Monthly Archives: November 2013

Eggshells

Emotion is fickle.  Emotion is an impressionable entity.  Unpredictable.  Satisfying.  Empty.

I write in attempt to feel, make others feel, open minds, open hearts, create insight, relay insight, 

I write to master emotion.  Sometimes I succeed, most of the time I don’t.

Words are my salvation, my basis for connection, how I find meaning in what is around me.  Each word is a unique entity.  No word is wholly able to be substituted for another.  Every word that exists is a capsule of emotion.  Therein lies the inability to completely master emotions through words; each capsule is relative to the individual.  Connotation is not universal as denotation is.  

Denotation is straightforward, shallow, the title of the song; where connotation is the lyrics, instrumentation, melody, harmony, every component that makes you feel.

Words evoke emotions.  Choose the wrong word, and the feel of your sentence will be altered instantly.  Writing a sentence is surgery, the reader is the patient; one false move, one twitch, done, in an instant.  The life lost.  The meaning vanished.

We are able to feel so broadly.  We make so many connections.  In an instant, we are in

a different place, 

a different time.  

                         Our memories rule us.

I am sad.

I am downtrodden.

I am miserable.

I am depressed.

All have the same general meaning, but to us, are they even remotely similar?  Each word takes me somewhere if I allow it to, oftentimes to more than one place.  We each have the ability to repress, to deny, but having the strength to accept our emotions is where we find peace.

Surrender.

 

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The Beautiful Constants

The sound of footsteps softly scuffing then making contact with the ground, an audible rhythmic thumping.  You step off the pavement into the grass where the leaves have fallen from the now barren trees.  The leaves are old, dry, ready to melt away into the earth to be recycled, ready to be made new again.  The leaves make a sharp crunch with every step.  The sound should be harsh, but instead it rings purely into the empty Earth, reverberating off of invisible forces, settling back into the recesses of your mind.  It crunches, it always will crunch.

It is satisfaction in the cacophony of the leaves.

My footsteps stay consistent, strictly adhere to the rhythm of my muscles.  My thoughts are the millisecond count, my footsteps the second hand, and my mood the gradual rotation of the hour hand.  I am a clock, never still.

Thoughts race.  Thoughts never stop.

But the sound of the footsteps ground you, the rhythm, crunch,

 

then you stop walking.

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Cruel Mistress

Time is a bitch,

and not just a slight bitch that talks about you and your friends behind your back then is nice to you face-to-face, but the kind of bitch who actively tries to ruin your life, when you’re having fun with friends, she says it has to end, when you feel carefree you look in the mirror then realize she gifted a new development in the wrinkles around your eyes, she gives varicose veins, she gives love handles, she gives love steering wheels, she makes us frail and weak, she makes us forget, she makes us long for something, anything, and she finally just does what she wanted to in the first place, and offs us.  

What a bitch, right?

I focused on how time was such a raging bitch for a long while.  Initially, I resented her, then I grew to despise her.  I asked why to whoever you ask why things happen.  Why does she make the most pleasant emotions so fleeting?  Why does she have to steal these people right from around me when they could just as easily stay?  “I know the world is overpopulated”, I would tell her, “but I’m alright with feeling a little bit crowded if you could just stop robbing the world of these beautiful people”.  I was selfish in my struggle against her, though it took me quite a while to realize how selfish my thought process was.

I feared the final vanishing act that she performed again and again.  I feared death, but never my own.  When I was young I feared that whenever I slept or left my home, I would come back and she would already have carried out the act.  I was torn apart with worry, constantly thinking of the worst that could happen around me, and how I could prevent it.  I couldn’t have anyone around me taken, but if I was taken, so be it.  

So incredibly selfish.

I always thought it was so valiant.  “I don’t mind giving my life for others!”, I thought, “it’s better that way”.  Better for who?  

Better for me.

I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of loss if I was gone, I wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.  I wouldn’t be torn up with worry if I was the one that was taken.

But they would.

And that’s what I failed to realize for so long.  That I was not the only one that had to deal with the bitch.  That’s when I experienced a thought shift; the best way to deal with the bitch’s antics is to realize that the only reason she affects us so strongly is because we allow her to.  We are ultimately the masters of our emotions, and she tries to make us forget that.  She tries to force emotions onto us, tries to dictate our experience.  But no.

No.  We are in control.

And I am no longer afraid.  Loss of life is as necessary to existence as the introduction of it.  Loss of life is beautiful because it symbolizes a perfect end, and I will not let her make me worry, she will not trick me into feeling sad.

One day, she’ll take me by the hand, and not only for my sake, but for the sake of everyone that knows me, I will put up a fight.  And hell if I don’t give that bitch a few scratches before it’s over.

 

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No Man is God

A majority of people judge, that’s a fact of life, a possible consequence of consciousness.  Sometimes people mean to judge, and sometimes they don’t.

The world is a place that’s full of the self righteous.  That will never change.

The accepting are beautiful, always.  The open-minded, the free spirited, the people that realize that they have their own problems just as you do, and that you cannot define a person by the set of problems that they’re dealing with.  Problems say nothing about a person, problems could be internal, external, superficial, deep; they are nothing.  What a person does in response to their problems is the definition of character.  What will they do?  Persevere?  Half ass?  Give up?  Avoid?  Deny?  There are character traits that blanket over broad areas of the paths that a person could take.  There is overlap, but there is solidarity.

There is accepting because of outlying factors like ethical code, religion, and morals; and there is accepting because of a person’s inherent being, innate in their existence.

The first accepting is still beautiful, it is effort.  Despite the necessary motivating factors, those people are still making the world a better place for the entirety of humanity, rather than a minute uniform subsection of the world that they identify with.  Motivating factors for sources of good are sometimes necessary to keep the world from being swallowed by darkness.  The dark and light are constantly at odds, one cannot falter, the balance remains forever constant through some sort of means.

The second accepting, inherent in being, encompasses the type of person that is able to make connections that reaches deep into the soul of certain compatible individuals.  These people see past the imperfection of humanity in attempt to unearth the true state of an individual.  Friends know each other, however, these people not only know, but feel one another.  They lead a different existence than most, one much more minimalistic, at times more true, but also frightening.  Seeing the true nature of another can be a beautiful experience, life altering, but at other times there are glimpses into the darkness, into souls that are anguished, that have endured irreparable damage, that are tainted.

Acceptance is a term that should be common vernacular.  The urging on of it, the forcing of it, the preaching of it:

acceptance, acceptance, acceptance.

There is no justification for judgement.  No one person is better than another, just some think that they are because of superficial externalities such as money, cars, clothes, looks, on and on.

There is no better life.  All humans are equal, all life “beneath” humans is equal.  Each level of life, each organism plays an imperative role in the process of the Earth, take one away and we crumble.  We are different from organisms on lower tropic levels, but also the same.  We are all whole in an abstract way.

The right to judge is reserved for no man.

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Dying of Thirst

Thirst.  We’re all thirsty for something.

Freedom.

Adventure.

Instant gratification.

Fame.

Sex.

Religion.

Power.

For the purposes of this post, let’s say those were the only pools you could choose to drink from.  You could only fill your cup from one of the pools.  Once you drank the contents of your cup, your thirst would be quenched, and your fate sealed.

Or

You could choose not to fill your cup at all.  You could set the cup down by the pools, turn and walk away from the opportunity to instantly and completely fulfill your ultimate desire.

Which would you choose?

You could argue that some of the pools would be more fulfilling than others, that the religion or freedom pool is a more noble pool to choose from than instant gratification, sex, or power, and that would be how you would justify your decision.  Maybe you would choose nobly, the pool that you felt would make you a good person; or maybe you wouldn’t worry about how your choice showed reflection of character, maybe you would choose the pool that you truly thought would match your most intimate desire, maybe power.  After all, if you had the power you desired, would others’ opinions really matter?

It’s not the choice of pool that would show the indication of your character, but the justification of your choice.

If you put the cup down, why would you not choose to drink at all.  Because you would be scared that you would make the wrong choice?  Because you felt the pressure was too great?  Because you feel like with such an advantage would come an even greater consequence?

Up until this point I have been trying to place you in scenarios, impose questions, to prompt you to analyze your thinking, to kickstart introspection.  Now, I’m going to do something different.

The cup has to stay empty.  We have to stay thirsty.  The thirst gives life meaning, not only the thirst, but the exploration within ourselves to figure why our thirst is.  The thirst is what makes us human.  Give a squirrel a cup and tell it to drink from one of the pools, and the only interest the squirrel would have is hydration.  The squirrel’s thirst is limited to desire for survival, while our thirst is infinite, limited only by what we can dream.

The thirst is hoping for something that will never be fulfilled.  Depressing?  Far from it.  If you think that it is then you’re missing an imperative part of the understanding of life that allows people happiness at all.

The happiness of the journey for satisfaction doesn’t lie in the end goal, but in the checkmarks of progress.

To end with a slightly redundant metaphor- keep your cup empty, but always seek ways to fill it.

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Models: The Irony

Who are models models for?  Are they for the benefit of the people living in society or are they a mechanism for societal control?  I’ll give you a hint: think big brother if he was a gay man that ran Runway magazine.

Models are “perfectly” skinny.  Models have the “best” clothes.  Models have the “sexy” detached attitude that goes hand in hand with the lusting of man that “every” girl wants.  And of course, models have the fame that is “necessary” for happiness.

What do all of the words in quotations have in common above?

Right!  They’re bullshit.  All of the words in quotations are adjectives that are imposed by the ideals of society that someone else is forcing onto us.  

Being a 6 foot tall woman skinny enough to comfortably sit in a washing machine, one, would be fun for only a very short amount of time, two, probably isn’t the most positive reflector of your health, and three, is actually only attractive to a very small amount of people, but of course the fashion elite beg to differ.  Beauty is in personality and rocking your shit, not making your waist six inches around.

Being sexy isn’t rooted in figure.  Sexiness is confidence, knowing that you are who you are, and that other people will have no effect on that.  Consistency in character, that’s sexy.

Every girl does not want to be a slut.  Every girl does not want to have every boy on their knees for them.  As a matter of fact, girls, ones that I’m very close friends with, truly only want the connection of one person.  They might have some flings, but in the end, when they find that person, they will stay faithful, happily.

Anyone who thinks that fame is the key to happiness does not actually understand what fame is, but even more so, does not understand what true happiness is.  Fame is a temporary condition that can be as fickle as a 2 year old toddler.  Do one semi impressive thing and you get excessive happiness in return, but step in the wrong place, and you’ll have a hissy fit on your hands.  Privacy becomes nonexistent, your life becomes open for scrutinization from just about everyone with a computer.  Happiness is rooted in deep connections.  Fame will get you all of the shallow connections you could hope for.  You will be able to party, have sex, and get in exclusive places with fame, but all of those things fade, and once they fade, where does that leave you?

Evaluate yourself.

Are you proud of your height? Because there is no bad height.

Are you proud of your weight? Because there is no bad weight.

Do you think you’re sexy?  Because if you think you are, then you are to someone.

Do you have true friends?  One deep connection with someone is enough to foster happiness.

Are you happy?

 

No one dictates your life but you.  Don’t let models be your model.  Don’t let society rule you.  Be your own model.

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I Don’t Like, I Love

I didn’t understand the feeling someone experienced when they “liked” someone when I was younger, and I still don’t understand it now.  The “like” I’m talking about is the, “Sally Jean likes Tommy”, type of like, puppy love.  I distinctly remember several instances where I would say I liked boys just because I felt like I should, for some reason it would make sense for me to like certain boys, and my friends would be thrilled when I said anything about boys at all when I was younger, so positive reinforcement created a cycle of me “liking” these boys I knew I would never date.  I would never end up dating these boys in middle school because I actually never really liked them at all, only created the illusion for myself and others, and also because I was a strange child.  I was independent to the highest degree, and  I’m going to be straight up, I had the dressing ability of a 6 year old boy, so I’m sure you can imagine the severe lack of anything feminine about my outward appearance.  If I was talking to a guy, it was the most platonic interaction between a guy and girl you could probably imagine, not necessarily because of me, but because I had no idea how to flirt back then and show that I liked them, and also because not many guys wanted to flirt with the embodiment of androgyny (that was for humor, not pity).

As I started to mature, female body processes spiked my hormones, and my body changed subsequently. I started to grow into more of a person that someone would look at and say, “I am positive that is a girl”, rather than, “I am positive that is some gender of person”.  I started to develop actual taste in clothes, actually brush my hair, and wear things that were associated with girls like dresses and skirts (which I would have sworn would never be on my body pre 12 years old).  Yet the idea of “liking” someone still remained foreign.

There were boys I felt like I should be interested in, but only few would reciprocate the feelings, and I would always find some reason not to date them.  Looking back, I realize that I didn’t date too often because of the insecurity rooted in myself from all of the years of purely platonic relations with guys, and also because the first boy I ever dated was actually one of the worst people I possibly could have.  He was clingy, he cheated, we could barely even uphold conversation because of the lack of common interest.  I was in the ninth grade and felt trapped in a relationship that I easily could have gotten out of, it was absolutely dumb in every way.  But the point is that I really thought that I liked that boy, I mean, he played drums, I played drums, he had muscles, that was good, right?  Girls are supposed to like big muscles!  My rationalization for entering the relationship was incredibly asinine, even for 9th grade Oona.  It was an experience that I don’t regret because of what it taught me, but I do look back on it with a good bit of distaste.  I’m sure every boy who pursued me after this first boyfriend did not appreciate him very much because he made me into an excruciatingly selective dater that made lusting after Oona MacDougall an experience similar to beating your head against a brick wall.

My non-understanding of “like” that created the cycle of my own rumor mill for others’ benefit, turned into me completely quitting pretending to like guys due to a burgeoning sense of independence and a general ‘no fucks given’ attitude I decided to adopt.  I became friends with as many people as I could in high school.  Once people got past the fact that I wasn’t borne out of the typical mold that a girl usually fits into, they realized I had a decent sense of humor.  As each year of high school progressed, more and more people liked me in the way that friends do, but the general interest from boys was still very low.  There were few that attempted to brave the desolate land that was my love life, but I pushed them away because I could always find something wrong, I could always find a reason not to “like” them.

There was only one boy that I dated after the drummer, and he was someone who had pursued me for longer than I want to mention because I led him through what I imagine was a very aggravating cat and mouse game before I dated him, with the cat being very exasperated and confused and the mouse throwing out her cheese then stealing it back at the very last second.  We tried a long distance relationship with him at College of Charleston and me at Clemson, which lasted a grand total of about 3 weeks before I realized that I didn’t have feelings for him past being a friend.  I initially thought that my decision to date the boy wasn’t about “liking” or not “liking” him, it was about me looking into myself and finding out that he did not match what I felt like I needed from someone that I was going to build such a strong bond with.  Then I thought about my assumption.

That’s exactly what attempting to “like” someone is.  The mature version of “liking” is trying to rationalize loving someone with a preconceived idea of who you should love.  That isn’t how love works.  The reason why I couldn’t have a relationship with that boy was because I only felt platonic love towards him, I did not feel like I could connect with him in the deepest part of my being, and there was nothing I could do about that.  One of the beautiful but frustrating things about love is that it is infallibly unpredictable, and to find it you have to put yourself in a vulnerable state, you have to let it take you, rather than feeling like you must be the seeker.

What I most failed to realize for quite a while was that you can’t justify love, but love justifies existence.  I lived for so long not realizing the importance of loving, and over thinking whenever the possibility of it arose.  But I now live a life where love is a prominent force, and quite honestly (and to be quite cliché), life  has more meaning when you love others, and you work to make them feel loved.

Through all of my experiences that I’ve lived through so far, I realized that I despise the word like.  I like granola.  I like bananas.  Like is not a word that should be used to suggest the feeling of a higher level of connection with someone.  Like is bland, I’ll use it to describe how I feel about people that I feel very shallow connection with.  But with people that I truly mesh with, I love.  I crave to experience both platonic love and a love that reaches further than an emotional and mental connection, but I assure you, I will never attempt to “like” anyone ever again.

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