Indifference

I've been thinking a lot again lately. Nostalgia strikes, songs fill my inner core and thus the creases of my eyes well with those little droplets we call tears. One of these days I'll learn the science behind that process. As for now, the actual act of crying will suffice.

Apparently it's "summer," not quite officially according to the Earth's rotation, but those of us attempting higher education within the semester system have betook this mentality, those assimilated thoughts and practices associated with this very concept. Sometimes I often crave structure. Within my sentences, in my mind. I don't know. Really. It might just be a scheme.

Anyhow, life is lovely and acceptable at this moment in time. Working my two jobs (Coffee Bean & Susiecakes) consumes 95% of my daily activity and intake. As with most of us humans, there is still an empty void that ceases to fill when I continue that process of thinking. I seek to travel, see new sites and faces. FEEL something new and enticing. All of that will come eventually, I suppose. Slowly, yet hopefully surely.

I have been slacking recently with the dream transcriptions. However, I do enjoy exercising my mind every Wednesday afternoon in a semi-hidden courtyard at the San Francisco Marina Library. Toddlers and babies alike frolic at the adjacent playground as I often sit and munch for a bit. Birds get frisky in the bushes and a middle aged man with a baseball cap typically accompanies me at a distant bench whilst examining a cigarette and mumbling nonsensical phrases under his breath. Middle and high school students bask in the sunshine, sharing kisses and admiration for their growing love interests.

It's all part of the privileged society congregating and splurging in some of life's teeny tiny pleasures, all under the blanket of San Francisco's mystical fog and sunshine. So simple, yet so magnificently brilliant and complex.

Well, I'm off to prepare myself for a OneRepublic concert. There's that temporary escape.

A rattle battle lined in a saddle map. WIND.

A spill of thoughts brought to you by an incoherent mind:
(my tired, cried-out brain will probably not form any substantial sentences so please pardon my grammar, or everything for that matter)

Soooo, there's a thought trickling down my spine, trickle trickle trickle. Needless to stay it's still there. The cherry blossoms bloom, die out. Fade out, boom. They're back. For now. Clouds fill the sky, followed by thunderous clouds and wisps of lightning striking the atmosphere, however high those volumous, gaseous bodies tower. My mind is a swimming ship, prepared for take off, yet the landing strip is blurred from the storm. Those stitches are to be sewn, mended for all the proper reasons. Trickle trickle trickle. Plump droplets begin to form, and those stitches build to form holes. HOLES, the size of 15 foot tidal waves. Tearing transpires. Down my face, across that fabricated mess. Responsibility is left at hand. We must mend those ruptured seams. Doe a deer, a female dear. These are a few of my favorite things. Pounding thoughts ripple throughout my cranium. Bouncing from side to hollow side like a damn racket ball court. Sorry is simply never the proper response, however, it is necessary. Scratches on the surface now tear into thick, bleeding wounds. No superglue, but stitches. Mending those wounds. Filling the tank. Watching the storm clouds subside for the runway, rising the sail for the wind to grasp. We shall see. Like the dead roses towering in the tin, hovering over the side with their lifeless tint. Strong, yet so lifeless. Like the wind. Sight. Touch. Tear. Mend.

LIKE THE DAMN WIND.

A Stone

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead —his eyes are closed." -Einstein 

Sometimes I wonder if it is indeed possible to be smitten with a thought, concept or idea. To be so wrapped in awe with something so highly intangible, yet know the feeling all at once. I don't know, but I do. 

Lately, life has been one giant paradox rolled into a mist of car crashes, pregnancies and births, robberies and beatings. People in my life one minute and out the next. You know, just everything that comes with your twenties. Numbness. It's developed all within the past year like nothing I could have ever imagined. To think such an emotion has been derived specifically from interaction between myself and the friends I've called coworkers at a tiny little franchised coffee shop on the corner of Montgomery and Bush. It has allowed me to cope without crying every other minute or seek the help of medication or a professional. I do manage to poke my head in the clouds and wonder every now and again, which somehow keeps me grounded. Stress. Depression. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it, I somehow seem to keep it tamed at one point or another all with the help of my little friend I like to call sleep. Whatever exists at this point. 

The dreams have been a tid bit rough as of late, but it all makes sense given my current situation. Hamsters with bleeding eyes, stolen wallets and phones, conversations with Brendan Urie, and "human sacrifices" on muni--the whole shebang. Unconscious fragments forming complex reflections of a concrete world; my dreams. 

I think it's time to start a new journal, whether it entails dreams or not. Let's hope it doesn't get lost or stolen. And scene. 

Bits and Pieces

Whew. Life, man. Between the chaos of work, school, and registration it seems these MFs living below me have set the tone for all the bizarre happenings of my life with their wild banshee screams and whimsical concoctions of dubstep beats (not sure that made any sense, but we'll just go with it). Hm. By the sounds of it, I guess things could be a bit worse though.

So, first I'd like to address the somewhat random page views I've been receiving according to the blogger "audience" tracker. I'm pretty thrilled that any form of life (holler to the extra terrestrials out there too...okay, i'll stop) is semi-interested in the wild thoughts of my unconscious mind, so this is a warm welcome to you! Hola, Guten Tag, Bonjour, & Wazzaahh from my itty bitty San Francisco apartment! If you have not already noticed, my goal here is to place meaning to all of the nonsensical blurs and whisps that are conducted in my sleep, otherwise known as the delicately knit fabric with jagged seams and hems that reflect my conscious thoughts and behaviors. Cool beans.

Alright, so the dreams yo. THE DREAMS. Lately, I've been neglecting to record any of my dreams (pathetic) which means I really only remember bits and pieces of the pretty damn hilarious ones. My goal is to bring back the journal by tomorrow if I can revamp it with the old recordings on my phone.. SO. Let's see. I'm pretty sure this dream happened yesterday as I remember blabbing about it to my roommate. I appeared to be on a field trip with some people from class and my roommate Michele, and our primary mode of transportation was some form of a party bus with a stripper pole smacked right dab in the middle (i'm thinking this is about 90% accurate). This woman in our class we can't seem to stand was the focus of majority of the events, as she was cracking jokes here and there, just being the typical annoying 40-something-year-old-woman that only talks about her kids.. oh, and buffalo. Anywho, as we arrived at our destination I noticed that our little stripper van was parked on the street of Pinole Valley Rd. in the front of my local bowling alley. There were lines upon lines of people seated on the grass in small groups, yet I could not seem to find a proper area to sit. Because of this, I felt that Michele and I were the rebels of the group, causing as much trouble as we could possibly achieve. I'm not sure if we ever found a seat, but it was pretty amusing for us going in and out of the groups as they stared at us searching for a patch of grass.

Now, onto bits of the next dream I had this morning. I remember being in some type of urban setting with lots of tall buildings and windy and steep roads (much like San Francisco). One of the group members of my HTM class was in and out of the scenes, doing random things I can't quite recall. At one point, I was parked on somewhat of a hill at a stoplight and to my surprise I could feel and see the earth rise below me, as if there were an earthquake. Slowly, the ground continued to rise along with my anxiety as I sat behind the wheel trying to figure out what to do. This was all I can really recall, but the strange thing about this particular scene was the connection it made with a story my roommate told me about a supposed earthquake she experienced last night. I'm not sure if the timing of the events connected with one another, but it was pretty damn eerie hearing her mention an earthquake and then remembering this dream. Premonitions, possibly?

Finally, this is dream occurred roughly a few weeks ago after my roommates and I rented a zipcar for the night (to be exact, it was the day after 4/20!). I was seen in the front passenger seat of a small car with my roommates as Ni'Keah began practicing behind the wheel. She started driving and out of nowhere a large van of guys appeared to be driving on our shoulder kind of yelling and dancing, asking to hang out or something. We laughed as she continued driving off into the abyss of future mayhem. Given that she does not have her license and was practicing the night before (true events), Ni'Keah (in the dream) was driving all types of reckless as she drove into on coming traffic and running over people's driveways, nearly crashing majority of the time. I'm pretty sure I tried controlling the steering wheel over her to avoid any deathly crashes 4/5 times she entered a new street. It was definitely a wild ride and thrilling to say the least.

Twas a pretty lengthy post, so enjoy ya'll. Have a lovely day, & let's vow to get these dream journals rolling!

When the night has come, and the land is dark

It's been a while since my last lucid dream, and it truly irks me. I believe it is time to get back in the habit of recording my dreams through a more tangible medium upon waking, so that I could possibly indulge in this particular sleeping pattern more often. Because ultimately, who doesn't enjoy the concept of controlling her own dream? 

On a stranger note, it is apparent that I am an avid sleep talker. As of late my roommate has gifted me with all types of night time stories, ranging from German gibberish tangents to aggravated cries of distress, and even muffled conversations with myself followed by eerie giggling. Sometimes I'm thankful for having a roommate that doesn't sleep until 3 a.m so that I can hear the psychotic slurs that slip from my mouth as I sleep. Truly fascinating stuff i'd say. I also did a bit of research on the topic a while back and found this quite profound: 

"Modern sleep science and the law accept that sleep talking is not a product of a conscious or rational mind and is therefore usually inadmissible in court." 

Who would have thought the law and sleep talking could potentially face one another? Deep Sh*t. Anyhow, back to some recent dreams. I believe last night I dreamed that I received an 'F' on a paper I am currently waiting to receive for my WGS class. I could somehow feel my stomach sink in my sleep, which was an extremely odd feeling. At some point the letter on the paper sort of shifted into an 'A' so I was able to rest a little easier (no pun intended). Some other craziness went down, but I forgot it pretty quickly this morning. Agh, it is time to improve my current habits and delve further into the thoughts and behaviors of my unconscious mind!  Saddle up, ya'll! 

Hide and Seek

Well, then. It's been quite some time since my last post, and clearly A LOT has changed. Firstly, landing this job at the Coffee Bean has not only allowed me to rack in some dough but it's shifted my mood tremendously. Despite the sometimes strenuous closing hours at the Bean and all the reading for classes I've accumulated with this semester, all has been ridiculously well. Spraaang Breaakk was utterly fantastic, as I was able to visit with friends and family, proving to be quite a luxury in this day and age for meh. I busted out some pretty badass grades for my midterms (well, in a few classes at least), I've been able to try some tasty cuisine through random expeditions, ANNND it appears my social circle is starting to enhance because of some very awesome people. Not sure why that sounded so pretentious.. 

Anyway, I've been neglecting proper sleep for the longest time so when I manage to take a nap or two or am awarded a few extra hours in the morning, my unconscious mind just goes berserk. I've noticed recent trends in my dreams that entail confrontation, awkward situations, HEIGHTS, traveling, and altercations with people I either miss or have not seen in the. longest. time. For example, part of my dream this morning was set at a random house and two of my twin sister friends from high school were with me attempting to get down from the highest part of the building. However, a rope or suspension cable was not available to help us successfully get down without dying.. Yet, I somehow managed to reach the bottom which shifted into my Grandma's house. From there I was seen in my Uncle's backroom with friends and family visiting, those of which I was just being introduced. Out of nowhere a group of older men who appeared to be some of my Dad's old friends tried to come into the house, yet were unsuccessful. At some point I was running in the driveway attempting to shoo them from the property, screaming as if they were rapist perpetrators.. I think I may have called the cops on them as well. After they left the property, I needed to leave so I apologized to the newest members of my family and bid them farewell. Other pretty crazy dreams have also taken place; too bad I can not remember the details as vividly.

As for now, it's a wee bit toasty so I'm going to hit the sheets and hopefully have some fairly mellow dreams. Over and out, mateys. a

Hidden Treasure

In an attempt to de-clutter my timeline and fix a setting here and there, I just so happened to stumble upon an old Note I composed roughly three or so years ago titled "Dear Diary" on Facebook. As it turns out, I truly am as lame I've always thought, and in three more years from now I'll think the exact same..

Lately i've been stressed in awfully peculiar ways and can't seem to release such emotions and de-clutter my mind as simply as the click of a button. I need a job and the feeling of un-inspiration is an ever present tug at my throat. Sometimes all I care to do is sit in a rain-filled puddle and watch the storm clouds roll by. But that might appear strange and somewhat alarming for my current setting, so I instead remain inside and meander my thoughts elsewhere. It's also not so reassuring when you have accumulated emotional stress from a loved one whom you absolutely can not console in the flesh. For all I have experienced in this life time, this is such a terribly horrific pain. However, knowing the persons we are and the knowledge we've gained delivers the slightest bit of hope that all will inevitably be sewn in a perfectly straight line. 

Now that I've bored you to death with my whiny blabbering, let's move on to some positivity! I've managed to complete a tremendous amount of homework in one day AND within a significant time before deadline. haa. Anywho, I'm somewhat in the mood to write sooooo off I go. We'll see how this turns out. MAHA

He was the product of naiveté, the love child of addicts. He was exquisite; dark brown saucers illuminated his face, penetrating one's inner core. He was also the product of slight fortune, the kind of fortune physically tangible to the mother and reared by the father. 

The son was fostered in a perfectly construed Bronx apartment, from the the nourishing family settled in the home all the way down to the light fixtures strung from the ceiling. All appeared pleasant on the surface, but beneath such cheery smiles and laughs from the welcoming of the newborn son laid the haunting truth of the couple's weakness. One, the slave of the substance. The other, slave of the fiend. 

The two were utterly and ridiculously inseparable  and purely infatuated by one's love for the other. The attraction was ever present as indicated by the stares and glances, revealing the toxic bond. The previous lifestyles of the two could not have been more different, yet their current setting explained all. Two rebels with no cause, careless attitudes and drugs. 

That's all I've got for now. Off to my memory foam.