Expectations can be entirely deceiving.
At least mine are.
That whole "law of positive attraction" thing the new age philosophers speak of,
I don't buy it.
I'm not saying I ever believed it for a second, but all my hope for a thing to go right does not matter an ounce when the doors close and I'm left alone.
When the gate opens and the train is stopped, I expect to see smiles and am greeted with vulgar criticism and disrespect.
Passion has managed its way to the foreground, but all that I can see is that it is there; that interaction is the only one produced.

Lift and repeal.
Lift to repeal.
Hope feels fabricated as perseverance is tested.
Hope and perseverance's relevance in existence, highly debated.
I fight on their behalf, though the evidence is found by scrounging.

As long as I remember that I have seen the glow of light,
Felt its warmth,
Calmed in comfort,
I won't stop screaming for its safety in the dark.



Art is, as definitively put as possible, creative communication.
Now, with a bit more subjective appreciation, I must expand to say that art possesses the capability to capture a deeper understanding of one's self, the perspectives of others, and the interpretations or expressions of the perceived universe.
Some art promotes wonder and curiosity of our existence; some art rejects ideologies perceived as false and embraces others.
Some art portrays an event; some art portrays an enigma of the mind.

Regardless of content, art involves three things: the creator, the consumer, and the communication passed on from the creator's end to the consumer's through the art piece.
Whether the piece promotes expression or education, it always encourages both other parties to go beyond the state of existence they currently reside and pursue another one, be that state one of contemplative empathy, philosophical realization, a change in mood...

While yes, you can consider the money-mongering radio stars, bands that make music as an excuse to party, and the ignorant soapbox celebrity artists, there is always that level of cognitive organization of sifting through art that is stimulating to one's life, or is distracting or destructive.
Even deep, meaningful art can be negative, and it could have been intended to be so.
I've spent hours and hours indulging in art which aided in some of the lower points of my life.
Personally, I care not to indulge in such self-destructive pleasures.

To each his own in the freedom of free-will, but woe to those who take such freedom for granted by the means of selfishness and ignorance.

I don't really have a direction for this post.
I guess I've just been incredibly inspired by creation as of late.
From music to video games to visual art to nature, such careful procedures have carried out the most significant and beautiful things in this world.
I think it's so amazing because it's what we were made for as humans, to bear fruit (it's crazy Biblical).
To think of the complexity of the creative process in general, and then look at the universe and apply such a process into it, it's beyond comprehension.
I'm generally not one to spout a subjective view as evidence for an objective reality, and if I truly wanted to I could get down to the microbiological and atomic level of explanation for how the universe and all life in it was created, but I just wish to take this time to revel in the communication of the art form which maintains the ability for sentient beings such as ourselves to beget further unique, incomparable forms of creative communication.

Here's some of my favorite pieces of art I've yet come across.
This isn't an "of all time" list, I couldn't possibly speculate the depth of impact each piece has impressed upon my life.

Proteus (video game, free download) - The game is in early, early test forms as of right now, but I've spent hours on it exploring, listening, thinking, and feeling.

Disasterpeace is an artist that truly captures emotion while carefully composing every second of the auditory experience.

-Martha made this for me a few years back. Since then I've used it as my album art for some of my Every Day songs, but the message caught up in the texture and contrast of the colors, all wrapped in minimalist simplicity... It strikes a chord in my heart.

I would post some poetry, but I would probably end up picking lyrics over any poem I can think of. I appreciate the medium dearly, and participate in it as well, but I can't say I've picked favorites in poetry. This is something I now wish to do.


A Watered Down, Insincere Public Disclosure of Recent Life Happenings Written from a Broken State of Mind

Blogging has been at an all time low this year, thus far.

Playing with Self-Proclaimed Narcissist was a spectacular experience, though I must say I walked away from that night a bit wounded and confused, as well as raw and aware.
Paradoxical, but it all happened.
Sore pride, disheartened attitude;
Enlightened mind, growing spirit.

The working world brings about responsibilities I have grown accustomed to leaving behind.
As a result I am flashing between fits of frustration, complaint, and self-pity, then strength, endurance, and self-sustainability.

I finished reading Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis.
All that was imposed brought intense introspection and a good amount of inspiration.

Coinciding with my newly revitalized love for literature, Martha and I have been getting into comic books: she for the first time, I for the first since middle school.

Nostalgia, the Sega Genesis has come out of the box, reigniting my attraction to a particular timbre of music and interactive art.

Seeing Social Distortion live for the first time since 2006 or '07 brought upon insightful reflection and emotional outpouring (and an indefinitely length-ed charlie horse in my leg.)

School work has increased in volume and demand for my effort, which further repulses me from the pointless high school classroom.
This further leads me to ponder: For what reason am I to go to college? Where does my financial future lie? Music or monotony?

Physically, I've fluctuated from unending energy to a depression seeping, manifested in muscles, most felt upon awaking.

Pages of writing have been produced within my mind, or at least the ambition to see them in fruited splendor.
Though sadly, the Innocent Unfortunate Planet remains raped and her suicide in vain;
I see different shades of me from the mirrors on the street to sleep, yet no understanding shall my faces meet.
Songs, unborn, unsung, my seed, washed away.

Maybe it's all a waste of time.

My soul belongs to the Lord, despite dissent in the heart.
The speed of my beating breast reverberates in the requested silence, long since spoiled in the brain of the bent.
God, your tears no longer soak but rather steam and singe my skin.
How close am I to Hell?
Why, when I read Revelation to I feel the fire of fury over the fire of love?
There is no path where I tread; merely the arbitrary inkling or imagining of one.
I've done all of this to myself.

But I see hope, it will come, I will be free.
That is not how I feel, but what I know.


The Essence of Pain

Pain is not that which agitates the nerves in your toe upon it being stubbed.
It is not the sadness that comes from grieving or a bad day.

Pain the manifestation of unsatisfied longing.
You can truly understand when taking this into perspective under any circumstance, good or bad.

Dramatic irony produces pain within the captivated reader, yearning for their insider information to be expelled and shift the story's direction.
The yearning is a result of that pain.

The final, climactic movement of a emotional song, the moments that lead up to the pinnacle of the composition and the resolution that follows.
Pain appears in the excitement building to the fruition of the musical journey, the listener focused intensely on reaching the end.

Kicking to the surface of a lake, pounding on that thick sheet of ice, muscles burning, eyes wide open, lungs anxiously and instinctively demanding their regular intake.

Tired bodies only wish to find relaxation at the point of over-stimulation.
Darting eyes seek relief for that which supports their ability to see.
If only quivering lungs could speak.

The pain is simply the desire to be at rest.
Pain is the unmuted plea for peace.