pretty: pretty shallow

my big overarching sad thought is a fear that i will never find the best way i fit in this world, that i will never be useful.  my goal in life is to be a good person.
so why am i so shallow?
i love pretty things.  i want to be pretty.  i find myself very wrapped up in visual aesthetics:  painting, drawing, architecture, dance, sculpture, clothing design-- to me they are all art, they all convey and communicate an idea.  but achieving prettiness in no way helps me realize my ultimate goal of being a good person does it?  and is the display of aesthetically pleasing images and facades art?  is it expression or is it superficiality?  beauty without consequence?  might it be unnecessary?
does wanting to be prettiful lower my good-person potential or is it irrelevant and immaterial (a character trait rather than a flaw)?  am i paradoxical, hypocritical, human, all?  what if, unknowingly, my claim to be "only human" becomes an excuse rather than a valid explanation?  can i be a good person and still buy expensive pretty clothes and makeup?  shouldn't i take more precaution to avoid the risk of purchasing from sweatshops and child labor?  should i spend money on frivolous things when people are starving in other countries?  where do i draw the line?  what about eating at restaurants?  shouldn't i make do with the minimum to maintain my health and give the rest to those in need?  i feel like i have enough family/friend/monetary excess to afford the leisure to help others.  am i not doing my part if i keep more than i need for myself?  or is the good that i attempt to do made insincere by the fact that i do not live 100% according to my "values"?
i can see how much of what i do contributes to all the things i don't want for my Earth: starvation, abuse, pollution.  i can see how i could eliminate the habits of mine that contribute to them: no cars, no planes, no gas, sustainable organic fuel/clothes/food.  but then again, if i want to help people, maybe i need to ride a plane to communicate with someone in another country to work towards peace and understanding among humankind.  and maybe i have to drive a car to get to work to make a difference.  why isn't being a good person more simple and straightforward?  why must you weigh different things and pick a "greater good"?
i feel the need to differentiate what is reasonable from what is absolutely correct.  although, i do not condemn others by that in which they choose to partake.  i can only judge myself and correct myself according to what i have learned and what i believe.
i think my brain hit a dead end and i suspect i unintentionally lie to myself occasionally.
i know it's not possible to be perfect, and i know it's okay to be flawed,
but is it okay to be less than perfect if you consciously choose to keep your imperfections?
what do you think?

i'm so sorry

we spoke on the phone.  i told him...
i do believe that life is much more good than bad; i believe this of mine: my life without want.  but i wish we were given a choice, before we were born, to choose whether or not we want to live, knowing the consequences-- what we'd be missing.  i would choose nonexistence.
i understand that, as i was not given the choice, and i do now exist, it is too late to take it back.  and isn't that a shame.
sometimes things get too heavy to lift, but you keep trying, hoping someday you'll be able to lift it.
i am not inspired to work hard, to try for a maybe, for something that may never come.  for all we know, it is very much worth it, but this i do not see, so i do not see why i would feel the need to work toward it.
i love you.  and i know you love me.  that means so much to me.  i know you care for me very much, and you'll always be there to care for me and to help me.  it means a lot to me.  you're wonderful.  you are part of the reason i keep hanging on.
to him, i said how does it make you feel that, knowing those things you have told me to be true, i would still erase it all, to choose not to exist if i could?
i believe that this sorry fact makes everything i am and do is insincere.


if ever i were to kill myself, the note i would leave would contain a picture of me smiling brightly, holding my thumbs and forefingers in the shape of a heart.  underneath i would write:  i'm sorry.  i love you very much.  but i am selfish, and i hope you never forgive me.
and i'd wonder how many would doubt the sincerity of that second sentence as i would.

cash monies!!!!!

i went to pochi to visit.  and kimmi handed me my last paycheck and you had one too, so i picked yours up for you.  want me to mail it to you?  yay!  we had some monies and we didn't even know!

Misanthrope-Just Barely

There is some music that simply must be played loud enough as to allow no other thoughts to enter your brain except its pitch. Where you play it so that the vibrations shake your bed and the music travels from your ears to every other part of your body. Often times these songs are not even an old favorite or something that I typically listen to, its just some songs seem like they need to be listened to physically, with the body not just ears and emotions. You can feel these pitches grab your heart and accelerate its beat or pinches your leg and arm hairs and pulls them farther away from your body, as if a ghost was passing over your skin with withered banshee hands. I tend to use these songs in times where I need to be physically touched, where the issue does not lie within, but on a surface level. Sometimes electric shock treatment should come from your speakers...

Pardon

When it becomes impossible to simplify our thoughts, it becomes imperative that we find shelter in those that know them. This has been a source of comfort for me ever since I started seriously thinking about life and my part in it. It becomes a matter of sitting still with those that already understand the ramblings of a 23 year old traveler, they know because they helped write those thoughts. No matter what walks of life we find ourselves in, we still take the six years of friendship with us everywhere we go. So here I am two years removed from these friends, asking them to put back together that part of me that I once knew, to get a sense of what was once important and why it seems like I have forgotten some important truth. These answers do not come easily, I find that with every brush stroke I had to the canvas, there is another indefinable feeling that works its way into my consciousness. I wish I could write about this with more clarity, however I feel that the subject by nature is very vague and hard to grasp. Who am I? What does that question even mean? I suppose I feel like I get closer to answering that by studying my friends reflections of me, their thoughts and understanding of my mind but more importantly what they have come to value in me. I feel an urgency to become well again and answer these questions because I believe I owe it to these remarkable people who have held me for so long. I owe them a friend who can take care of them when they feel small.

dandelion.

His eyes turned towards me, his face followed.  He asked, "what do you wish for?"
"don't ask her that.  then it won't com true."

Sometimes my emotions manifest themselves as vivid images:  Silence.  Sunshine.  The moment of dispersal of a blown dandelion.

Maybe I'm a greedy wisher (god knows I'm a greedy sleeper).  What I wish for is always the same.  I wish it many times over, hoping that perhaps one wish will overlap one moment, unseen, unnoticed, when magic isn't just pretend.  I wish for everyone here on earth, and those who have yet to exist, to be happy sometime before they die.  Disgust: "Really?  I don't think everyone deserves to be happy.  There are certainly people that I don't wish happiness for."

I don't believe that bad people exist.  I believe that there is good, however small, however twisted in the most seemingly evil of people.  I see a breath on an ember glowing weakly, the revival of the human spirit.  My simple wish.  I believe in a happiness beyond the transient.  I believe that true happiness requires an understanding and appreciation of human existence.  I don't believe cruel people can be truly happy, but I don't believe that they are doomed to be bad people.  I guess I'm wishing for love worldwide and timeless.  The kind that is honest.  Love incorruptible.

Finally!

Five years of impulsive traveling and half way thought through plans and I still can not make sense of myself. Over these years I have lived with an almost psychotic urgency. A drive to surround myself in the madness of the world. To immerse myself in the love of the damned and fill my nights with the cries of the living dead.

These nights have been filled with passions that I still do not fully understand, a kind of love of the world that is bitter and melancholy. With each new home I stagger into I find new families whose love and kindness has allowed me to live a life of reckless abandon and pure emotion. I came to this realization while visiting Minnesota on a very recent trip.

After selling a handful of CDs and scrapping together what little money I had, two dear friends and I set off with the intention of setting the world on fire. We were going to bury ourselves in each other and what friends we had in the Twin Cities.

The specific events of the evening are of little importance. What is important is that once again I found myself in a space of complete escape, all that mattered was that the night belonged to me, it belonged to those who wanted to live with their hearts and their passions. Running through the freezing streets of Minneapolis I finally forgave the world for its failures. I forgave the world for slapping me and dragging me kicking and screaming through its hostility and destruction. I forgave the world for revealing its darkest secrets. I forgave its treachery its paranoia its vulnerability and its lust. I forgave it because I finally fell in love with it.