean to experiment with one's imagination, if one can only create great examples? Where is the opportunity of learning? Where does one expand from that lesson? These rants, they add from the garrison of them soon arriving upon status quo. Wreath from isolation and harvest, journey from the ill-consented vehement beyond the crazy constitution of the patterns that are out there. I will speak even if it is senseless. Because that is how I will learn not to repeat such a grass-stained stroll.

October 18th, 2015

"If you don't think you are worthy, then all of your accomplishments, achievements, friends, all of that is worthless."
"I just have to step three feet away, and I no longer have to squint at the mirror. I can be beautiful and I am."
"I wasn't as confident, and I wasn't as full of my self esteem as I once was."
"I built a persona on what I could and couldn't do."
"Why are you fighting so hard not to be yourself?"
"What was I going to do? I was just really scared. Was I happy, was I really the person I wanted to be?"
"I decided on that day, I was going to go across India and be an elephant hunter."
"I found out that being an outlier was a good thing. I knew my life would never be the same. Once I stepped off that elephant."

"Esteem comes and goes. And there are moments where we regain it, and lose it, and so forth."

"We go forward a few steps. Then we step back seventeen."
"To have self esteem, to be in a healthy relationship. that takes work."

"Kaanshi, an organization to change mindsets behind disability."

'What could possibly be left, by the people who are beyond the needs of human?"
"The final stage of the hierarchy of Maslow's need, is self-actualization. Not one of the three thousand students expressed the characteristics of self-actualization."

"Being proud of accomplishing the simple things. Then you take the next step. And once you practice enough, then you enter a state of mind, losing yourself in your work, a state of ecstacy.


-Esteem

"What I really feel on the inside. I feel a great monument of able ability that is ready to seize the day, no. That is not it even. I will find that way to fully indulge myself to the point where what I do is pouring out of my body and into the mind. I feel energetic. I feel enticing and powerful. It is exhilarating! Yet, I lie in my own melancholy by how much pressure I put into suppressing the sky under a realist light. Where is the love in that? Imagination is the most eccentric tool the human body has, and it is the most important asset there ever existed. Why let the air of curiosity belittle itself into a hollow box of supposed meaning? Where is the life in that? And so I screech on the wonders of how small we are, and how big this universe has yet to explain. Great and understanding I walk for, and opportunity of passion I strive for. There is meaning when one thinks of him or herself as worthy.

October 20th, 2015

10:20pm
Self actualization. The last tier to Maslow's human needs. Being all there can be, and then some. That is my goal, and I will meet it some way or another.
Trying out the daily writing habit is a dedicated discipline that I have not, unfortunately, accustomed myself to already by the beginning of the year. It was out of willpower and determination that I decided to start this a month and some later. And when I think about all of the components that relate to my current situated life, I begin to ponder of just how rich, divine, varied, and all the more suspenseful my life truly is. Trying out an idea out of the blue. Creating without a foundation by making the foundation out of scratch. Doing. All of that adds up gradually making the lifelong process enriching to anyone's taste buds.

As with writing. The daily writing journal I shall use. Just write, write, write.

October 29th, 2015

6:08pm

I don't know anymore, but I feel as though my thoughts have wandered past its prime and into a forgotten territory I once was an enthusiastic entrepreneur of. My motives have been better, and I have grown optimal towards the daily duties of managing my time well and am keeping my head up with the tide of opportunity rolling in. The more sharply pressing hacks of society's deadlines are leading this wave as of now. I'm getting there. I haven't made any progress, but I'm getting there.

I'm getting there....

10:13pm

Even I have succumbed to an infamous trail. Now, I am not one to be even remotely provoked by the status of singlehood, but now, as I browse the internet, I have realized just how much of another someone I am looking for. Look, I am bisexual. It's hard enough for me to even recognize this publicly, much less permanently for the world to see, but I feel it is time for a change to take place. I've hidden my alter ego for years now. I've only recognized it in the previous one, yet I feel I've been this person I've been hiding, this energy willing to evolve out of its eggshell, a bird who has been sitting in the nest long enough to know it is time to spread my colorful wings. Just gosh, it's not enough to post this online. I must let those I love be aware of this identity. I wonder where I had gone wrong in my teenhood, that led me to feeling such sentimentally crisscrossing strings? Was it this well kept secret? Was I suppressing an opportunity that could have matured, but was holding it back for it to wallow in its own underdeveloped progressive pomp? Was that why I felt half-full, or half-empty, in any casual day? But, in consideration, where do I go from here?

Aye, this blog has turned me into a tail of self-concerned frugality of my prolific social embodiment. A mask, if you will, of distortion to what really lies behind my trademark smile almost anyone I've walked by in the hallway either knows dearly or has witnessed.  All of these questions race in my head, and I cannot provide a straightforward answer at that.

Ha, straight.

Oh, my....

October 26, 2015

When I found out I was to go on Monday, today, I already knew it couldn't be done. It was a hanging edge I did not have enough running time to make such a leap as I raised my hand the previous Friday. With a slap to the face, I got started on my Preparation Outline for this informative speech I was to give that day. Today.
The day was hectic from the beginning. Although I squeezed in wherever an opportunity of cramming to fit, there simply was the quality of the lack of lateness that is prevalent no matter how hard I try to cover it up. No one can change a lifelong habit in a day. It's the gradual steps taken daily that do. Heart sunk, I scribbled what I could onto my notecards before I was called up.
Then a flashback hit.
Tenth grade. Lonesome, on the verge of my waking soul, deprived of social preparedness. The teacher had to send me to my counselor by my performance. Even the topic was something that hinted at the hidden side of my wonderful smile.
Was it a dark one? It might be. But hearing my own opinions won't assure this mystery.
I stood before the room as awkward as I had two years prior. Mrs. Sass, our CIS Communications teacher, has the routine implanted into our brains as I replayed her words. "Feet planted on the floor. Square hips. Take a deep breath in, and begiin!"

"In the eyes of business, the former method of marketing was that everybody was the same in statistics. Now, with newer methods, that is no longer so. Every consumer is treated individually. Their wants, desires, preferences, and longings are taken into account. Behavioral economics is the collision between Psychology and Economics, and what I will be going over are some strategies businesses use in marketing, from the powers of "Sweet Spots", to...loss aversion, to free, and ultimately comparison.
"Oftentimes businesses target "fat spots, or..." Drat! What was the term? "...interest groups are large parts of the population where an interest is shared. Think of shoes, for example. Would you rather have a pair that almost everyone has, or a pair that are unique to you? As stated by Eric Clemons (so far so good) a professor at the Wharton School from the University of Pennsylvania, in the Article "How Information Changes Consumer Behavior and How Consumer Behavior Determines Corporate Strategy" published in the Journal of Management Information Systems, it is not about appealing to the population as a whole, but rather being better for each of your customers."
Flip. Flip. Flip. Where was the card? They all are blank except for one citation at the bottom! I felt the anvil of social expectation hurting my prolific side, its weight reddened my face.
"Loss aversion. We all... Are.... We all... According to-"
My improvisation ceased.
"According to-"

"Come on, Dan! You can do it! According to..."

No. For once, I couldn't. I was overwhelmed from the heart up. I admit. My expression saddened. It was though I was looking at my mother and wanting her help. No words emitted, only a stare of utter shame and disappointment.
I sat down to let the next in line reawaken the fallen spirit.

By the end of the hour, it was hard not to hold back the dam of tears whose walls have dried four years ago.

8:04pm
I wanted it all to be over. To suddenly stop and see just how much I've let myself down, and those who looked up to me. That moment, a dangerous thought entered my mind. What if I could make that happen, and soon?
From the inside, the angel on my right shoulder was balling by the destruction of happiness. It couldn't wait. I would be a singed whisper, not the imagined leader of tomorrow I so aspire. Sad. I wasn't sure what else to think. Down, like the sun amidst a dying star, eight seconds from telling the Earth about its eruption. That's how long it took for light to travel from our blue planet to the emblem of our life, as I learned from Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.
All I wanted then was a beach to sit by in silence. Without the sound of waves, either. Just pure isolation.

October 27, 2015
8:01pm
As I already knew there would be a punishment for my debt of unpreparedness, I awaited the cry of morality. This was expected, and although I set myself up for failure by raising my too optimistic hand, I felt small, and wanted to hide somewhere and be free of time and stress. Sigh, but I know I am better than this, and must prepare to give the best darn speech I've given thus far.

November 1st, 2015

10:30pm
As the new season of cold begins to rummage my closets and open up the dust that lies above my warmers, I have a realization that I cannot forgo without acknowledging its presence somewhere.
As a child, I was a rebellious lad, full of sin but always undergoing some knack of adventurous mischief that would energize my vibe and be willing to go any circumstance of creativity there was to make. I was in my element, per say. In the sixth grade, I was in my element as well, but I have found another way of getting to that home of infinite energy. I became more in tune with my academic profile, I became a reader, a writer, and an active listener. Then came my high school years. This was the moment of truth. I am at the final steps of doing something that would actually have an effect on my future, that would make a lasting impact and forever bring forth my ever-aspired ego to be more and rise above the occasion.
With Freshman year, I was already one step ahead of my classmates.
Sophomore year, I discovered my true potential and conflicted with the definition of "me".
In Junior year, I began my unearthing of my inner self, allowing light to seep through my social mask.
Here I am. the big Senior Year. One last step towards reaching the final part of becoming who I am to be. And also, being a legal adult.

I have made lots of mistakes I wish I could take back. Some days, my ultimate disparate castle was lost in the fog of uncertainty, and I could not run away from all of the doubt I had encircling me, caused by me, or was helpless against. There were hypes and peaks as well. I had a life in the short two months I've been studying, and with the divergence of no math or science class, I enabled a new me to wean through a curious path of emerging from its cradle of security.

With the eloquence of being subject to mass failure and having at the one shameful effect of unethical procrastination, I do say, where do I draw the line in holding forward what could be done today?

I do not know where and when I may lead the way, and I may not know the best route. I must try, no matter my situation, and no matter if I am the best choice to rise to the occasion. Life's all about jumping at the moment without thinking of the consequences, or not even knowing what may be the effect. Risk, and the gamble of opportunity may chance to be within your favor.

I cannot be a trend of hesitation.

I cannot wait for what's obviously an opportunity.

I cannot miss another lifetime in my future.

But, where do I begin? How do I know, what will happen, where will I need preparedness, howcanIdothis,whatwillbetheeffects,whatifIamnotprepared,howdoIknowIcandothis,
butwhatifIdonotknowtheway,wherecanIgoforhelp,Iamscared,whatifIgoofup,whatifIamnotthebestpersonfortheocasion,
whatif,wait,I'mnotready,wheredoesthelinedrawitself,Idon'tknow,please,waitIDON"TKNOW!
WhatwouldhappenigIblowthisoff?Whatwouldbecomeofme?Iamstressed.WhatdoIdo?Ohno.

...

A new month that began a day late.

November 2nd, 2015

11:08pm

The day was rather usual. School, all of the mumbo-jumbo that I am obliged to smile and attend to daily, which I not only do not mind, but enjoy rather frivolously. The morning was a rampant of a slow waking and oxygenating of my body. The cup of tea of ritual served, sweater for the unusally warm weather, I was ready for another day.

After returning home, I checked my calendar and found out that I had something come up today. My phone buzzed with an event, "Book signing at the U of M bookstore", dismiss or snooze? Weird, I thought. Wasn't it tomorrow? To reassure this, I checked on the official site of the location.
Wow.
After sitting in the car for half an hour, I decided to take my chance, missing out on all of the time I could be productive, and go there.

Jenny Lawson was the person I had the opportunity of meeting. Her latest book had me curious as to what it will be about. From a humoristic author, it must be worthwhile.
She stood before us and greeted us with such an enthusiasm, I wondered if the swearing, raging, tail-on-tail ranting blogger behind her first book was the same person.
She seemed like a total sweetheart.

As I arrived late, there was a long line of people waiting for an autograph, and an even longer one with people who didn't reserve a ticket. Oh no, it would be hours before I return home. And it was.
So, I pulled out my trusty notebook I should always carry around, and begun writing.

By meeting someone weird, I realized that I don't have to give a ______ about what the other person thinks of me! I went overboard about caring of this abhorrent dilemma of which when looked upon in all, reality isn't so life mangling as I pitch it to be.

And then I trailed off.

I need to gain weight.

I might be here for an hour.

Where is all of [my] energy coming from?

I should have brought my homework. I need to read a chapter of my CIS Communications book, and with all this time on my hands, I could be finished. And then, whoosh, Jenny is right up. Yeah, and a desk too. One that straps onto your shoulders and wears like a pack.

But in all kidding aside, I must clarify my next point. Life is more than surviving. Monumentally more. It is about self-actualizing oneself and becoming a paragon of what defines you. Be more than what people want you to be. Don't even listen. It's your life, and only you can decide on which is the right course of action.
Because think about it. We are one organism with a limited time frame on living on this wonder-filled world. There is never enough time to discover all there is to this sometimes wonderful, sometimes detrimental, and all of the gray in between type of home. It simply is overwhelming to our tiny bodies. Our consciousness can only process so much. Its the things that we can attain devoted attention that makes our stay a purposeful one.

And... I've fallen off the boat from my original intentions of this blog for some time. I wanted it to be about a project, hey, I wasn't even sure what that project would result to be, but I started it anyway, and because of not believing in myself, because of straying from my motives, desires, and becoming a substance of mainstream popularity, I've mixed black in my colorful palette. It was a challenge to recognize who I was. I never knew what to define myself because I didn't seem to fit in the categories I came across. But you know what? I'll make a new one. One that does not look into a definitive "type" of person, but rather breathing them in whole, and taking that as a category of itself. I want to associate people with a hope that everyone has the ability to be a good person, that everyone can donate or give, no matter what they have to offer. It's all about living a wholesome life, completely defined by you. That's my goal. That'll be my new project! I'll give a bit of my happiness in as many shapes and forms as I can.

Even though, through small acts of kindness, I've already had this project begun.

“It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” ― Mother Teresa

Moving on, Part One.

"We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."

-Walt Disney

July 5th, 2015

(Nothing)

August 1st, 2015

Some time in the afternoon.

I moved out of the five long years streak of living in a basement, but it is not for a better place, or a beneficial experience. It was almost on a whim, by my mother, without even a destination in mind. And so the last few days of July was spent in  hurried time race to seek and find some help for what would now be considered homelessness in legal terms. A friend helped, and now I am wondering what will be next of this adventure. For what could have been avoided first of all. No blaming today.

August 8th, 2015

2:14pm
It has been a week since my arrival here at Teresa's living room. Moments would follow through as though they were on a slow but steady race. I can catch them once I step up to the track. I often don't run as fast as I imagine I would after my feet kick up sand. Documentaries became my lunch. Swimming has proved to be a convenient mode of physical experience, other than the library with an approximate in between distance of my runs around Lake Phalen, or three miles. All the more, going out and enjoying the day presses me forward.
On the quieter side of my enterprise, the night would fall soundlessly and the restlessness of my family blink away sleep, and here with my computer glowing in stillness, my ideas flowed easier. It's on a modern device. My reassurance will rest with the churning of a pen and its mouth. Notebooks will always have that warm, imaginative emporium. Some days, however, I do dream of one utopian afternoon, where bubbles of thoughts would be caught before they fly away. How would it be done? That's for us to decide. Us as in humanity and the universe's infinite expansion. Us as in our ways of thinking so distinct from our sisters and brothers of the animal kingdom, that we are able to engineer wisps of disembodied matter into whatever the creator decides should be birthed. How funny to think of such a thing. And how is it that we think, to top that off? Wait, not how, but why is a progressive question. All of these thoughts talk to me as I try to balance my day.

August 10th, 2015

10:52am
It has been a week for me. I've gone to a gradual rise on my writing now that I've intricately described what I am about to construct with comrades. And these people are the ones I've purposely kept behind the pretty wall from my mother. Aye, the world of my alter ego has casted a tension on the belt of my family bonds. There has been a dream of this person, and it was a rather questionable one. There was a friend from a bowling alley, a mask and matching soft red paws were worn by this person, and then came something else that at the time I thought was not such a big deal. There was mostly playful fights, and now I see it as another meaningful vision. What was once a side interest has engulfed my focus on what is important in the remaining weeks of summer. Only, let's see, twenty seven days of this freedom. Or is it even that? I wonder, I haven't read as often as I ought to be doing. My mind has swerved under the influence, of a subculture.
Today I have finally another chance at getting out of this pit of dependence via a job interview. I, oddly, do not appreciate the mindset of someone labeling another before the legal age of maturity as a "kid" or some other variance of the term. It is quite a stubborn argument to be giving. In reality, I have my hand in both pond of the spectrum of being so close to adulthood. I am still young. I am fervent in what I do, and at a ripe age at that. But I am also a responsible, independent, and maybe even a tier above my age group in thought processes and wisdom. Only four months until the watery stupor of being an adolescence will be over. And that has made me think, what can I do until then?
But what does that matter even so? I'll still be as healthy the next day of the month. I won't meet a tsunami of paperwork and bills the morning after. I may not even notice anything has changed unless I were to peer at the calendar, and remember why. But, meanwhile, I know that is not all where all the eggs are in my basket.  I will have from then on a deeper sense of galloping minutes in the sands of the wind. I won't ever relive my teen years again. It is one thing that I care about this concern, but another to see the clock ticks on a booklet as an important life event as well. No matter what the application says or what my neighbors are popping after, I will change once more, however different it may or may not turn out to be. However vague or descriptively tuned my planner fattens up to be. Daniel J. Marquez, he no longer will be, he already is.

3:58pm
The interview went well. It may be the closest I've been to obtaining an actual job, aside from the other place of Subway. It's at a senior home not too far from my temporal housing. So, I wait for a call that is the tether to the flow of income. I may as well make use of the rest of my summer to be a true, wholesome experience.
Writing has become an entity of energy for me. It's as though the field of pen to paper scripture is an actual animal. It's eyes are hungry for expression, but it won't comply easily to the beginner well. In fact, it may not even take a liking of its comrade at all. What it seems to boil down to, this metaphor, is that we must live a mutual relationship with our fellow warrior. Controlling it is not a possibility, for if one knows how well of a piece he or she may have baked, the juxtapose of our own expectations in the hands of an editor perhaps, or a judgmental relative, will flip that literary cake upside down. And not in fondant manners. The career writing may form for me has leveled my mind to be rather a selfish individual as I care for more "me" than "we" in this life book with sentences as my day. The little posse living right inside my office space? They are visitors. Oh, it is a difficult discipline, indeed, and even more so once someone takes the oath of doing it without a barnacle of regard for the lazy mind. Imagination will, eventually, be carved out of its box in the refrigerator  and join us for this business day. But, wait, let's take in all of the other meetings it has. And all of the soccer practices Creativity must attend. And the emergency that Abstract got itself into. And so on. Maybe not a hundred hours spent at the desk would be as profitable as we would like for it to be. All of these factors contribute to why dedication is a must. Ego and emotions cannot be interwoven among the mingling ants of creative possibilities. And so I realize on my little journey of keeping a daily writing habit alive.

August 12th, 2015

11:51am
I am keeping up with the schedule and so, I feel vividly energetic at the moment! So many friends I have, and yet, why am I not being concise and updating my whereabouts with them?
Anyways, I've registered to go to my first convention in Minneapolis called, well, it involves lots of fluff, so maybe that will be enough information for a few informed. This Migration will be held at a hotel, but, without a job, I won't be staying over in the rooms surrounding the vicinity.  It lasts for three days, but as a volunteer, I might be there for four. Lots of free, fun, and playful people of an invigorating warmth will be attending this public pool of the animal kingdom. And so, I'll be waiting with an ever lasting eager ego, ready for the marvelous hours there until the 27th.
     Friends of an informative level of intelligence know my ambitions quite from top to bottom. I feel enthusiasm raging me to go and meet a few and tell of my stories, or just merely go about and make small talk or chit-chat. I do have knacks to scurry over back at my apartment, the two weeks of iffy feelings I carried filling out the job application last Friday. Still no call from Subway, but from what it looks, I have a better bet on the senior homes. Now, I'm at that time of day where I know I should be doing something, but what is that something again? Hmm, I need a planner.
Ugh, it's still on my mind. It will be so fun!

A moment of Randomness

What do you call a pill that causes pain? A pill-ow!

I should be doing the laundry by now. Oh wait, I already know that my mother is on the case.

Rrrrruuuuuunnnn!

Writing is fun.

How did we go from a hunting and gathering society to one that is so segregated from the myths of food? We are focusing our energy on ideas and concepts that is unimaginably progressive? What will become of us near the end of humanity's existence? What sort of awe are we adept for, and capable of performing only in our future selves? What if we could witness the universe's end?

I wonder how the clouds of an imperial fortress will be attained as I, a groundling, am forced to climb an infinity to reach these steps? May it be madness, but all the wise ones are impeccable to boundaries, no matter how implausible they seem.

I think that's enough for this dispersing creative energy to chew on.

4:58pm
The days no longer feel as long as they once used to. Every passing glance is another hour out the door, or a day unseized by the arms of our present. I'll be moving once more, and maybe then, maybe this one more time as I may be transferring schools, that there will be the shock of my own doubtful, unselfish bridge between the faulty crevice of the mind and soul. Let there be randomness, let there be a wistful gate; the mind alleviated from stale breath as its open window allows all there is to accept, refute, or counter the curious, brittle, but all the more awe-inspiring universe of which a gifted opportunity has been granted in our own spirits. The way of the mind does not depend on those who treasure knowledge or logic or grounded ideas, it is a pleasant discovery of what could be happening, of our own improvising nature and creativity as the wayward guide of our lights are the definitions of what makes us truly ourselves. It is the magic in wonder that preserves the child we physically outgrew. But with some help, the fountain of youth will be present in our hearts. All the ways one can think of today as an excellent miracle, forever more, and until the day of our life's still pond to refer back on our memories upon, is a gratitude in itself.

By Friday, this will all fade from my mind, and I will be simply exerting caloric energy through the rise and fall of boxes and bags and whatever else that should have been thrown out. Maybe then, maybe today, maybe even through my own reflection of now, I could understand what it means to be human. Wholesomeness through the universe.

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Testing Season

As you move outside of your comfort zone, what was once the unknown and frightening becomes your new normal.

Robin S. Sharma

April 26, 2015 

-9:14pm
Forcing oneself to change is part of the process, and especially when the occasion is felt for it. Especially since I have "big dreams".
My dreams have been running low on fuel, as if they were stopping in pit stops, taking their time out of the night lane, and staying there for the rest of the, it has been a few weeks now, hasn't it? Sleeping in their cars rather than in my head, then telling me all about their experience. It flops a perspective to think that the occasional vision occurs when my mind is not digging the piles of books out of the to-do pile. So, I wonder how that can be seen as, in terms of a character and person.
The month of April has been action packed from the head to even beyond the feet, a few feet into the ground of May. Lately my planner's been full of studying, and hardly do I see the relaxing degree below the high bars of responsibilities nor the cover of my sketch book, my journal, even my weekend, and I have not spent that as wisely as I should have! So, one test is bound to be over this Tuesday. Already it creeps up as though it were not Tuesday, but in eleven hours. Ay, I spend the hours going over my obligations and sometimes a bit more than that. These days, the time goes by faster. Weeks are three long days. Hours are fifteen minutes. And before, as I was once a small child eager for the school to be vacant, that same hypothetical dream is from such a different person who thought of it. Will the same be thought of, ten years, or even half of that ahead?
Tomorrow will know.

May 2nd, 2015

-7:15pm
This is the final week of the, I don't believe madness is the right word to use in this context, as it would imply the circumstance boiling the curriculums were out of hand, but meanwhile, there is a friction between the required hours of study or homework with the time available in the last full month of my junior year. Lately, I've devoted a fraction of my active week to find an alternative as a catalyst to getting the full output of learning and homework in another, more beneficial manner. The shortcut across the back alley to get the jobs done, without sacrificing detail. One of those methods I found was reading at a faster rate. With one out of the five tests down, my studying habits are flooding to the point of infiltrating other important devotions. My AP Calculus BC exam, for example, has occupied what could have been chapter homework for my second C++ class, or for my rewrites for my essays, or for my AP Chemistry exam that is actually before the calc test and is tomorrow.
 With these preoccupations, the forgetting calmness of the final weeks is trifle now. Imagining what I would do in the meantime is a cloud away. Mother's Day is a week away, and I haven't begun scratching the canvas yet. Also, the end of the year edition of my school's newspaper, Polar Prints is coming, and I've been putting off the comics for this special reason. The mounds of borrowed books collect dust. Pockets empty, too. But for now, I will focus on what matters most, and that is dependent on the future ahead. The standards of success must prevail. Princeton, here I come.

May 12th, 2015

-17:35
I'd say I'm a bibliomaniac in some ways. Often I read dictionaries to learn new words for my bafflegab in journals like this. The frabjous time spent in preparations for what would become my permanent mark on a draw for free money is, well, worthy and a juggle to balance. The final three important hours of AP are tomorrow. Hmm, in hindsight, this wrongful child should not have been written, and instead would have been useful time in study. But that idea is defenestrated from my thoughts. All time not spent well is not wasted. It itself is a lesson learned. And social life is as important as *the curriculum between the stops.

*Written after the date on the 16th

May 16th, 2015

-8:56pm
I feel a surge of wisdom, but not necessarily of words, or of the sudden mind, it's a peace that I finally have made with mind and soul, as I have pushed the button that I said I would about the ten percent of my wholesomeness that I have held inside and kept it there. Could this have been since the sixth grade? Is that what I was referring to for the five years since? Is this the explanation for the not teary, not sad either, and not down, but the longing, of an honest mind to be imagining the relief of the duct tape over its wonderful staged in faint outline speeches? The moment was on a Friday afternoon, some time after the suckers lab in AP Chemistry. I was idle, surveying the classroom as I default to doing and is not a manner of absorbing their posterity, but a study. Waiting, I decided to work on the comics for Polar Prints, and that's when part one began. My classmate behind, with the same name almost, wondered what I was doing and I told her. I then added that this sketchpad was also used for my other art.
Even at the experimental paintings, I felt as though these were the amused children huddling at my feet to get to touch the interesting Eagle I had at arm. It was then that the person whom I saw and competed with in grades came up to me and asked me a question. It wasn't the first spoken sentence, however. "I'm going into computer science as well." "What? Oh, computer science! So what college are you applying for?" "Hopefully I'll go into one of the elite schools." "Like Harvard?" "No, something like Princeton. I keep getting letters from them." "Oh, Princeton! I'm thinking about applying there as well." A pause. "The best thing I could draw was in Studio Art II (Drawing), and it was this hand that was in the shape of a cave. ("Cool!") It wasn't very accurate and it is the best thing I will ever draw in my life." I wanted to reassure her that with practice, makes perfect, but, the conversation receded as the bell rang us apart. Then I ran downstairs into Advance American Literature B.
The class began with an odd number as the David Foster Wallace speech was re-represented by the teacher, only this time he was live and in person and not behind a beard and a camera. This was one for a graduating class, but all the same, it applied to us as well, as that day is no longer sitting on the horizon. After it was done, I was captured by it again. I felt a nobility surge, as though I were standing inside my own body. This was the time to push that button of yours, my subconscious rang. Mr. Krueger looked around to find my crawling hand inching upward. "I liked how you just crawled your hand upward, slowly inching it!" Go ahead, he tells me. So I did.
"I find that each of us can take bits out of this speech and apply it into our lives." "How so?" "I find it that in the world we live in we all are a little judgmental. By applying ourselves with allowing the mind to be open, I feel we all can, um, lower our stress of responsibilities and obligations, and we would be more accepting of the life we have." "Nice."
As I spoke this, I quaked, but only my body did. As I was packing my binder, I hear the silence rising to a halt. I looked over to hear what he had to say. "You should talk more. Whenever you speak you have interesting things to say." And then he continues. " I mean, I don't want you to  force everything out, but it would be nice for you to share what goes on in your mind more often." "Thanks."
My summer began at that moment. Of all the opportunities I had, this was the one that was long overdue. "So I'm writing a book over the summer. It's called... Sketches. And originally it was supposed to be a sci-fi/fantasy, but I changed that to be more of a fiction, ("mm-hmm") a realistic fiction." The last sentence was asked like a question. I went on. "The second book I'm writing is called Thirty Percent of Ninety and what the title signifies is that thirty percent is what is told about myself (even though I meant anyone in general) and sixty percent is hidden. The extra ten percent is how people should live, one hundred percent of their life." He did complement me, and I did go away. I did have another prompt to ask, and thought, he will be here until those three remaining weeks are over. Help me lower the clouds of my dreams, Mr. Krueger, the same ones that were raised by Mrs. Schreiber, and are still high, beaming brightly against the whiteness, and have them no longer be an incredible stretch of hand anymore, but a revitalization of that kick I have always stowed away.

Turn off the T.V.

Turn off the T.V.

"You always admire what you really don't understand." -Blaise Pascal

January 26, 2015 3:35pm

Peace. I had it, have leftovers, we all dig deep for it. A time of it, in my world, has been at the heart of a continuous strive and progressive changing. Specifically, silence opened its doors. Not much of it has been encountered in my experiences, with the exception of before the rustles of day, and after the settling of night. I would allow my thoughts to form, giving way to a wall, obstructing distraction, in the form of a piece of poster board aside my desk. Lots of it may come. Some days I'm rolling along.

The most I've been at ease was during the thirteen hours without cable. It is odd for me to recount it. The sheer empty tones echoing the rooms delighted me ever so. I finally have an advantage point. Boredom would soon take over my siblings, to, maybe, if, gave the slightest chance of at least picking up a book for their interest. Gosh, would I want that again. Sadly, this was shaded.

The less I had, the more I was aware of what was available to me, and the more wholesome my thoughts become.

February 13, 201510:08pm

Vulnerability. Making the next step. These dreams I've been experiencing, they were all are linked by a factor that is not a mystery. It is, well, and will. 
 Over the past few weeks I have noted the more I am myself, the more I discover how thick the wall is between my soul, and the body that stands as the "middle man" from the real world. My dreams, all of them, had and have meaning. One of how as I watched a television program (and when has that happened), nearing the final minute a person was signing to the viewer, giving a little "demo" on that stuff we be missing. Later, opening my laptop, the only working computer in the apartment, I found that it signified how I wasn't effective in my communication of my ideas, that I must find another way about the roads.
Another vision, me on a lifeboat, on an ocean, with a cut-scene of a school bus, was flashed before my eyes.
"You are about to venture on an important life journey needed for your own personal growth.

2/7/15 Stage: It is telling of your interactions with society. You are putting up an act and not being who you really are.
2/5/15 Can: There is something in your past that you need to hold on to and preserve.

2/3/15 In this dream, I wandered into a facility seemingly like my middle school, only the inside showed no signs of desks, nor were there whiteboards and the likes of the objects associated with a common middle-class school. There wasn't even a light on. Instead, the place was similar to someone's big garage. Objects scattered the whereabouts. I could recognize a chair, a desk, a chalkboard, an office printer, with the rest being blurred but still within sight. Just immediately to my front upon entering the echoing and oddly warm room was a blue light. This candle was atop a machine, a robot perhaps, glowed in a soft brightness, curious to the surrounding environment. Upon stepping forth, a loud crack sounded. An eerie stillness swept the abandoned area, an approaching form waded in obscurity. The robot did not at first chase me. Slowly did it creep forward, and asked a straight-forward question: "Will you be coming?" In a frozen stance, I didn't respond, which in effect, turned the serene light ocean orb into a hurricane  trapped in a snow globe. Outside perched a lonesome bicycle, a little to the left of the staircase. I grabbed it, eventually switching to a car, stopping by a fast-food restaurant, met some friends, and rode along the highway, escaping the epidemic.

2/21/15
The When

There is a heart inside of a passed fellow. We all have had experience with one, and, because of that, it doesn't make us any less caring than the force that is put into its thought. Sometimes we may have to push boundaries to have balance in this world. While the others of those said minutes of wander may not be as functioning as the circumstance presents. What is in a social pleasing? It is not one's own gold to thrill his or her friends for only their nay-saying optimism, like the silent poison of sugar, gradually embellishing our very existing souls in lethargic modes. What is in a judgement? How can we be humans if we are not without it? If we are oblivious to it's crunch? How about a lighthearted will of an actual motive? I may be reflecting from my own, inner belligerence.

Its views scrutinizing.
Little do I know about the warmth of daisies, either. Make the essence stay, whatever left of a hamster's energy for now, at least.
  
 I am accustomed to the lead.
Suckling its knowledge, wisdom, scaring my inner desire to build a wall from its wrath. I currently pick my way out. Often I am seen walking in circles about with sunshine behind, my progress continues, and life goes on.  The more I express, the more clear things become. Everyday, I feel this same sense, to such an extent that I must write about it. As the day goes on, however, and the sun's light is shaded by mellow dramatic family and tones, it's as though my dream faded away. This morning's, along with the formidable one of a continuum. Sometimes I may grab at the hint of the memory of it. The next day, is but another to re-experience. So far, I've reached until half an hour until the glow dissolves.
2/20/15 Drawer: "To see drawers in your dream signify your inner and hidden state and being. In particular, a disorderly drawer represents internal chaos and turmoil while an orderly drawer signifies calmness. Alternatively, a drawer symbolizes your reserves. There is something that you have stored away, but are now ready to use or express. If the drawer is full, then it symbolizes your many resources. If the drawer is empty, then it denotes your need to fulfill your goals."
 Piano:To dream that you are playing a piano indicates a quest for harmony in your life. Consider where the piano is placed as a clue as to what aspect of your life needs accordance. If no sound is coming out of the piano, then it implies a lack of confidence. You are not sure about how to express yourself and how to voice your beliefs.
 Nephew:To dream of your nephew represents some aspect of yourself that you need to acknowledge or recognize within yourself.
Beaker: To see or use a beaker in you dream signifies your need to integrate various aspects of your life together. Alternatively, the dream represents logic and objectivity. Perhaps you need to try looking at a problem from a completely different perspective.

These dreams are so meaningful, I have a deep understanding of my own form, and may see significance in those of others.
Bubble gum machine:
To see a gumball machine in your dream indicates that you are searching to be whole again. You are looking for something or someone to complete you. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you need to be more in tune with the inner child within. 
  
I am a searcher, so it seems.

The following morning, I went out for a bite. It was comparable to seeing a thirty-year old at a community college. The place was older than my father, and from the inside it was clearer by the stained tiled ceiling almost directly above our booth, the grease stain rising in a solid yellow smoke decor on the kitchen to the left. People could pop-a-squat and see the mellow-dramatic cuisine be fortified right before their noses. Our waitress wore a white apron that hid a contrasting uniform, serving my aunt and I iced water. Whatever it was about the place, it had a classic style of a movie-like run-of-the-mill, patty-flipping diner. To my right, even the ketchup and mustard bottles were plain red and yellow. It just looked the way. 
On most of these practice sessions for my driving, I would be spoon-fed what was "good" at the restaurant of the week.  This occasion called for something a bit different than the usual omelet. Today was, although still dairy-related, were eggs, and a side of hash-browns. Waiting for the order, I decided to talk.
"Do you have any pictures of the computer?"
Her mind had a processing delay before it came with an answer. "Oh! I'd like to show you." She handed me the phone. "Just scroll-"
In short, the water spilled, I ate, wrote, telepathy was used, and I drove back home. 

 

2015, Final day of February
Strength

There is a force that calls me. It is a simple one that has held hope for me, like a friend that believes the introvert can share his mind with her. The form of the nightingale. Dreams. With every passing day, there is yet another one, and each one has a significance of yesterday's motives. All of those missed opportunities are reborn into broadcasts, gradually in drops, daily, to be seen in a new light. The times are growing old for the proposed changed of lifestyle. There seems to be a wafting essence of a coming tide, here and in others, about all the things that means the future's outcome. No more waiting. And that may bring up another aspect of a drive. Conflict. Just now I found out my little brother, the twelve year old, had stolen from my mother, but was framed early. I sigh. I know I can help them. My family has that one good egg of the fallen cartridge. And as with all malicious indemnities, there is a relief once it is paid. For now, that is over there. Where over there, I shall find out, or try to. There will be a river, through the lengths of the unknown, eventually.

Who's Year?

Come, come: Let's enjoy our
sun for now. Tomorrow will promise not another moment as of
this.

January 9, 2015

9:40pm

New Year's. It is a day of substantial roaring, cheering, and walloping, together with a sparkling beverage, celebrating a collective change of a single digit. A time of being, and a time of family. Worldwide is it recognized through some sort of significant trait, although various, whether it be through pessimism of why a single day to form a plan, in inquisition, or, to some simply have a neutral bar to it. The wait is over, so then arrives the vital next step, to a new journey.

...What new journey?

 No matter what happened on the feel-good dawn, I feel the same. Weird enough, I don't believe that I am at the subject of what could have been genuine authority to impose a rightful steer of events that soon may open itself on my way.  No door of opportunity has been opened from the moment the ball dropped, no revelations of a life-changing matter. Its a discerning piece, to say the least. The situation remains untouched. Still, the point I say is likely a common one, being it is to have a mental reverberation brought to sense again, trying at the life one has so longed and imagined as they watched the Man on the Moon or a sort of bragging television series to swank a person's hops and hots, is the intended aspect sought. This is not a milestone in it of itself! A birthday, first day with the team, a grand opening, may be, but a swap of a calendar won't say or be significant to the people in your circle. Just a reoccurring, spotty, belie of a show for a revolution of our planet. Out of concern, a likely candidate, ironically, is me. It's what my thoughts hold firmly.
And yet, I know it's a start to something. Good efforts cry when they are not recognized in the sorts that adds to the person's traits. So when a second (third, fourth, seventh...) chance of getting at that greater mobility is sought, why not have the best and let that new chapter commence in blight? Sure is helpful, I'd say.

So what am I doing as for a resolution? Why does this even matter to any pedestrian who looks here at my small thoughts, of a mild teenager? In my eyes, it shouldn't, and I believe, it won't be. The trajectory is a sharp one. To be open-minded, and seeking in a forward community. Specifically, its through a job, writing my book, an art business, scholastic vehemence, volunteering, and rising above the popularity staircase. Such a small list, I'm aware. Going above and beyond will add the rubber the goals so needed.

"When obstacles arise, you change your direction to reach your goal; you do not change your decision to get there."

-Zig Ziglar

Spark

December 22nd, 2014

     10:47pm

     I think I pushed the limit to just how often I am in thought. In reality, or better yet realization, my so-called "to-do list" of primal goals, inventions, books, movies, video games, board games, innovations, magazines, pieces of art, textbooks, compositions, (taking in a breath) toys, apps, designs, fashion trends, architectural structures, modes and methods of style, characters, shows, calendars, educational aids, Eco-friendly products, food recipes, and maybe even an art cafe. With all of that in mind supposedly to happen, it may be time to step back, and look at the facts. For one, I might have collectively, about two hundred dollars a year. I'm pinching for pennies, sometimes not stepping in my local convenience store for a month on end. That's because I am not the one behind the counter. It may be luck or how I'm filling the applications, but as far as I know, my new year's resolution may be rolled-over to next's. Also, I believe that I talk extensively on those ideas, with my

Interval

Self discovery has been a reoccurring thought of mine, radiantly plopping on the day's plate from time to time as I go about with whatever I may have done or had been doing. My mind has changed altogether, yet I preserve the ideology of being consistently inconsistent. It is a bother, as I sigh saying. But what has come up was a new way of tackling the preoccupation. This happened I believe on Tuesday, when I took the last half of my six tests for first trimester of eleventh grade. Despite my uplifting antics on academic affluence, the week, I spent looking for Black Friday deals (my birthday). As to say, I peeked over the shoulder for the weekend a little too frequently.
Here is what I had come up with:

• The more I ponder, no matter the individual or subject, the blurrier the effect of understanding.
• Thoughts are a force. Thoughts are a force....
• Often I describe paintings blindfolded, or, by feeling. It is not in me to be a voice without a strength in my vocal cords. "La-de-da" times are over. Trials are the new foot in the water.

January 1st, 2015
11:54am

I can't take it anymore! The shade cast aloft my path is only an illusion I create to shrink upon before it. The all of my saying is but a cycle of my mind, yes. Fathom is shortened, jitterbugging processes, oh, how can I help keeping this away?

The best way to let this perspective wrap, lacking the technology of revealing my backstage of a head, is to simply tell you about it. 

I am the peg on the metronome. Not the swaying arm, but the centered piece that marks a beat. For long it has yet to change.

"The grade's not about what it is now, but what it will be."

"How's the book coming along, Dan?"

"Whatever it is, whether it's a book, a game, or a movie; give me the first copy of it."

"You certainly have some hefty aspirations. I'm certain that it'll all come together in a smooth manner."

"I believe you can."

"I know you can do this."

But of course, I am exaggerating quite a bit in this drama. A new year comes not a new me, as I've heard, but an improved character of mine. Why respond to an opportunity with a dim light from the entrance? Taking off the sunglasses, it is clear what is significant. Strength is in the ideas one may carry. So, change of mind, change of life. Pull out a new set of batteries, and let that baby shine.

Happy New Year of 2015