I find myself here before 6AM teetering on the edge of creating something, but instead I thought I'd just compromise or start or get my feet wet with making this blog entry. Maybe I will find some literary momentum? I took a few breaths in the past hour that at the time convinced me that I need to be a novelist. I hadn't breathed air like that in years, probably since about my freshman year of college.
I'm a terrible writer, not in the sense that I write long, wandering sentences of uncertain certainty that weave intellect and insanity because all I'm really trying to do is capture exactly the way that my mind thinks for whomever stumbles upon this blog and pass it off as merely having read too much Faulkner recently, which isn't true at all--BUT I am a terrible writer because I often am so uncertain about how to go about writing in the terms of fundamentally sitting down in a good location--whatever a good location is--and creating something that wasn't there before. By the way, I think it's best for readers of this blog to read in the early hours of the morning after too little sleep or before getting only a couple of hours of sleep so the burning-eyed deprivation convinces us all that I'm a great, significant thinker, and whether or not I really am or not is beside the point.
When it comes to putting words down in whatever medium, I tighten up and don't know what to do and often do nothing at all. It's been this way most of my life. Something like:
Should I use this notebook or that one? pen or pencil? blue ink or black ink? Oh, look, here's a nice red pen. Should I just use my laptop and MSWord or should I use the desktop with the chair that has a broken wheel and is now pretty uncomfortable to sit in? I could write on my laptop right here in bed, but then I may fall asleep. Is falling back asleep all that bad?
And heaven forbid I actually answer all of those questions and sit down to write something, what do I write about? What do I have to say? Should I just throw caution to the wind and type type type until I am too tired to type anymore, rest, and then go back to review and revise my work? I've never been able to do that. I've always needed to perfect each sentence before moving on to the next. It is a painfully slow process, but should I ever complete a thought, I can imagine it will be quite rewarding, if not highly emotional.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
A Poem in Progress
Hemingway may or may not be an angel now, whether or not he's in purgatory for killing himself or not doesn't matter. He's an angel, and he left his muscles here behind him until/unless the apocalypse comes and wipes the literary slate clean. I haven't read him since July, and last night I pick up my collection of his stories and read various ones and then I actually make the effort to write a poem for whatever reason. It's ridiculous. Here's the work in progress:
I limp every other step
from a pain on the top of my left foot,
but I do my best to block it out, looking
off into the distance at the slowly approaching houses.
While I'm looking at something,
I'm looking at nothing,
and while at that moment I'm hardly thinking philosophically--I'm hardly thinking--
I find myself here turning from an annoyance in my left foot to the concept of Nothingness.
I hadn't even considered the lack of pain in my right foot, nor had I noticed the general good health I was experiencing.
I looked at nothing except not thinking about the pain on the top of my left foot.
I limp every other step
from a pain on the top of my left foot,
but I do my best to block it out, looking
off into the distance at the slowly approaching houses.
While I'm looking at something,
I'm looking at nothing,
and while at that moment I'm hardly thinking philosophically--I'm hardly thinking--
I find myself here turning from an annoyance in my left foot to the concept of Nothingness.
I hadn't even considered the lack of pain in my right foot, nor had I noticed the general good health I was experiencing.
I looked at nothing except not thinking about the pain on the top of my left foot.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
6 in the AM
So I thought I should come around and put that last post into the past, hopefully on a different page sooner than later. What I could do right here is act all emo for having not read fiction in forever. I am just totally lacking the ability the read something that didn't happen (though, ok, to be fair I did read a Hemingway story or two the other night so maybe things are looking up). I still haven't even been reading as much as I would like, but at least I have been messing around with the likes of Kierkegaard, Wittgenstein, Camus, and even Carl Sagan. When it comes to philosophy, I've always been more interested in asking a question like "Why are we here?" instead of "What is the meaning of the word 'the'?"
And since I'm pretty obsessed over poker, I've been wondering if I can come up with some kind of Philosophy and Poker book idea. I mean, there is Lost and Philosophy, Family Guy and Philosophy, Simpsons and Philosophy, etcetc. I'm sure I could bullshit a couple hundred pages of something.
And speaking of bullshitting a couple hundred pages, once I get the urge to write again (hopefully sooner than later), I've been convinced by a series of lengthy AIM conversations that I should write about my college experience, which is probably a lot more interesting than any one of my friends is aware of. It could be very Chuck Bukowski, but I'm a better writer than he is, so I imagine I won't be as popular a read.
But if I'm only making like one entry a month on here and if every one of those is a drunken post lamenting a lack of love life, then I imagine I have a rather large hill to climb. But, srsly guys, I'm quite satisfied with life now, and I imagine I'm going to be a pro poker player for at least the rest of the year. You have to do what you love in life /cliche.
And since I'm pretty obsessed over poker, I've been wondering if I can come up with some kind of Philosophy and Poker book idea. I mean, there is Lost and Philosophy, Family Guy and Philosophy, Simpsons and Philosophy, etcetc. I'm sure I could bullshit a couple hundred pages of something.
And speaking of bullshitting a couple hundred pages, once I get the urge to write again (hopefully sooner than later), I've been convinced by a series of lengthy AIM conversations that I should write about my college experience, which is probably a lot more interesting than any one of my friends is aware of. It could be very Chuck Bukowski, but I'm a better writer than he is, so I imagine I won't be as popular a read.
But if I'm only making like one entry a month on here and if every one of those is a drunken post lamenting a lack of love life, then I imagine I have a rather large hill to climb. But, srsly guys, I'm quite satisfied with life now, and I imagine I'm going to be a pro poker player for at least the rest of the year. You have to do what you love in life /cliche.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Loneliest Day of the Year
If the greeting cards had any say, and they do, this would be the loneliest day of the year. Imagine Kyle sitting on his computer all by himself in the middle of the night typing something profound on the Internet about love lost, love to be found, love in in general and how everything that is generic can go to hell--yet everything is in general. He could also talk about how everything is a paradox.
In true LJ style, I'll mention that it would be amazing to share this zeal/zest/z-word for life that I have found with someone else. Yes, I share it with friends and family, but I mean on an intimate scale. The friends and family can certainly understand what I'm feeling to an extent, but, Kyle, you're fucking weird.
As always, I find myself in a great time of transition. I feel I'm on the verge of moving on, moving geographically, be it Chicago or Vegas or Nepal. There is more of the world that I need to experience before I become remotely satisfied with myself and my relationship with the world around me. I want to be like Al Gore and travel around and view all of nature melting away and dying at humanity's hands. I want to be a part of the Band-aid, but I don't know how best to do that right now. I shouldn't let a lack of an answer stop me in my tracks and give up, though.
It's the nature of nature to love us, and we haven't reciprocated its love. It's funny how one green destroys another and that greed is actually as powerful as it is. Well, I'm greedy, too. I remember the days of being able to hold a hand and smile and feeling so damn comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. I mean, how can anyone accept looking at my naked body? I surely can't, but I've been working on that. I'm sick at looking in the mirror and going, God, you look so much better with clothes on, you look so much better covering up what nature intended. It's honest moments like these that should frighten me. (And they do.)
I once had a TA that thought that agriculture was the worst thing that happened to humanity. In a way, that's a hard point to argue. Becoming more civilized is just another paradox in all of our lives. God, for one.
I really hope that I'll never feel bad for playing poker as a living just because it's not the norm of society. If it is something I love to do, and it is, I need to continue to work hard and be rewarded. If I am to question my poker playing, it's the "Barry Greenstein ordeal," which means that I feel I can do a lot more to help the world in general than to play poker 40 hours a week. I have the intelligence and the ability to affect the world is seemingly much more significant ways.
In true LJ style, I'll mention that it would be amazing to share this zeal/zest/z-word for life that I have found with someone else. Yes, I share it with friends and family, but I mean on an intimate scale. The friends and family can certainly understand what I'm feeling to an extent, but, Kyle, you're fucking weird.
As always, I find myself in a great time of transition. I feel I'm on the verge of moving on, moving geographically, be it Chicago or Vegas or Nepal. There is more of the world that I need to experience before I become remotely satisfied with myself and my relationship with the world around me. I want to be like Al Gore and travel around and view all of nature melting away and dying at humanity's hands. I want to be a part of the Band-aid, but I don't know how best to do that right now. I shouldn't let a lack of an answer stop me in my tracks and give up, though.
It's the nature of nature to love us, and we haven't reciprocated its love. It's funny how one green destroys another and that greed is actually as powerful as it is. Well, I'm greedy, too. I remember the days of being able to hold a hand and smile and feeling so damn comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. I mean, how can anyone accept looking at my naked body? I surely can't, but I've been working on that. I'm sick at looking in the mirror and going, God, you look so much better with clothes on, you look so much better covering up what nature intended. It's honest moments like these that should frighten me. (And they do.)
I once had a TA that thought that agriculture was the worst thing that happened to humanity. In a way, that's a hard point to argue. Becoming more civilized is just another paradox in all of our lives. God, for one.
I really hope that I'll never feel bad for playing poker as a living just because it's not the norm of society. If it is something I love to do, and it is, I need to continue to work hard and be rewarded. If I am to question my poker playing, it's the "Barry Greenstein ordeal," which means that I feel I can do a lot more to help the world in general than to play poker 40 hours a week. I have the intelligence and the ability to affect the world is seemingly much more significant ways.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Song of these are my lyrics
You're born and you're red.
You're dead and you're blue.
You're green at 19
and gray at 22.
Let's go skating on the interstate
to a place far, far away
where we won't need crutches
and won't feel any weight.
* * *
The General's disposition was plainly apathetic,
a invisible disease pumping through his blood stream.
The caffeine, the yellow teeth that eat
aged and peppered meats from Argentina.
The general disposition of his opposition:
attentive with patient impatience that can't take
the cable TV, the lack of intellect, the lack of Internet,
and the lack alcohol to make them apathetic.
* * *
The beginning was the end of everything now.
The ape regards his tail; hes stuck on it,
repeats until he fails, half a goon and half a god.
A man's not made of steel.
A man is real, that's how he feels.
But who is a man in the 21st?
Does he have a blind thirst
for all that the censors conceal?
Or will he love his brother
as he loves his god
and not screw either of them
into another pyramid fraud?
* * *
Where there's smoke there's fire,
and we're sure to get higher.
But who cares? We might as well.
We're not even going to hell.
* * *
I'm not preaching one way or another.
I'm preaching to my sister's and brothers.
If we worry too much about our future prosperity,
we may not have much to give our posterity.
* * *
Maybe it's a little rude to apologize,
but our eyes are of unforgiving size,
bloodshot and irritated to hell,
but if we squint real hard we can see ourselves
through our mirrors and our fears as it sears
the chords to our cries,
"Let us live! Let us die!"
If we give up now, we can survive;
if we give in now we can all save our hides--
if we haven't already.
You're dead and you're blue.
You're green at 19
and gray at 22.
Let's go skating on the interstate
to a place far, far away
where we won't need crutches
and won't feel any weight.
* * *
The General's disposition was plainly apathetic,
a invisible disease pumping through his blood stream.
The caffeine, the yellow teeth that eat
aged and peppered meats from Argentina.
The general disposition of his opposition:
attentive with patient impatience that can't take
the cable TV, the lack of intellect, the lack of Internet,
and the lack alcohol to make them apathetic.
* * *
The beginning was the end of everything now.
The ape regards his tail; hes stuck on it,
repeats until he fails, half a goon and half a god.
A man's not made of steel.
A man is real, that's how he feels.
But who is a man in the 21st?
Does he have a blind thirst
for all that the censors conceal?
Or will he love his brother
as he loves his god
and not screw either of them
into another pyramid fraud?
* * *
Where there's smoke there's fire,
and we're sure to get higher.
But who cares? We might as well.
We're not even going to hell.
* * *
I'm not preaching one way or another.
I'm preaching to my sister's and brothers.
If we worry too much about our future prosperity,
we may not have much to give our posterity.
* * *
Maybe it's a little rude to apologize,
but our eyes are of unforgiving size,
bloodshot and irritated to hell,
but if we squint real hard we can see ourselves
through our mirrors and our fears as it sears
the chords to our cries,
"Let us live! Let us die!"
If we give up now, we can survive;
if we give in now we can all save our hides--
if we haven't already.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Kyle's Self Evaluation
I'm struggling with finding a drive. I'm learning a lot about myself and how I work. I don't work a lot, not at one thing, and usually not for an extended period of time. And I don't have a job. I can't imagine doing something for a long time. I have too many interests. Maybe. Reading, writing, music, poker, geography, sports.
1. I haven't read a book in over a month. I can't remember the last time I went a month without reading a book. Maybe middle school.
2. I'll write here and there. Maybe try some lyrics here and there. I wrote a post for this blog the day before Christmas, but I felt it was too emotional to put on the Internet. I really feel like I've been too emotional to write anything good lately. Good job, Kyle, don't even try.
3. I can't think of many things that make me feel better than music. I've had a bass since I was in middle school, but I'm mediocre at best. I've put a considerable amount of time into playing guitar since about November of 2006. I have callouses on the tips of this fingers on my left hand. I really, really want to own a drum set and play everyday, but my family doesn't want the noise and none of my friends want to hear that noise either. I've considered getting a drum set anyway and driving out in the country and playing for the corn and soybean fields. I'm a vocalist in a band, and I've been having more fun with it than ever, but more and more I want to play an instrument in a band, too. I've been feeling really musical today, but I get frustrated that my hands can't play the music that I hear in my head.
4. Most of the time I really love playing poker. But I wonder where I would be if I had spent the time writing instead of playing poker; I wonder if I would have had a book published by now. I've been playing online for a good three years now. I'm a smart guy, but a lot of smart guys who are playing poker for as long as I have make a lot more money than I do. Poker is really just a hobby of mine that I can make maybe $500 a month doing right now. Professionally I'd have to play 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I just can't do that. If I have a bad session, I get too frustrated and just stop (well, it's an improvement over tilting away half my bankroll). If I have a good start to my session, I want to stop and sit on my winnings. I have more discipline than I ever have, but it's still not enough. I need more even discipline in the rest of my life.
5. One of my first interests was learning all of the State Capitals and where all of the states are located. I then graduated to learning all of the World Capitals and where all the countries of the world are located. I would spend hours looking at maps in various atlases I owned. I still love looking at maps. I would love to follow US highways on maps from one corner of the country to the other. I still enjoy doing this. I learned in college that geography is more about the study of plate tectonics and the strata of the earth and how lakes were formed by the receding glaciers. Are there still cartographers needed out there? Or did GoogleEarth put an end to that profession?
6. I have loved sports since about 1991 when I was about 7 years old. It started with the Bulls and Michael Jordan and Andre Dawson and the Chicago Cubs. If I'm watching TV, 75% of the time I'm watching sports of some kind or ESPN. I'm one of those people who will watch the five or six SportCenters they show on weekday mornings, the ones that are all the same. A lot of friends that I have made in the last couple of years, though, are surprised to hear how much I love sports. I can talk about music and books and philosophy and all of these other more sophisticated things with them and never mention sports for a long time, and one day after they've known me for a few months, they see me watching a Bulls game or with a Chicago Cubs related away message on AIM. Oh, I didn't know you liked sports, Kyle. (It always sounds like a question.) Sometimes I wonder why I love watching a bunch of grown men play games for millions of dollars and get so worked up over it that I cried when the Cubs clinched their playoff birth this last season. Who does that?
Going through most of my early schooling, I performed best in math and science (Okay, I got straight A's in everything, but I enjoyed math more than anything else . . . besides geography, but what job can you get studying maps of the world all day long because I love knowing where everything is in the world?) I got burnt out on Calculus, Physics AP, and Chemistry AP my senior year of high school and really began enjoying my English AP class. I spent one period aiding for an English teacher and talking to another English teacher who had a plan period. I now have a degree in English from Purdue and no idea what to do with it. I really love 20th Century Literature and EcoCritism, but I got burnt out and didn't want to do any work my last semester. I took some good advice and decided to take some time off, see the world, experience something other than school, get a different kind of education.
What did I do? I have been living with my parents again since I graduated in May. I said I'd start looking for a job in October. October passed. I said I'd get a job in December. It's now January. I have put in one (1) application (at 3 Floyds). I fell in love over the summer and felt more optimistic, more happy, and more content than I ever had. My heart was broken by the beginning of winter, and I think I'm even more optimistic. But I have my legs stuck in the mud or my wheels spinning; no analogy sounds correct. I have all of these things that I want to do, but no idea where/what to do. It's a mass collection of ideas that have gathered in my head (my head is often cluttered enough as it is).
Should I go away for a little while? I don't think I can leave my parents. We have a relationship unlike any other son/parents that I know. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to have stricter parents who wouldn't have let me come home after college, or would have at least kicked me out by the end of the year (two weeks ago). I also have some really good friends that I don't want to leave. I'm sure I could make friends elsewhere, but that is a daunting, scary task. But, no, I need more self-motivation. I need more drive (not just regular drive). I need a direction, some angle to shoot for, some kind of target; I don't like this analogy.
I could move somewhere, maybe somewhere quite random or maybe somewhere like Vegas, find a random roommate because I can't live alone. I don't know if I'll ever be able to live alone again. I lived alone for three years of my life while at Purdue. I mostly blame that for going to my only counseling session ever. I'm home alone right now, and I really don't feel comfortable at all.
1. I haven't read a book in over a month. I can't remember the last time I went a month without reading a book. Maybe middle school.
2. I'll write here and there. Maybe try some lyrics here and there. I wrote a post for this blog the day before Christmas, but I felt it was too emotional to put on the Internet. I really feel like I've been too emotional to write anything good lately. Good job, Kyle, don't even try.
3. I can't think of many things that make me feel better than music. I've had a bass since I was in middle school, but I'm mediocre at best. I've put a considerable amount of time into playing guitar since about November of 2006. I have callouses on the tips of this fingers on my left hand. I really, really want to own a drum set and play everyday, but my family doesn't want the noise and none of my friends want to hear that noise either. I've considered getting a drum set anyway and driving out in the country and playing for the corn and soybean fields. I'm a vocalist in a band, and I've been having more fun with it than ever, but more and more I want to play an instrument in a band, too. I've been feeling really musical today, but I get frustrated that my hands can't play the music that I hear in my head.
4. Most of the time I really love playing poker. But I wonder where I would be if I had spent the time writing instead of playing poker; I wonder if I would have had a book published by now. I've been playing online for a good three years now. I'm a smart guy, but a lot of smart guys who are playing poker for as long as I have make a lot more money than I do. Poker is really just a hobby of mine that I can make maybe $500 a month doing right now. Professionally I'd have to play 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I just can't do that. If I have a bad session, I get too frustrated and just stop (well, it's an improvement over tilting away half my bankroll). If I have a good start to my session, I want to stop and sit on my winnings. I have more discipline than I ever have, but it's still not enough. I need more even discipline in the rest of my life.
5. One of my first interests was learning all of the State Capitals and where all of the states are located. I then graduated to learning all of the World Capitals and where all the countries of the world are located. I would spend hours looking at maps in various atlases I owned. I still love looking at maps. I would love to follow US highways on maps from one corner of the country to the other. I still enjoy doing this. I learned in college that geography is more about the study of plate tectonics and the strata of the earth and how lakes were formed by the receding glaciers. Are there still cartographers needed out there? Or did GoogleEarth put an end to that profession?
6. I have loved sports since about 1991 when I was about 7 years old. It started with the Bulls and Michael Jordan and Andre Dawson and the Chicago Cubs. If I'm watching TV, 75% of the time I'm watching sports of some kind or ESPN. I'm one of those people who will watch the five or six SportCenters they show on weekday mornings, the ones that are all the same. A lot of friends that I have made in the last couple of years, though, are surprised to hear how much I love sports. I can talk about music and books and philosophy and all of these other more sophisticated things with them and never mention sports for a long time, and one day after they've known me for a few months, they see me watching a Bulls game or with a Chicago Cubs related away message on AIM. Oh, I didn't know you liked sports, Kyle. (It always sounds like a question.) Sometimes I wonder why I love watching a bunch of grown men play games for millions of dollars and get so worked up over it that I cried when the Cubs clinched their playoff birth this last season. Who does that?
Going through most of my early schooling, I performed best in math and science (Okay, I got straight A's in everything, but I enjoyed math more than anything else . . . besides geography, but what job can you get studying maps of the world all day long because I love knowing where everything is in the world?) I got burnt out on Calculus, Physics AP, and Chemistry AP my senior year of high school and really began enjoying my English AP class. I spent one period aiding for an English teacher and talking to another English teacher who had a plan period. I now have a degree in English from Purdue and no idea what to do with it. I really love 20th Century Literature and EcoCritism, but I got burnt out and didn't want to do any work my last semester. I took some good advice and decided to take some time off, see the world, experience something other than school, get a different kind of education.
What did I do? I have been living with my parents again since I graduated in May. I said I'd start looking for a job in October. October passed. I said I'd get a job in December. It's now January. I have put in one (1) application (at 3 Floyds). I fell in love over the summer and felt more optimistic, more happy, and more content than I ever had. My heart was broken by the beginning of winter, and I think I'm even more optimistic. But I have my legs stuck in the mud or my wheels spinning; no analogy sounds correct. I have all of these things that I want to do, but no idea where/what to do. It's a mass collection of ideas that have gathered in my head (my head is often cluttered enough as it is).
Should I go away for a little while? I don't think I can leave my parents. We have a relationship unlike any other son/parents that I know. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to have stricter parents who wouldn't have let me come home after college, or would have at least kicked me out by the end of the year (two weeks ago). I also have some really good friends that I don't want to leave. I'm sure I could make friends elsewhere, but that is a daunting, scary task. But, no, I need more self-motivation. I need more drive (not just regular drive). I need a direction, some angle to shoot for, some kind of target; I don't like this analogy.
I could move somewhere, maybe somewhere quite random or maybe somewhere like Vegas, find a random roommate because I can't live alone. I don't know if I'll ever be able to live alone again. I lived alone for three years of my life while at Purdue. I mostly blame that for going to my only counseling session ever. I'm home alone right now, and I really don't feel comfortable at all.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Dynamic Days
Sometimes when the body has been sick, not quite right, the mind isn't as sharp and lacks creativity. Add to that a tug on the heartstrings, a chord of heartache, and song of melancholy, and you can pile up the apathy towards being creative. Or at least I can. Then again, according to horoscopes, certain days can be fives stars, and that means "dynamic." Not necessarily good, but dynamic. And maybe it's at times like these that we can experience those Joycean epiphanies that slow down the pace of our day to the microsecond and seemingly mold our futures, at least moreso than most ordinary seconds. So maybe what hasn't come in words has come in broken guitar strings and the purchasing of fresh new notebooks. Fresh pens, too. The joy of fresh materials is sometimes necessary for me when I want to find some creativity again. But I look at this new red notebook, holding my new fine point black pen, and I'm afraid to start. Maybe it's more anxious. What do I say? What do I write? How have I ever written anything before? I know that I always approach new notebooks like this, but it never seems to get any easier. I can't count the number of times I've ruined a good notebook because of something stupid I wrote on the first page. I hate ripping out pages of my notebooks, so that's not a solution. Eventually, I just have to go to a new one, and maybe find some use like scratch paper for the unfortunately notebook that just didn't quite work out.
These dynamic, five star days can and maybe should be written about. But not right now. They have to steep like a good tea. They age and start feeling more poetic or more like a dream, a story that can be told and not just a recounting. There is a big difference between the two. I think I understand the difference better than most, but I think that is also why my output seems to be more and more--less. If time could go by faster, then I could maybe write about more things, but then again, I wouldn't have any time to enjoy the time that is passing by faster than normal. It's easy to panic at 5am, but there are blogs for a reason.
These dynamic, five star days can and maybe should be written about. But not right now. They have to steep like a good tea. They age and start feeling more poetic or more like a dream, a story that can be told and not just a recounting. There is a big difference between the two. I think I understand the difference better than most, but I think that is also why my output seems to be more and more--less. If time could go by faster, then I could maybe write about more things, but then again, I wouldn't have any time to enjoy the time that is passing by faster than normal. It's easy to panic at 5am, but there are blogs for a reason.
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