I choose Me.

I don't want what you have.
I want what I have.
I empathize, and I sympathize
and I have even
synthesized with you

I empathize, and I sympathize,
and I completely forgot
what it was
I was supposed to do.

I don't want what you have.
I want what I have.
All my hurts
and all my struggles

I want to burst
my own little bubbles
And what I have
I want it to grow
I want it to change
and I want it to know

that what I have
is all I have
And what I have
is all I ever needed

And I am still winning
even when I feel defeated.

Because I don't want what you have.
I want what I have.
And now I empathize, and I sympathize,
and I synthesize
with Me.

Art and Aristotle

I don't know much about either. But I had the weirdest dream last night. I was walking downtown and passed an art gallery. Odd paintings were displayed inside and out and they drew me to the open door. There was a class going on inside, and only about four or five students were sitting on the floor listening to two old grey haired men speak.

The teacher talking asked the few students. " Why can humans give up almost anything except their watch?"

No one answered.

And then he asked. "Well what does Aristotle say about time? That is your homework."

And then in that instant I felt so excited. I thought to myself, wow, an art class that discusses philosophy! I need to join this group. I HAVE to join this group. A few students went back to painting on their canvases and I then walked up to one of the instructors.

"Are you guys apart of Cal State Long Beach? Can I join this class?"

And he asked me "Why?"

And I replied, " I really want to learn to paint...but just for fun. I want to make art but just for my sanity sake. I suck, but I just want to make art. And talk philosophy, and maybe even learn to act...I like acting!"

He gave me a weird smile and told me okay. However he said, " To join us you must go home and write a paper on the orgins of Hinduism."

With the most eager enthusiasm I have ever felt in a dream, or in real life, I said YES! I will write the best paper ever and bring it back ASAP!

And then I ran away to do just that. Dream ended.

I woke up and felt sooo odd about this dream. Have you ever felt like you have been touched with something special or greater than yourself, but only for a second? I woke up frantically searching the web for any info on local art workshops. And then I searched "Artistotle and Art" and "Aristotle and Time", and he has views on both. From what I have barely gathered from surfing, he believes that real art imitates life, and that time would not exist without the Human brain to keep track of it.

I just thought, how weird. I have "Poetics" by Aristotle on my shelf...but I have NEVER read it. It was free in a box on a sidewalk in front of a bookstore and I just took it....a long time ago.

Ugh. I dont know. Maybe this dream is just telling me to paint, draw, write....just for sanity sake. Just for fun. Just to lose myself. Just to create moments that are real, only for me. Special sacred moments that no one can touch or interfere with. I feel like I have a lot inside me, alot of negativity that would feel good to come out.

And maybe Art is the only way?

Psychic Tendencies?

I've been obsessing about work. I come home and think about things and situations that bother me. What did I do wrong today, what can I do better. I guess I been doing it so much so that work is breaking into my dreams.

I had a dream last night that I had a conference with a student and a parent. I mainly deal with the students mother, however in this dream I dreamt of the father. I was reaching out to the father and telling him all about his kid's progress, and how I believe this student is just not applying himself. This kid is really smart but he is wasting it.

However in the dream I noticed the father had a slight accent, and in the dream I was trying to figure out where it came from.

Today I asked the student if dad has an accent.

Yeah he does.

Very faint German accent...but if you listen close, you can tell.

The Hymn of the Brain Dead Job

And then the boredom sets in agin
where each darn pickin minute
feels like ten
and the fight to look alive
is one I carn't win
Brain is beggin
fer a little spin
fer a little tune
to engage in this day
thats a turnin blue
and a turnin sour
but thats yer darn life
when ye's bein paid by da hour. - by my alter ego Billy Mae

.....the spark

I'm on a quest of sorts. The creative side of my brain has been long dead. It has been bogged down by the do's and don'ts, and the reading of what I'm supposed to read, the writing of what I'm supposed to write, and the getting to where I'm supposed get to.

Well. Now I gots here....and with college set aside, and just enough documentation to perform, the other side of my brain wants to come out to play.

But where to begin?

Creativity alludes me, yet its always at the back of my mind....this itch I can't scratch, this thing I want to say....but I just haven't figured out what it is yet, or what medium it will take shape in. Yet it needs to happen. This zombie mode can't carry on forever.

I watched a documentary about a group of quirky New York artists from the early 90's who created an artistic subculture of street art and skateboarding called "Beautiful Losers" the other night, which has been calling my name for quite some time. And one of the weirdos on there said "If your not seeing what you want to see out there, just make it. First for yourself....and then for your friends."

What a novel idea, I thought.

Make it, first for yourself, and then for your friends.

Ah, but what to make. That is my dilemma.

I'm trying to open myself up to inspiration and creativity. Maybe some poetry, some artwork...who knows.

For now I want to open myself up to the arts in general. I want to find what I like, and make a connection. Right now I want to catch up on my American Literature....because I'm completely ignorant of it and have hardly read any classics.

I picked up Huckleberry Finn the other night. I feel connected to Mark Twain. I have no idea why.

This quote by Robert O' Meally in the introduction has peeked my interest :

"In those days, Huckleberry Finn was also part of my arsenal of defenses against those who questioned my decision to major in literature during the black revolution; for me, it served to justify art itself not just as entertainment but as equipment for living and even as a form of political action."

A toast: To a first little sip of water.