return to renew

Summer having just begun, I’m adjusting to longer days and less-hectic environment of Fayettevillian suburbia. However, reminded of “Spartan simplicity” and lightly taunted by the Walden-esque retreat of a dear friend (oh, how you do have all the fun), I have decided, in addition to working and seeing friends, to tear away from the technological babysitters who raised me like aunts and uncles (though I’m using one now to pen this), and give more respects to the children I’ve borne and fostered in those rare times I’ve previously spent away from them. I’m speaking of my affinities for drawing, writing, adventuring, and simply losing myself in thought for hours on end.

Just twelve hours ago, around 3 this morning, I deeply engaged myself in the unrestricted wandering of my thoughts. This trek lasted from around 3 until just about 5. Though I only circumnavigated the world consisting of my parents’ den, kitchen, and dining room, mentally, I made the hike through 2 years of my (possible) future. In doing so, I saw (possible) fruits of my fostered children: improved and (actually) acknowledged artistry, and a bit of travel. However, I noticed my writing was notably absent. Today, I decided to alter that future and add my “voice” to the pretty face I imagined myself growing into (a boy can dream, can’t he?).

Contemplating how I might live life were I to embark on my own Walden-esque vacation, I found my foster children topping the list of daily activities. Of course, this only echoes the feeling of discontent I have with their insufficiency in my life. So, already having decided yesterday I would draw for at least an hour everyday to keep myself sharp, trying new things, and occupied by the non-electronic, I figured I could also add reading and writing to my list of things to do when I’m not out in the streets. Having saved my literary anthologies from by my British and American Lit classes, I’ve plenty of great works to engage and inspire me.
So, here I am, “writing.” Er, bathroom break. Okay. Most likely, I’ll be doing these entries (I just now decided I’ll try to do these writings a few times a week; probably not daily, but at least once a week. Maybe) in the evenings, to record the days’ events. So, here we go. Exposition over, exhibiting initiated.



This morning, around 6:30, I went outside. Earth-shattering news? No. But, this is how I plan to start this “writing,” so shut up. Once outside, I decided to greet the early morning with which I’ve lost contact for the past academic year (staying up until 2 or 3 am with 9:10 and 10:15 classes, there was no way I was getting up at 5 or 6 to greet no dawn). I absorbed the barely discernible moistening of my parents’ driveway by the morning dew. I spun and swayed to the songs of birds, reveling in the push of the asphalt up against my socked feet (I should have been barefoot, I know). Then, witnessing what I believe to be a robin, slowly fluttering past me, I was reminded of the philosophy of Dickensonian Evanescence (it holds true beauty and worth are most honestly and wholly valued only in the passing of the live event).

I fondly remembered my first shooting star, seen with one of my best friends (for whom, coincidentally, it was also the first witnessed shooting star), lying in the bed of my father’s truck, lakeside. What a great second that was. Turning to see the morning sunrise, I thought how great it would be to share that with a number of my closest friends, just talking and reveling in the lapse of coherence or sanity prevalent in the case of the lack of sleeping which must have occurred for all of us to actually see a sunrise (we never sleep before 2am).

Holding these ideas in tow as I pondered what was on my mind, scrounging for writing material, I thought about the nature of relationships. And that is where it starts.

I don’t mean relationships exclusively as in boyfriends and girlfriends. I mean in general. For instance, my first thoughts led me to what was perceived as a latching period, where I was fixating on any peer with whom I was growing informationally or emotionally close. I believed I was interested in practically everyone. It was sickening and highly annoying. Boy was I happy when I realized I had, not romantic interest in everyone around me, but an appreciation for exhibitions of intimacy.

Okay, let’s take a second to define “exhibitions of intimacy.” By it, I don’t mean anything sexually explicit. Well, I should probably say, I don’t “just” mean that. Rather, I’m talking about getting close to someone; those times where you realize, in a moment of Evanescence, the true form of the relationship between yourself and a dear friend. I mean, just think of a time where you found yourself on top of a bed – be it of thread-counts numbering in the hundreds or lush grasses conforming to your frames – lying on your back with someone of either gender (independent of your sexual orientation) with whom you are closely affiliated or bonded, meshing words and souls, looking up – not so much at the ceiling or sky, but through it, peering into the realm where the play of your dialogues is performed, tearing your eyes away from the intangible show only to gauge your company in search of a curt smile following a playfully cutting remark or a radiant warmth borne of an emotional understanding.

I don’t see myself as a flirtatious or frisky (yeah, I’m bringing it back) person by any stretch of the imagination. But I really do like being wholly engaged, and simultaneously returning the favor. I love losing hours of my days in conversation with dear friends. The people I know are pretty amazing. They really are. Thus, in addition to spending part of my days with pen/pencil in hand, or fingers stretched out over these keys, or infinite instants lived, filling my grey matter with millions of memories of those who matter, I plan to keep in touch with these great people who are currently physically displaced from me. In the down time of my nights, just before hopping aboard the dreamland express, I’ll unwind with some networking. Drop me a line. Tell me what’s good. Heck, “write me a hate letter, dude – I’ll write you back.” I adore correspondence.

I guess this concludes my first writing of the summer. ‘Twas pretty long, including the expository intro. Just a lot of pointless rambling about random and insignificant thoughts. Oh well. Enjoy. Or disdain. Your choice.

In the future, there may be short stories, poems, other essays, and random excerpts from the aforementioned project types as works in progress. Hope you’ll stick around. If not, at least I’m getting practice with fluidity and various structures. Anywho, I’m done. Need to finish my designs for dsr and that shirt.

Take care. Out.