summer, again
Another year over, and a new one's just begun...
-John Lennon, "Happy Xmas (War is Over)"
Author's note:
I spell-checked, jused italics and bolding, and even went back and did a cursory editing. I do not normally do any of that. Symptoms of this include using the lj-cut, deleting contractions (it's nothing against them, I just did not want any in my entry), as well as, I think, some 'better' and 'easier' to read transitions. Finally, the reader will notice that certain passages have been bolded in order to summarize what the author feels are some of the more important aspects of this entry. Enjoy.
Though "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" is a song about Christmas, I generally associate it with winter depression, I feel like ripping that lyric out of its context and general association; I want to defy the 'normal' schemas of my mind. In other words, I feel like writing (another) Helter-Skelter preamble for change.
I am dirty and un-showered right now. I did shower yesterday, before the movie. Like millions of other Americans this weekend, I 'hit the multiplex' and saw X-Men: The Last Stand. On the whole, I would tend to say that I enjoyed the picture. X-Men III was a delightful summer film, the kind you watch even though it may make you feel like a consumer whore. The movie started a trend of nostalgic thought that would continue throughout the entirity of yesterday.
The movie was important for many reasons. It signified the beginning of the summer season, not only for the Hollywood, but for myself as well. I remember last year, when I also came home for Memorial Day Weekend. I bought a book (incidentally, I still have yet read the book, but I plan on reading it this summer) and ate ice cream with Danny and Zach (this year, I did eat ice cream, but with only Danny). Danny. Zach. Two old chaps, part of that phase of my life known as ages 12-18; 7th grade to 12th grade; puberty to high school graduation. But that was last summer. The summer of Sleater-Kinney, first jobs, and blowing thousands of dollars on food, petrol, and material goods (i.e. books, books, more books, dvds, and cds). The summer was generally one of isolation; during the month of July I worked a minimum of 50 hours a week; I think one week I actually worked over 70. I do not how much I actaully did work, and frankly I do not care. Suffice to say, that is part of the past, and I have a slew of material goods and dust-covered memories to recall that at my leisure.
N.B. This is a side note It's funny though, how more one ages, the more life stays (relatively) the same. Last summer started in decline, and this one is starting with ascension. All in allt that is quite quite ironic. When we simplify life, is it really anything more than ups and downs, in repeated cycles that we may or may not think may sense and have predictable rhythms? I suppose, on an even farther removed tangent, it depends on if you're a scientist or in the humanities (again, binaries). For the scientist, one wants those patterns and rhythms; a part of my mind will always want those patterns and rhythms as well, but that is not life. It is my belief that those patterns and rhythms I mentioned exist but are thoroughly unpredictable. Life, my friends, is not predictable. I bold that as a reminder to myself, not to you. I do not know how many people will actually want to bother reading this. I must confess that I too, will often neglect longer friends entries; however, I must also confess to going back and reading them. No pressure folks.
The above paragraph represents a lot about me right now. Binaries. Reflections that don't even make all that much sense to me. The realisation that I'm talking into the wind. Unorganized and incoherent. And general musings. Perhaps there is more, hidden within that paragraph, but at the present I do not wish to stray much further from the alleged structure I have been striving to actually create in this entry. End of the side-note
Last summer, however, came and went. Ther was the isolation, the consumer whorism, etc, etc. I believe I used the term "bourgeoisie intellectual" to describe myself. Of course, in retrospect, it was all on the surface. At least the intellectual part. But, I digress. I really digress a lot. I've been wondering lately, that if I started writing more frequently, even if only to type incessantly into this damned journal that even I don't pay much attention to anymore, would I become any more coherent? Last summer I read, this summer I want to read, and lose weight.
The point, for those wondering, was that last summer I did not produce anything. I did not 'digest' anything. I consumed. It's perfect, really; the word "consume." It describes my last summer. The word "indulged" would also work, I suppose. Summer 2005 was one of consumption and indulgence. I suppose that is why I gained ten pounds (the first summer in about six or seven years that I DID NOT lose weight) and have no money left.
That terrible retrogression of my personality also helped to explain that I had not changed, even though I thought I might have. Things do not change, really. Perhaps, however, maybe things do change. That is the beauty of perception, I suppose. But I suppose a lot. This really is not a tangible list of anything. This entry is me realising how little I have changed in this past year. But things are different.
I said that seeing X-Men helped to bring about these feelings, but I did not elaborate. Ever since I saw Road to Perdition in the theatre back in September of 2002 the theatre has become an exceptionally moving experience for me. For about a year after that, I couldn't go to the movies without being emotional, whether it was a crappy movie or a genuine film. It never really stopped, but it became less prevalent in my life. Part of the reason this occurred was that my visits to the cinema declined tremendously with my going away to college. Fortunately, noticed my attendence and general movie watching resurfacing again. When I saw the Neil Young documentary, Heart of Gold, I thought it was fluke; strangely enough, however, even the crapfest RV got me somewhat emotional.
Sometime in those four years since I Road to Perdition, Ava and I talked about the movies. I had not mentioned this phenomenon to her, but she did question why I could find the cinema so moving. I'm not sure either. Even now, I think it's unclear. All I know is, I now have a netflix account and have seen a number of beautiful movies as a result and I'd like to post reviews of them. The more careful reader, however, will notice that this is an empty promise and that I have not posted that review of Morrissey's new album yet. I did not forget, I just never wrote it, and somewhat lost inspiration.
Ironically, I think I have lost inspiration right now. I doubt anyone, even myself, will read this. In the past thirty minutes or so that I have been trying to form coherent thoughts on my life in the past year or so, I realise I have not written anything all that interesting. The general quality of my writing has indeed experienced a serious decline. I suppose, to summarise, I am tired of how I've been living. This small, inconsequential act, of writing a long livejournal entry, it is a drop in the bucket, but it is s'posed to be indicative of change, change that may or may not come. I guess it depends on whether I continue to fill the bucket or if I let the water evaporate all the while bemoaning "oh god, it's half empty!" Huh.
I guess we shall have to wait and see.
-John Lennon, "Happy Xmas (War is Over)"
Author's note:
I spell-checked, jused italics and bolding, and even went back and did a cursory editing. I do not normally do any of that. Symptoms of this include using the lj-cut, deleting contractions (it's nothing against them, I just did not want any in my entry), as well as, I think, some 'better' and 'easier' to read transitions. Finally, the reader will notice that certain passages have been bolded in order to summarize what the author feels are some of the more important aspects of this entry. Enjoy.
Though "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" is a song about Christmas, I generally associate it with winter depression, I feel like ripping that lyric out of its context and general association; I want to defy the 'normal' schemas of my mind. In other words, I feel like writing (another) Helter-Skelter preamble for change.
I am dirty and un-showered right now. I did shower yesterday, before the movie. Like millions of other Americans this weekend, I 'hit the multiplex' and saw X-Men: The Last Stand. On the whole, I would tend to say that I enjoyed the picture. X-Men III was a delightful summer film, the kind you watch even though it may make you feel like a consumer whore. The movie started a trend of nostalgic thought that would continue throughout the entirity of yesterday.
The movie was important for many reasons. It signified the beginning of the summer season, not only for the Hollywood, but for myself as well. I remember last year, when I also came home for Memorial Day Weekend. I bought a book (incidentally, I still have yet read the book, but I plan on reading it this summer) and ate ice cream with Danny and Zach (this year, I did eat ice cream, but with only Danny). Danny. Zach. Two old chaps, part of that phase of my life known as ages 12-18; 7th grade to 12th grade; puberty to high school graduation. But that was last summer. The summer of Sleater-Kinney, first jobs, and blowing thousands of dollars on food, petrol, and material goods (i.e. books, books, more books, dvds, and cds). The summer was generally one of isolation; during the month of July I worked a minimum of 50 hours a week; I think one week I actually worked over 70. I do not how much I actaully did work, and frankly I do not care. Suffice to say, that is part of the past, and I have a slew of material goods and dust-covered memories to recall that at my leisure.
N.B. This is a side note It's funny though, how more one ages, the more life stays (relatively) the same. Last summer started in decline, and this one is starting with ascension. All in allt that is quite quite ironic. When we simplify life, is it really anything more than ups and downs, in repeated cycles that we may or may not think may sense and have predictable rhythms? I suppose, on an even farther removed tangent, it depends on if you're a scientist or in the humanities (again, binaries). For the scientist, one wants those patterns and rhythms; a part of my mind will always want those patterns and rhythms as well, but that is not life. It is my belief that those patterns and rhythms I mentioned exist but are thoroughly unpredictable. Life, my friends, is not predictable. I bold that as a reminder to myself, not to you. I do not know how many people will actually want to bother reading this. I must confess that I too, will often neglect longer friends entries; however, I must also confess to going back and reading them. No pressure folks.
The above paragraph represents a lot about me right now. Binaries. Reflections that don't even make all that much sense to me. The realisation that I'm talking into the wind. Unorganized and incoherent. And general musings. Perhaps there is more, hidden within that paragraph, but at the present I do not wish to stray much further from the alleged structure I have been striving to actually create in this entry. End of the side-note
Last summer, however, came and went. Ther was the isolation, the consumer whorism, etc, etc. I believe I used the term "bourgeoisie intellectual" to describe myself. Of course, in retrospect, it was all on the surface. At least the intellectual part. But, I digress. I really digress a lot. I've been wondering lately, that if I started writing more frequently, even if only to type incessantly into this damned journal that even I don't pay much attention to anymore, would I become any more coherent? Last summer I read, this summer I want to read, and lose weight.
The point, for those wondering, was that last summer I did not produce anything. I did not 'digest' anything. I consumed. It's perfect, really; the word "consume." It describes my last summer. The word "indulged" would also work, I suppose. Summer 2005 was one of consumption and indulgence. I suppose that is why I gained ten pounds (the first summer in about six or seven years that I DID NOT lose weight) and have no money left.
That terrible retrogression of my personality also helped to explain that I had not changed, even though I thought I might have. Things do not change, really. Perhaps, however, maybe things do change. That is the beauty of perception, I suppose. But I suppose a lot. This really is not a tangible list of anything. This entry is me realising how little I have changed in this past year. But things are different.
I said that seeing X-Men helped to bring about these feelings, but I did not elaborate. Ever since I saw Road to Perdition in the theatre back in September of 2002 the theatre has become an exceptionally moving experience for me. For about a year after that, I couldn't go to the movies without being emotional, whether it was a crappy movie or a genuine film. It never really stopped, but it became less prevalent in my life. Part of the reason this occurred was that my visits to the cinema declined tremendously with my going away to college. Fortunately, noticed my attendence and general movie watching resurfacing again. When I saw the Neil Young documentary, Heart of Gold, I thought it was fluke; strangely enough, however, even the crapfest RV got me somewhat emotional.
Sometime in those four years since I Road to Perdition, Ava and I talked about the movies. I had not mentioned this phenomenon to her, but she did question why I could find the cinema so moving. I'm not sure either. Even now, I think it's unclear. All I know is, I now have a netflix account and have seen a number of beautiful movies as a result and I'd like to post reviews of them. The more careful reader, however, will notice that this is an empty promise and that I have not posted that review of Morrissey's new album yet. I did not forget, I just never wrote it, and somewhat lost inspiration.
Ironically, I think I have lost inspiration right now. I doubt anyone, even myself, will read this. In the past thirty minutes or so that I have been trying to form coherent thoughts on my life in the past year or so, I realise I have not written anything all that interesting. The general quality of my writing has indeed experienced a serious decline. I suppose, to summarise, I am tired of how I've been living. This small, inconsequential act, of writing a long livejournal entry, it is a drop in the bucket, but it is s'posed to be indicative of change, change that may or may not come. I guess it depends on whether I continue to fill the bucket or if I let the water evaporate all the while bemoaning "oh god, it's half empty!" Huh.
I guess we shall have to wait and see.