Crazy (Not So) Little Thing Called LOVE

I've been trying to come to terms with my love life recently, and let me tell you it's a pretty tough task. What really scares me though is that this love crisis feels to me like a generational issue. Our hook-up culture has planted the idea in most people's heads that love is nonexistent, and this concept really bothers me.

I once asked my mom how she knew my dad was the one, and she gave me the most cliche, but still at the same time romantic answer ever. She told me she knew she loved my dad and that he was her soulmate when she noticed that he had completely changed her perspective on life, and she in turn had changed his. The example she gave me was that my dad loved the artwork of Martiros Saryan, but she at first thought his art was to colorful and unpleasant. But after spending time with my dad (who happens to be an artist himself) and talking to him/viewing art, it randomly occurred to her that she out of no where began understanding the use of excess colors and the beauty in his artwork.She told me she still loved my dad, mind you my parents are the least affectionate people towards each other so this statement really shocked me. She said that he has become a part of her, something she will never lose.

(A painting by Martiros Saryan)

Now you are probably wondering why the hell did he ask his mom this? Well because at the time I thought I was in love with someone to that extent. I've come to understand that I have a problem when it comes to love. In the past couple of years I've fallen in and out of "love" with a ridiculous amount of people. When I first started writing poetry in college, I would only muse off of women. But sadly my true muse was the misery that was caused by these women. 

(Edvard Munch- Seperation)

I seem to unconsciously put myself in these toxic situations, with women who are obviously not stable nor normal, that end up damaging me. But I really can't complain. Most of my poems that I consider good are all either inspired by or about these toxic women. I even unintentionally disregard the warnings my two closest friends give me when it comes to the pursuit of these woman, all because it really does help me write. So if I ever attempt to court you, remember this; I really am a hopeless romantic, I can cook, if you treat me like shit I'll write some damn good poetry that will be either posted on my blog or published somewhere (E.g: most of my currently published work), or if you treat me well I'll write some mediocre love sonnets that will only be read by you. 

I'll leave you all with a love related picture (which is from one of my favorite movies), my favorite love related quote, and a great song about what my love life is currently like.

(Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)

"A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover." - Charles Bukowski

To Be Continued.....

Size Matters.

(L'Origine du monde- The origin of the world: Gustave Courbet)

I was at the supermarket with my mom the other day, and I saw apples from China. It got me thinking about how weird and odd it would be to walk into a market in China. How I would have trouble recognizing a lot of the fruits and vegetables that are so normal there, but completely alien to me. That made me realize how crazy big the earth actually is. 

A few weeks ago I stayed up all night to watch the programs BBC one had scheduled leading up to the F.A. Cup. For those that don't know what the Football Associations cup is; it is the the oldest soccer tournament in world where all of the clubs in England (from the amateur level to the pros) play each other till the final that is hosted at the New Wembley. The club I've been supporting for a very long time, Arsenal, made it to the final and won the trophy for a historic 15th time. The programs leading up to the game were a lot like the pre-superbowl stuff we watch in the US, but on a completely different level. The entire country of England stood still to watch two teams play a match of soccer. The build up made me realize I will never know what its like growing up in England, in a culture so heavily invested in soccer and so different to the one I grew up in. I will never know what it means to take my kids to derby matches and have them cheer on our local club. I will never know what its like living under a royal family. All of this made me realize again that the human experience is so damn different all across the world. Of course me being me, I felt a little depressed that I wouldn't get to experience the world completely. 

The weird thing is there are times where the Earth feels so big, but sometimes things happen that it makes it seem that it is actually tiny. 

It was 4 a.m. and I couldn't sleep. I got a text message from a friend I hadn't spoken to in a very long time. The crazy thing is she was in Italy and I was obviously in LA. At that exact moment I was on the shiter,while she was in her room, Thousands of miles apart. But I could see her typing, and it felt like we were right there with each other, which completely blew my mind. 

What bothered me was that our conversation was so detached and forced. We where on different parts of the planet communicating instantly and we let that miracle go to waste with an awkward conversation. 

At times we don't realize how crazy connected we are with the rest of the world.We find ourselves on a small spec of sand floating through the enormous universe, but that spec of sand feels huge to us. We have lost true human connection, when we have the technology to really connect. We have given ourselves and the generations to follow multiple personality disorders. We create our own (albeit fake) image online, we lie to each other, and feed off everyone else's lies. For some it gets to the point where they lose their true identity, because they are constantly stuck pretending to be the same person they are on Facebook and/or Instagram. I'm rambling, but thats what I re-started this blog for. Sorry for the misleading title and photo. Even though in a way Size (of the Earth) does matter, and that painting is titled the Origin of the World. Just listen to the song posted below and consider your phone (smart or not) the world. 

Freud, Dreaming, and the Absurd

Summer is finally here. That means no more required reading, essays, long drives to school, or pointless socializing. So obviously I've had a lot more free time, and much needed rest. My sleeping pattern has gotten even more irregular than ever before, even though I have nothing to stay up for. But I've been sleeping nonetheless, and dreaming more.

They say you dream every night, but you don't always remember your dreams when you wake up. That hasn't been my case recently. I've been having two recurring dreams that are extremely different from one another.

The first one is tranquil and beautiful, a lot like the Rachmaninov link posted above. I find myself in the country. I really don't know exactly where, but it is definitely a rural area. I am walking through a field of wheat. The air is fragrant with sweet smells, and the sun is shining brightly. I feel at complete peace, actually more so happy which in itself is something completely new and alien to me. The funny thing is in the conscious world I am happy also. I haven't felt this way in a very long time. My happiness is uneasy at times, it makes me feel like something is wrong. But I can't really complain much. This mood has been helping me write more frequently. I've been working tirelessly on my novella (A Love Supreme), and I have been writing a lot of exciting poetry. Poetry that surprises me every time I re-read them, because I've never tried writing on the topics I've been writing about and they are actually surprisingly really good poems. After a long walk in the wheat field, I end up sitting under a large apple tree. This is where my dream slightly frightens me, because of the parallels it has with a certain DMT trip. The wind picks up, and the cool breeze sounds like flutes playing in the distance. Then I wake up, thrust back into reality with a smile.

But let us not forget one important thing, when your highs are fantastically high your lows are lower than ever. My mood swings are back and getting worse. Obviously the awkward happiness I've been feeling needed to have its drawbacks.

The second recurring dream I've been having is a complete polar opposite of the first tranquil dream.

I am in a dark tunnel, a train tunnel to be specific because certain nights I can hear the whistle and horn of a train in the distance. The tunnel is dark and damp, there have been nights where I wake up shivering even though this spring has been the warmest spring I've ever experienced. The tunnel is loud, filled with screams coming from both sides of the walls. These screams are unintelligible, they are just loud. So loud that it feels as if the sound waves are piercing through my skin and rattling my bones. My pace gets faster and faster as the screams get louder and louder. Then all of a sudden they stop. The only noise I can hear is my racing heart and my breath. The cold silence becomes unbearable and I begin to scream. From a far distance I hear a familiar voice, one I haven't heard in close to 7 years. A friend, one who I lost to the deadly grips of cancer, begins to call my name. I start running again towards this voice. as I get deeper into the tunnel I see a light in the far distance, the closer I get the louder his voice gets. Then I wake up; cold, shaking, and dripping in sweat. These are the days where I go to bed hoping I don't wake up the next day. I wake up feeling the worst type of sadness. The type that sits in the bottom of your stomach throughout the day, the type that drowning yourself in booze doesn't even help anymore, the type that is so crippling that all you want to do is shrivel up and cease to exist, the type that hurts so so bad.

(Ironically rediscovered this song because of my dream)

I can try and explain both dreams, but don't understand why they coexist. Freud's essays on dreaming and melancholy provide some explanation to the meanings of these dreams, but I'm no expert on Freud or psychoanalysis. It all seems strikingly absurd to me, but maybe I'll figure it all out and you'll be the first to know when I do.