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 it meant 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 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.

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 . . .

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.

I felt the tears of all your angels, 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!

Weekly Tunes (week 5)

I personally need new music. And you can also share. Hit me up, peeps! Week 5 changes Tuesday.
More Music!

Waiting Without the Family

It can wait. . .