dailywords4dailypeople - Tumblr blog

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

nexus

this word always has me thinking "next us," like the relationship between you and me is that you are the next us. you are the next me. the next in line. all i can do is pass some connection to you, sit back, see if it works... I've been thinking recently about formative memories.

these are the memories that establish us as a person, and idk why but my brain is shortcutting formative with first ~ so saying your first memories is synonymous with saying your formative memories.

but I don't think that's right. i think the formative memories are the ones that shape you; they are the ones that lead you into tomorrow, that rhythm your brain into its current metronome.

feels like my 27th birthday slapped me with some formative memories; but then again, it's too soon to tell. if anything, it ingrained me with actions, words, and pictures that will not be leaving anytime soon.

there's trouble in explaining...

and i wanna post this before i go to bed. may the knowledge dy with me. wake up to be rborn.

the nexus is next to

us the next

us, you

are out the door

scheming about how

to be next to

the nexus, communi

cate

next to us to

join

the nexus, and by

being next to

us, you

will be the next us

congratulations

you are dismissed.

1 note · View note

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

asunder

torn and thrown asunder, my my my oh my

I'm hungry, and there's work tomorrow. Coming off a three day weekend, good lor. The extra day was really nice, really really really nice to be away from all the hub-ub for a while. need to get away or else i will break and lay shattered in pieces along the bottom of the Atlantic.

break break break b r a ke brake bre ak

breeeak kaerb brakeekarbreakfacebreak because the universe has become bored enough to start thinking about things that are better not to be thought about. one heed of warning, don't think so much of an opinion that it becomes fact. a fact only in ur own brain. nice to be around people again. nice nice nice to be around people again. gyrate the train of thought, gyrate into what were we talking about? im not writing from the train this time.

w hy dre ad o v er an see ming ly like ly yet act ually un lik ely fut ure. worry it be turn asunder. rip your own self. ugh. to go back to ugh to ugh i dont wan-ugh-na

s'blood

cold feet, not from lack of circulation

heem heat, because of learned-helpless saturation

no explanation, there's no sense to decipher

blurred pictures, seared into the cinema in my head

s'blood happy ไหม, ไม่ happy,

happy ไหม, ไม่ happy, happy ไหม, ไม่ happy, happy ไหม, ไม่ happy

is how i w al k ed a w a y i t w as f ou r o r s o A

M

an o th er r e aso n to kee pli vin gbec aus eat leas tthere aret hin gsi haven 'tdone y et.

do i go to bed out of boredom or because i need rest?

mind open, wide, asunder

2 notes · View notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

Fungible

Fungible describes things, such as currency, goods, and commodities, that can be exchanged for something else of the same kind or value. In broader usage, fungible can also mean “interchangeable,” as well as “readily changeable to adapt to new situations"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this word has me thinking about stuff that could be money, but it's stuff that is actually stuff. no where in the definition does it mention an act or service.

so paying someone for fixing ur car is no fungible, but paying someone for a thing is, provided that the thing u get in turn is recyclable into the market.

flexible, not individual value. so like a plushie wouldn't work because only a select-group enjoys plushies. the example the Webster definition gives is quite literally a dollar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

moving on ...

onto things i find more interesting

i wanted to talk about my birthday yesterday... i wrote a whole entry that will possibly be forever stored in the depths of my literary vault. the subject matter developed into non-postable material for a couple reasons....

1 - explicit, "I'll tell you when you're older," content

2 - too good to hand over the rights willy-nilly

tumblr doesn't deserve to own writing that good ~ i'd need to be paid to disclose it.

I've given tumblr enough, drowning material. it's my philosophy; write so much that no one will care to read it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

to cycle back to money, let's talk about venmo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

just kidding, im not on the train anyone, so i dont wanna write my train thoughts other than saying why we give money as a present now นะ? and why's it gotta be different in different places อ่ะ

my meat-fast is over but i don't wanna jump right back into it and everything. i had a whole slab of fish on my birthday, and i had to push it out my butthole.. i haven't had to TRY to poop in a hot minute and a half. I'm used to having unbelievable amounts of fiber in my diet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ummmmm, guys????? i uh....... how do i.... talk about forbidden knowledge?????!?!!!?!???? what century is this? how forbidden is talkin about the things we do???? what kind of reputation do i gotta maintain????! i am in constant ignorance of my expectations

1 note · View note

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

gumption - to have all the bazazz and know u got it

nights have been passing by in wakefulness... the fault falls within my hands, because on weekends, i think to myself

lets stay up all night

when the sun peaks, i decide sleeping is a good idea. its 5 or 6 maybe. i can't remember, but i finally sleep. then the next night comes,.,,.,,,. and even tho i want to sleep, I don't. sleeping doesn't work like that. ...,., anyway..,...,zzz.z.,..,.,

another night of wakefulness, another night of wanting to sleep yet not being able to. another night of reading, reading, reading the thoughts i had written long before. another night of no one breathing next to me. another night of wanting to eat something but not wanting to become diabetic.

//

there has been a rash on my neck. it comes and goes. there has been a lump in my throat. it rises and falls. there has been a cancerous thought of holy what the jesus h christ should i do to not die tomorrow. it circumvents, pesters, fades away, returns.

there is no gumption in the light of death, probably

often i think of death, yet the thoughts haven't sunk. they are an imagination. they are fabricated. the rhythm of my heart though syncopated reassures the well-known lie that i will live forever.

the lie of eternal life is debunked through and through, but I don't know how long it takes for the knowledge of its falsehood to become an understanding. to go from familiarity to certainty.

I've seen it in literature countless times, each with a beauty that i can only admire from afar--i admire those who are honest with their decomposition. Mark Turcotte is the professor who told it to us straight. He told us via Zoom University that if he were to plop down from his chair, there, in the winter of 2021's Chicago, that we should let it happen. Death is tricky because although the timing is foretold, the year:month:day:hour:minute:second remain unknown.

And if memory services me correctly, Aureliano Segundo faced this unknown-timed certainty. I believe of the Buendías, it was he who felt death strike him years before it happened. He felt it in his throat. The lights are out in my studio condo, or I would look up the quote myself, but I am certain that he felt death's whimper begin in his throat.

so naturally,

when i see this neck rash of mine come and go and come and go again, and when after i eat, it feels as though a piece of rice is stuck in my throat: i spiral, stupidly.

i ponder, painfully.

i do have gumption in the light of death--it's the gumption of ignoring death, for life is worth living. i have never been [REDACTED],,,, I've thought of the location o ft h es h o + g _ n and I've thought of my mother's reaction seeing a ruddy splattering on the wall and bookshelf of my living room.

i assume.

i do the classic worrying of things I can't control..................i can control, however, small things that have much larger change. like my diet, i think there's too much sugar. and my weekends, i think there's too much b 0.o z e and not enough sleep . . .

these thoughts dissuade me, reassure me.

life is worth living, probably for now. tedious hours can make me weak. they can make me falter and question and wonder about the optimal orientation of my body soring down 29 flights. but no, no, no i am not sue eh side ale. my thoughts simply demand exercise. and my desires demand sleep, yet yet has it been attained.

writing like this doesn't do sleep any good. but neither does consumption, so i might as well create. dear reader, i will not stop writing. though i consume, i must create. thank you for reading, and best wishes.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

filch - to steal but like nbd

not sure where to take this one, but i

will admit that i am coming to terms

with myself

as far as

understanding who I am

is concerned

i've noticed that there are, in fact,

two sides of the coin with b i p o l a r d i s o r d e r and like

it's whatttteverrrr, because im trying to

relieve myself from the bounds and shackles

of a definition

i am an individual (not a diagnosis),

and haphazardly i am rather

sad

and why tf am i beating myself up about it

because . . . someone like

me? in my situation, hell

i'm living the dream, riiiiiiight?

you're not allowed to be 🙂🥲🫠

when you're on vacation

and but actually

i am 🙂🥲🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

i still have to be a person and

do person things, like im not just

lving in absolute bliss

being abroad and shiT.T

i still have to build the

effort

to make myself feel like

days have value

and gee,

it feels like

days have no value; days are

just for breathing through 😮‍💨

feels like days are only

here so that there is something

to be in.

feels like my sour mentality

is filching my attention from

something✨ that could be worth

my while. worth to stay a

while.

เข้าใจไหมครับ

push through the deep

pres

sion

or 😶‍🌫️ instead

I have come to terms with thinking

that my brain matter does

its own thing and I just gotta deal

deal with it

deal with it because it doesn't make

me who I am

I am who I am

i need to get off the train now bye

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

illustrious

the authorities are on my back. half a semester into working at my new school, and the observation feedback has not been good. we are talking quite literally a sixty-nine out of one hundred.

69%

on the evaluation form, all of the points of criticism were strictly that: criticism. there was nothing constructive. the only positive things said were...

use of a timer, and displaying it on the smartboard

use of realia

the first point was an obvious example that the authorities had nothing good to say, which is reinforced by the point that i did NOT use realia. I truly don't know why the comment was included.

the authorities are passive aggressive. they are people who do not know how to explain their point. they do not tell me the problem; they only state that a problem exists. now it is my job to diagnose their paper trail--a task that requires someone with greater patience than i to carry. i've been holding back my replies to their messages else i flood them with a rebuttal that would do little to rectify the situation.

this past Friday, the authorities visited my office. they waddled. in their voice, I heard the sound of apprehension. the subtle timidity. a voice preparing to speak words that it would rather not have to say.

we talked and it was fine. I told them it was difficult. I told them several things. they asked me if I enjoyed working here. I did not lie in my response, yet I did not know how to answer. how does one say I love my students, and I harbor resentment for the authorities? in an effort to congeal the two sentiments, I told the authorities that i liked the job well enough. (i do. i really do.) i did not tell the authorities that they should be weary of every time they pay me, least it be the last they hear from me again. i did not tell them the issues that i have with their communication. i did not say, "stop being passive aggressive." no. I told them I liked the job, and the authorities started saying

I don't want to lose you

peculiar. so I told them blahh blah blah and they said blah buhblaah to my blahh blah was a bluh blah back to blah and then blah blah blah I may have shed a tear. what can I say? they had come into my classroom, and more or less said I sucked at my job. please forgive me for a mere display of human emotion. I'm someone who enjoys crying.

but the conversation was nearing its end

adorned with a smile, the authorities asked me if I understood, right? that there was something I should have pieced together and you got it, right? standing up to leave, because you get it. I don't want to lose you. you get it. right? I said

no, i do not understand

"first there are two verbal warnings, then a written warning, then if there's still no improvement, your case will be evaluated and we will decide whether or not to let you go."

how could someone say all that and end it with a smile?

my face returned to its resting state~shifted and stood still as stoic as the shape it will take in my funeral casket.

the authorities nodded, still smiling. I nodded. I said yes and may have raised my eyebrows for an instant. I did not smile.

upon leaving, the authorities were already on another phone call "ขอโทษค่ะ"

i have yet to learn what is expected of me. I have yet to learn how to advocate for myself and to call attention to the work I have done. I have done. I have done. I have done so much work. work that the authorities do not recognize. my friends tell me I work too hard, and the fix for this situation is to do the bare minimum.

i suppose they have a point. to think of my work as illustrious is conceited. i am nothing more than the song of a goat, so stop trying to be something bigger. stop icarusing, you tragic fool. melt your own wings so the sun need not do it for u. you are wax and clay. you will melt, fall into the boiling sea. drown as no one thinks to help u. why should they? they are occupied with finding a teacher who will do exactly as chatGPT says. robots are the future, and 90% of lesson plans are written by A.I.s nowadays. do yourself a favor and upload your consciousness. do it now because they eat you. they do not know who will butcher me. they do not know who will bake the pie. they will not know as they eat that the hue of the cream matches that of my iris.

lay thy curse upon the house of atreus, and dye

dye while still young enough for dy-ing to be illustrious.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 1 year

Text

rectitude

What’s the angle? Like why am i going through this drought. this cascade this cycle this reassurance. when i’m okay i can’t imagine right now. the time here, at this keyboard. when i write down something difficult, i can’t even read it again because i’m ashamed or embarrassed. and when i admit that i’m struggling, i

i

i don’t even know how to admit that because then i

have to tell people how to

help me, and i don’t know

how to help me, if i knew how

to help me i would have done it by now, and my service

my cell service should be cutting out soon, or it’s going to cut out

like at two o’clock in the morning or something

so far pages are still loading

and i don’t know how

going to this page will change anything

or

it will make things worse

or it

will go down as a nothing a

mis

remembered time in my life

passing

by like it didn’t you know

i could gaslight myself

into thinking that i

never had any of

my thoughts or

i never said any words or wrote a damn thing down

all this writing without saying

anything all this breathing

eating without

tasting anything what’s the point

of eating food

if there’s no taste

no style no

spice no hot

nesting lingering failing

feeling like bones could be bones

above or below the ground and

i won’t get paid for what my bones

do either way instead

i’ll post them up on some

website so that

someone else some big ass

see eeeh ohhh

can get the money that

i should make with my words

instead i’ll work for the

corporate giants for free

for free

for free i tell you what’s the word of the day anyway let’s look

it’s past mid night now, but not past midnight

rectitude

something about that

feels fitting like it’s a sign

that there’s something i’m doing

or writing or saying that

doesn’t fall on deaf ears

blind eyes

or paralyzed fingers

a writer wants to b

recognized, this writer ME i wanna be

recognized for my writing

but the only way to be

recognized is to throw

my work into a bucket of

small hopes.

storm clouds rumble in the

distance past the view of my

caged-in porch the lightning

skangqokldsma,f

holy shit.

lightning is beautiful it’s goddamn

trees that grow in an instant then

fade, pulsate

demanding attention.

any attention i demand

is not done intentionally

any joke i make wasn’t

meant to be funny

any swear i spit wasn’t

trying to be offense

any mind i inspire

grows on its own accord

so sit down lie down face down

on the bottom of the shower

floor and scream because the acoustics

aid in your attempt to make

someone someone someone please

someone listen

for the storm’s judgement

this one this me this one right

here is young enough to die.

1 note · View note

dailywords4dailypeople · 4 years

Text

yeah that's right, day like 5

I think I brought 5 shirts, so it must be day 5. I'm dong laundry, which was well needed.

there aren't many desks in this ski house, so i've moved up to the dining room table. The problem with this is that they are waycing the Television the volume set to Suuuuper loud; the entire house shakes. My solution? Headphones and Baby Keem. I couldn't listen to any chill beats because the TV would most certainly overpower the music.

We hiked a mountain today; my second fourteener. In mountain speak, a "fourteener" is a mountain that is over 14,000 ft about sea level. There are 53 or 54 in Colorado, depending on who you ask. Hiking today was easier than the last one. There wasn't as much 3-point climbing i.e. climbing with at least one hand. The difference today, though, was the wind. Once we made it over one of those false peaks: those premature hopes: the wind slapped. It must have been hiding on the other side of the mountain. The stream of air curving along the ridge and blasting hikers in the face once the only option was walking on top of the ridge. Since it was saturday, there were a lot more people out on the trails. Understandable, but for a pandemic, it was a little out of my comfort zone. Only a litte though.

I wore a mask when people got close, which wasn't too bad because it was cold out, and it was easy enough to deal with the fog on my glasses. I'll tell ya what, being on top of a mountain does not feel real. When you look over the cliff down an unbearable drop, yikes. A good yikes. The angle of the drop is steep enough that I didn't try thinking about just how steep it was. Scared? No. Instead, adernaline levels up. I'm addicted to that stuff.

The only issue I have with the mountains right now is oxygen. Well, a lack of oxygen. The air gets thinner the high up you go. A general statement: your lungs are aware of their ability. Like, like they know how one breath will make you feel. In the mountains, the atmoshpere is foreign for those oxygen sponges. The pressure. My brain expected that at a certain level of exhaustion, a corresponding number of inhales will correct me back to equilibrium. One, two, three breaths in and, why am I still this tired?

I didn't actually think this; logically I knew the answer. But my instincts had a different reaction. Panic. Logic was nothing, besides of course keeping me from ACTUALLY panicing. That natural compass in my brain, that is the true master of my thoughts. Areobics have been getting better. My redbloodcell count has been increasing. I've done some form of cardio work every day. Exercising, specifically breathing, is getting easier.

there's the travel update.

Stay saucy.

~C.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 4 years

Text

Travel Blog Day 1: Aug 3rd, 2020. Breckinridge, CO.

Uncle Bob and I left the hotel in Kansas around 7 o’clock, then 500miles and 1 time switch later, Colorado. The Rocky Mountains.

I suppose this would be the time I talk about all my traveling experiences. I’d tell you the sights and what’s pretty and all—you know the jazz. But I don’t feel like doing that today. Maybe it’s altitude hysteria, or maybe I just think writing about nature is boring.

There goes another project. For now. I think maybe it’s just that I don’t know how. Or that I don’t like how. Does that make me lazy? probably. But I feel writing is only good when it’s fun. This could be a wild misconception, and I could be withholding myself from my untapped nature writing potential. I probably am. i just, i uhhhh..

When it comes to writing, I steer away from the conventional stuff. What I mean by that is I don’t like constructing prose in the traditional way. Bye bye scene setting. And let’s make dialogue sporadic.

That’s assuming I even GET to dialogue. Now I’m stuck with question what to even write. Here’s what’s been on my mind—>Kazuo Ishiguro’s scene transitions are beyond exceptional. They are bonking brilliant !!! If you don’t pay attention, you might miss them and wonder HOW the HELL did this character get here? I thought this was just an old man thinking about pigeons. Next thing yknow he’s on a Freaking Horse trying to preemptively and subtly apprehend his whip-happy travel companion. The motion of Ishiguro’s ocean replicates thought patterns, I think. The flow, push and pull. He makes you aware of the ideas that spark a new divulgence of plot. And each beginning of a story find its end where it started. No wonder this man has a Nobel Prize in Literature. Fan-yaaas-tic.

v

The first game is a lot better than it was actually in my mind

^

that was just me punching the suggested words

They are watching TV upstairs. It’s soo loud. It’s like this house was built so that you may have a conversation with anyone no matter where they are in the house. I think it’s because where the hell did all the doors go. Not that there were any doors to begin with, but where. Did they go? Where.

The only thresholds that are allowed to NOT have doors are that of a gazebo. Even then, it puts me on edge. And Not the Almost Orgasm Kind. Though that would be .. hilarious.

we had an exchange student who, within his right to think so, misunderstood the way Americas say “hysterical. . . isn’t that a bad thing?”

No, hysterical is funny.

Noo, hysterical is like crazy.

Ohhh it is, I know. I see that. But no, we are saying it like funny. that’s just how we use it.

1 note · View note

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

i’ve been thinking about death. not in the sense that i’m dreading it. more as a thinking exercise that i’m already dead.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

Hi my dog died will someone please give me a hug

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

candid

Whenever I think about it, I don’t get emotional. Everything just fades away, and I imagine a hollow desert. It’s not hot. There’s no sand. There’s just the inside of a dead rib cage with a tired heart. It’s dark and warm. The warmth doesn’t come from holding on to anything—warm is a default.

*** *** *** *** ***

You had worms the first day we met. Eating was scarce, so you got along with the leftovers. Worms like the leftovers too. We gave you pills, and they left. You didn’t eat left overs anymore because we had each other. When we played, I thought about how big you were going to be. We tied u up outside, and when I came out to feed you, you went nuts. Over joyed. I wasn’t afraid or anything, but when you got really excited, you ran around and around and around me. I couldn’t keep up as you zipped through my legs and tied me up with you. I think I cried once. Dad told me that I just need to be calm, and you would follow. You always follow.

I can’t take you on runs with me! The road is too dangerous and we get the pacing all weird, like, super weird. You kept following me though, agh. If I locked you up, I will hear your yip-yap from a mile away. You know what, I’ll bring the choke collar, and things got easier after that. I felt so bad that you couldn’t sweat.

After a few days, I got worried. I came home to find a palace with no warden. She’s at the neighbors, dad said. Good ol’ me, gets in the truck and picks her up. You can’t sit up front because you get too excited, so I put you in the back. The windows only crack, so you had your nose jammed so close to the gap that it looked like ur whole body was on the tip of your nose. If it was taking too long, I sang to you. Sweet songs. Hushed. Oh, I know girl. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, we are almost home.

Then I left. Up and gone not without a hug of course. And it’s been six years, so I don’t get to feed you every day. When I come home, the wart on your front paw is getting bigger, and you lick hoping that it will sink away like an ice cream cone. I wonder, what did taste like? Sometimes I smell my fingers. I don’t know why, I just do.

And I had you sit before I pored you a dish. It was the step by step, and when I held the cup, you have a smile for your whole face. Your nose, can you believe it? Even your nose was smiling.

But it’s cold now. You have a limp. I don’t make you sit anymore. I can’t be there either...

*** *** *** *** ***

As the cascading breathe runs its course, it begins again without necessity. Without desire as if the expanded and collapsed chest fill the same space, so differentiation between the two is unmeasurable. Unreasonable.

We stay in this desert with a can-did attitude. It’s not can-do anymore because there isn’t a reason . . . but it is true. Candid is the new reason.

Mom says Roamer stopped eating.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

artifice

1 a : clever or artful skill : ingenuity

b : an ingenious device or expedient

2 a : an artful stratagem : trick

b : false or insincere behavior

It was a strange dream last night. Can’t recall what happened, so I’ll leave it at that. I simply do not know what to eat in the morning. When I wake up, it feels like my stomach is clenched. I have bagels but no toaster. Cereal but no milk. Yes, shopping is a must, but even with a full pantry, my tastes are seldom there. After my last class, my stomach will be a drumline for sure. No question about it.

Occasionally I’ll start the day with tea, but that’s not always good. After drinking a cup, I feel like throwing up. I don’t know why maybe you need food to sustain a spot of tea. Let me know if you have any advice.

You know the term “meta”? Being aware of oneself. It happens in literature all the time. A huge example is A Midsummer Night’s Dream. At the end of the play, there’s a play that is in the play that mocks love stories hardcore. Even the characters (who, mind you, just went through a love story) have a good jest with the melodramatics. Then Robin Goodfellow, Puck, gives that speech at the end where he literally says that everything you saw was a shadow and if you’re offended who cares because it’s not real. That sentence was grammatically atrocious. So you see someone can be critical of their own writing while they’re writing. Metawriting. Metablogging. It disgusts me, yet I do it.

Truly repulsive is when the author is negative about it, which I just have done. Calling to mind their writings in accordance with how the reader will react is just plainly, blatantly wrong. No one has insight to anyone else’s thoughts. Insight may not be quite correct. We can make an educated guess. However, we can’t know at least on an emotional level. Intellectually too, I suppose.

My tea is ready. Matcha

Class starts soon.

I need to get dressed.

Also, fuck semicolons + conjunctive adverbs. I saw Neil Gaiman do it beautifully once but that was it. No more, I say. No more.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

weal

: a sound, healthy, or prosperous state : well-being

I’ve done it. Back at bat. Yet another attempt at purging social media from my life. Snapchat? Gone. Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, Facebook? Buh-bye. Tumblr? Well, it’s not on my phone anymore, but I cheat and use my laptop. It’s different though. My laptop stays on my desk. The phone is its own beast. Something blasphemous I’ve noticed is that even though the entertainment apps are gone, I will catch myself in a mindless screen stare scrolling back and forth across my homepage. Looking at nothing. Then I wake up, and slide the phone back into my pocket. It will take some time, but I’m hoping my phone is no longer the prize winner of my free time. I’m carrying around more books.

My goal is to read over 50 this year. Right now the total is 2 novels and 2 short stories. So that’s like 2 and two fifths of a book within two weeks of the new year. I’m ahead of schedule, AND I’m already halfway through two others. One, The Orphan Master’s Son, is for general reading leisure, and Two, The Memory Police, is strictly for eating. Today I spent an hourish in the dining. I had finished eating, but with the book in front of me, I easily convinced myself to read another chapter. This went on for a while. You know, it’s really just like binging a TV show. If you read enough, I promise, it feels like you are sitting back watching movies. The movie doesn’t stop when you stop reading though. In a theater, what’s done is done. Books? Revolutionary media. You can read a book and think about it for weeks. Years!

Can’t you do that with movies too? Of course you can. But thiiiiink about it. How long do you watch a movie? Let’s say two and a half hours. That’s 2.5 hours of total immersion. Books take a lot longer. Total immersion of idk… 8 hours? I honestly never track the minutes it takes. I usually measure by days.

My roommate will ask me about my day. I tell him and offhandedly say “I read a book,” which now merits a response of “Like a whole book?” No, I say, but I’ve done it before. Usually I just do half a book in one day if it’s a school book. I read those faster simply because I have to. For pleasure reading I will take around a week. Probably less. Whatever fits my schedule. Now that social media is out of the picture, I can use my procrastination-to-get-out-of-bed time to read. Talk about winning. Let’s talk about winning. I joined an intramural soccer league. My hypothesis: we will suck. I’ve never been on a good intramural team. That usually does notreflect of my playing ability, but maybe. . . it does? I’ve always been in those classes where the teacher was like “why can’t all my classes be like you guys” to which I think, that does reflect my studenting ability, but maybe. . . it doesn’t? Bah, anyway I love morning class. 9:40 if you consider that early ( I don’t ) and that gives me the advantage over my sleepy peers. When it’s early, no one answers the professor except for, ding ding ding, you guessed it—me. I absolutely love it.

Crazy to think that I used to procrastinate work. In my younger days, I wanted school to be something that I just did because I had to. Praise the Lord, it’s not any more. I think it has to do with my “maturity” if you can believe that I possess such a thing. The older you are, the more you realize, hey, life is pointless. Might as well spend it in academic pursuits because then I can entertain myself. I swear the only entertaining thing is genius. I’m no genius, mind you. Not in the slightest, but I will give myself the benefit of the doubt that occasionally I have accidently been genius. This guy can explain it better:

“The first thing for a writer to learn is the art of transposing what he feels into what he want to make others feel. The first few times he succeeds by chance. But then talent must take the place of chance. Hence there is an element of chance at the root of genius.” –Albert Camus

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

surfeit

1 : an overabundant supply : excess

2 : an intemperate or immoderate indulgence in something (such as food or drink)

3 : disgust caused by excess

New Languages are hard. I don’t think it’s because the subject matter is particularly difficult but rather because I have already “mastered” (in a sense) my current language. English’s usefulness seems to far outweigh that of another language. The only true learning motivator for me, I think, would be full immersion.

When I visited Spain, they were impressed by my grasp of the language. I told them I was a new student who knew poco, no, pococito of the language, and they laughed as anyone would. After presenting the expectation to be nothing, everything we do from there is up. The only problem is that most people in Spain know how to speak English. Which kinda makes the only difficult thing reading off menus at restaurants.

So I have Spanish homework, and because our professor wasn’t there on the first day of class, I am kinda in the dark about what to do. Also they only talk in Spanish when they teach. At least, our sub did. I imagine it will be the same with our instructor. I always heard stories from one uncle or another about being in a language class where the instructor didn’t know a lick of English. I am convinced that it would be more useful that way. Should the only method of communication be the one I’m trying to learn, then I can’t lean on English for support. In other words, I’m learning to speak Spanish with a handicap. Learning to walk with a crutch.

Oh, and here is a small truth. To be grammatically correct, it is not required to write in sentences. Gerunds, noun phases, pretty much anything can be used when you are writing, and as long as it makes sense, boom. You’re golden, Ponyboy. Keep things flowing. Breathing. Then you will be a good writer. It’s like that part in “Catcher in the Rye” and the whole bit about the commas and all. Remember? Anyway, I only say that because I had an argument about it today with a fellow English student. Adamant of his defense, he conceited that I was right that it may “sound” better, but that doesn’t stop it from being a grammatical error. It’s 1v1 at this point, so supposedly another party must decide.

But think about it... Rocks. Whales. Running of the bulls. A drop of liquor. To faint into my arms. You can picture all of these things as a complete thought without the bindings of a subject-verb-object structure. Bahh, but who really knows? Maybe the guru of proper English, my 6th grade Religion teacher, the ever famous Miss B would.

English as a subject is less rules. More interpretation. Some of the most beautiful poetry is when the speaker throws you through a fan of extended thought, but out of nowhere a comma falls, giving breathe to poetic genius. Here’s an example in “Jordan (1)” by George Herbert:

Who says that fictions only and false hair

Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?

Is all good structure in a winding stair?

May no lines pass, except they do their duty

Not to a true, but painted chair?

The comma after true is brilliance, if you ask me. It makes the flow of speech and thought break for a second, providing assurance for the phrase. I hope this adds some points in my favor. If you have any grievances, I’m happy to continue the conversation. The spacing is kind important in this one, so hopefully all turns out well.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

dragoon

1 : to subjugate or persecute by harsh use of troops

2 : to force into submission or compliance especially by violent measures

On the brink of two projects. Both will require a lot of effort. The ideas excite me because they will counteract my fear of idleness. If you were to look at my life one year ago, you’d see me sleeping for maybe thirteen hours or more every day. The routine was to wake up when my alarm went off, then immediately fall back asleep. Stay there fading back and forth until I got a headache around noon. Go downstairs and try to read. Lose my motivation, my focus, and my energy. Fall asleep until Dad got home.

Once he was there, I felt a little better, but something was missing—an element of my character that I had trouble defining, which was discouraging because I knew it would take longer than I would like to find it again. To redefine something that an illness had taken away from me. When Mom pulled in the driveway, we would either do a thirty minute stretch that marketed itself as Tai-Chi, or we would go on a walk down our snowy driveway. There was a flat stretch of pavement between the road and the base of the hill upon which my house was built. Roamer didn’t have a limp so she would tag along as we walked back and forth until we lost count of the laps. If someone was about to hatch an egg in Pokémon Go, we walk until the ever famous “Oh?” covered the screen and then huddle around each other like hobos around a trash fire. I’d let my parents try to pronounce the Pokémon first, chuckle a bit, then correct them.

That was the only physically exertion on my body for the entire month. When we were walking, I repeat to myself “These are my best days” not because it was the truth but rather because I had to convince myself it was true if I wanted to heal. Most days I would avoid the suggestion of going on a walk or stretching even, because there was nothing occupying my head. Some part of me wanted to stay inside my broken cocoon. Every action, every decision was stuck in a loop where I pressed the snooze button. I pressed the damn button every damn time.

It was my parents who reminded me who I was despite my tentative motivation. My idleness. So we went on walks, we stretched like Tai-Chi masters, and we ate gluten/dairy free meals. Eventually I got a Ninetendo Switch and played through BotW. We got a subscription to Hulu. Mom and I watched “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” until we were both snoring on the couch.

My favorite part of every day was when Dad had fallen asleep on the couch with a glass in his hand. He’s not the heaviest man, but he certainly isn’t the lightest either. I’d put forth effort to lift him from the couch and into a hug. He was half asleep, so I walked behind him gently patting his back until he took out his earring aids and went into his room.

My parents might actually be the cutest people in the world. Please no one tell them about this post because then my mom will start reading this blog again. Let’s only tell her about the podcast.

On an unrelated note, I hate it when people compliment my clothes. There’s something about the conversation that feels artificial, of course. My wardrobe is fly, so people will comment on my cloths a lot. Shirts, socks, shoes, you name it. My friends are awesome as hell so they tell me how freakin dope and sexy I look, which is cool, I admit. But then I have the same conversation, again, again, and again. Don’t get me wrong though... my emotional reaction isn’t anger or resentment. I feel embarrassed. I know my cloths are nice; that’s why I’m wearing them. However, I don’t need to have a conversation about it. I’d rather it be the background. The default setting.

0 notes

dailywords4dailypeople · 5 years

Text

The Stew

An Arnold Schwarzenegger film is on HBO tonight. Spies running everywhere. He was getting chased by the Arabic Military around a mansion. They chased him using skis. Could you imagine? Shooting a gun while shredding down a slope, weaving through trees. Arnold killed them all. I never laughed so hard at an action movie.

Here are some findings from my eavesdropping.

“I’m going on a hard drug journey . . . . I’m going on this journey whether you want me to or not” -Purple hair girl at the Stew. Cow bell nose ring. Hoodie girl from another table “yeah we’re gunna smoke rice today”

My professors are very cool. Still need to meet half of them. So far, this quarter looks like it will be more fun. I’m in public speaking, and we had impromptu speeches. It was very fun. I told them about my Comfy, tea time, and my blanket fort. The class looked fairly engaged. While speaking, I found natural hand gestures, which I felt helped my tone. Filling up space gives you command of the room.

Arnold is fighting the bad guys in the bathroom. The lights have strobe. How? I don’t know. Several shots fired, but mostly fisticuffs. The bad guy ripped the hand dryer off the wall and whacked Arnold in the face. Arnold threw the bad guy into the stall, wherr an old bald man was taking a shit and reading the newspaper. He was just minding his business while people were shooting each other up in the bathroom.

Hold up. Arnold just pushed a cop off his horse, and rode away on the stolen horse. “Sorry” was all he said. And the bad guy rode off the skyscraper and flew into a roof pool across the street. Schwarzy went to make the jump, but the horse said nah.

0 notes