Solitary Assignment

Too many times I've wanted to do something but didn't do it because there wasn't anyone to do it with. Today I made a conscious decision to do more things solo. Whether I go out to eat, check out a museum exhibit, or watch a movie I've been dying to see, enjoying my own company can't be that bad can it? I never did get to see that damn corpse flower bloom because no one else seemed as enthusiastic about viewing a flower that smelled of rotting flesh..go figure. I never got to have wings last week because no one else nearby was in the mood..utterly disappointing. This week, I really want to see The Last Exorcism....ehhh..on second thought, maybe I'll forgo going as a onesome to this particular activity so I'm not scared shitless in the movie theater by myself.

I went on my first outdoor jog alone last week and surprisingly, it wasn't as mundane as I thought it would be. It's actually pretty entertaining in here (pointing to head). Have you ever been completely alone with your thoughts and thought about absolute nonsense? I have. I think I spent a whole 2 minutes thinking about how random some of my thoughts were and then they proceeded to get even more bizarre as I thought about the random thinking I just did and then further thought about how thinking is such a weird and complex phenomenon and then I confused myself and moved onto a new topic: Running really sucks. Alone or not. As a result, I'm not as opposed to running by myself now since I know having company really won't distract me from the inherent torture that is running, in the Texas heat. If anything, running alone allows me to complain to myself continuously, something I would have held myself back from doing had there been someone with me. It was all that bitching I did in my head that really made my run go by faster, you see. No one likes to hang out with bitchiness for too long..not even your bitchy self.

Part of the reason I miss being in a relationship is because of all the things I feel I could do with that person and how exciting it sounds to have a companion to share my hobbies with. Maybe if I started enjoying those same things by myself, I wouldn't miss having someone around to do them with as much. Maybe not. But at least I'd gain a better understanding of myself in those situations and can say I've experienced it and now know which is better. Don't get me wrong, there are some things that just aren't meant for one person. I'd probably never go to a bar alone for fear of being mistaken for a hooker looking for a date. I probably also wouldn't play volleyball alone since that would be incredibly exhausting. I also wouldn't have conversations by myself since that would mean I'm schizophrenic. All these things aside, I think I may emerge from this little experiment figuring out that some things are incredibly fulfilling while unaccompanied. Or maybe I'll realize that I bore myself to death and plunge into a deep, self loathing, depression. Either way, I think I'll come out knowing myself a little better if nothing else and a little self perspective can't hurt...unless you really are incredibly boring (or bitchy).

We are what we art

I believe the preference of art usually comes from one's own propensity towards specific characteristics of the preferred style. Upon evaluating my own choices in these areas, I began to recognize distinctive patterns; patterns that reflected my very own nature. For instance, I've always been drawn to Cubism art which is generally known for its angular, broken glass, abstract appearance. Its style has been referred to as "methodical destruction". What an appropriate word to describe me I thought, when I saw it sitting on my screen in perfect contradiction. I have a tendency to break things up, analyze the fragments, and reassemble them in a manner which creates new wholes that form different impressions, much like the effect of Cubism art. I am by no means saying I have the vision of revolutionary artists like Picasso or Braque, however, I can definitely relate. Unlike them, I try to draw my pictures with words, and often find that I am tangled up in a blurred, and broken patch of literary confusion that somehow makes perfect sense to me. I imagine these Cubism artists to have had the same affinity for that type of haphazard, yet logical reconstruction of ideas. Their pieces can always be viewed in a multitude of perspectives, leaving it up to the audience to decide which standpoint they relate to the most. When I think of how I prefer to communicate with people, I find similarities to that particular artistic intent as well. Offering different perspectives, alongside my own, I urge others to figure out which point of view they can identify with themselves and encourage them to follow that line of thought until it results in a decision or realization.

Cubism marks the first real beginning to abstract art, which to me, also reveals the relationship between what is logical and what is seemingly chaotic. As I search for words to describe certain beliefs I have, I often find it difficult to communicate my abstract ideas. It's as if I need to illustrate it somehow, whether with colorful metaphors or with a flow chart on a piece of paper. Each successive idea makes sense but when you step back and look at it as one unit, there are infinite places to start and stop, and to the unfamiliar, may even look nonrepresentational as a whole.

I guess what draws me to this particular brand of art is the misunderstood contradictions. If I'm ever asked to describe myself, I almost always end up using tons of contrasting descriptors. Personally, I love contradictions. I think it's fascinating to have diametrically opposing beliefs because I don't think thought is always meant to be congruent. Perfect representation is elusive for a reason. Our ability to perceive things from an unbounded number of angles is what makes the world more interesting.

These Thoughts

These Thoughts

Not really nightmares, not quite dreams
These thoughts of happiness, torn apart at the seams.
Closing my eyes, trying to erase these sweet memories,
They taunt me and tickle me, as if they’re my enemies.

Like little children tugging at their mothers’ shirts,
Except these thoughts are sinister, the biggest flirts.
Trying to ignore them, I keep pushing them away,
Like unwanted houseguests, they keep wanting to stay.

Circling, lowering, clawing me apart,
These thoughts are like scavengers, feeding off of my heart.
Each one trying to replace what was left from before,
My memories keep fighting back, my will is growing sore.

Tossing them, neglecting them, I even attack,
Like a boomerang, these thoughts just keep coming right back.
Turned off the light, pretended not to be home,
They came in through the window; they came in through this poem.

I scream “go away”, tell them to stop knocking on my door,
I guess these thoughts are a part of me, forever more.
Surrendering and yielding, I hope they’ll soon get bored,
But they’ll never detach, they’ll never cut the cord.

I lock them up in my mind, and throw away the key,
But these thoughts somehow just keep getting free.
They’re growing old alongside me, whether I like it or not,
I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of these pestering, sweet thoughts.