N O W . m y . { feet WON`TTOUCHTHE ________ g r o u n d : ]

Coldplay - Now My Feet Won't Touch The Ground

It's the fourth Thursday of the eleventh month in America. Everyone knows it as Thanksgiving, and in elementary schools, they are told valiantly of pilgrims and turkeys and something or the other involving the Native Americans. All of the nice stuff. Charlie Brown's holiday specials start up and an impressively massive parade is held in the heart of New York City. Turkeys, geese, hogs and cows are slathered with enticing broth and surrounded in a sea of sustenance no one would ever dare to prepare for any other occasion.

Thanksgiving.

We learned it as a time of giving thanks, a preparation for the following, holiday season. It's a trigger to something we should already be alert and exercising.

I could find a plethora of things to complain about. I could find the misery in everything, and I could let it defeat me just as easily as it is working upon those around me, but there would be no point to it all. If I intended to drive my face into the dirt after every time I was forced back onto my own, two feet, I would merely destroy myself until I had shattered into pieces.

It's a vice that any human, especially within my generation, can intentionally or unintentionally abuse. We shouldn't gather around a table with people we haven't spoken to in months or even years, pretend to make amends, and then resume the year-long grudge or negligence. Losing touch is common, but there's a lot of energy and effort put into trying to make sure someone else knows that you detest them or that everyone should know how difficult your means of existence is.

It takes a while and it's a rough journey, but if there are things you most certainly are thankful for, the Tree of Life will turn up its leaves, despite the season of Autumn, and lessen the harsh rays of sun on your eyes; and shield you from the downpour of rain; and buffet the chilly winds of the sky, and be your stable support to get back on your feet.

You'll find your feet underneath you again.

Life is an interesting thing, isn't it? We always make it much bigger than us, always put it out of our own control, because we believe it is. But there are the variables that jar our social orders, that maim our perceptions of Life - the bad things make us think ill of Life and the good make us believe well of Life. All in all, our decisions, our opportunities, and our interactions determine what kind of Life becomes attracted to us.

Just as fascinating is the notion that there are individuals who are existing, thriving heartily through conditions we, as thankful, able Americans, could never imagine. Harsher politics, disgusting poverty, permanent handicaps - unfathomable to nearly all of my friends, I'm sure.

I occasionally imagine the life of a deaf, blind, or mute individual. I admire those physically handicapped and revere those mentally handicapped. They endure more judgement than they should ever deserve in their lives, only because it is in a form amplified from the judgement people cast at one another. I admittedly resolve that if I could trade places with a blind person to let them see, or with a deaf person to let them hear, or with a mute person to let them speak, I most certainly would.

But we complain at the newest piece of technology that is on the television that we urgently might need, that our current piece of communicating is obsolete and that everything in our immediate vicinity is against us. It's an honest truth that teenagers would rarely admit as much as they'd acknowledge it. Adults, on the other hand, find their issues within the communication between another individual or even with the obligations expected of them.

I do not have the answer to every dilemma - never have, never will - but there are ideals that may be better and beneficial than our current approach.

I am thankful that I am me.

I am thankful for all of the individuals in my life; the people who I've met once, the people who I see everyday, the people I've known for a week, and the people I've known for my lifetime. Each and every one, no matter the degree or angle of our interaction, helped mold me into who I am today. I always anticipate returning the favor to some degree, though there is only so much I can do for everyone else.

I am thankful for my family. Making everything in my life as difficult as it never should need to be, stretching me as thin as I should never dare - they have prepared me and rounded me into a human being who is willing and acceptable and great. Grateful, even.

I am thankful for my friends. I have different associations, a different relationship with each one, and I would never trade anything in the world for it. Unless I was then capable of making it even better for my friend.

I am thankful for my life. My capabilities, my talents, my flaws, my mind, my heart, my body, my soul. My personality, my features, my favorites, my interests. My home, my neighborhood, my neighbors, my schoolings, my path. My instructors, my associates, my past/present/future experiences.

I am thankful for being here each day. For being able to show my worth to those who will either appreciate it or fuel even more of a resolve and gain my respect with it. For having people on either side of me, behind me, and before me - for having a purpose and having a destination.

I am thankful for being able to complain. I am thankful for being able to distract myself from the task at hand. I am thankful for being able to lose my focus. I am thankful for being able to fall down on my knees and for being able to weep when I lose all my wits about me. I am thankful for being able to fight without weapons, for being able to make peace without words.

I am thankful for being greater than all the things I own.

I am thankful for being my mother's man and my father's son - for being my brothers' brother and my sisters' sibling - for being my cousins' cousin and my aunts and uncles' nephew - for being my grandparents' grandson and for being my nephew's uncle.

I am thankful that I am me, indeed, every day of my life.

I am thankful for you and who you are, for without you, the world - this Life - would be missing a crucial component.

I am thankful that I am me, indeed, for I would never rather be anyone else.

Happy Thanksgiving, world. Let's be thankful for more than just the things we can count on our fingers or name around the room - or just name, in general.

Thank you. =]
<3 ~ Monty.

where we are [ where we are ] where we are ; can you chase . . . this fire away ? { where we . . . .

Of Monsters and Men - "Lakehouse" 

Brown.

Everything's okay. Everything seems to be okay.

I just...

Orange.

I don't think anything's the matter. I don't see any issues with anything.

Yellow.

Because I know everything will always be alright, I won't believe that anything is out of the ordinary. 

Gray.

My chest is tight.

Green.

My bed is comforting. It is the leverage from the

Red

of this space. The tension, the raw fury that bounces off these

White

walls. They echo to the 

Black

windows, pleading with all the laws of physics to find their way out - to guide them to a

Blue

escape. Out there, there is solace. Albeit, chaotic sorts, but certainly with lesser judgment than pertaining to the confines of this paling fusion of

White

and

Silver.

Without colors, it'd lead us down the same corridor - our eyes - for they would not be able to distinguish the

Orange

cones in the street, or the

Yellow

tape. Big,

Black,

bold letters stretch across the face of the tape. One side faces away,

Charcoal

in the opaque tint of

Yellow.

Flashes of

Red

and

White

reach my

Brown

eyes, which look like

Black

when I see my reflection from the screen. It is a radiant, unyielding panel of

White

and 

Silver

with blots of 

Orange

to appease and distract. And through blurry eyes, clear of any hues, a smile as bright as the gleaming,

Yellow

sun, high in the sky - on the other side of the planet - stares right back at me.

Brown.

It gives me stability. It gives me assurance. Everything may not be as clean in the earth, but it is there for me to rely upon. It may not be a beneficial upstanding to my poise and the

Golden

eggs that I pray to lay, but from the rich hue of brilliant

Green

and

Purple

which strikes a chord of compliance and comfort from my own, beating

Red

heart, to another, frosty with icy,

Turquoise

veins and sickly,

Lime

arteries which pump Greed and Avarice -

Confusion and Arrogance,

Ignorance and Pride -

the music that leaps from

Green

and

Purple

to

Turquoise

and

Lime

blend into a richer, earthy color.

It may not be the shade I'm looking for, but

Brown

is what I'll get. 

And it's what I'll get.

<3 ~ Monty.

=]

the lactose intolerant appreciate the lactose indulgent ; o o 2 ]

Ear Milk.

Thank you my good buddy, Kieran Windorf for sharing this with me.

Check it out and let me know what you guys think of it! I'm going to sift through it for the first time while writing this. Let's see how it goes.

-

I have a lot to do.

I have too much to do, actually.

And I'ven't enough resolve to sit down and, at the very least, make a list.

Be it from the day, or even from the past week or so, things in life haven't really gotten in the way as much as they've turned things "topsy-turvy."

Let's start small, shall we?

I've got school work to hammer out. It's simple: get it done, and it won't be much of any obstacle, right? Right. Okay. I'll convince myself to do that once I'm done writing this.

Next is the fact that I have to write. It's a little cold in my room, and I've got to make sure I'm not completely exhausted after this work - not like it's anything really that bad, anyway. I have to write for NaNoWriMo, and for those who are as enamored with writing as I, they will recognize the noun as a rather colossal event. I think I've mentioned it before in a past entry - maybe not - but the point is to basically write a book in a month. About fifty- or sixty-thousand words within the span of November, thirty days. It's challenging a bit, but what's writing without a challenge, right?

I've been stumbling about trying to center myself as of recent. I also saw that one of the faculty members at my old school has been enduring some pretty substantial trials. She's very much the backbone of that school, and to hear her struggle is even worse not being able to see her every day and offer her whatever encouragement there is to offer. Thankfully, the issue's been remedied, and if you'd be so kind as to just send out good vibes to Mrs. Mahan and her family, it'd be greatly appreciated. =]

Centering myself coincides with that because I look to others for strength, more often than not. And a classmate of mine [ who's practically a stranger D; ] reminded the entirety of persons who are capable of viewing what he said that people don't believe in their selves anymore. And that kind of ticks off the box from last entry wherein I spoke of my instructor reminding us that it's not about her - it's about us.

I recently started envisioning colors with closed eyes to see if it makes the connections to what I need when I'm preparing myself for anything emotionally taxing in a performance. It's kind of a... "testing the waters" approach, since I don't really know what works all the time. "Triggers", things that obviously instigate some sort of reaction, haven't really clicked for me yet. But in a sequence of colors, I found symbolism of what I need [ or what I think I need ] before I approach anything. Maybe it'll help you too, maybe it won't.

You won't know until you try.

Blue. A deep blue to calm or a light blue to soothe. It flushes out everything else and leaves nothing but the black of your covering eyelids and the blue that you're imagining. Hold it until there's nothing else.

Green. It's like the color of grass. Whether the blue is gone or stays, green highlights the surroundings. It produces the area you're in and initially produces a feeling for the outdoors, but whatever you need, you can create - it's as simple as that.

Red. It's what I need the most, and probably why it's in the midst of the five colors. To me, its connotation is coupled with passion and drive. I need to draw more from myself to get through whatever the roadblock is. Writing, acting, singing, conversing, etc. It'll produce an initial emotional instability for me because I'll try to let open all of the floodgates, but then close the ones I need the most and focus on them. If I waste what I need, what's the point?

Yellow. Yellow's like electricity. I think of it as raw energy. It gets me bouncing on my toes. It gets me where I need to be and at the level I need to be. Energy's always good, and I like to think that I can make my own, so using those already-opened floodgates, I can redirect energy, emotion and focuses into whatever I intend to. It's like a good pep-talk before a good game, or the rebound of success after eons of failure lined back-to-back-to-back. It takes a bit longer to prep than I've been giving myself time for, but it serves its purpose.

Purple. Purple's a color of sexuality. Everyone has a sexuality, and so it can apply to anyone. I use it for character. Just because any actor can fit a role doesn't mean they fit the character. And I need to start doing more research on how to approach things - everyone says using the character's personality and choices and behaving like them will help relate to the character. However, I find that impersonating anything that isn't one of my own, personal muses / characters is pretty ineffective. I'll use an approach like anyone else: find someone or something I can relate to and plug it in. Simple enough, right?

Now the painting's of a red house by a river or lake with the bright sun shining high in the cloudless sky with a purple car. Or something like that. Point is, if you need to find colors or do it for yourself in order for it to help you out, by all means. I'm not patenting this because I'm sure other people have found it helpful too.

If anything else, it's a good meditation tactic, I guess. To each their own.

Next, there's the uproar of the destruction done by Hurricane Sandy. I'm sure you've all heard of the news on Sandy, but for those who were out of the hurricane's demolition range, it was pretty bad, overall. I haven't done my research, but from my traversing up and down the state and communications with friends littered about it gave me some sort of idea.

Not to mention the plethora of images that are circulating the interwebs.

What's weird is that everyone's complaining about it.

I was at my father's house for the brunt of it. It's not exactly a fortress of steel, and there have been minimal renovations and upgrades done on it, so I'm amazed it was untouched for the most part. The area around it all wasn't too tip-top, but it definitely hadn't been the worst. The same thing went for my mother's home: the worst was the backyard, which had a few branches from our apple tree littered about and more dead leaves than blades of grass. Both households lost power. That rendered my father's household idle and forced to interact for the majority of it.

We played cards by a candle in a pot on a crate and cracked jokes at each other.

Families know how to make the best of a worst condition.

I went to my mother's for the day I was coming back down to school, and since the household has fewer members, things weren't much of any different. My mother and my younger brother and our dog were present and excited to see me well and in one piece.

I was pleased to see them as well.

Just down the street, one of my brother's friend's family's tree [ so many possessive nouns - basically, the tree ] had been uprooted by the ferocious winds and collapsed onto one of their vehicles.

It probably sounds really bad to say, but all we do is complain.

I've only seen a handful of status updates saying how things are going that are positive and upbeat after surviving such a gruesome natural disaster. I may not know everyone who was effected by it, but I'm sure they'd rather their lives than losing their phone for a week, not getting paid for a week, or even lighting in their houses when there are people whose homes were probably emaciated by water damage or something.

It may be extreme, but I like to think this as a humbling experience.

We rely on everything that we can't control, and it's really bad. Technology is an invention of man, surely, but it's gotten to the point where we let it control and construct our lives. Not that it's a bad thing entirely, because we've done great things with technology, but intelligently utilizing what we have for progression is probably an innate characteristic that not too many people wish to exercise.

It's so much easier to face someone through a text, to evade a conversation by deleting a message or humiliate a stranger by belaying an image.

Sandy was a force to be reckoned with, and it's not like we never get hurricanes on Planet Earth.

It takes more than one person to pull the weight of an entire race. If we took care of things - namely our planet and its resources, probably - the way we're supposed to, I'm sure we'd be able to endure things better. Natural disasters bring out the best in even the worst people: humility, understanding, sympathy and compassion. Not everyone, but certainly more than none.

I'm sorry to all of those who may have been afflicted by the storm even greater and best wishes go out to all of those who are struggling to thrive presently - even those not effected by the storm in the slightest.

Via Tumblr.

It's something we'll need to work on, and me just saying it over and over and never exercising it isn't going to change much of anything.

I feel like this is a pretty hefty pro-active entry, but I also feel like I'm making a lot of sense. Agree or disagree, we're way past the point where we can kind of just sit down and mull it over for a bit longer.

The little things count. Start small and work bigger.

Don't end it.

Continue it.

<3 ~ Monty.
=]

And I'll find strength in pain ; And I will change my ways - I'll know my name as it's called again .

Mumford & Sons - "The Cave"

Awareness.

How much do you actually pay attention to?

The surroundings you thrive in, the individuals around you - it makes a pretty landscape once you take a step back for a once over. I always say things, I always dedicate time to paying attention, though I never truly appreciate the meanings of these very things.

I miss my friends.

I missed my home.

I missed what I knew and was familiar with.

I actually thought about a few things today. The first month of college practically sped right on by. And, with a whole new territory, I thought a whole new environment would alter things enough for me to weave my way into a higher standing, into a better psyche and lifestyle. Fortunately, my mannerisms hadn't changed, which enabled two things: embrace and resilience.

I'm a practical individual who's most comfortable on ground which I've practically made myself. With a suggestion to "let the wind carry [me]" and even to let things happen and take their course, I interpreted it poorly and let completely go of the reigns - something I would never have been entirely content with otherwise.

If your first instinct was always to smile at a stranger, would you listen to someone who told you to frown or even scowl for no particularly unprecedented purpose?

Stumbling back to my feet, I needed to reassert my mindset. However, it's not enough. Adapting to a change should not incorporate changing nothing in order to adapt: it's simply ridiculous.

I've been lucky enough to have friends along the way who appreciate me for who I am, who have been the reason for my apparent aura, and who I've yet to find a legitimate fault within the realm of reasoning to condemn them for: each and every individual I've crossed paths with has taught me how to be a better person; hopefully, I've been able to create a symbiosis of sorts.

Two in particular helped my awesome (Mega-Chicken-)Monday go from just plain "awesome" to "super awesome-r."

Haha. I really do appreciate them with every fiber of my being.

But I thought of this entry's "theme," if you will, when I was given my critiquing for an exercise during acting class yesterday [ Monday ].

The first was a treasure hunt of sorts. 

The second was the response in one of my classes.

The exercise was called "Basic Object Exercise" wherein the individual would do something within the confines of a room in solitude - without other presences, without dialogue and within the actor's reason.

I was overly excited to have gone the day I was assigned to, but due to the others who preceded me performing for the allotment of our period, I was pushed to the next class, which was over the weekend. Not that it miffed me or anything, I was just a little less enthused. Of course, my anticipations of the weekend slowing me down were to eventually tinge my performance for Monday's class, though that was a bridge I'd cross when I reached it.

Fortunately, I sprang across the bridge in a pretty colorful leap, if I do say so myself.

My exhibition displayed innocence and joviality and liveliness. Oft when I go up, our instructor tells me that it's interesting to watch me. I search the meaning of that feedback nearly every time she shares it with me, though Monday's exercise was most certainly my best - note how it's been the only one I've shared with you all as of yet. Ha.

And then she proceeded to say:

"You didn't show us a part of your tragic past, but what it is like to see you in a different light: 'This is the part of me that is happy and warm and fun.'"

It then struck me that our prior efforts of trying to impress the instructor, as she had reiterated, no longer mattered, so long as it clicked within us and resonated that we were the ones who were learning. I understood the exercise moderately so, sure, but I was actually excited to go up and do it. Not to show off, but to do it because it was fun.

First time... in a while, I suppose.

That then lead me to think, during the midst of midterm scheduling chaos, of this here blog and how it's been abstinent for a bit too long now. I have nothing to preach to you, but I do feel like there was some kind of "lesson" to pick up from that. I've been a typical college student, if not less than one. I've been meandering to my classes, keeping up with my assignments here and there, and making more friends than I am sense of my education at the moment.

But my visit back home clicked everything back into its place. I recalled why I came here in the first place. I remembered the drive I had to get out of the house and make something of myself - not only for myself, but for the individuals around me, friends and family alike. I have no particular interests in going anywhere anytime soon, though I may have to make amends to the blogging schedule since now my days are getting busier and busier.

Or I'll have to find another way to communicate with you guys, looks like. One way or the other, I've got my buddy Erik by my side the whole way through, and we'll do our best with what we can. Dorming with him is probably one of the best decisions I've made yet, though we haven't entirely been aware of it yet. We need to sit together and actually connect in order for our synchronized being to produce what we desire. And until I learn how to break down my own walls as well as communicate better than the clacking of my fingers against his older laptop [ thanks to mine going "kaput" as of two weeks ago, attributing to my inability to keep up with blogs -excuses- ], I think I've got my work cut out for me.

I'm just happy because I've got a few more friends than I'd expected to help me out.

For once, I'm not spreading myself thin to support all of those around me, but they're extending their arms and pumping their tired legs with me.

#LSD&E
Laura Sam Darin & Erik
My main squeezes. <3

"So come outside of your cave walking on your hands

And see the world hanging upside down

You can understand dependance when you know the maker's land."

y o u n g ; b l o o d .

O n g o i n g - D o o m s d a y ; . . . ;

Where?

To the ends of the Earth, if you'll have me.

When?

Since the initial moment my thoughts, entangled in eternity, crossed paths with yours.

From the surface it rises, wide like a breath but narrow like a vision - the wonder to swell dwindles. Orbs would scintillate if their functions called for it.

And with winds of maximum proportions they die like short gusts, calling to another breath of flames.

Sweet, smoky flames that dance like memories of yesterday.
Sweet, smoky flames that dance like hopes of tomorrow.

That dance like the flames in the cavity at each convulsion of existence.

Life to be.

Live for me.

<3 ~ Monty.
=]

they say that { HOME . iswhere - THE|HEART|IS ~

Ingrid Michaelson - "Are We There Yet" 

"They say, 'home is where the heart is.'"

A color.

"I guess I haven't found my home..."

Your feet are covered. Your shoes are dark, not glistening with the spittle of morning dew that ordain the blades of grass in your midst as you plow through them. They protect you from the cold which seeps deep and claws at your clothed feet, deterring another rough start to another rough morning.

Waking up this morning was a task. You rolled, tossed and turned in your sleep. You haven't any recollection of doing so, either from the lack of sleep or the intensity thereof, but your body is tired. You've been carrying the freshly doled burden of obligation and expectation about, toting it not on your shoulders, but dangling from your fragile, exhausted neck.

Your eyes hang as low as your heart within its cavity, weighted by life.

Each step you take is shaky - indefinite. For a reason beyond your comprehension, however, you find that your legs lead you to where you are headed without any accord of your own mind. Your mind is elsewhere: naturally, it is aware of where you are going, though it does not protest at the pace you choose.

In somber tones, your strides are droopy and gliding slowly.

Steps. Three of them, concrete. On either side is a railing, black and sturdy. Over your shoulder, you see a black bench made of the same material. It does not appear to invite you as you wished it would. It is present to commemorate an individual of the past, one who is noteworthy. It does not wish to indulge in your company when you have much more pressing and impressive matters.

Your shoulders hunch forth. The invisible medallion of the world laced around your neck from an equally invisible thread sways. Formidable and domineering, you lean forward, letting shame and defeat cast itself over your head. You are nothing, you are beneath everything.

The three steps taunt you as you struggle to scale them. Each planting of your foot is slick, hazardous to your progression. The Fates are out for your blood, are out to capture your soul in an all-ending catastrophe that would cause something vital to perish and all consequences thereafter to collapse upon you.

Lift your head.

Before you is a bridge. The three steps lead to a bridge. The railing on either side stretches the length of the narrow bridge. It is also concrete, white like chalk and stained like stone. Upon the interim of the second step - one away from the ground and one away from the bridge's surface - you consider your options.

Either step down, or step up.

You have a place to be. It escapes your wandering mind for a moment, but your legs tell you that the bridge is safe, that you have walked this path before. With a bare surface and unyielding, definite length, you surmise that it is something to be little of suspect. Should anything happen, you can easily retreat to the ground you are familiar with.

The bridge does not stretch any taller than its own length. Beneath is a murky slush of sludge and natural wastes from the lake partitioned from it, vast and open. Upon it are two fountains: one spraying in a customary blossom of clear and crystal water, tall and broad with all of its pride; and another which meagerly supports the lone spectacle with a background spout, uni-directional and functioning.

The reflection of the sky in the lake reminds you of something that is not necessarily sentimental to you, but enhances the initial vision you saw. Connections made, your eyes widen and your skin prickles. Not from the waterfront breezes, but due to the sudden epiphany and physical affirmation of its occurrence.

You turn to back where you started on the bridge. Backpedaling with a smile on your face, you see your resolve in the miniscule beads of morning dew. "A pep in your step" is a bit overcast of what your movement becomes, but skipping down the steps is putting it very lightly. You burst internally in a swelling of thoughts - confidence, pride, exasperation, excitement, elation, desperation, curiosity, hatred, cluelessness, hopefulness, and love. In that specific order, you begin to couple literal objects in your life wherein these emotional connections are conceived.

You reached the end of the bridge with a wide smile. Your strides grew longer and stronger. Your heart thumped with sudden energy and your eyes flashed with immediate vigor.

What was it you saw in the water?

"Are we there yet?"

<3 ~ Monty.

=]