pixelated.me

I've turned on comments. I'd be curious to see what people say.

Human beings look for patterns. Our way of surviving the sensory overload that is everyday life is to look for familiar patterns. Patters in behavior, situations, people, etc.
I am at the moment in the same spot on the planet i was in a year ago. The same rooms, the same breath taking view. The pattern is familiar and yet the machine doing the computation is different. I am that “different” machine.
In the past year i have undergone more growth and change than ever before in my life. I am grateful for it and i think as time goes by i can wear these scars proudly. But tonight for just a few moments i wish i could have changed without loosing what i thought i had. Maybe all that really means is that i hope to think i have it again. For now i’ll take comfort in conversations with a girl from St. Louis and identifying with a misplaced Argentine girl in Mexico City.

it’s 2:30 am and i find myself pondering the nature of being a writer. to be far more truthful i find myself pondering my own nature. my tendencies, my subtle ways of hurting myself to feel alive. It is ironic that on the one hand i loathe the more obvious forms of self destructive tendencies i’ve observed in others. My siblings my ex-gf and yet tonight as i inched as close to putting the figurative needle back into my arm as i possible could without actually doing so i realized that i do it on purpose. I push these internal limits to see where that will take me. i allow myself to loath that part of me that wants to know the things that will only make it worse. I need more realism in my own life. I am dangerously close to falling back into a hole of vicarious living that almost killed me. I am struggling with a romantic in me that either needs to be falling in love or broken hearted. I crave that rush of connection. It has been a very long year indeed.

having just watched an inconvenient truth i find myself culpable of the greatest of oversights; being lazy, unaware. of thinking the problems too great and hoping someone else fixes them. I live in a small neighborhood in one the most polluted and over populated cities in the world. Mexico City. The neighborhood is La Condesa, Mexico Cities Soho to make a rough and somewhat crude analogy. It is a place that has become overcrowded with parked cars on weekends from the hundreds of people that come their to spend there free time lunching and dining amongst the many restaurants that have sprouted up. It’s a place that has exactly two public trash cans both outside of two 7-11’s. two trash cans for an entire neighborhood of people consuming. The predictable outcome is that the streets are often littered with paper and half eaten fruits or worse small plastic bags full of trash stuffed into the hollow bits of tree’s or street lamps. I’ve often thought to myself something should be done. but i allow my cynicism about my country, the corruption, mediocrity and self centered-ness that seems an innate trait in my country men to take over. So i just go on, every day. Hoping that someone else will take action, and that one day i might find a public trash can in which to discard of my apple core, or star-bucks cup. I am guilty of expecting it to just happen when perhaps everyone else is expecting the same. I feel compelled to figure out something of the system that governs my little speck of dust on this ball of earth and perhaps effect some small change so that some other me in la Condesa is pleasantly surprised one day to find he has a trash can in which to properly dispose of his trash.

I am up. I tell myself it is in part because i was in LA for two weeks and i’m on west coast time.
but somewhere i know there’s another reason.
a reason born out of nostalgia for a girl with blue eyes.
brought on by photos of another girl with green eyes...i know how awful silly that sounds. but perhaps as a woman i once loved said.. i am a silly man.
and i think that’s ok.

in any scientific test you need a control element. Some constant controllable variable in order to make sure that what you are testing isn’t being influenced by anything else.
In my case i just now realized that Starbucks is the controlled environment. It’s the same. Here or NYC. the general feel of the place is the same. Same green and earth tone design. Same light wood furniture. Same coffee. The only thing that varies is the customers and the people working here. And sitting at this particular Starbucks on this particular Sunday writing my script as the 5’ oclock throng of people comes in i find myself surrounded by people i’d just as soon have vanish. This doesn’t happen to me at Starbucks in NYC, Vancouver, LA...the people that go there tend to be creatives like myself looking for a good cup of coffee and a place to plop down their laptops and go about the business of being creative. But here....it’s all these preppy fuckers with their girlfriends and their seemingly never ending stream of banal conversation. They are all drinking pink colored frapuccinos. or there hunched over in front of a plethora of Dells, Thinkpads, Gateways, and other similarly loathsome PC laptops working on spreadsheets or chatting it up on skype with these enormous tele-marketer style headphones with mics. And all of the men have cell phones clipped to their belts like some slightly pudgy parody of an out of costume batman who’s kept the utility belt. It is now officially too full of people i can’t stomach to be surrounded by. Off i go.

honestly. i wonder.
is there such a thing as truth.
honesty.
sincerity?
love.
i really thought i’d figured it out.
but you see my exgf has this blog.
which i shouldnt read but i do.
because a part of me is desperate to understand something more.
and the only conclusion i’ve come to is.
she didn’t have a clue who she was.
and as such i was with a question mark for 5 years.
how can that be. how can you have a relationship with question mark? with a “maybe this is who i am.”
it scares me.
and this alone part scares me.

I’ve never had roommates.
i managed to get through 5 years of college without every having one.
i never lived in a dorm.
the closest thing to a roommate was the year i lived with my ex-gf.
but now, due to circumstance for the next 6-7 weeks i am rooming with an old friend of mine.
and frankly there is nothing as fucking awkward and awful as walking around feeling isolated and alone and having to deal with the roommate and his fucking girlfriend whom i only kind of like. i don’t disklike her. but i certainly don’t want her around all the fucking time. she’s here even when he isn’t. She’ll come over to watch TV or use his computer.
i mean seriously!
and most nights i get to hear the chorus of her porn star moaning and the sound of my friends hand slapping her rather plentiful ass.
right now i desperately crave to be around people that i feel connected with.
nothing feels that way right now.
except perhaps my sister. who more and more feels like my twin. she gets me. but she is also not here right now.

i’m working on an idea. an idea that is so full of pitfalls it could be awful but which also has the potential to be quite good..i think.
it’s a script.
and the idea revolves around and old concept: time travel.
i wonder how those star trek writers would feel when they would sit around and think ...ok lets do another time travel story.
i mean it seems like such a seemingly rich and endless literary device and yet it brings about such a sea of paradoxes and problems. i will admit though that it is delightful to be writing again. to have my head grappling with these sorts of problems.

I feel such a profound sense of alone.
I ache to feel connected.
i long for the naiveness of my youthful infatuations.
i want so very much to believe again...in those little details.
like love.
beauty.
truth.
joy.
i miss joy.
on good days i feel happy.
but i really do miss the purity of joy.
i think i last felt it walking down the streets of boston with a beautiful woman by my side that i had convinced myself was going to fall in love with me....she didn’t.
this is her in the picture.
i love fragmented pictures.
they somehow manage to tell so much of the story while revealing so very little.

This is the third blog i’ve started. One lived in my old .mac space before iweb came and changed it all. (i've since migrated this blog to blogger)
a second was a blogger blog that i wrote for one woman whom i use to love. it was our way of communicating all those things that werent said in person.
the primary difference is that this is this first time since i was 19 years old that i truely consider myself i writer.
through a series of live altering events i have been forced to realize that despite my foray into acting, photography, and directing i have never stopped being a writer at heart. and as such i decided a blog in which i would write anything and everything was appropriate.
now i’ll have to figure out how to give it an audience.