All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing. ~Maurice Maeterlinck

I wonder if thats true. If plants and ants and animals all are able to walk from birth to death why do we, the superior minds, pause to contemplate the destination? Its oh so obvious and yet, you know me, all I think about.

My infatuation with death has more to do with my infatuation with perameters (the rules of the game) than some concrete fear of nonexistence - I worry I'll never do a million things, once I do I'll be alright; its as if knowing the definitions of life helps me to understand the possibilities which in turn allows me to plan. Its all about planning. I plan more than anyone I've ever known. I just don't talk about it and the plans always altering...
does that even make any sense?

last night I had two distinct dreams. In the first I am at a table. there is a cut of prime rib. I cut it and eat it. The whole time I think I am at work and that I am breaking my lenten promise. I don't care, I just want to eat meat. The dream last forever, every bite, until I woke up. I'll never make it the whole 47 days without meat. I feel so unfulfilled. veggies and carbs, veggies and carbs, hummus, veggies and carbs, over and over. I doubt I'll make it.

The second dream involves vampires. I am one also? We are in a house, maybe its a movie set. I am afraid of being attacked but none of the others seem to care much about me. A huge 15 or so foot tall humanoid chases me. Its too big to follow me and I wake up...
woke up at 5, a little before the alarm, I felt really fucked up: tired and unable to placate neither my empty stomach nor my exhausted mind...

My red is so confident he flashes portraits of war, and visions of euphoria... Hendrix just came on. I feel better already...

I should just delete that last post; its not how I really feel...
however, I think I'll leave it up as a reminder, an artifact of sorts, of just where I am right now. Maybe I will feel better when I look back at it next year upon graduation...

Maybe sanity isn't statistical, but everything else is...
As good as things have been going, and as good as I feel, all it takes is one bad day, and a look around, to realize that I am still where I was: I haven't moved an inch. I thought, for some odd reason, that I was going places, that things were looking up, but really if you take a look around, do a little count, all you'll find is that
I am 26
I have two jobs
I am about to live with my mom
I am still in school
I failed my most important class ever, for the second time, last fall
I don't own a car
I am upwards of 60K in debt (school et al.)
I haven't had a girlfriend in a little under 2 years
I might not have another one for another 2 years
and I haven't created one single living piece of art...
sanity may not be statistical
but my failures are.

- don't get me wrong, I am not unhappy (at least I have that going for me) its just all so overwhelming when you actually think about just how far 'behind' I am...
now what I am behind thats a whole nother post for a whole nother day.

sanity, my friends, is not statistical. Remember that as you will be tested on it later... I am going to do 1984 for my class unit. Two reasons: one, I don't feel as though I am in control over the harlem renaisance writing - I am even a little bit uncomfortable teaching black authors to black children, I feel as though I can only be a facilitator: I can say, here children this is Lanston Hughes, I cannot teach you about your hardship and how to write about it, but he can. Today langston, not Mr. D., is your teacher... and I think that will work when the time comes, but for an ed. class, which has to be fancy and full of fluff I need something I can master. Enter '1984', great book, my favorite topic, this is a no-brainer. Nick send me everything you find, as you always do, I am counting on your help.
I am sick today, but I've managed to put a positive spin on things. I am eating chinese, watching movies, and feeling not so much my body heal but my mind... being sick is like taking a shit at work: you are free and noone wants to bother you, plus you have a natural reason for not getting things done... an interesting metaphor, but one that works.
peace out,
love jdon
all this medicine is making me high

It's all coming together:
woke up this morning, couldn't talk (sore throat)
called off work, drank some medicine.
woke up feeling relieved.
got a call from my new friend.
we're going to hang out next week.
called my brother.
going over there tonight to paint my room.
paint tonight, finish tommorrow, move in friday.
move in, become artist.

my cousin sent me an email the other day about how when he first became a husband he had no idea how to do it, so he just modeled the things he thought a good husband should do. Eventually he became a good husband.
At my mothers I am going to open my self up to any form of art possible in an attempt to become a better writer. by better I mean givign a more concerted effort and actually doing some editting.

My new friend wants to get high. Is it ok to come out of retirement (from marijuana) just for a girl? I don't know, but I am going to give it a run anyway... plus there are so many people I would like to smoke with at work, and not to mention another joint with my dad would be great.

I should smoke pot.
no more pills, just pot.

everything is on the up and up.
more later,
jdon

"One more road to cross
One more risk to take
Gotta live my life like
there's one more move to make" - dmx

for the first time in my life I am pissed about a B+, fucking pissed. It was a paper about the sonnet to a rose by Luis de Gongora and I dominated, however my teacher wrote 'while I do not agree with some of your comments, you have appreciated the essential idea of the poem and present an interesting discussion. I get the sense that this was not proofread very carefully(misspelled words, etc.)' then my favorite part ' your style is a bit repetitive and your choice of words seems inprecise at times'
choice of words imprecise! if there is one fucking thing I can do it is pick the word I want.
misspelled words? where? he doesn't highlight a single one. There are two in spanish, the use of culturanismo was wrong, I wrote culturalismo - poor translation, but the only error in spelling... mother fucker.

The worst part is that my main assumption (that gongora is addressing the renaissance theme of carpe diem and provided an alternate expression - that life is short, don't bloom to early) is denied outright by him 'no carpe diem in this poem, no "enjoy life" but rather don't bloom at all' - no shit sherlock, but who's telling the rose to bloom fuck face? carpe diem...

I am going to stop now because I just realized that there is no way you could possibly know what I am talking about...
the real point is that I am pissed
AND he just left after handing back the essays, no time to talk...
jdon

I don't know if my sunshine has been stolen but I sure feel like the wind has died down... first of all, I've had too much fun the last three days leaving me exhausted.
Second, my bank acount is a solid 500$ under where my check book says it should be... I suck at banking apparently...
so, I'm going to bed. sometimes I think sleep solves all problems.
Tommorrow I'll get up and go,
today I'll lay down and nap...

R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson...

The last three days all I have done is work and drink. Now I have class in three hours and I am far from prepared... ah life.
Opportunity costs really...
Harlem Renaisance it is... any tips? all ideas welcome...
James, Dan, and I may have had the first meeting of what could come to be THE literary community of our lives last night. Too bad Nick and Chris weren't there...
The idea is this: every year, for a month or so, we rent a house (different locations) and create art under a theme. The first one is friendship and you will all get filled in later...
There's more to it, of course, but we'll have to flesh it out over a drink.
The plan for now is to think about friendship, your friends, and how you could express you interpretation of friendship through an essay, a poem, a painting, a short story, whatever...

hendrix's machine gun is playing in the back ground, I have a cup of coffee in my hand, trush can barely stand up, nick and dan are smoking outside... awesome.
the last 12 to 15 hours have been about as good as it gets...
now we are going to go get some breakfast...
life is good.

just in case you were wondering - I am still up...
I really wish someone cared.

"pink ribbon scars that never forget..."
if these words mean anything, then you know who I am... if they don't then I guess you missed my so called formulative years...
Its 3 something am, I am drinking with james and dan (brian is here too). We're talking about anythign that ever mattered. Right now they are talking about our fathers and whether the old man could kick our asses... its sad, I could kick my dads ass... and I wish I couldn't, but back in the day, him at my age, he'd slap me around if it came to that... not that he ever did. Shit, my dad never touched me (and consequently his dissapointment speaks louder than his fist ever could)....
'ask yourself a question, anyone but me, I ain't free'...
the album keeps going...
best band ever. ever.
I miss 96.
I miss...
I don't miss a damn thing. I never did! I'm not as funny as I think I am I am going to tyhpe no sentences just words Idskipthespaces but then it all gets so damn redundant so damn 96... fuck 96 but not really and I fail but when I can I will (shannon knows that song, ask her about that one some time... is it so bad to remember?)
whats wrong with all your memories?
'fuck your short memories'
fuck your tattoes and fuck your short memories; everything that every mattered has happened a million times over and over in your head. my head?
time for shots. I'll be back soon...
over and over again.
alright I'm back. JAck almost made me puke, I hate to admit it...
one last kiss for me yeah, one last kiss good night...
man they rocked. fucking rocked.
I don't know if I would have ever gotten into poetry if it weren't for the pumpkins. really. if it weren't for Renee and the pumpkins. my first muse, renee, how do you spell renee? is that right? anyway. if it weren't for her and the pumpkins, both inconsequental in the grand scheme, I don't know if I would have ever written a damn thing. most things I write these days are for me, not counting this page; I write twice as much in journals and on sheets of paper...
influences? pumpkins, renee... and shannon of course, and drugs and kerouac and ginsberg and novi girl whose name I can't quite remember right now, really I can't remember her fucking name...
whatever happpend to my memory? fuck my short memory? I'm smileing again... cast into the world with apple eyes... I am going to skip to mayonaise now...
james says " I love mayonaise" from the other room. I love james, from this room...
when I can I will
when I can I will
when i can I will
dammit, when I can I will...
fool enough to almost be it, cool enough to not quite see it...
this is the song of my youth. this is it this is all that ever mattereed... why am I still typing? drugs, alcohol and existence: my driving forces... run away with me tommorrow
is it too much to ask?
really, is it too much to ask?
no it isn't. all I ever wanted was everything all I ever wanted was everything all I ever wanted was everything all I ever wanted was everything... it ain't a broken record, its all I ever wanted...

when I can I will.
goodnight.
try to understand, that when I can I will...
goodnight.

no matter how many times a child has lied to you, decieved you, just plain cheated (on a test or whatever), no matter how many times you have reprimanded him/her, how many times you've just plain sent them out of class, called home, whatever, you have to keep giving him/her the opportunity to be honest: keep asking questions expecting honest answers, keep giving them the chance to earn your trust, because the moment you start treating them like a criminal they become one...
And maybe they won't listen, maybe they never will, but at least they won't ever be able to honestly say that they've met your expectations...

"Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!"

Nick I've been thinking and we've got work to do...
When we talk of revolution we talk sweeping reform, we talk of eradicating laws, we talk of overthrowing the schools, the homes, and the marketplace of our brethren, but really we should just talk about the everyday, the comraderie, the struggle to keep ourselves alive. That is what we should be doing. Somehow we have to superceed all the other revolutions and seek to change the individual, not the policy. Somehow we need to find a way to hold our brothers and sisters more dear than our cars and our drugs and our visions. Somehow we have to allow their oppinion to matter as much as ours... and I don't think we are there, I don't even think we are close. But that is what we must do...
I've always said, in jest I hope, "divide first, conquer later".
We need to unite first, change later...

Everything we say juxtaposes our every action in such a sharp contrast...
I just have to say it; I care more about my 'personal' time than I do all the poverty in the world.
I care more about my TV, that I don't even watch, than I do about the welfare of the people in my community; at least that is what my actions say.

And I'm not saying throw away the TV or some bullshit like that. External change is almost all we ever do. I am saying that we need to internalize the affair, to make our spiritual war a personal war. In effect we have to become the change we wish to inspire long before we can do anything...

I think this is where we are.
I think we can do this.
I believe in you, you believe in me.
Now lets believe in everyone around us...

'And it's right outside your homes!'
I came accross this today, through nick, and immediately became sick to my stomach.

Why don't they just take my entire fucking check and spend it for me? They can tell me what I need and then use the rest to build bombs and undereducate our children. At least then I wouldn't have to count up all these bullshit taxes.

What isn't taxed anymore? Soon they will be taxing leisure time...
one day we are going to wake up and its going to be too late.

all in all it was all just bricks in the wall...
I've changed my name; sleepy jdon just didn't fit anymore... so I went back to what I had originally wanted my name to be: onlyashadow, as in the old church song. I've always enjoyed that song... sometimes I find my self humming it...

What's new?
I'm painting my walls in my new room. I feel rather smug about the whole deal: sure is pretty juvenile to be painting your 26 year old's dwelling with artwork from a pink floyd album. I know I just should of grown up by now, but I haven't and its cool.
I intend to use the walls as an everyday drawing board, much like my ypsi house. Only this time I want to paint also and intend the walls to be organic, colouring and erasing them consistently to paint my daily feelings... it should be a good outlet.
I have to create a thematic unit for my english class. I don't know what theme/books I want to use yet. A big part of me says use 1984 and do a unit on privacy. I could pull from the papers daily, making the unit relevant, while drawing on history at the same time, thus helping the students understand the timeline of which they are a part. I couldn't believe they didn't know what fascism was the other day. Then again, did I know what fascism was in high school? nope.
Another part of me wants to do On the Road, but thats just not going to happen.
I could do a book by Kundera. The Unbearable Lightness of Being stands out, but I think Immortality is a better book, if not a little to complicated. I think the students would find Kundera boring. Maybe I will just use one of his chapters from 'The Book of Laughter and Forgetting' as part of my 1984 unit. I doubt many children know about the Russian occupation of Czechoslovakia (maybe thats a good thing, maybe its bad)...
Or I could do a unit on a movement such as the Harlem Renaisance.
There are just so many options...

in the spirit of old saint valentine...
My cousin often reads here and then comments to me through my email. What he sent me this morning included, among other things, was something that I thought belonged here:
"There is an aloneness in the human heart during marriage btw. Not sure if the priest was all right,but I don't think he was all wrong."

The message changed my oppinion from the other day (not that my oppinions don't sway anyway). I don't know much about marriage, but I do know that aloneness in the human heart is probably unavoidable even in heaven; if we are something unto ourselves, then we must be individual. If we are individual then even our maker must take a time out every so often. Right? God does not control my everyday actions. He could, but then I wouldn't be me would I?

So, there is even aloneness in heaven. And we're supposed to wander the earth in good spirits?
But this gets me back to my original point: we are supposed to intertwine, we are supposed to communicate, we are supposed to temper the individuality with conversations and acts of charity. And what is charity but teamwork...

It all comes down to teamwork.

sunday afternoon, kinda lazy... I've got school work to do and I should be working on moving, but I'll just sit here, play some guitar and go to bed early...
I intend to start getting up a whole hour early from now on... usually I get out of bed at 6, however if I get out of bed at 5 I am able to cook and eat breakfast - should help my plan to get back into a healthier life style...
nothing really to say, thought maybe something would come up if I started typing...

man, I want to change the fucking world. Is that too much to ask? somehow, someway, someday I am going to change the world, or at least one street corner...
I've been reading 1984, I went to an english teachers convention today, I am thinking of buying a gun/joining the NRA, and I am coming to understand the corporate ladder... what all this has in common? Not much except this: I want to be an affective teacher, of course, but I also want to combat corporate greed, shameless police searches, and the stagnation of upward mobility. In short, I want to fight the man through the schools. I want everyday to be a war, a silent protest becoming audible, against poverty, lonliness, and self-hate. I think I can do that...
I really do...
You guys are going to see a whole lot more out of me artistically once I get moved in. I have a few ideas right now, but once I get going so much is possible. First, I want to learn how to paint - and I am going to paint my walls and then paint on them. Second, I want to compose a couple anthologies - one out of my poetry, one a couple short stories, and another one or two out of old email conversations. Third I want to edit/construct a magazine, maybe quarterly, consisting of our work. Dan's drawings, Julie's poetry, nick's poetry, leblanc's musing, my brother's poetry, maybe an essay or two, some more drawings, and a little bit of me. fourth I want to start tape recording conversatoins...
those are where I'll start...
jdon

"Everyday, it's a gettin' closer,
Goin' faster than a roller coaster"

Haven't been posting much lately; really I have a lot to say, I just don't have the access (my computer is in the shop)... things are good. Real good. I keep thinking the bottom must fall aside some time soon, but really I know that something snapped and its only going to get better: this is my year: this is the year I get out of the college funk, I can feel it already - everything is going to be alright - everything...

lately I've felt something different: an urge to get a girlfriend. I hate to say this, or every to write about girls on this thing (journals + girls = embarrassment years later when you look back)... I hate to say this, but I am getting lonely - or more true to the point, I want a teammate. In church the other day, the priest was talking about our inner and outer selves. He said something about how we are alone in our inner selves. I don't believe that. I believe when we are in love we share that inner self, and thats the difference... Idon't need to fuck, I don't need someone to tell me I am great, I don't need someone to worship, I just want someone to share my life with... I want to wake up and see her face, put my arms around her and squeeze. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so... and maybe it won't be the one I envision now, but it will be someone...

someone once said the unexamined life is not worth living. I think I took him too serious...
or maybe I just miss college and living with a bunch of people.
Living alone I spend so much time having conversations with my self. I used to think I would go crazy, but all that has happened is that I've become far more egocentric: my life revolves around me: I'm the only one I talk too...
I've got to get a girlfriend. Not to get laid, not to fill time slots, but rather to have someone to enjoy life with or at least make things a little more interesting...
I think I've let my self down with girls in the past - I certainly haven't given my best effort. And now, since I am lonely, I am going to have to go out and get a girl and I am telling my self that I shouldn't need anyone and I shouldn't get a girl just to have a girl - but thats all lies. Human beings were meant to be together...

ah MSU... check out this newspiece

too bad I didn't piss in their streets, maybe I wouldn't be on probabtion...
oh wait I have...

"Brother, sister too
Do what you must do
Don’t trust people you meet
They might promise you
That the river ain’t deep"

If you aren't listening to the Gorrillaz, you should be... In school we are going over all the old spanish poems of the siglo de oro and the renacimiento, somewhere from 'El Cid' on into Cervantes and the CElestina... anyway, during the renaisance (sp?) all the spanish artist were writing about god and women, fair enough, but they are making multiple allusions to the old greco-roman writings and traditions (those fuckers love Virgil). So, I am asked to interpret these poems and it may be the hardest thing I've ever done; I just don't know my greek mythology...
the cool thing about these poets is how beat they are - I mean they are alive, in love, and oh so sad... its awesome.

"and after a while, you can work on points for style..."

I walked in, sat down, and the man next to me asked if I was a lawyer.... maybe I was a little bit overdressed? or maybe these people should dress up to their situation. I this me criticizing someones dress and garb? yes, it is.
I just can't comprehend walking into court in jeans and a dirty sweatshirt...

a good young god-fearing man from work quit last week to join the army... and I applaud his decision. I know you know that I hate war and I hate the government, I just don't see the soldier in the same light. I tend to see the soldier as the hero: the ultimate warrior-poet risking their life to protect my freedom... I admire his ability to put his love into motion...

on a side note I am now on probation for the first time in my life. It's not all that serious, but I have to call if I leave the state and some other bullshit... these cops and judges are all part of a big money making scam - its self-serving and disgusting if you ask me...

I feel so defeated that I didn't even have an incling to say anything other than 'yes sir' and 'no sir' today... they set the system up to give you the minimal penalty and yet you are still on probation for six months and you still have to pay 300$ just because you broke some silly city ordinance. Am I guilty - yes. should I be treated this way? fuck no. and you shouldn't be either...