I have the next few days off which is lovely yet horrible for my sanity. Lovely because the break neck speed of summer semester is at a pause. Horrible because all this abrupt time to be by myself is like handing some one from the distant past a smartphone and telling them to play Candy Crush.
In my idleness–I frustrate myself. Albert Camus is a wealth of wisdom to me. He says many smartyface things that are really working for me right now:
“To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others.”
“I used to advertise my loyalty and I don’t believe there is a single person I loved that I didn’t eventually betray.”
“Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.”
In my stupidity, my foolish curiosity, I sink into thinking about the life I have led until here. I think about the many people I hurt, have been hurt by, and ignored. I think about the people I never even met who I harmed quite severely. I think about the ways in which I should be more brave. I try to be them.
And I realize that everyone feels this way. It is universal. And I realize that is the same for everyone.
We are all messy, us humans. I know this might be kind of juvenile, but I sometimes wonder if other people think about this too.
Geek out mode; this entry may mean nothing for you. Just collecting my impressions for later. You know… a few cursory thoughts.
The PS4 looks like a razor monolith. Price point is sexy: $399. Multiple systems.–one of which a 500GB model. Disc based gaming. No online check in. Plus required for online play. Cloud streaming service for past gen games not available in 2013.
Hohokum is my surprise game to watch for.
Beyond has a lot to live up to for me to fangirl the way I was supposed to.
Destiny/Watch Dogs on my radar as likely playables.
Is the Order: 1886 the new Dishonored? Is that what we are doing here?
Dude, Thief series revamp? Fun.
Knack–meh. Cutesy and playing probable.
Outlast looks like it will make me piss myself… either in fear or laughter depending on how they play horror out.
Drive club is serious about their simulated leather seats, yo! Gran Turisimo 6 wants us to know it has a lot of new shit to be even better.
Elder Scrolls Online… Ugh, dreading… because I don’t need a social life.
Dragon Age 3, where you at?
Infamous Second Son–does this mean I need to finally play Infamous 2?
Mad Max game–bust a deal and face the wheel.
Transistor I cannot resist being curious about. Bastion team SuperGiant Games is back with something that looks quite interesting. Soundtrack also interesting. Yup.
I don’t need to see anything about Assassin’s Creed to know I will at least check it out.
FFXV actually has toned down the crazy outfits. Kudos to them for a more “reality” / crystal based game. Enjoyed the stark metropolis and then shots of a grand watery kingdom. Pretty as always.
Mirror’s Edge 2 is my mindless squee game– scratch that Kingdom Hearts 3 is. (SHUT UP I CANT HELP MYSELF)
The Last of Us is coming out super soon–and while the girl’s voice makes me fear a game long escort mission *shudders* it is by the people who did Uncharted, a series I liked. The soundtrack also sounds promising if it is anything like the trailer.
My casualty in being a Sony fan this time around is Swery65’s (of Deadly Premonition) xboxone exclusive title D4. I also will never get to play Minecraft at this rate either.
Much more stuff than what I am posting about–just hitting up the headlines and trailers I saw.
I was chatting with a friend about family and this kind of bubbled up to the surface. I had a bit of it unpolished but tied some old lines with some new and kind of jammed it all together.
In my heart my father lives
With the brightest smile and broadest shoulders
his arms always big enough to carry me in a bear hug
from a recital or family gathering
to the safe cozy darkness of my warm bed
His engine oil smell masked by fancy cologne
And the hint of beer on his breath when he laughs
his singular laugh
from flirting with mom or ribbing us kids
tells the tale of what moved him.
I remember his inner fire
like the shimmering red enamel of his favorite car.
The heat that sizzled off the hood after a quarter mile run
or in the hot summer sun of the Woodward cruise
wove the air into a familiar dance of excitement–
that macho bravado
Fighting flatlines and bullet holes
take-no-shit action man
traveling coast to coast
kicking ass and taking names
a solid multifaceted soundtrack and a good game of pool
His masulinity was both the bane of my adolescence
and part of why I was his princess.
And he made sure we all knew he was king of 12939.
Protector of the realm of our modest ranch house and
our modest nuclear family in suburban Detroit
He was one to live hard burning his candle at both ends
rather than ostentatiously to expectations.
Always tinkering in the garage or stretched out on his lazy boy
ESPN droning on the tv while the sweet smell of barbeque
wafted into house from the grill
past the sliding door in our boxed in grassy patch of backyard.
The older I get, the more fairy tale fantasy my memories get.
Not a glorification but rather
my memories are the fraying of well worn clothes over time
The homemade milkshakes a remnant from a day dream.
Surely the man who went away from a monster called cancer
is bigger now as a legend than he ever was a man.
His height not so impossibly high.
His authority not so absolute.
Yet I catch myself, in moments between busy things–
my inconceivable series of circumstances that made me who I am now
sometimes imagining his booming deep voice
scolding me, encouraging me, and urging me forward into
who I will become.
That must be the legacy of a lost father.
His love was so strong his voice echoes long after he left us all behind.
There are days where I feel the past close in on me like a vice. I feel all the mistakes I made crowd around me and my mind warps them into a sort of horrid little nightmare of my own making.
Through my hardships, though…. I’ve learned a lot. Like how to not let it get to me quite as badly as it otherwise could. This is where I practice the change I preach. I’ve also had a crash course from a certain someone straight up nudging (shoving, really) me toward self-reliability.
The dreaded GED explanation–I’m probably going to have to give it to the university I am applying for.
The questions… they come to mind and are pretty heavy.
Why would a girl who was supposed to graduate in 2004 end up with a GED years later? Surely any girl like that isn’t the kind of girl we want at our institution. Why would she leave the school so abruptly and so close to her graduation date?
What the hell am I supposed to say that could make this less awkward? My father, the lone stabilizing authoritarian ringmaster of my family’s 3 ring freak show died of cancer right before I would have graduated. The only thing that kept me going past his death was a musical performance, and once that was over– I was out of commission. Well, not exactly out of commission. The years fighting his illness–our own illnesses–each other, the suicide attempts by multiple family members, all of it crashed and made a mess of everything everywhere. Mom was such a mess after daddy died that I ended up taking care of things more than I could have. There was a point when Steven started calling me mom because the nurturing figure he needed was MIA in her own grief, and Grandpa, who had been living with us since my grandmother died, was so concerned and kind but also incredibly socially awkward. By the time the dust cleared from that, I was out. I would stay away and out of the lives of my family as much as I could… Steven was regressing hardcore and would torment me by blaring music 24/7, ignoring personal space, and even engaged in physical violence. Even my body wasn’t left unscathed, I cut, pierced myself, and even had my nose broken by my brother in one of his aforementioned fits.
By the time the second dust storm settled, I spiraled so far out that going back to school didn’t really have a place in my life because I was trying to work. Then, there was the whole childhood home foreclosure thing, and the way we scrambled to save what little we could. Jesus, What the hell am I supposed to say? That by the time I had my self together after the emotional shit storm that was that already turbulent period of my life, I was expected to be a good little housewife and mother? That I was told systematically that the time for education had passed in my life and I should make do with what I had at that point? I am not some innocent little victim; I could have fought anyone. God knows my father insisted I become a lawyer because I could talk circles around anyone, and for anyone i couldn’t talk circles around I was stubborn as a mule. That fire left when dad died. Where my father was charismatic, persuasive, and in-charge… Mom is a wet nap. Not that wet naps are bad–they have a place in the world. Typically a supportive, nurturing role that requires a guiding hand, but she was a wet nap woman who lost her life long guiding force. Who the hell am I to say anything bad about her. I fucked my life up good and plenty without any of her assistance.
I really want to get into this school. In fact, I need to in order to stay in Japan as I would like to…I will fight this if I have to. I tested in the top 1% of the country on my GED. I worked my ass off for years at a community college to build myself a name and a reputation for being a trustworthy student and employee. I had something big to prove–at the time I thought to others, but I realize mostly, it was to prove to myself that I could belong.
When I decided to leave Michigan, I was scared that I might one day have to look at an admissions panel and say: “This is my life–all the bloody, sordid details of it.” And I am scared. Scared of laying myself bare to a group of strangers who might decide that all of the hardship that had defined me and the hardwork that redefined me isn’t good enough and cast me aside. I don’t want to lose the beginning of the life I have established here–the family I have gained and friends I have made. The progress I made to walk in a city alone with my head held high, and the joy of having the one person I can show all of me to who doesn’t flinch also walk beside me. I want to grow more in Tokyo and let those roots dig deep.
Responsibility and accountability are important lessons to learn. I just wish I could have understood the gravity back then that I fully understand now. Wish me luck.
A Sort of Productivity
There is a poem in my heart
Words needing to reach ink and paper
Memories stirring, simmering in the quiet warmth of the afternoon light half veiled by curtains
Flimsy characters insufficient to carry the weight of such sentiment
Yet they come unbidden
Procrastination against the miscellany in towering boxes needing a home
The memory of the faint smile on your lips
Bemusement all Mona Lisa captivating charisma
The brightness of a gaze enough to warm
A face stinging with cold, damp winds
Bare hands, chilled from the walk to the station
Weave across bags and fluttering scarves to reach for you
All intuition with the beginnings of a more practiced touch
Such contented newness in blissful mundane domesticity
A simple hello brings such sweetness which bleeds
satisfaction across already blue skies
The world thrums with a current –magnetic
Feet guided with a grace unknown to the red door on the corner
We made it.
The sweetness burns brightly like a beacon
Settling potent homeliness over chairs, table, and boxes alike
while our shoes are silently removed.
Such fortune finds such reckless lovers.
I keep surprising myself at the sheer sappy romanticism I find myself living.
Well, a return to blogging. A return to giving myself that particular spaciousness that can be found in the realm of creative writing and journaling.
I’m in Japan and have been so since Sunday. My sense of time is ridiculously a blur. Despite it being ass-o’clock in the morning, sleep eludes me and my thoughts begin to zing through my fingertips onto parched keys seeking elaborate prose to fill the void of the strange new world I inhabit. Deep breath; this might pinch a little.
That restrained efficiency
Mingling flash-bang gadgetry futurisms with subdued ancient wisdoms thrumming alive with tradition
Surroundings part concrete jungle, part anthropology study
All fascination gone mute aside from simplistic phrases and gratitude laden bows
Proves and provides in sesame pudding-ed chu-hi cups running over
While the ching ching of train crossings and subdued enthusiasm of polite populations
Etch paths across familiar silhouettes and old shadows
Casting light on ghosts turning transparent with a dawn of chapters just begun
The skyline tattoos maps across my heart, and my world shades a bit more lucid dream
Than the inky deterministic foggy purgatory known
Like I’ve been bitten by some x-ray powered gamma infused spider
I feel that precious poisoned lingering tingling
Indicating a mutated neural shift about to upstart miracle grow my way into an overhauled self
Melodious Mayhem wrangling the smarmy demon lingering just outside my door something fierce
Indecent while psuedo-patient
Waiting for the red light to blare green.
The cross walk’s an iconic reminder of winding roads that will never lead to longing doors.
My shoes just don’t fit now that your gone
Walking won’t work right in fuck me pumps and
vicious eyelashes batting silver tongued flicks of fancy
that does nothing but cause disdain.
Wild hair like a gorgon blows across my face, turning me to stone
I don’t see no slithering.