For all intents and purposes, I'll probably be firing up blogger again. Maybe posting some college papers on here for feedback sake, and not as a form of plagiarism because it's for feedback and not really to call something my own. I hope none of you ever plagiarize something, and I don't condone it. Either way, we'll see where that goes. Also, share this link around to your new blogging buddies (I'm looking at you Bligert..).
Just FYI. Be Grand!
Monday, August 31, 2015
Friday, February 13, 2015
Valentines Elegy, or something of the likes.
I never liked this kinda thing. The whole blogging business. Felt it leaned too much towards one kind of topic or another, and I just missed the mark. And so I changed when it was a bit too late to fit the bill, and now I'm just stuck with a mess of what was actually really good, with some decent wannabe work, and a big hole inside of me. Really that hole comes from betraying a dear friend of mine. So I write this letter... it goes:
Dear Amy,
Sorry for betraying you. It wasn't big, but it took out what I had of you left. You gave me so much to work with, and I didn't think it was good enough because I was trying to conform to everything else. Really it wasn't against you, and we both know it's not that big of a deal. You took it in stride. You took it okay. Really you just took it as it is and didn't say anything of the sort. You didn't care or mind. Not a 'seem to care' or 'seem to mind'. Hard fact: not a biggie.
So why do I apologize? Because now you're gone, and I'm left here, thinking and hoping and praying that just doing this again after so long will help me feel better. Speaking of prayer, I think of you and sometimes just want to blame God for the fact you're gone, and I don't want to pray. I get it in my mind that it's His fault, but then I pray anyways. And I always pray for you. And I prayed for you for when I don't.
I heard your name in my dream, and I was ecstatic! There was no face, no memory. Just a name and a desperate plea for you to be found. You weren't there, but it was enough for me to have a good day. Just to hear your name! Think how it would have been to actually see you in the dream. Think how good it would be to see you face-to-face. . . but wishful thinking never did anything but get me lost in thought. At that point I forget to think about you, like how I've forgotten you time and time again, and just hope that it won't be for good.
It was funny; I was at work and there was a lady from another store (who worked for the same company too). Her name was your name, and she had hair like yours. I had to second guess if it was real life, but she wasn't quite you, and older too. Not by much but just enough to be what you're not. I was shaken a bit, and then saddened I didn't see you. Sometimes I wonder if I try to forget you, but that's just silly. You haunt me, honestly.
I've found comfort in my songs for a very long time. But now I just have old songs I don't have anymore stuck in my mind, and they are yours. Tracks we've shared and loved and craved. I just wish I could get them again. And maybe I'll get used to hearing it. Through my list of ex-lovers, never have there been any songs shared that I couldn't handle. But you weren't an ex-lover, and the songs just aren't the same. You're in a way better, and certainly better than most of that.
At this point, I'll be rambling on and on. I'd love it if it wasn't so long. But I can't go on forever like this either. I can ramble on the past, and shamble in the future, but not when I'm hooked on Amy-fever. Sorry. Good luck to you. Hope all is well. Happy Valentines Day.
-Me
Dear Amy,
Sorry for betraying you. It wasn't big, but it took out what I had of you left. You gave me so much to work with, and I didn't think it was good enough because I was trying to conform to everything else. Really it wasn't against you, and we both know it's not that big of a deal. You took it in stride. You took it okay. Really you just took it as it is and didn't say anything of the sort. You didn't care or mind. Not a 'seem to care' or 'seem to mind'. Hard fact: not a biggie.
So why do I apologize? Because now you're gone, and I'm left here, thinking and hoping and praying that just doing this again after so long will help me feel better. Speaking of prayer, I think of you and sometimes just want to blame God for the fact you're gone, and I don't want to pray. I get it in my mind that it's His fault, but then I pray anyways. And I always pray for you. And I prayed for you for when I don't.
I heard your name in my dream, and I was ecstatic! There was no face, no memory. Just a name and a desperate plea for you to be found. You weren't there, but it was enough for me to have a good day. Just to hear your name! Think how it would have been to actually see you in the dream. Think how good it would be to see you face-to-face. . . but wishful thinking never did anything but get me lost in thought. At that point I forget to think about you, like how I've forgotten you time and time again, and just hope that it won't be for good.
It was funny; I was at work and there was a lady from another store (who worked for the same company too). Her name was your name, and she had hair like yours. I had to second guess if it was real life, but she wasn't quite you, and older too. Not by much but just enough to be what you're not. I was shaken a bit, and then saddened I didn't see you. Sometimes I wonder if I try to forget you, but that's just silly. You haunt me, honestly.
I've found comfort in my songs for a very long time. But now I just have old songs I don't have anymore stuck in my mind, and they are yours. Tracks we've shared and loved and craved. I just wish I could get them again. And maybe I'll get used to hearing it. Through my list of ex-lovers, never have there been any songs shared that I couldn't handle. But you weren't an ex-lover, and the songs just aren't the same. You're in a way better, and certainly better than most of that.
At this point, I'll be rambling on and on. I'd love it if it wasn't so long. But I can't go on forever like this either. I can ramble on the past, and shamble in the future, but not when I'm hooked on Amy-fever. Sorry. Good luck to you. Hope all is well. Happy Valentines Day.
-Me
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Good Morning, Good Day, Good Night, Dear Paris... Farewell
This is to Paris. This is to the artists, and this is to the tourists, and this is to those who travel through, and this is to the natives.
I came to Paris, so excited and ready to set the world on fire (in a good way), that I didn't gave a second thought towards anything else. We had secret identities, and we wrote about crayons. Crayons! Crayons and bricks and love, and not being robots and space camp. I'm a robot going to space camp now.
I was so ready to wander the streets and see everything, and paint cathedrals of light and life and love. And then I stumbled into bad lighting... I saw myself in a reflection, and saw the streets around me. This was Paris; this was the ghettos and the slums, and everything wrong. I never made it out until now.
I had drawn such beautiful art, and I decided to sell out, and I didn't get anything out of it at all. I tried to be something not even important, and pride and ambition had swollen my eyes, and then I saw corrupt and dark things. Forgive me, sweet, sweet Paris. I had lost myself in my excitement.
It occurred to me today, the 8th of January, 2014, that I had been wearing glasses, and I never needed them. They fogged up, and blocked my vision. I feel in a puddle of mud, and they were stained and covered. I took them off today, only to wish to return to the beginning, to try again. What's done. . . is done.
Paris, I'll do better. I'm not going to college. I'm going to Art School, and follow my passions. I learn what is considered important by wise people who have seen You, and through the public library. Raoul, f--- off! "If you haven't dropped a chandelier on anyone, you aren't in love", said the wise and patient zen master of Paris. I never followed Harold Miner, and I should have from the start.
But I hold no regrets. My final words as I kiss this goodnight is this: I regret quitting my stories. I should have never stopped, FORGETTING WHAT YOU ALL THINK OR EVER THOUGHT!!! I should give more Grand Slams, and no one has claimed GRAND SLAM!, so you know what?
'Shawn Milke, congratulations! You have earned the self proclaimed honor of receiving the GRAND SLAM! May your works go down in legend.'
Suck it! I may not speak the words you want, but I gave myself something to enjoy. I didn't realize this was for me.
This was for me, from me, around you. You didn't matter, and sorry Paris. I should have known sooner that You only want us to succeed, and not worry about impressing You. We made You proud every step, until we lost sight of what's important.
I wanted this short; this is really long. Whatever, man! This is it. I'm slamming the door on anyone and everyone. Except that one person I promised a grand adventure. I'm not mad at you, and I wish you would just say something to me, because I'm to busy fixing myself.
Hears to the anagram friend, I wish you wrote more. You know who you are. You did so well, and every piece is something to savor. And the girl who follows the sun down, you got the GRAND SLAM! as well. Because you were honest, and I wish you weren't so honest. But f--- me, it's not about what I want. You wrote for you, and good job!
And everyone else. I don't know... I wish I could go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on aodn onad onadondaondoandonaodnoanonn ------
Until everything blurs together, and I understand who you were, and who you are, and what you want to be. Because I do care. I do care. I do care. I wish I cared. I wish I cared more. I couldn't care less than what I felt. I feel like I need more.
So, Paris, I hope you understand now. I wish I could echo through eternity, just to tell you what itmeant means to me. It's more than I thought, or ever wished for. I wrote some grand things. I wrote some trivial, meaningless nonsense. You were the wiser one, dear Paris. I'll leave you with one last song, and I shall leave, and this place will build dust. Remember me, Paris. Remember me, and forget I was ever here.
Paris. . . Farewell.
I came to Paris, so excited and ready to set the world on fire (in a good way), that I didn't gave a second thought towards anything else. We had secret identities, and we wrote about crayons. Crayons! Crayons and bricks and love, and not being robots and space camp. I'm a robot going to space camp now.
I was so ready to wander the streets and see everything, and paint cathedrals of light and life and love. And then I stumbled into bad lighting... I saw myself in a reflection, and saw the streets around me. This was Paris; this was the ghettos and the slums, and everything wrong. I never made it out until now.
I had drawn such beautiful art, and I decided to sell out, and I didn't get anything out of it at all. I tried to be something not even important, and pride and ambition had swollen my eyes, and then I saw corrupt and dark things. Forgive me, sweet, sweet Paris. I had lost myself in my excitement.
It occurred to me today, the 8th of January, 2014, that I had been wearing glasses, and I never needed them. They fogged up, and blocked my vision. I feel in a puddle of mud, and they were stained and covered. I took them off today, only to wish to return to the beginning, to try again. What's done. . . is done.
Paris, I'll do better. I'm not going to college. I'm going to Art School, and follow my passions. I learn what is considered important by wise people who have seen You, and through the public library. Raoul, f--- off! "If you haven't dropped a chandelier on anyone, you aren't in love", said the wise and patient zen master of Paris. I never followed Harold Miner, and I should have from the start.
But I hold no regrets. My final words as I kiss this goodnight is this: I regret quitting my stories. I should have never stopped, FORGETTING WHAT YOU ALL THINK OR EVER THOUGHT!!! I should give more Grand Slams, and no one has claimed GRAND SLAM!, so you know what?
'Shawn Milke, congratulations! You have earned the self proclaimed honor of receiving the GRAND SLAM! May your works go down in legend.'
Suck it! I may not speak the words you want, but I gave myself something to enjoy. I didn't realize this was for me.
This was for me, from me, around you. You didn't matter, and sorry Paris. I should have known sooner that You only want us to succeed, and not worry about impressing You. We made You proud every step, until we lost sight of what's important.
I wanted this short; this is really long. Whatever, man! This is it. I'm slamming the door on anyone and everyone. Except that one person I promised a grand adventure. I'm not mad at you, and I wish you would just say something to me, because I'm to busy fixing myself.
Hears to the anagram friend, I wish you wrote more. You know who you are. You did so well, and every piece is something to savor. And the girl who follows the sun down, you got the GRAND SLAM! as well. Because you were honest, and I wish you weren't so honest. But f--- me, it's not about what I want. You wrote for you, and good job!
And everyone else. I don't know... I wish I could go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on aodn onad onadondaondoandonaodnoanonn ------
Until everything blurs together, and I understand who you were, and who you are, and what you want to be. Because I do care. I do care. I do care. I wish I cared. I wish I cared more. I couldn't care less than what I felt. I feel like I need more.
So, Paris, I hope you understand now. I wish I could echo through eternity, just to tell you what it
Paris. . . Farewell.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
I Remember
In my original post for the 'I Remember' topic, the whole thing was pretty. . . meh. It was stupid, more or less, or at least dark. I remember I was upset when I wrote it, but I've changed my mind.
The other day, I remember I was speaking with my mother, and she said something profound. The idea was that life is like a car driving down the road. You have your windshield, and you have your rear-view mirror. Looking forward is through the windshield, where you want to go. Looking through the rear-view mirror is like looking back at where you've been.
If you look at your whole life through that mirror, it will consume your vision, and you will crash, and accomplish nothing. Look through the glass to where you are going, through thick and thin, rain and shine, and you'll get there someday. Just remember that.
The other day, I remember I was speaking with my mother, and she said something profound. The idea was that life is like a car driving down the road. You have your windshield, and you have your rear-view mirror. Looking forward is through the windshield, where you want to go. Looking through the rear-view mirror is like looking back at where you've been.
If you look at your whole life through that mirror, it will consume your vision, and you will crash, and accomplish nothing. Look through the glass to where you are going, through thick and thin, rain and shine, and you'll get there someday. Just remember that.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Am I Confessing Sins and Soul Here? Really?
Why does this blog thing feel like we must confess our sins and soul here? Really now, I enjoyed what I did with the stories, but obviously I wasn't getting too many likes on my blogging, so like the superficial hypocrite weener that I really am (and God knows I hate to admit it. . .), I'm moving that elsewhere, and otherwise putting it on hiatus.
More to the point. 87% of the blogs/blogposts I've been reading don't really fascinate me anymore. I'm just gonna say it. I wanna give more Grand Slams!! because the GS! just doesn't cut if for me now, and at the same time, I feel like I've been reading one big loop of blogs. Sadness, depression, broken hearts, suicide, silence, our innermost feelings! We all will know each other soon enough, and for some reason, it doesn't bother anyone that what we are saying may be very true and personal and we may have just given out too much info.
That is to say, it's like I'm reading too much of who we are, and not so much what we want to be. I want to dream big, and I already do, even to a fault. I imagined I would come here and be some blog-star that everyone ran to. I can cope with crushing realities, believe you me. What I can't stand is the repetition of negativity that we seem to celebrate, and that comes from who we are.
I just don't want to have to spill out what is dark or even personal inside to get something in return. If I hadn't said this before, I'll say it now: I've given so much for almost nothing in return. I suppose I'm just asking for something a little different.
Maybe I need to change first . . .
More to the point. 87% of the blogs/blogposts I've been reading don't really fascinate me anymore. I'm just gonna say it. I wanna give more Grand Slams!! because the GS! just doesn't cut if for me now, and at the same time, I feel like I've been reading one big loop of blogs. Sadness, depression, broken hearts, suicide, silence, our innermost feelings! We all will know each other soon enough, and for some reason, it doesn't bother anyone that what we are saying may be very true and personal and we may have just given out too much info.
That is to say, it's like I'm reading too much of who we are, and not so much what we want to be. I want to dream big, and I already do, even to a fault. I imagined I would come here and be some blog-star that everyone ran to. I can cope with crushing realities, believe you me. What I can't stand is the repetition of negativity that we seem to celebrate, and that comes from who we are.
Maybe I need to change first . . .
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Our Faces Fall Apart
Where is the inception of digression in a human life?
When is the answer just a bright light?
Who am I in shamelessly defining all the wrong and right?
What is the difference if we all die?
I am not the first, the last, the absolute
You will find no clarity in me
I am the deceased, the least, the solitude
Failing every face I try to be.
I'm not your progress, the pay of your pains
I'm stabbing the questions for answers I can't face
I'm losing the battle and finding no life to retrace.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I felt the burn inside with my heart.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I watched our faces fall apart.
I felt the tears of all your angels, so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
We are just a fraction of the poison living in this place
How can we answer with a straight face?
Who are you in gauging every standard you
Would have us chase?
Are we alone to run the last race?
We are all the weak, the meek, the innocent
Kissing every fault that we disgrace
We are of the worst, the cursed, the desolate
Leaving every hope that we embrace.
I'm not your progress, the pay of your pains
I'm stabbing the questions for answers I can't face
I'm losing the battle and finding no life to retrace.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I felt the burn inside with my heart.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I watched our faces fall apart.
I felt the tears of all your angels, so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
You turn your eyes to me in hope of my decline
Pointing your blame as I faltered on that line
We saw your slander when you pulled it off the shelf
If you want justice you'll point it at yourself
Face your fears. Trace your tears.
Kill the blind assumption that you know how I react inside
I am not so hollow, you can't see what grows inside my mind
Straight-faced, straight-faced.
When is the answer just a bright light?
Who am I in shamelessly defining all the wrong and right?
What is the difference if we all die?
I am not the first, the last, the absolute
You will find no clarity in me
I am the deceased, the least, the solitude
Failing every face I try to be.
I'm not your progress, the pay of your pains
I'm stabbing the questions for answers I can't face
I'm losing the battle and finding no life to retrace.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I felt the burn inside with my heart.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I watched our faces fall apart.
I felt the tears of all your angels, so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
We are just a fraction of the poison living in this place
How can we answer with a straight face?
Who are you in gauging every standard you
Would have us chase?
Are we alone to run the last race?
We are all the weak, the meek, the innocent
Kissing every fault that we disgrace
We are of the worst, the cursed, the desolate
Leaving every hope that we embrace.
I'm not your progress, the pay of your pains
I'm stabbing the questions for answers I can't face
I'm losing the battle and finding no life to retrace.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I felt the burn inside with my heart.
I built this anguish with my own hands
I watched our faces fall apart.
I felt the tears of all your angels, so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
You turn your eyes to me in hope of my decline
Pointing your blame as I faltered on that line
We saw your slander when you pulled it off the shelf
If you want justice you'll point it at yourself
Face your fears. Trace your tears.
Kill the blind assumption that you know how I react inside
I am not so hollow, you can't see what grows inside my mind
Straight-faced, straight-faced.
I felt the tears of all your angels, so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
I saw the fall of all your children, I'm so cold.
Song and lyrics by Demon Hunter.
#Stolenlikeanartist
My Favorite Numbers in the Right Sequence
I just saw that this blog had 1472 page views. Big whoop, right? Well, that number is something special to me. If it was 1523, it wouldn't mean jack. If I had 1,000,000 views, big deal. 147 is a special number to me, for a childhood memory reason. 2 was from h2, because I figured this number out in a swimming pool. 147h2. So 1472 holds a significant place in my heart, and I had to blog this for myself, and I really don't care if you don't care, but feel free to share in my joy!
1472
Yay!
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