Monday, September 3, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Scattered Leaves
Creativity is like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope, ever changing, never resting, sometimes rhythmically, sometimes spontaneously adapting to the world surrounding one’s self. Creativity is an energy that flows through the pores of mankind, into the bloodstream and striking the brain like lightening bolts in a thunderstorm. It echoes into the soul and is released through art and music, literature and dance, science and imagination. The creative mind is a monster of play, insight, opinion, voice, feeling, mood, ambition, and genius. Everybody that has ever contributed to the oracle of art has been part of the eclectic human condition of creating. All the great minds throughout history have helped to better illustrate the adaptations of man in an ever-changing society.
A child’s play is perhaps the most creative, inventive spirit that exists. Fearless and bold, a child’s creativity moves their body, shapes their character, and develops their personality. When children are playing they allow their minds to wander in awe in the possibilities of their imagination. It is in this nature of play that exists the entelechial condition of creativity. Through this wandering children are changing, growing, and exploring their mind’s potential.
Where does the creative spark come from? How does it happen? Inspiration, motivation, initiative, and experience all play a crucial role in the development of creative energy. The energy comes and goes as freely as a breeze. An open mind will let it in, let it out, and experience the creative moment for what it is worth.
Creativity is a process much like everything else, but who is to say how long a creative moment lasts? The creative breeze is always blowing. Sometimes the mind gets cold or tired of the wind or stops noticing it. Then the wind will pick up again, blowing fiercely and the winds of change have a deeper effect on the creative process. Other times, the breeze does stop completely and all that is left are memories of what once was a brilliant moment without an idea to bring it back into motion. Then the breeze is felt again and the turbine starts turning again and brilliant moments happen again and the cycle continues: to every beginning there is an end and to every end there is a beginning.
Nothing goes unrecorded in nature, not in the mind or in the trunk of a tree. Everything is stored in the recesses of the brain, waiting to be found like some lost treasure buried deep in the sea. Sometimes an idea seems to find the brain all on the “ideas” own accord, while other times an idea may take years of searching. But sometimes like on a breeze the idea just wanders into the mind grabbing hold of the conscious to realize a more physical form.
The creative process starts with interests, passions, desires, devotions, muses, anticipation, and a longing for learning. When the moment comes where something is made, either in a gesture drawing, a free-writing, or an improvisation, each form captures the moment like a photograph with feelings and emotions. Of course, these examples of creativity ultimately take practice, dedication, and patience – like fishing for fresh ideas in a river of knowledge – because it takes time to manifest something of importance. How something is created relies on what an individual has experienced, learned, and lived for throughout his or her entire life. Everything leading up to that moment when one creates something has been a deciding factor in how that person got there, what the person is going to do and why; whether he or she knows it or not.
It is in the creative process that lays the true nature of creativity. Though it is nearly impossible to put a beginning to the process, for particular creations there is a start. For instance, a finished drawing may start with thumbnail sketches of rough ideas as to what the artist wants to convey through an image. These thumbnails may be gestural interpretations of a feeling or detailed objects of importance. No matter what the thumbnails are they serve as a building block to the fundamental ideas behind the meaning of a finished work of art. Essentially, the artist must think first about what it is that he or she wants to portray and then divorce themselves from the rigidness of the thought process and commit to creating the work of art with all of these influences working in the subconscious. So that in the creative process, thoughts form actions that produce results which in turn give credence to the original concept.
The antithetical nature of creativity is to simply be afraid to try, to be heard, to speak out, or to express oneself. Fear stifles and subdues creativity, causing the creative moment to hide itself behind the depths of societal pressures and expectations. One should never be afraid to express oneself in the simplest of forms such as drawing a line on a page or taking a picture. Allowing creativity to exist makes for a more interesting world, one in which everyone involved can gain something more from it. Without the essence of creativity the world would be a much different place full of bleak meanderings of worthless intent, a dull and lifeless existence, where pain and pleasure have no difference in society.
To be creatively instinctive may be better than to be instinctively creative, but that is another topic for another discussion. Creativity lies in every facet of life, behind every door that can open, and inside of every person’s most inner nature. Whether it is seen in a beautiful symphony or a child’s crayon drawing, creativity sparks the imagination to follow its course on the open seas of adventure, daring the mind and soul to dig deep into an ocean of thoughts for a glimpse into the kaleidoscope that is changing the world.
A child’s play is perhaps the most creative, inventive spirit that exists. Fearless and bold, a child’s creativity moves their body, shapes their character, and develops their personality. When children are playing they allow their minds to wander in awe in the possibilities of their imagination. It is in this nature of play that exists the entelechial condition of creativity. Through this wandering children are changing, growing, and exploring their mind’s potential.
Where does the creative spark come from? How does it happen? Inspiration, motivation, initiative, and experience all play a crucial role in the development of creative energy. The energy comes and goes as freely as a breeze. An open mind will let it in, let it out, and experience the creative moment for what it is worth.
Creativity is a process much like everything else, but who is to say how long a creative moment lasts? The creative breeze is always blowing. Sometimes the mind gets cold or tired of the wind or stops noticing it. Then the wind will pick up again, blowing fiercely and the winds of change have a deeper effect on the creative process. Other times, the breeze does stop completely and all that is left are memories of what once was a brilliant moment without an idea to bring it back into motion. Then the breeze is felt again and the turbine starts turning again and brilliant moments happen again and the cycle continues: to every beginning there is an end and to every end there is a beginning.
Nothing goes unrecorded in nature, not in the mind or in the trunk of a tree. Everything is stored in the recesses of the brain, waiting to be found like some lost treasure buried deep in the sea. Sometimes an idea seems to find the brain all on the “ideas” own accord, while other times an idea may take years of searching. But sometimes like on a breeze the idea just wanders into the mind grabbing hold of the conscious to realize a more physical form.
The creative process starts with interests, passions, desires, devotions, muses, anticipation, and a longing for learning. When the moment comes where something is made, either in a gesture drawing, a free-writing, or an improvisation, each form captures the moment like a photograph with feelings and emotions. Of course, these examples of creativity ultimately take practice, dedication, and patience – like fishing for fresh ideas in a river of knowledge – because it takes time to manifest something of importance. How something is created relies on what an individual has experienced, learned, and lived for throughout his or her entire life. Everything leading up to that moment when one creates something has been a deciding factor in how that person got there, what the person is going to do and why; whether he or she knows it or not.
It is in the creative process that lays the true nature of creativity. Though it is nearly impossible to put a beginning to the process, for particular creations there is a start. For instance, a finished drawing may start with thumbnail sketches of rough ideas as to what the artist wants to convey through an image. These thumbnails may be gestural interpretations of a feeling or detailed objects of importance. No matter what the thumbnails are they serve as a building block to the fundamental ideas behind the meaning of a finished work of art. Essentially, the artist must think first about what it is that he or she wants to portray and then divorce themselves from the rigidness of the thought process and commit to creating the work of art with all of these influences working in the subconscious. So that in the creative process, thoughts form actions that produce results which in turn give credence to the original concept.
The antithetical nature of creativity is to simply be afraid to try, to be heard, to speak out, or to express oneself. Fear stifles and subdues creativity, causing the creative moment to hide itself behind the depths of societal pressures and expectations. One should never be afraid to express oneself in the simplest of forms such as drawing a line on a page or taking a picture. Allowing creativity to exist makes for a more interesting world, one in which everyone involved can gain something more from it. Without the essence of creativity the world would be a much different place full of bleak meanderings of worthless intent, a dull and lifeless existence, where pain and pleasure have no difference in society.
To be creatively instinctive may be better than to be instinctively creative, but that is another topic for another discussion. Creativity lies in every facet of life, behind every door that can open, and inside of every person’s most inner nature. Whether it is seen in a beautiful symphony or a child’s crayon drawing, creativity sparks the imagination to follow its course on the open seas of adventure, daring the mind and soul to dig deep into an ocean of thoughts for a glimpse into the kaleidoscope that is changing the world.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Fragile Breaths
I wrote this narrative for my English class. We had to write about a personal experience that helped us grow as a person and further develop our character. This event really happened to me on May 3, 2009. There are some grammatical errors, but I think that sometimes mistakes can be turned into gold. In my pre-writing I had a lot of good ideas, but ultimately had to cut some things out in order to fit the parameters of the assignment (i.e.: word count, no cursing or slang, etc., etc., ...), but I think it came out fairly close to what I envisioned for an academic setting. I have adjusted the format to post it online. Saving a few details, it is as close as I could get to the truth of what happened. It was hard to write, but therapeutic in the sense that it felt really good to get the story out from inside of me as I had never tried writing about it before. Let me know what you think, thanks for reading.
February 14, 2012
Fragile Breaths
Death was no longer a subtle reality with a gun firmly pressed against my temple. I sat on the cold, hard ground and waited for my life to end. Was the end of life really this simple? Time slowed down to a crawl but my mind kept racing. Was I going to die? Would I feel anything? I had just celebrated my nineteenth birthday two nights ago; dying this young did not feel fair. I tried to quiet my mind.
It was dark outside, a-five-in-the-morning-on-Sunday darkness that crept in unconcerned about the events unfolding before my eyes. The city was deathly quiet, no cars, no people walking or dogs barking. It was me and this stranger with a gun pointed at my skull. Richmond had never felt so desolate, so estranged. How did I manage to get myself into this situation?
I had purchased a freshly cooked sausage, egg and cheese biscuit and one Boston cream filled donut from the local convenience store close to the university’s dormitories. Walking back home, my footsteps sounded like miniature cannons exploding as they echoed off the brick walls of the buildings. I had crossed the street when I heard someone else walking.
A young black man with dreadlocks was approaching me. He had a friendly air about him. He looked like a fellow college student just out for a walk or maybe he was getting something to eat, too. He spoke to me as we passed each other.
“Hey man, you got any spare change?” he asked.
I studied him for a moment. I had seen him on campus before. He was a young homeless man that frequented the area. He looked awfully hungry. I had not given much to the homeless in the past but I felt rather generous in that instant.
“Yeah, I’ve got about ten dollars.” I replied. I took the bag of breakfast food into my left hand and reached for my wallet with my right. As I was bringing my right hand forward so was he, but only he had something less appealing in his hand.
A shiny silver barrel was quickly pressed against my chest. I had no time to react. Every nerve in my body went numb. Time seemed to stop. I just stood there staring at the end of the barrel of his gun above my heart. His index finger steadily hovered over the trigger.
“What do you want?” I asked keeping my head down, eyes on the peacemaker.
“Gimme yo’ wallet!” he growled, “You better have more than ten dollars or I’m gonna shoot you! What else you got? Empty yo’ pockets!”
Without hesitation I handed over my cell phone and wallet. My hands shook with fear. I could not remember how much money I had. He instructed me to sit next to some trashcans in the shadows of an adjacent alley. As I sat down he kept the gun against my back until I was sitting still with my legs crossed. He then pressed the gun against my head and started fumbling through my wallet.
I was at the end of my life. I was going to die and accepted that. I had tried to do right most of my life. I knew I had made some mistakes, some bad decisions, but I felt like I had done well with the nineteen years I had lived through. There were so many things left to do, so many unspoken words. Struck with emptiness, my mind wandered. What would happen next? Who would find me in this alley? Would I be missed?
It was only until I started thinking about my family mourning their loss that I started to cry. Silent tears streamed down my face. Tasting the salt in my tears I felt hopeless, sourly alone in my deepening desolation. Images of my mother and father, brother, grandmother, aunts, and uncles weeping rushed into my imagination. I could see all of their faces. I could feel the anguish, the bitterness, and the sorrow that filled their hearts.
“It’s not worth it, man. It’s not worth it,” I sobbed.
He said nothing. Through watery eyes I could barely see him take out the money. Eleven dollars. I had eleven dollars. My soul purged with hope, I felt the blood in my body start to warm. There was a chance he might not kill me.
He took my driver’s license. “Now I know where you live,” he claimed.
He told me to stay in that spot, that he was coming back in a minute and if I were not there he would find me and kill me. As I sat there, my tears drying out, I remembered my biscuit and donut. I reached into the bag and grabbed the donut. It was the best donut I had ever tasted. The chocolate melted in my mouth. I savored every flavor, every bite. The sweetness lingered on my taste buds; it seemed to wash away my cares.
Within a minute he was back, as promised. He looked at me and then walked back around the corner. My ordeal was over. I had survived. I sat there for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if the man was going to come back for me. I stood up. My adrenaline was raging, pumping through every vein and artery in my body. Instinctively, I started to run. My legs carried me swiftly out of the alley and down the street with each step asserting my reason to live.
I arrived at my dormitory in a full sprint. My eyes were burning from the cold wind as I entered the building. I was alive. Nothing in that moment was taken for granted. I breathed in the warm, gentle air of life and gave a sigh of relief. I could feel the security of home again; its welcoming presence was otherworldly. Everything seemed new, fresh, and yet it was strangely familiar. Nothing had changed, except me.
Nearly fifteen minutes ago I had come face to face with the cold clutches of death and had accepted its hollow embrace. I had felt the spirit of death, the shallow emptiness that dwells inside of mankind, a raw and unforgiving power. Now I had a second chance, a new life. There were no limits, no last words to be said. I was free, full of love and wonder; determined and ready to live every moment of life with vigor and courage.
...thanks for reading, peace & good health...
February 14, 2012
Death was no longer a subtle reality with a gun firmly pressed against my temple. I sat on the cold, hard ground and waited for my life to end. Was the end of life really this simple? Time slowed down to a crawl but my mind kept racing. Was I going to die? Would I feel anything? I had just celebrated my nineteenth birthday two nights ago; dying this young did not feel fair. I tried to quiet my mind.
It was dark outside, a-five-in-the-morning-on-Sunday darkness that crept in unconcerned about the events unfolding before my eyes. The city was deathly quiet, no cars, no people walking or dogs barking. It was me and this stranger with a gun pointed at my skull. Richmond had never felt so desolate, so estranged. How did I manage to get myself into this situation?
I had purchased a freshly cooked sausage, egg and cheese biscuit and one Boston cream filled donut from the local convenience store close to the university’s dormitories. Walking back home, my footsteps sounded like miniature cannons exploding as they echoed off the brick walls of the buildings. I had crossed the street when I heard someone else walking.
A young black man with dreadlocks was approaching me. He had a friendly air about him. He looked like a fellow college student just out for a walk or maybe he was getting something to eat, too. He spoke to me as we passed each other.
“Hey man, you got any spare change?” he asked.
I studied him for a moment. I had seen him on campus before. He was a young homeless man that frequented the area. He looked awfully hungry. I had not given much to the homeless in the past but I felt rather generous in that instant.
“Yeah, I’ve got about ten dollars.” I replied. I took the bag of breakfast food into my left hand and reached for my wallet with my right. As I was bringing my right hand forward so was he, but only he had something less appealing in his hand.
A shiny silver barrel was quickly pressed against my chest. I had no time to react. Every nerve in my body went numb. Time seemed to stop. I just stood there staring at the end of the barrel of his gun above my heart. His index finger steadily hovered over the trigger.
“What do you want?” I asked keeping my head down, eyes on the peacemaker.
“Gimme yo’ wallet!” he growled, “You better have more than ten dollars or I’m gonna shoot you! What else you got? Empty yo’ pockets!”
Without hesitation I handed over my cell phone and wallet. My hands shook with fear. I could not remember how much money I had. He instructed me to sit next to some trashcans in the shadows of an adjacent alley. As I sat down he kept the gun against my back until I was sitting still with my legs crossed. He then pressed the gun against my head and started fumbling through my wallet.
I was at the end of my life. I was going to die and accepted that. I had tried to do right most of my life. I knew I had made some mistakes, some bad decisions, but I felt like I had done well with the nineteen years I had lived through. There were so many things left to do, so many unspoken words. Struck with emptiness, my mind wandered. What would happen next? Who would find me in this alley? Would I be missed?
It was only until I started thinking about my family mourning their loss that I started to cry. Silent tears streamed down my face. Tasting the salt in my tears I felt hopeless, sourly alone in my deepening desolation. Images of my mother and father, brother, grandmother, aunts, and uncles weeping rushed into my imagination. I could see all of their faces. I could feel the anguish, the bitterness, and the sorrow that filled their hearts.
“It’s not worth it, man. It’s not worth it,” I sobbed.
He said nothing. Through watery eyes I could barely see him take out the money. Eleven dollars. I had eleven dollars. My soul purged with hope, I felt the blood in my body start to warm. There was a chance he might not kill me.
He took my driver’s license. “Now I know where you live,” he claimed.
He told me to stay in that spot, that he was coming back in a minute and if I were not there he would find me and kill me. As I sat there, my tears drying out, I remembered my biscuit and donut. I reached into the bag and grabbed the donut. It was the best donut I had ever tasted. The chocolate melted in my mouth. I savored every flavor, every bite. The sweetness lingered on my taste buds; it seemed to wash away my cares.
Within a minute he was back, as promised. He looked at me and then walked back around the corner. My ordeal was over. I had survived. I sat there for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if the man was going to come back for me. I stood up. My adrenaline was raging, pumping through every vein and artery in my body. Instinctively, I started to run. My legs carried me swiftly out of the alley and down the street with each step asserting my reason to live.
I arrived at my dormitory in a full sprint. My eyes were burning from the cold wind as I entered the building. I was alive. Nothing in that moment was taken for granted. I breathed in the warm, gentle air of life and gave a sigh of relief. I could feel the security of home again; its welcoming presence was otherworldly. Everything seemed new, fresh, and yet it was strangely familiar. Nothing had changed, except me.
Nearly fifteen minutes ago I had come face to face with the cold clutches of death and had accepted its hollow embrace. I had felt the spirit of death, the shallow emptiness that dwells inside of mankind, a raw and unforgiving power. Now I had a second chance, a new life. There were no limits, no last words to be said. I was free, full of love and wonder; determined and ready to live every moment of life with vigor and courage.
...thanks for reading, peace & good health...
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Home Again
I am living in Johnson City, Tennessee attending East Tennessee State University now. I'm in their Bluegrass, Old-Time & Country Music degree program. It's really awesome and I've only been here three weeks to the day. There is a cool place here called the Down Home, an eclectic listening room for musicians. Last Saturday, Ed Snodderly, one of the owners, played there with his band The Brother Boys. I saw the SteelDrivers play on Friday night. I really liked hearing Richard Bailey play his banjo. He and Tammy Rogers would play banjo and fiddle lines note for note with each other, so cool. Her fiddle playing had chills crawling over me most of the night. Both shows were really great. I can feel the potential for myself here, it feels so good to find where you're supposed to be, and I have found a strong sense of place here.
Be true to yourself.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
b a n j o
i've decided that since my main interest in life right now is hanging out with my banjo(s) that i'll do some art with it... I did a drawing a long time ago and have somehow managed to lose possession of it's more physical form, so, i'll have to do another one. Just, better this time. that said, i've got some pictures to upload. I was pickin' along and saw some blue and red and white on my neck, reflecting on the polish, and noticed that it was the American flag i recently hung in my window after painting my walls and setting everything up... I saw a photo opportunity and took it. Enjoy,
a cyclical movement, the sense of organic time that is the
essence of space, travels through the universe that only has
the course of change due to the molecules of matter. Inside
is the spirit of creativity and ultimate dominance of all
living organisms - including the human mind, a system of complex
intracacies interwoven together such as a spiderweb that
connects to multiple limbs, endlessly experiencing entirety -
which allows the formation of wind, currents of water, mountains
crumbling to canyons and the beating of a heart. Each
sense evolving with the present by the order of chaos.
Now is the time of everything. Every now will affect the
organic shape of life, never ceasing to change and build
upon the previous now in order to help better create the
long awaited next now. A series of events all at once, an
instant birth by instant death, flowing in the figure eight
to form the perfect composition of the organic movement
- Jacob McClure
Saturday, April 23, 2011
bubbles
i was listening to this song on my iHome, then went online to find it... played it to see if it was it, then paused it. waited awhile and pressed play. It's playing on the same beat but about 3 minutes apart from each other, sometimes the same lick will be played at the same time... sounds wild. This album is amazing, I saw the trio play in Williamsburg sometime ago, it was great.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
fortune cookies
i know i said i'd be updating this with photos, it's just taking awhile. I've got a fair amount of things going on, most of which have absolutely no concern to the creative process. It's okay though, I'm taking it one step at a time. This house sure has a lot of work left, but I've got a feeling that when I have finished it will be well worth seeing the change. Until next
Time. Time, time time, time time. Time. That's all it is...
Time. Time, time time, time time. Time. That's all it is...
Saturday, April 9, 2011
found
i found a sketchbook the other day outside of a 7-11. I saw it, went into the store, came out and it was still there. so i picked it up and have been reading through it. The guy who wrote in it has spent some serious time talking about goals and failures. I am not alone! It appears that he has graduated college and is working on a masters or PHD... his handwriting is absolutely horrendous. he has a girlfriend from Alabama and he still has zero ideas or clues as to how he will achieve any of the things he wants to do out of life. he has written that he just needs "to do" these things without the thinking part... whatever works, ya know? I think we are all just as lost as this guy and that to find the direction you want to go and have the conviction to go there and succeed in your own goals is really hard to do. This guy is obviously really struggling, he last wrote in it at the end of December, 2010. I suspect he has been missing this moleskin for awhile. He seems to be an engineer that wants to own a business. There is no information as to how to get this book back to him, so I suppose I will just try to read his atrocious chicken-scratch and learn a few more things about him, myself and the rest of humanity. i'll keep ya posted...
Monday, April 4, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
g d g b d
Finally got my world back together, for the most part and that's what counts. i also remembered the password for this thing which, of course, means that i'll be back in action.
Until next time
Until next time
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
see ya there
Treading water is hard. But once you've been doing it for awhile, it gets easier. But it's boring, I'd rather be swimming, making progress. I'll be swimming for awhile.
peace
peace
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Peggy Lou
found a few things and decided to take the time to get some banjo pictures up here. The sound is better than it looks...boy she can sing
i woke up with a headache today for what seemed like no reason, until i checked the forecast online a couple minutes ago... could be a factor, but who really knows? it's been raining for awhile but the sun is out right now. i took a greyhound bus to Raleigh, NC on Saturday and got a truck thanks to my good friends over at USAA. Now, i can go up into the mountains when it's snowing and not blow a radiator! And i sure as hell won't hydroplane on a wet road going 35mph. it's a 2003 GMC Sierra SLE Extended Cab
I also recently set up a snowboard...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
tomato paste with potato taste
i've been doing a lot and doing a lot of nothing. this summer was really eventful, and probably the longest summer i've ever had. Scratched a few things off the bucket list but there's still more left on it than I know. I still need an external hard drive. I've been taking banjo lessons. about 5 of them, i think. my teacher said that my talent was genetic and that i catch on quick. i thought that that was cool because he's played with Earl Scruggs and knows Bill Keith personally. I also have the chance to go play with Tony Trischka and learn a few things down in North Carolina in October. Tony taught Béla Fleck how to play the banjo. Recently received a new banjo, it's a Recording King R80 and it sounds better than it looks...not that i don't like the way it looks. with that a whole bunch of books to learn. it's becoming a wonderful thing in my life, and I'm happy to have so much to help me along the way. maybe i'll get an external hard drive that works and i'll be able to start this thing back up again with cooler posts...
shit happens
still dreaming of western countrysides
still dreaming of western countrysides
Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
here i am
i found my flickr account. trying to set up this external hard drive so i can use my computer again, i can't do anything with it man, and it's giving me all kinds of problems setting up the external space. but needless to say, i guess once i get it all set up i'll share my collection of photographs. think the first one dates back to Summer of '06. promise i got some good shots for ya
might be in Virginia for another year. ya never know, man..
in the meantime, look at this for awhile
might be in Virginia for another year. ya never know, man..
in the meantime, look at this for awhile
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
row row row your boat while you still can...
In roughly 5 weeks time there has been little to no change on the situation in the Gulf of Mexico concerning BP's disaster of managing an oil drilling operation. I've heard several things but I've read just as many and a general consensus is that BP claimed that there was only 5,000 gallons of oil gushing daily, so don't freeaakk the fuck out it's only 5,000 gallons of oil a day. But chances are it's upwards of 6 million gallons of oil out there just ready to fuck shit up. I don't know about you, but this shit still pisses me off man. This week Obama finally had some motherfuckers go check it out and look at what its like. Granted, there are no instilled provisions of preventing such a catastrophe, so don't worry about cleaning that shit up. Right? I mean WTF are we doing? Louisiana isn't even that worried (government officials anyway) about stopping off shore drilling anytime soon. How much is it going to take to figure out that oil is not such a good thing? We probably could use something else by now, I don't get it man. I just don't know man, I just don't know...
Saturday, May 22, 2010
row, row, row your boat
listenhere.
May 22nd, 2010. Still have no plans for this summer, i have some ideas but nothing is set in stone ya know. Having no commitments means I have the ability to do whatsoever I please, which is pretty awesome. Although I've come to terms with this awesomeness it's beginning to dawn on me how much longer it will be like this (it's been about a year, now). I've done a lot of wondering but not a lot of wandering, and I know what time it is. Still hasn't really hit me that I have no clue when I will be back in Virginia again after this summer. I've got about two and a half months to have as much fun and save as much money as possible, or two and a half months to try and balance those two things... Oh, an interesting site I found today: thunderbolts.info --it's really got some cool things, and enough to have you thinking about it all for quite awhile, i'm sure. Gonna be in the OBX for about a week here shortly, looking forward to that. All Good is coming up, that should be a lot of fun. Oh, yeah if you haven't ever heard of GrooveShark, you should check it out, it's pretty nifty. As much as good as technology does and is so-called "good for" I often wonder if the pros outweigh the cons. Maybe I'm just too nomadic to know. Or wish that I was. Who knows? I'm going to block party. I love my dog. & cat. Over the course of having this blog I've come to a conclusion that people might actually read this shit, if you're reading this now you should go do something you've always wanted to do, because that's what I'm about to do. People everywhere are doing it, it's something everybody should and can do: pursue happiness; whatever happiness is for you, obtain it, cherish it, live with it, what more can you do?
these
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May 22nd, 2010. Still have no plans for this summer, i have some ideas but nothing is set in stone ya know. Having no commitments means I have the ability to do whatsoever I please, which is pretty awesome. Although I've come to terms with this awesomeness it's beginning to dawn on me how much longer it will be like this (it's been about a year, now). I've done a lot of wondering but not a lot of wandering, and I know what time it is. Still hasn't really hit me that I have no clue when I will be back in Virginia again after this summer. I've got about two and a half months to have as much fun and save as much money as possible, or two and a half months to try and balance those two things... Oh, an interesting site I found today: thunderbolts.info --it's really got some cool things, and enough to have you thinking about it all for quite awhile, i'm sure. Gonna be in the OBX for about a week here shortly, looking forward to that. All Good is coming up, that should be a lot of fun. Oh, yeah if you haven't ever heard of GrooveShark, you should check it out, it's pretty nifty. As much as good as technology does and is so-called "good for" I often wonder if the pros outweigh the cons. Maybe I'm just too nomadic to know. Or wish that I was. Who knows? I'm going to block party. I love my dog. & cat. Over the course of having this blog I've come to a conclusion that people might actually read this shit, if you're reading this now you should go do something you've always wanted to do, because that's what I'm about to do. People everywhere are doing it, it's something everybody should and can do: pursue happiness; whatever happiness is for you, obtain it, cherish it, live with it, what more can you do?
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Sunday, May 9, 2010
what's happenin'!?
Didn't get accepted to Colorado State, go figure... my performance academically wasn't exactly at its greatest the last year I was at VCU. So, I'm off in search of new horizons. There are endless possibilities as to what I can do, or so it seems, so as soon as I figure out what it is that I want to do and am going to do, I'll do that. And maybe I'll tell you or maybe I won't... Happy Mother's Day
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