thoughts..

It’s amazing what clouds can do. All they’re composed of is simply water, yet the murky condensation creates such wonders for the eye. With just a few layers of haziness, clouds block off the sight of any object, leaving the eye dazed at what could possibly be behind them. The only evidence of any existence behind those walls is that which can only be heard.

As I sat upon the sidewalk, I concentrated on the sights of the neighborhood that I so intimately knew. And as I stared off across the street, my focus ruptured when the sound of a faraway helicopter approached. Tiny bunches of sound waves traveled past the fuliginous hue as I tried to pinpoint where exactly the chopper was coming from. Sure, it was dark, but I figured I’d be able to at least see the plane contrasting the white and grey skies. But as time passed, I could sense the helicopter moving closer and closer, while never seeing a single speck appear in the sky. After immediately getting up from my spot on the sidewalk, I chose to believe that I could see the chopper. “If only these trees weren’t blocking my vision.” But it still flew away, leaving no trace behind.

So often we do the same thing with any kind of voice that sounds our name. Every time we have a gut feeling, a little voice in our ear, the devil and the angel upon our shoulders, we search for tangible evidence of those convictions instead of paying attention to the message itself. And how much more often do we do this with God. Although we might not hear it often, His voice can audibly be heard even with our simple-minded ears. Someone so clear and direct (or sometimes the complete opposite), and yet we still fail to understand what He’s saying. We quickly turn to human reasoning, for scientific confirmation, for the sight of a tiny speck in the sky instead of listening to the methodical and completely logical words from His mouth. We refuse to believe that sometimes words come only in sounds and not in visible writing. And before we know it, the words fade away. And especially since we don’t have a chance to take a glance at the message, we miss out on what God tries to tell us. We unconsciously allow it to pass right before our very eyes (or in this case, our ears) all while being ignorant to the notice. Our attention turns to the form of presentation and communication, and we contemplate for hours whether the voice we heard was the very voice of God or not. And ultimately, we lose sight of what He sends us, what he says to us, all because of our stupid nature of curiosity, of wanting to be our own masters, having our own methods and knowing how to do everything in order to have complete control over our lives.

—

I would love to call this my family. I really would. But I know that I can’t. There will always be a special bond with the people you grow up with. And for everyone here, I know I’m not part of that. I’ve been invited and welcomed here with open arms, and there is always a sense of comfortability here. Yet I know that there will probably never be a day where I really assimilate here. And so I pay my dues and offer my services. But at the end of the day, all I can do is slip out those doors in hopes that no one notices. I don’t like attention. I like acknowledgement, but not attention. Maybe it’s because of the pressure associated with it. But more so than that I think it’s because of the unfamiliar taste of being fully integrated within something.

how to be yet not really see
to calm down and allow to settle
all the storms and wind that tear through each life
breathlessly ripping apart each and every sigh
every sound that comes forth, all hopes of reconciliation

do not await the one who seems so able
who races around with such might
for he can do nothing, and nothing is in his grasp
his reality is weakness
his untouchability presides in his dust, in his shadow
not because of his ability, or constant sensibility
but since he can do nothing, he is nothing
he fades and cannot be taken seriously
or rather, should not.

and so, i shall not. will not.
but wait, what is my will?
an action or plan, a mere hope or desire?
or could it be just seen as ideally,
as simple practicality
practicality fails, always has and never prevails
but here we go again even still
our faithful friend, once faithful will

what soars can only soar for a moment in time
and soon must come back down
after a few seconds of thrilling confidence,
beings and bullets must fall likewise
—

friendships are dynamic
what was a moment ago may not be
and what may be may not stay
—

to trust is to fail
but with failure comes realization
realization, growth
and growth, maturity
—

“you.”

People are always jealous of product testers. They want to have all the new gadgets and toys that the testers have, and complain that these people are given unfair “privileges” when everyone should be given equal opportunity. But you know, product testers are also the ones who get everything blown up in their faces. Everything that goes wrong and all malfunctions will always be encountered by these testers first. It’s just like the people who buy all the new things when things first come out. People rush to the lines in hopes of being the first to get it. They think they’re getting something so great. Then they find out that the manufactures just released a new version with better features and whatnot. At this point, all the jealous people who haven’t gotten the new toy laugh and mock those who did get the product first. Yet, as time passes, it comes the point at which the general people start buying the product. When the testers start giving advice on what to do and how the thing works, the newcomers ignore the suggestions, saying that since the testers had so many problems, they don’t know what they’re talking about. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because of these testers that the product was made better. Maybe these people know what to expect so they try to tell others what to avoid, what to do and what not to do in hopes that they might not have as much trouble. Yet these very people who encounter all the problems get all the ridicule.
This is messed up.

—

I live in a world where everything has labeled on it, “This is to be used only for its designated purpose. Any infringement will result in its immediate forfeit upon request.”

The fear that every one of us contains is the fear of loss, more specifically losing the things around us. And while the ultimate fear is the loss of ourselves, our daily lives and actions reflect the very nature of our determination to keep close those that are not within our own beings. That is to say, the things that are not physically with us, but take a stronghold in our minds, our actions, our words, and our entire ways of thinking.

We want to be remembered. We strive to be someone so that others will pass on the attitudes and ideas that we form. And ultimately, we make every effort to keep ourselves from being lost. To do so, we work towards keeping our immediate surroundings close to us, hoping special bonds will not allow those people to fade away. Yet we all face the reality of loss.

One by one, slowly but surely, our loved ones and the things we love are picked away, like a sparrow meticulously nibbling at some bread thrown onto the ground by a common passerby. That bread steadily dwindles, emaciating into nothing, consumed to be, at least physically speaking, energy and heat. Before we realize it, and yet before our very eyes, those very things we treasure disappear; all we hold is an empty bowl, the epitome of what our hearts look like when we stare at what we lack.

But what happens when we ourselves are the ones who nibble at our very prizes. We tell ourselves that something is gone, that something has faded, that it is hopeless, that any light that exists is only present in the form of a tiny candle, struggling to keep its flame alive in the windy shadow of darkness. These flames tend to be the precious things that we seek after, that we long for, despite whatever obstacles come our way. Regardless of the hindrances, we flock to it, hoping it, just maybe, will choose to look our way and give us a little time, to pay some slight attention to who we are and what we are and allow us to reveal what is within us.

Such a thing is this, and such a person am I. I stand first in line at the front of the crowd. That very thing is, from my perspective, the clearest thing to see, and my view focuses only upon it. But, just like an elementary school classroom, there are always people who cut in line. Perhaps in the class of these childish students the goal is the teacher. Whatever it may be, those cutters are allowed in first, in spite of the patience of those who have been waiting. That choice to allow these people in first, I mean that of the teacher, serves to be the only fence that blocks the waiting students. It is the missing stepping stone, the very rock that has yet to be placed in the stream of peaceful waters, the final element in the path that can connect both banks – the path that connects the opposites of nature, that connects the personas of the physical being, the same path that connects the stresses of this society to the beauty and the carefree attitude embedded within the nature we’ve been blessed with on this earth. Such a thing is this: the missing step. Such a thing am I: my desire to walk across that stream, in the warmth of the summer sun while in the coolness of the autumn breeze. Such a thing is this: the revelation of my being. Such a thing am I: to look around and actually see something, hear something, feel something. Such a thing do I desire.

But what good is that desire with no result? What shall be done when there exists a vain patience? Nothing. Impatience is worth neither alacrity nor the loss that accompanies haste. For we fear loss, and loss leads to the loss of ourselves.

LOSE

Le Onde - by Ludovico Einaudi
Le Onde - The Waves
It’s really pretty, kind of sad, but I like it.

I’ve come here hundreds of times. I’ve walked under the two tree branches covering this endless field of green countless times. I’ve heard the echoes of the birds calling in the distance like I’ve watched the sunset every night. Yet this time is different. I’ve stood here for months at a time now. And at some point, one which I can’t recall, a wall suddenly appeared. I cannot pinpoint when or how, yet walls of stone and mortar constantly grow from the ground beneath me. Stretching as high as the redwoods in the forests, the mountains of the sierras, they engulf whatever light that shines through the beautiful meadows, the very pastures that hold the blooming flowers each spring.

As the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves fades, I observe all that is around me – what is left, that is. As I search for the answer to this absurdity, I discover others along beside me, yet something is different about them. The wall that exists in front of me is not the same. Instead of the sheen glass that exalts light present for everyone else, I stare at a brick wall, like one found to confine the most obscene criminals in the world. Alcatraz could not have had walls so thick and shielded with concrete. Then, walking towards this monster, I slip, catching myself on the dirt beneath me. A nail. What’s so significant about that, I figure. It shines as the only impurity along the path I walk, and I pick it up, putting it in my pocket in hopes that it will help me solve the surreal mystery I’ve found myself in.

I continue my way towards the wall, with each step I take closing my breath in more and more. Rock solid. I try with all my might to break down a tiny portion of it. But nothing works. Quite abruptly, I feel a sudden jolt upon my leg. I look down, only to realize that the nail which sat in my pocket became a treasonous weapon, covered in my blood. Grasping my newfound enemy, a thought bursts through my mind: why not make the most of my enemies, take advantage of the torments they cause? I drive the nail into the wall, riding my hope on its sharpness and rigidity, trusting it will help me demolish the wall in front of me. Oh how my hopes crumbled. The nail barely does any damage, and I fall to my knees, having no idea for getting past this obstacle.

The others around me seem to be doing the same as I, finding ways to break through their individual walls. But as I look closely, it seems that each of them has an enormous boulder to break through their thin layers of glass. Each rock is already placed on some sort of pedestal for them, and all that my peers need to do is to gently tip over the rocks, and the ceramic barriers come crashing down. How easy it is for them! While they effortlessly break free from their bondage, I kneel here hopeless, tired, and weary, having no thought and no desire but to walk through the fields of serenity once again – the very place each of my peers easily reached.

I look up; a beautiful light glows in the sky. It reaches down its hand towards me, but before I can grab hold of its beauty it turns its face away, pulls its hand back, and suspends its breath of peace in the air, just clear above my head. It is so close, yet so far away. And after toiling attempts to jump and reach and shout for the light and its soothing touch, I once again fall to my knees. Darkness slowly fades in, taking the tears falling from my face and covering everything around me. It takes hold of me, and no sound can be heard but the collapse of my body, falling towards the darkened earth. With my last drop of strength and all my will, I turn my face towards that very light which enticed me so. And a single request is all I have: to feel the warmth of that light, for it to once again fill me and allow me to walk through the illuminating ground I once knew.

what light, what day
all storms so gray
come what may
–

how is it so
in every silent glow
the very thing i seek
cannot be seen by thee
–

silent words they do not know
only nothing do they show
what became so he did who
like streaming blades of ever

if one day two paths might meet
oh so worthy such a feat
downfall sliding deeper yet
foolish wishing illuminate
–

not how but last to first
in every each a minute (in every which being)
single faded sight
–

nothing is my everything
everything is my nothing
that which fares so close
though only comes so far
–

can i let this go
no
i do not know
what comes only so
through which won’t grow
yet mighty go
–

all very dark
and yet so bleak
whose thine i art
to nothing’s meek
–

a member of five
so widely known
the second best
before which remains
the word of person

the possibility
assured? maybe.
or possibly the could be

not you not he
neither they nor she
but me

performing all day long
walking, talking, anything
with eyes open or mouth wide shut
least it takes is attentiveness
–

just one
no more than that
greater than none
but not you nor they

you be
what he
the constant ever me

just walk
together part
two trails each lead
to nothing
–

who is it? it is .
how to be, yet never really exist
in the world of shattered dreams, of simplest negativity
it’s who i am, who i’m known to be

but what can i do
there’s nothing to be done
all is locked up, hidden inside
molding, conforming, changing

and when released, what will come out?
will present and presence of present take hold
or shall true form revive once again
and renew what should be

how long has it been
the months of perfection, or rather pure dissatisfaction
and one day more
since the very hope that existed

how i long to be in my own existence
to be who i was made,
yet what can be seen
is nothing void of what i see
and nothing like what i hoped it to be

this is not what should be
for the whole is incomplete
and the better half
has walked away and broken free

leave me here
so shall i walk away
in hopes that one day might come
when two lights, two hands, two paths might meet again

031308

shure beta58
shure sm57
Boss RC-2 Loop Station Effect Pedal/Boss RC-20XL Loop Station
a couple of neutrik silent plugs