I attended a four year public high school, with overcrowded classrooms and an under appreciated arts program. Now, I didn't grow up in the worst of neighborhoods, and even though the school's priorities weren't completely straight, I still ended up an alright gal. For the first three years of high school, I was completely ok with my surroundings, and then senior year hit. People started shoving UC's and Cal-States down my throat. I looked at these schools, but I couldn't find something I liked about any of them. I started to think something was missing. I wondered if this was how education was handled everywhere or if there just might be something better out there.
Last year, my friend, Nicole, and I attended Happy Valley School's graduation, in support of our friend, Lucy Bellwood. Happy Valley School is a small private high school out in the hills of Ojai that dedicates its education to a worldly knowledge of the arts and literature, while still enforcing a well-rounded understanding of all other subjects. Their main focus is the student; how to help them succeed, what learning techniques work best for them, how well they understand the material. Their school system works with the student, rather than against them. I did not know this about HVS last year when attending the graduation, but slowly started to comprehend how fantastic it was with each passing moment.
When Nicole and I arrived after a long and winding journey through the back-hills of Ojai, we were directed to where the ceremony was being held. It was, of course, outside, in the beautiful sunshine. There were about a hundred and fifty white folding chairs set up on their main lawn, facing towards a carefully constructed wooden stage, with a large podium on it. Nicole and I took our seats near the back, amongst all of these hippie-clad, down-to-earth beings. It was so different from the packed stadium ceremony I'd grown accustomed to at my high school. Being in such an intimate setting for a graduation was a definite culture shock for me and I loved it. I loved that every one knew each other, and that they were all so happy to see each other. It made me wish to know them, too.
But I kept quiet, and just sat and observed as the ceremony started with a speech given by their principal, followed by a speech I will never forget for as long as I live; it was given by Lucy's father, Peter Bellwood, a well-known and well-respected man in the Ojai community. His speech was filled with wit, and overflowed with wisdom. He emphasized the importance of childhood (accepting and preserving it), the wonderful ways adults can learn from children, and the overall significance of the word "try." He reassured us that there is a certain bravery involved in trying, and there is always a reward, even if you do “fail.”
By the time his speech was over, my mind was blown. All of this was almost too much for me to grasp. I didn't know a school like this existed, I didn't know there was a place like this that had such upstanding morals and ethics and such wonderful contributors. Then the principal took the mic and told us the next section would be completely devoted to the seniors, and speeches they had written themselves. I thought that they were going to have about two people or so give a couple speeches, and then they would read out the names of the seniors and hand out their diplomas. I couldn't have been more wrong. Each senior, each graduating senior, got to give their own speech. Each graduating senior got to express their experiences at HVS, thank the ones they love, share a witty line or two, and make an already fantastic ceremony even more amazing. Each student was so genuine in their speech, and each one was so reflective of that person. Some were 25 minutes, some were only 30 seconds, but each one was just as powerful as the next. I couldn't believe this was allowed, I couldn't believe this was actually happening, and for them it was so natural. This was how they were taught; to take hold of life, and express themselves beautifully through words and art and literature. Lucy's speech was of course witty and delightful, adorned with remarkable facial expressions and a full-on pirate costume. But there was also a sincere side to her speech as she thanked her parents and her teachers and her friends. This school had obviously meant so much to her, and I wanted to feel that way, too.
The ceremony ended with one of the seniors singing a song with a small band. It was followed by food and cake. I talked with a couple of the students and gave Lucy a hug. I shook Peter Bellwood's hand at least five times and repeated over and over that he was a "champion of champions." He smiled and gave me a hug. Nicole and I sat with Lucy and her family for a good hour or so, eating cake and laughing about old times, and then Nicole and I decided to leave. We said our goodbyes, and I thanked Lucy for inviting me to such a lovely occasion. As we were leaving, I took one last look at the campus and the people and told myself that this is what education should be like, and vowed to find some place where I, too, could experience this.
I've had a hard time with schools in the past, as far as finding the right one and being content with it, but so far none have even echoed the ethics taught at HVS. When I came across Naropa University, though, and read about its involvement with Buddhist beliefs and its main inspirations (Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Waldman, to name a few), I knew this school was exactly what I was looking for: an intimate rural setting, with a great admiration for the amazing poets and leaders of our time, and an effervescent belief in the importance of artistic license and freedom. It has been a dream of mine since that wonderful day at Happy Valley to attend a school that takes education seriously and doesn't see each student as a number, but as a person.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Naropa University Essay #1
When I first heard Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken", I was twelve years old. My life at that point hadn't solely become my responsibility, so the idea of a "road less traveled by" was taken more literally than figuratively. Still, although the poem's underlying meaning wasn't completely clear to me then, it resonated with me, and in the years that followed, it became a very vital part of my life.
After I graduated, I decided to take a year off from school. Senior year had left me more confused than ever about what I wanted to do with my life. For three years I'd been completely enamored with my high school's drama department, and was certain my life's path would somehow be connected with theatre. During my senior year, though, my beloved drama teacher that I had looked up to since my first day of high school, decided to retire mid-year. The woman who ended up replacing him was actually a very close friend of my mother's I'd known for years. This made the transition a lot easier, but my attachment to the drama department still started to fade. A new generation had begun before the old one could finish, and though we were happy about the changes the new teacher was making, it was still hard to cope with the loss of a drama legend.
I finished out the year with 2 more productions, and received the Bank of America Award for theatre. Then in the summer, I got hooked into doing a youth production of Bye Bye Birdie. I got a lot of community praise for my role, and my interest in theatre started to come back. I began work as an intern at The Rubicon, a local professional theatre company. I got to work with equity actors, people who had just about done it all. I felt encouraged to audition for theatre schools, and set out to do so.
In the meantime, I'd still been helping out the high school drama department with casting, set pieces, lights, just about anything. I got to coach a few of the actors, and sit in on rehearsals. It was neat working with this younger generation, and getting to see that even though things weren't the same and never would be, the department would still live on, and live on even more vibrantly than it had. In the new teacher's first full year, she was able to put on four separate plays, compared to the old teacher's one and a half average. I worked on all four productions in some way or another, whether it was in casting or on the set or just getting the word out. Because of this, I became a drama legend, and a well-admired figure in the drama department. These kids welcomed me with open arms, and looked forward to me being at every show cheering them on with the loudest laugh in the house. No matter the outcome, I was always proud. I loved every show, every actor, every mishap, and every line flub, and their respect for me grew each show. It was wonderful.
Although the deep admiration was nice to have, it wasn't what kept me hanging around. The greatest joy I got out of watching these performances from start to finish, was seeing the growth of each person. Each actor held a little piece of myself in them, and watching them grow was like witnessing the past four years of my life. I got to see just how the theatre arts effected each person, not just acting-wise, but socially, emotionally, mentally, physically...
I'd always believed that creativity is the single most important aspect of anyone's life, and that it is the main developmental tool in the human body, and here I was seeing it in action. Kids of all interests were a part of this one department, this one place that encouraged creativity and artistic license. The captain of the football team played a part in Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie; this unknown sophomore stole the show after playing the Teen Angel in Grease; the number one loud-mouth superfan transformed into an old Jewish man for a bit-part in The Odd Couple. And I was so proud of all of them. It's one thing being a part of the productions, and it's a whole other thing watching from the outside.
I didn't get paid for any of my contributions to any of the productions, though by capitalist standards I should have. That never worried me, though. I was just happy to be there at the root of creativity, watching these young kids develop into artists, even if they didn't know it or realize it. Witnessing and being a part of that is the most valuable thing I have come across in my life so far. It breaks my heart when I hear about how some public schools had to cut back on funding for the arts, or even get rid of it completely. I've always believed that an understanding of the arts is an understanding of the world, and I don't see how plugging the creative flow could be a just and fair way of improving the public school system.
I am now nineteen years old. It has been seven years since I first heard Robert Frost's chilling words, and it has finally become clear to me. I took the road less traveled by. I chose a different path than most of the people my age, and because of it I became a different person. I'm not saying I chose the better path, or the more rewarding path, just a different one. A path I know will echo within me forever, and has taught me more about myself than any path ever could. My opinions on the world have changed because of it, as have my personal interests. I gave up on becoming an actor, and now I'm in search of a higher calling. I'm not exactly sure what it is yet. All I know is that I wish to keep the arts alive in this world, and re-instill the appreciation we had for the arts so many years ago. All thanks to a hand-full of kids from a small southern California town.
After I graduated, I decided to take a year off from school. Senior year had left me more confused than ever about what I wanted to do with my life. For three years I'd been completely enamored with my high school's drama department, and was certain my life's path would somehow be connected with theatre. During my senior year, though, my beloved drama teacher that I had looked up to since my first day of high school, decided to retire mid-year. The woman who ended up replacing him was actually a very close friend of my mother's I'd known for years. This made the transition a lot easier, but my attachment to the drama department still started to fade. A new generation had begun before the old one could finish, and though we were happy about the changes the new teacher was making, it was still hard to cope with the loss of a drama legend.
I finished out the year with 2 more productions, and received the Bank of America Award for theatre. Then in the summer, I got hooked into doing a youth production of Bye Bye Birdie. I got a lot of community praise for my role, and my interest in theatre started to come back. I began work as an intern at The Rubicon, a local professional theatre company. I got to work with equity actors, people who had just about done it all. I felt encouraged to audition for theatre schools, and set out to do so.
In the meantime, I'd still been helping out the high school drama department with casting, set pieces, lights, just about anything. I got to coach a few of the actors, and sit in on rehearsals. It was neat working with this younger generation, and getting to see that even though things weren't the same and never would be, the department would still live on, and live on even more vibrantly than it had. In the new teacher's first full year, she was able to put on four separate plays, compared to the old teacher's one and a half average. I worked on all four productions in some way or another, whether it was in casting or on the set or just getting the word out. Because of this, I became a drama legend, and a well-admired figure in the drama department. These kids welcomed me with open arms, and looked forward to me being at every show cheering them on with the loudest laugh in the house. No matter the outcome, I was always proud. I loved every show, every actor, every mishap, and every line flub, and their respect for me grew each show. It was wonderful.
Although the deep admiration was nice to have, it wasn't what kept me hanging around. The greatest joy I got out of watching these performances from start to finish, was seeing the growth of each person. Each actor held a little piece of myself in them, and watching them grow was like witnessing the past four years of my life. I got to see just how the theatre arts effected each person, not just acting-wise, but socially, emotionally, mentally, physically...
I'd always believed that creativity is the single most important aspect of anyone's life, and that it is the main developmental tool in the human body, and here I was seeing it in action. Kids of all interests were a part of this one department, this one place that encouraged creativity and artistic license. The captain of the football team played a part in Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie; this unknown sophomore stole the show after playing the Teen Angel in Grease; the number one loud-mouth superfan transformed into an old Jewish man for a bit-part in The Odd Couple. And I was so proud of all of them. It's one thing being a part of the productions, and it's a whole other thing watching from the outside.
I didn't get paid for any of my contributions to any of the productions, though by capitalist standards I should have. That never worried me, though. I was just happy to be there at the root of creativity, watching these young kids develop into artists, even if they didn't know it or realize it. Witnessing and being a part of that is the most valuable thing I have come across in my life so far. It breaks my heart when I hear about how some public schools had to cut back on funding for the arts, or even get rid of it completely. I've always believed that an understanding of the arts is an understanding of the world, and I don't see how plugging the creative flow could be a just and fair way of improving the public school system.
I am now nineteen years old. It has been seven years since I first heard Robert Frost's chilling words, and it has finally become clear to me. I took the road less traveled by. I chose a different path than most of the people my age, and because of it I became a different person. I'm not saying I chose the better path, or the more rewarding path, just a different one. A path I know will echo within me forever, and has taught me more about myself than any path ever could. My opinions on the world have changed because of it, as have my personal interests. I gave up on becoming an actor, and now I'm in search of a higher calling. I'm not exactly sure what it is yet. All I know is that I wish to keep the arts alive in this world, and re-instill the appreciation we had for the arts so many years ago. All thanks to a hand-full of kids from a small southern California town.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
For No One
So I would say I can't remember the last time I woke up in Ventura and was ok in doing so, but I most certainly can. It was in October of last year, when I came back and visited for 3 days and thought about not getting on my flight back to San Francisco. That was the last time I actually whole-heartedly was alright with waking up in Ventura.
Now I wake up and wish I was somewhere else. I close my eyes tightly, hoping it's all a dream and that the real Aly is actually somewhere very very different and actually DOING SOMETHING with her life. That the real Aly took her life seriously and wound up somewhere else, and is of course, very happy. That the real Aly...has a real life.
My life lately consists of going to bed at 4 am watching Scrubs re-runs and then waking up sometime between 12:30 and 2. On a good day, I wake up at about 11. I still don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm still wandering aimlessly around Ventura College, searching for something to inspire me, something to go "HEY! DO THIS!", and I have yet to find anything. I always thought I was destined for great things, but now I'm worried I'm just gonna sit here and rot cuz I can't seem to throw myself into anything. I feel like I've already reached my peak and now I have nothing left to give.
The other night when Amanda and I were driving back from our snowy adventure, and we somewhat flirted with death, I remember thinking, "I really don't care if we make it back or not." I didn't want to die or anything; I just really didn't care where we ended up. If I hadn't made it back, I would've been ok with that. I didn't feel like I had anything to look forward to. And that...well, that's just rough to realize.
The only time I ever feel like a part of something is when I'm with my really good friends, and even then sometimes it's a hit and miss. But I hate being alone. Mainly because I don't like myself, I think. I can't even count how many times I have disappointed myself over the past 2 years. Whether it be in school or in relationships or in art or theatre or music or even sports. And even when I do do something that makes myself proud, it's like, "Ok, but now what do I do with that?" It's this never-ending circle of...goddam it, I can't even think of a word to describe it. It's like...nothing is ever finished. And I know, I'm only 19, I'm only 19, but next year, I'll only be 20. And then the year after that, 21. And then I'll only be 35, and then only 40, and then 50. At what age do you go, "SHIT, I NEED TO DO SOMETHING!"? I figure if I don't freak out about it now, it's gonna bite me in the ass later.
Erin and Amanda leaving has finally hit me. I don't know what to do with myself. At least when Kait left, I had people to fall back on, and the same with Alex. But this time, Erin left, and I fell on Amanda, and then Amanda left, and all I did was fall. Not on anyone, I just fell, and I'm still falling. And everyone is making these spectacular plans to go see people over spring break and I know I'm just going to be sitting right here, right in this very spot, typing away about how lonely I am, how I hate where I am, because I haven't got anyone here to tell me it's ok and redirect me somewhere else.
I don't have a home, is what it all comes down to. All the familiar faces have left. Everything I've known has been altered. I have this dream of following in the steps of Kerouac, and living my life like a rolling stone, but even Kerouac had a home to go back to. I just don't like being asked what I am doing with my life, and have my only reply be, "well...not much." I don't like sitting in class and having my teacher tell us that we have to "find ourselves" and have my immediate reaction be to just burst into tears. I would give anything to wake up tomorrow morning and have it be the first day of senior year. To start over, to re-group. I would give anything to crop out that one solitary figure in my life that threw me into that spiraling whirl of madness and anguish for the past 3 years. I just want to feel like I'm worth something again.
Now I wake up and wish I was somewhere else. I close my eyes tightly, hoping it's all a dream and that the real Aly is actually somewhere very very different and actually DOING SOMETHING with her life. That the real Aly took her life seriously and wound up somewhere else, and is of course, very happy. That the real Aly...has a real life.
My life lately consists of going to bed at 4 am watching Scrubs re-runs and then waking up sometime between 12:30 and 2. On a good day, I wake up at about 11. I still don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm still wandering aimlessly around Ventura College, searching for something to inspire me, something to go "HEY! DO THIS!", and I have yet to find anything. I always thought I was destined for great things, but now I'm worried I'm just gonna sit here and rot cuz I can't seem to throw myself into anything. I feel like I've already reached my peak and now I have nothing left to give.
The other night when Amanda and I were driving back from our snowy adventure, and we somewhat flirted with death, I remember thinking, "I really don't care if we make it back or not." I didn't want to die or anything; I just really didn't care where we ended up. If I hadn't made it back, I would've been ok with that. I didn't feel like I had anything to look forward to. And that...well, that's just rough to realize.
The only time I ever feel like a part of something is when I'm with my really good friends, and even then sometimes it's a hit and miss. But I hate being alone. Mainly because I don't like myself, I think. I can't even count how many times I have disappointed myself over the past 2 years. Whether it be in school or in relationships or in art or theatre or music or even sports. And even when I do do something that makes myself proud, it's like, "Ok, but now what do I do with that?" It's this never-ending circle of...goddam it, I can't even think of a word to describe it. It's like...nothing is ever finished. And I know, I'm only 19, I'm only 19, but next year, I'll only be 20. And then the year after that, 21. And then I'll only be 35, and then only 40, and then 50. At what age do you go, "SHIT, I NEED TO DO SOMETHING!"? I figure if I don't freak out about it now, it's gonna bite me in the ass later.
Erin and Amanda leaving has finally hit me. I don't know what to do with myself. At least when Kait left, I had people to fall back on, and the same with Alex. But this time, Erin left, and I fell on Amanda, and then Amanda left, and all I did was fall. Not on anyone, I just fell, and I'm still falling. And everyone is making these spectacular plans to go see people over spring break and I know I'm just going to be sitting right here, right in this very spot, typing away about how lonely I am, how I hate where I am, because I haven't got anyone here to tell me it's ok and redirect me somewhere else.
I don't have a home, is what it all comes down to. All the familiar faces have left. Everything I've known has been altered. I have this dream of following in the steps of Kerouac, and living my life like a rolling stone, but even Kerouac had a home to go back to. I just don't like being asked what I am doing with my life, and have my only reply be, "well...not much." I don't like sitting in class and having my teacher tell us that we have to "find ourselves" and have my immediate reaction be to just burst into tears. I would give anything to wake up tomorrow morning and have it be the first day of senior year. To start over, to re-group. I would give anything to crop out that one solitary figure in my life that threw me into that spiraling whirl of madness and anguish for the past 3 years. I just want to feel like I'm worth something again.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
How I Almost Died and Why It Was Worth It
I looked death in the face today. Well, maybe not looked him directly in the face, but we definitely made eye contact.
Amanda and I made plans to hang out today, because she leaves in about 2 days to study for a whole semester in South Africa, and I wanted to see her before she left. So she was gonna drive down to Ventura, pick me up, drive back out to Santa Clarita so we could go to Buffalo Exchange, and then drive me back home and we would say our goodbyes, and then she would drive back to Santa Clarita. Well, these plans definitely went to shit. But in a very good way.
On the way to Ventura, Amanda somehow ended up on the I-5 towards San Francisco, instead of the 126 W towards Ventura. Not realizing this on the account of the bad weather making it difficult to see, she ended up in Gorman county, which is about and hour and a half northeast of Ventura. Now, the weather from Santa Clarita to Ventura was bad enough, but the weather to Gorman only got worse. It was snowing. Big fat chunks of snow falling from the sky. The sky was completely white. This was at about 2:30-3:00. At around that time, I got a call from her explaining just what had happened. Then she had a brilliant idea:
Why go to Buffalo Exchange when we could go play in the snow?
I was all for it. I hadn't seen the snow since I was about 6 years old [that's about 13 years now], and thought since it was so close, how easy it would be. God I'm a dumb southern Californian.
So Amanda picks me up around 4:30 or so, and it is raining torrents. It was dangerous driving around little ol' Ventura in this weather, and we were about to embark upon an hour and a half trip on 3 different highways, where the weather was only liable to get worse. But I didn't care for some reason. It felt right. It felt fine. I knew only good things could come out of this trip. So I got in the car, accepted my mortality, and then off we went.
For the first hour or so, it was all rain. Just pure, hard, fast rain. A bit slippery, but not too much to worry about. I made Amanda 3 Bob Dylan CD's of what I feel is his best work, and we popped the first one in. Like A Rolling Stone was the first track, and at that moment, I decided my number one goal is to make that song the story of my life, to actually live through that song, soak in all of its meaning. I think today was a good start.
When we'd passed Santa Clarita, things became a little more difficult. We kept looking at each other and laughing about how stupid we are, how dangerous this is, and reassured each other that if one of us at any point wanted to turn back, we would. We both decided to keep driving, but made up a 3 strike rule: if three extremely jolting and ultimately life-endangering things happened to us before we reached our destination, we would turn back IMMEDIATELY.
Strike 1: Just outside of Santa Clarita, the car made a loud noise and shifted a little. We almost hit a wall. We thanked Bob for being there for us, and kept driving.
We merged onto the I-5, which has a bit of an uphill slant to it. The rain started to get heavier, the winds stronger, and it got harder and harder to see. Our only guides were the tail lights in front of us. We couldn't differentiate lanes; we followed tire tracks. Still blasting Bob Dylan. I really think he was our guardian angel in this expedition.
So the rain eventually became hail, and the hail eventually became snow, and the snow eventually became CRAZY snow, and that was when we decided to pull over, but let me tell you, there is a huge difference between deciding to pull over and actually pulling over. We had to go about 8 miles or so past our limit before we could actually fulfill our decision. We were searching for signs, there were hardly any. Finally we saw a sign for Quail Lake Rd. At that point, anything looked good to us, so we took it. It could've said "Road to Hell" and we still would've taken it. But as we slid to the right to take the exit, we faced about 4 inches of snow that had piled up because NO ONE ELSE HAD TAKEN THIS EXIT. We knew once we pulled off it, there was no going back, and we would most likely be completely alone. We'd made it with 2 strikes to spare.
So we took the exit, and it was beautiful. Snow everywhere. There were a couple other people pulled over to the side of the road, but whether it had been their choice or not, I have no idea. We had come up here voluntarily. We intentionally put ourselves in danger. They could've been on the drive back from a camping trip or something. This could've been the worst part of their trip, where it was the entire REASON for ours. Goddam it, we're crazy.
It was ridiculously hard to see, but in the distance we could make out a couple of street lamps, so we headed over in their direction. We parked underneath the lights, and started to put on all of the warm clothing we had brought with us, which ultimate
ly wouldn't do anything, but it was either that or nothing. We braced ourselves for the climate shock we were about to experience, and opened our car doors in unison.It was...Beautiful. Snow was pouring from the empty black sky. Huge chunks of snow rested atop our heads and eyelashes and noses and shoulders. We skipped, we danced, we threw snowballs at each other. I busted out my camera and tried to catalog every moment, but failed tremendously. No picture could ever capture the beauty and freedom that poured out of each moment. We were completely alone, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded in freezing snow, wearing inappropriate clothing, and it was fantastic. I looked at Amanda who was off in the distance taking large steps through the snow, and then up at the black sky filled with white flakes, and vowed to let moments like these happen more often.
Amanda then ran to the car, stripped off her coat, and blasted All Along The Watchtower. We danced in the snow-covered street to the tunes of dear Bob for a few good minutes, me singing at the top of my lungs, her freezing to death but in a very freeing way. Everything about this trip had been good so far. Now we had to face the treacherous drive back.
I was scared out of my mind. My heart was in my throat the entire time, along with my lungs and my stomach and just about everything else from the neck down. We didn't dare look at each other as we warily scooted down the I-5 S. Old Bob was still whispering lyrics in the background, but even that couldn't comfort me. The traffic going the opposite way was completely stopped because of the weather. We were driving along large trucks, suburbans, all kinds of large cars that were built for this kind of weather. And here we were in our little Honda Civic, doing about 20 mph in the pitch black, with only the faint tail lights of the car ahead of us to lead us out of there. No signs. No lanes. No street lights. We had joked about it on the way up, but for the first moment on this trip, I actually thought I might not make it back. I honestly thought we would die on the way back. I didn't panic, though. I figured if that was what happened, then it was meant to be. And I don't think I would've accepted any other way to die at that point, to be honest. I think I would've been ok with it. I couldn't tell if Amanda was panicking or not, but if so, she hid it well. I trust her so much. There's not one other person in my world that would've done what we did today. And quite frankly, even if there was, I'd opt to be with her instead. For some reason, fear doesn't exist when I'm with her. Even when I thought we might die, I wasn't scared. Everything was still fine.
Eventually, we made it through the snow, though it wasn't an easy venture. And as soon as we got through the snow, we hit the same hard rain, which was almost worse. At one point Amanda turned to me and said, "Ya know, I keep trying to reassure myself that many other people have done more dangerous things and made it out ok...but I honestly can't think of anything." And it was true. Sure, it doesn't seem like the most dangerous thing, but once you actually do it, you realize just how INSANE it is. The fact that we did it voluntarily, too, only makes it more insane. But I kept saying to myself, "Jack Kerouac didn't become a hero because of all the safe things he did." I'm sure he was smiling down on us. Hell, I'm pretty sure he was sitting in the backseat.
Finally the rain started to let up, and we reached actual civilization, filled with streetlights and all. Even smaller cars started to appear next to us, and then we knew we'd be ok. We calmly drove back to Ventura, Mr. Zimmerman turned up full blast. We sang along with B Dyl, as relief started to pour over us, much like the snow we had just experienced. Everything was fine. Don't think twice, it's alright.
We got to my house right as the last Bob Dylan CD ended, and Amanda came inside and visited for a little bit. By this time, it had stopped raining, and it was about 7:30-8:00. We'd only been together for a few hours, but had accomplished more than some people have in their entire lives. It felt good. I felt strong. We started to discuss more in-depth our summer cross-country trip. We figured if we can survive that and still be able to stand each other, then really, there isn't anything we can't do.
It was getting late, and Amanda needed to head home. I walked her out to the car, we said our goodbyes, and then she drove off, waving emphatically. I waved emphatically back, and learned the true meaning of "going out with a bang." I'm not gonna see her for another 4 months, but this day...this day should last me till then. I'm gonna miss her a lot, but she'll be back. And then we'll have our whole lives to do ridiculous things.
Today was the best day of my life.
Robbie Clark
Heath Ledger died.
He was only 28.
The other night, I had a dream my friend's dad died. In the dream, he'd had dinner at my house with my family [just him, mind you, not even he and my friend, it was just him], and we had a really great time. Then he went home and what seemed like minutes later, I got a call from his wife saying he'd died. I remember in the dream feeling this sense of, "But I just saw him! I just talked to him! How could he be gone?!" Pure and utter shock. The kind that makes it hard to breathe and your eyes can't seem to focus on anything, not even thoughts. It was so weird.
Today, that feeling grew even closer. I just saw Heath Ledger in I'm Not There, the Bob Dylan movie. I just talked to Toblerone about The Dark Knight, where Heath plays the Joker. I just told Nadia about how much I am obsessed with him. And now he's gone? I keep refreshing the AOL news page to see if it goes away. Yeah, I didn't know him personally, but I'm weirded out by the fact that this feeling is following me. First in a dream, now in reality? A far off reality, but a reality all the same.
I'm afraid of where it might strike next.
He was only 28.
The other night, I had a dream my friend's dad died. In the dream, he'd had dinner at my house with my family [just him, mind you, not even he and my friend, it was just him], and we had a really great time. Then he went home and what seemed like minutes later, I got a call from his wife saying he'd died. I remember in the dream feeling this sense of, "But I just saw him! I just talked to him! How could he be gone?!" Pure and utter shock. The kind that makes it hard to breathe and your eyes can't seem to focus on anything, not even thoughts. It was so weird.
Today, that feeling grew even closer. I just saw Heath Ledger in I'm Not There, the Bob Dylan movie. I just talked to Toblerone about The Dark Knight, where Heath plays the Joker. I just told Nadia about how much I am obsessed with him. And now he's gone? I keep refreshing the AOL news page to see if it goes away. Yeah, I didn't know him personally, but I'm weirded out by the fact that this feeling is following me. First in a dream, now in reality? A far off reality, but a reality all the same.
I'm afraid of where it might strike next.
I'm Not There.
Sometimes he's not there. Sometimes I can go around pretending he doesn't exist.
But most of the time, he's everywhere.
And whenever he is there, my life plays out through every Bob Dylan song ever written.
Even this right here reeks of dear Mr. Zimmerman.
Tangled up in a twist of fate.
But most of the time, he's everywhere.
And whenever he is there, my life plays out through every Bob Dylan song ever written.
Even this right here reeks of dear Mr. Zimmerman.
Tangled up in a twist of fate.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Ode to Ringo Starr
Maybe it's your nonsensical eyes,
Your overly pronounced brow,
Or your balloon animal nose,
That seems to distract people from your real genius.
Or maybe it's your songwriting.
But in any case,
Of the fabulous eternal four,
You have the largest heart,
The heartiest laugh,
And a beat that will outlast humankind.
Thought I would show Ringo darling some love. No one ever seems to.
Your overly pronounced brow,
Or your balloon animal nose,
That seems to distract people from your real genius.
Or maybe it's your songwriting.
But in any case,
Of the fabulous eternal four,
You have the largest heart,
The heartiest laugh,
And a beat that will outlast humankind.
Thought I would show Ringo darling some love. No one ever seems to.
Monday, January 21, 2008
East Jesus Nowhere
On my way home...or should I say on my way back to from where I once came. Time seems to be in fast-forward and rewind. The hours strike, but my mind keeps seeing birds flying backwards, trucks moving in opposite directions. I've been coming in and out of sleep for what seems like days, but has only been minutes. Or maybe it's the opposite. Nothing is certain.
I'm gazing upon what seem to be endless clouds. It rained this morning; the perfect ending to an eventful weekend. Not hard rain, but soft, light rain; the kind that tickles your skin, leaving faint dew drop freckles.
We drove past these old, whithering, split in half trees, and I couldn't help but think I was staring at the inside of my mind. Vast amounts of trees, all black with age, with hollowed out branches and hollowed out trunks. Empty trees with empty ideas. It's hard to tell if they ever were in bloom at one point. But there is a bittersweet beauty about them. Planted among these rolling green hills that could very well be alive with the sound of music.
I realize that I haven't really looked at myself in a while.
Maybe I'm too loyal, maybe I just can't choose, but in any case, I'm now leading two separate lives, and it's starting to weigh heavily on my heart.
I can't even look into anyone's eyes anymore.
I'm afraid my life has started to become a work of fiction, and I'm trying to make it into a poem, where the end is the beginning and the beginning is the end, and everything in between echoes beauty and irony.
Amander and I almost missed the bus.
In the middle of nowhere.
With none of our possessions.
I can't stop thinking about how freeing that would have been.
I'm gazing upon what seem to be endless clouds. It rained this morning; the perfect ending to an eventful weekend. Not hard rain, but soft, light rain; the kind that tickles your skin, leaving faint dew drop freckles.
We drove past these old, whithering, split in half trees, and I couldn't help but think I was staring at the inside of my mind. Vast amounts of trees, all black with age, with hollowed out branches and hollowed out trunks. Empty trees with empty ideas. It's hard to tell if they ever were in bloom at one point. But there is a bittersweet beauty about them. Planted among these rolling green hills that could very well be alive with the sound of music.
I realize that I haven't really looked at myself in a while.
Maybe I'm too loyal, maybe I just can't choose, but in any case, I'm now leading two separate lives, and it's starting to weigh heavily on my heart.
I can't even look into anyone's eyes anymore.
I'm afraid my life has started to become a work of fiction, and I'm trying to make it into a poem, where the end is the beginning and the beginning is the end, and everything in between echoes beauty and irony.
Amander and I almost missed the bus.
In the middle of nowhere.
With none of our possessions.
I can't stop thinking about how freeing that would have been.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Seeing Spots
Lack of sleep and sustenance lead me to a colloquial state, where billboards and restaurants seem to dictate my life and spell out prophecies. The city mews, south park ends, George Washington lives under a bridge. My mind starts to use “parking meters as walking sticks”, as I squint through heavy eyelids at fire hydrants, GAP ads, and glass windows showcasing expensive couture, juxtaposed next to a homeless man using paper bags as shoes. 25 years and still thinking about the present? No, 19 years and still thinking about the past. Still lighter and fluffier than buses and taxis at all times. “That makes me happy,” he says, as I share my one conclusion, resolution, illusion, confusion. My loved ones grin from ear to ear as I admit defeat, take 4 steps backward, and allow my heart to sink again and again. Opportunity is here. This is the city—filled with chaos and creation, destruction and construction, and I find that all my heart cries out for is sleep.
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