shaun's blog.

To those who are mortified by the acts of animal cruelty we hear of through the Michael Vick case..

What are you having for dinner tonight?

I'm just sayin.

Are we selective with regards to who we feel for..and whose suffering we deem less horrific?

Yes, we are.

I think it can be agreed that suffering is suffering.

So, I've failed to upheld my vow to myself. .to update this more regularly. But, I'm here now. So, I suppose that is ultimately most important. Unfortunately [for whom, I'm uncertain], there isn't much to say.

I'd like to address the media at large, for a moment, however.

There are more important, more interesting things to discuss than Harry Potter and David Beckham. Not to be a stiff or anything, but the world is a mess. .perhaps some media coverage could be devoted to highlighting some of the things that are being done to address elements of said mess. Eh. Just a thought.

Everyone is getting married. Wtf, mate?

Alicia and Jimmy in August. .

Martin and Andreanna in October.

My ex and her dude just got engaged (and I have no interest in attending. Save the invitation, I don't want it).

Violet and Misha just got married.

Holy lifetime commitments, Batman.

Last week, the Associate Executive Director of the alternative school I work for said she wanted to meet with me about my summer and my future with the school. I hoped that it would entail getting offered a full-time position. Today, it went down. I was offered the promotion. I took it. . I am officially an adult. .and my life will change for the better in so many ways. .while doing the same rewarding work. 

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I've really fallen off the literary front. Whether it be through internet blogging or the traditional pen to paper journaling, I've really abandoned it. I'm not quite sure as to why that is. Even when I don't have much to say, I have much to say. It could very well end up being a jumbled stack of nothing. But, that never stopped me. I used to go for walks to various spots in my neighborhood, find a discreet place to sit, and write. Granted, I had more explicitly noteworthy events to journal about during my late teenage years. .however, time and life stop for no one. Something is always happening, even behind a mask of nothingness. There is no nothingness. But, there are near-double-negatives. And double-negatives. And sentences that begin with and, but shouldn't.

A lot has changed in. .wow. .ten years. I wrote the most, I believe, during my senior year of high school. I was readying myself for [what would be a horrendous] transition from familiarity and comfort to college within a metropolitan setting that can be so alienating. Cities are cool. Don't get me wrong. There are seemingly countless opportunities to meet the very people you will know and love for the rest of your life. But, people are people. Vague, I know. What I mean is. .this made more sense in my head. The filtration to key strokes is proving to be difficult here. On one side of the proverbial coin, you can make yourself vulnerable through opening up to said people. You can network. You can work towards beginning friendships [whether meaningful or utilitarian (in the sense of quelling one's loneliness). You can traverse your fears and inhibitions, traverse their fears and inhibitions, and open your mouth. Or (on the other side of said coin), you can succumb to your fears and inhibitions. Be overwhelmed by the overwhelming impossibility of finding the exact moment to cross a blindingly bustling street of possibilities, flying back and forth at what seems like the speed of light. But, in actuality, is merely walking. I kept my mouth shut. I wrote in my journal, instead. In many ways, I'm still the 17-year old child who always lived at home (and still does, incidentally) and was jolted by the metropolitan environment. I love people, but they still unnerve me. It's strange. Perhaps, it's the residual effects of me not being comfortable with myself.

Back to writing. I think, even if I don't feel I have anything noteworthy to discuss, I will write here [or somewhere] once per week. So. I'll be back in no later than one week's time.

One thing.

Commercial 'hip-hop' is not hip-hop. It wears the mask of hip-hop; looking like a duck, smelling like a duck, walking like a duck, but quacking like a cow. .which isn't really quacking. It's some wretched [yet catchy] sound that insults the culture built from those who had stories to tell.

I can't stand self-centered people. Beyond this, I can't stand self-centered 'friends.' I have no objections to lending my ear and my shoulder to someone in need. But, balance is fucking crucial. You can't just enter my evening, night, whatever, get into a hardcore venting session, and completely neglect to. .I don't know.. ask how I am, how I'm feeling, or how my day went. Any of the above would have sufficed. I don't care to be asked about my day to get into a prolonged discussion about myself. It's the thought. That's it. Then, you can get into your shit. .for as long as you want. But, if you could care less about what's going on with me. . don't come to me.

Straight up.

Why am I so adverse to sleeping at an appropriate hour..?

[appropriate is boring.]

Today is the sort of day I'd like to put behind me.
But, only after I, in short measure, talk about why.
I'm not quite sure I can really put it behind me, actually.
It's been so saddening, perplexing, and tedious.. that it'll reside with me for a while.
I'm not sure of how long.
But, a while.

I try.
I do the best that I can.
Yet, I fail.
I'm becoming increasingly proficient at failing.
My ability to bring forth misery is coming up on fucking impeccable.
It's not quite there yet, though.
Maybe next week.
Maybe tomorrow.

Only the latter part of the day was problematic.
Things were beautiful before that.
Beautiful.
On the way to being back to something like normal.

Then, wow.
Hyperventilating.
Yelling.
Shattered pieces.
Writing on the mirror.
My broken love collapsed on the floor.
My trust. Her trust. Our trust broken.
Collapsed on the floor.

I am not a villain.
I am not perfect.
But, I am not him. Or him. Or him. Or him.
I am the only person I can be.
I am I.

I am a fool.

So, this is my first post on vox.
I'm not really into livejournal anymore, and Violet kind of turned me on to this. .so I guess I'm trying this out. (well, I am.)

There isn't much to talk about right now.
Mainly, because I need to get my ass in bed.
I get tired, but I'll stay up anyway.

It's pretty stupid of me.

One would think that feeling miserable (I slightly exaggerate) upon waking up from insufficient rest would discourage me from repeating the behavior that caused aforementioned misery. Well, it doesn't. But, hopefully tonight I can be less idiotic.

[Peace].