Hannah Gill has one of those voices that just melts your soul. She is everything I love about music. She places power into every note, and I’m blown away by the way it seems to engulf me. Her music, especially in her song “Lose”, create a full body experience. My ears love what they hear, and I can’t help but to close my eyes and feel every word resonate from my head to my toes. Hannah Gill is great stuff, so check her out and let’s give her some love!!
8/29/2018 – It’s a cloudy mess outside this office window, but even so the August humidity refuses to let up. The heat on the other side of that glass is enough to distort a few inches of air sitting atop the parking lot pavement, burning out the cracks that run through that blacktop, stripping them of their usual collection of weeds, leaving only spotty yellow lines to break up the otherwise charcoal landscape. The dry air is turning my body into glass. My legs, my hands, even my hair feels like it’s turning into uncooked spaghetti. With such a brittle body, it should come as no surprise that this Summer has been another record year for me.
That’s right! This summer I have managed to surpass all of my previous 27 summers of being alive to reach a new level! I’ve finally broken the 200 barrier! I’m in the +200 club! Hooray! I knew all those years ignoring my running shoes and eating nothing but flaming hot Cheetos would eventually earn me this amazing feat of human perseverance!
If you haven’t guessed yet, when I’m talking about reaching the next level, I am referring to the effect of Earth’s gravity on my person. More specifically, I am calculating the impact of the Earth’s gravitational pull in relation to my mass. The result is a number recorded using a unit of weight under the system of imperial units, the preferred system of the United States of America.
What I’m trying to say is, HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS, I WEIGH OVER 200 POUNDS, also known in my family as “a metric fuck ton”.
I’m not surprised, but I want to be surprised. This has been creeping up on me ever since I graduated from college. My life, while not exactly active before, has turned into a game where I see how long I can go without breaking a sweat. I’m stuck in a swivel chair for 8-9 hours in my corner cubicle, where my only movement comes from typing in numbers, clicking on other numbers, and the occasional trip to take a shit while getting paid. It’s the epitome of the American dream, honestly. Heart attacks in my early 40’s and type 2 diabetes, here I come!
But really, I am a solid 205. What the fuck. Why in the fuck do I weigh over 200 pounds? When did I let this fucking happen? That’s rhetorical, as I already explained that above, but I still struggle to comprehend. I know I was letting myself go, but this is a whole other level of giving up. This is being so inactive that I am actively digging myself an early grave.
I seriously need some change, or the next time I have a mental breakdown, my body will break too, and then it will be to late… or maybe that’s what I really want…to have no way to climb back up… maybe I just want everything permanently…
I think it started back when I entered High School, and I would spend entire nights just staring at my arms, wishing there was some sort of magical lotion or bandage that could erase all these obviously self-inflicted cuts. I would be so ashamed, I would write myself an angry letter, boldly declaring I would never cut again!
Of course, that isn’t how things went.
I cut again.
And I let the shame build up, balanced on top of all my broken promises to myself. So, when somebody else promises me that they will change, that they won’t hurt me again, I believe them.
I have to believe them.
If I can’t believe that bad people can change for the better, I have no more excuses for why I’m still here…
Did her fire inspire you to change?
Did her words make an impact,
Driving you towards that cliff,
Closer and closer to the edge,
Beckoning you to trust that she
Would be the wings you longed for?
You wished for daring adventure,
That breathless sensation
Of fear mixed with desire,
That chemical reaction
People call love.
Unable to contain that heart,
Which longed for a reason
To abandon all reason,
You wished for a second chance
To earn your wings
I truly hate how people use the term chaos to define things, anything at all. Chaos is wild and unfocused, being family to disaster in general.
“Real love is always chaotic.”
No, just…no. Not even remotely close to being an accurate statement. I see love as being fairly subjective, different for every person. Even so, I disagree with this sentiment on a fundamental level.
To start, the term “real love” is already a misnomer. Love is love, and if it isn’t love, then it’s not love. That’s how words work. You don’t eat an apple and say “Yup, that’s a real apple.” It’s an apple, because if it wasn’t an apple, we wouldn’t call it an apple. So if something’s not real love, we wouldn’t call it love. People do, of course, but in those cases we aren’t dealing with love at all, right? If it’s not a real love, then it’s not love, so we should simply call it whatever it is.
“You lose control; you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself.”
This might be the worst way to describe love that I’ve ever encountered, and all because of one word. Well, in this example, it’s actually three words; lose. You lose control? You lose perspective? You lose the ability to protect yourself?
If you are trying to define love by what you lose, you clearly have no idea what love is. Love is not defined by what you have to give up. In fact, if you think you are in love and you’ve lost basic faculties, such as control and perspective, then you are most definitely not in love.
Love isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Love does mean some sacrifice, but never a lose. Whatever you sacrifice you do so because it will equal a net gain. Love should be defined by what you gain, not what you lose. Love might only be one letter away from being lose, but when it comes to their definitions, they are polar opposites.
“The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret.”
If chaos is a “given” in your experience of “real love”, then perhaps you should re-evaluate what you are doing. And since when does chaos have a correlation with anything? Isn’t chaos, by its very definition, unable to be correlated to anything?
Chaos means, and I’m quoting the dictionary here, “complete disorder and confusion”. In even simpler terms, chaos means not knowing what the fuck is going on. Are we to believe that the greater the disorder and confusion the greater a love? How does that make ANY sense AT ALL?!
Answer: IT DOESN’T.
To be fair, I’ve never read anything by Jonathan Carroll, nor have I ever heard of “White Apples”, but I saw this quote floating around the internet on various blogs, Facebook feeds, instagrams and pinterest boards.
And I am worried by that.
This is a dangerous idea to put into people’s minds and hearts. They will adopt an unhealthy idea of how love should be. As I said before, I think love is very subjective, but all love should still share some common elements, and the very bare minimum would be that love is defined not by what you lose, but by what you gain.
Chaos is not a good term to define anything except for…chaos itself.
Love is not stronger because of the presence of greater confusion.
Apples are apples, and that means they are not white. White apples are not, in fact, “Real” apples.
Please, if you have any friends or family you have an unhealthy idea of what love is, make sure to challenge them. It’s for their own good. Reference back to this post if need be. Hell, just send them my way and I’ll rant for hours until they wake up to reason.
Finally, Jonathan Carroll, if you ever end up reading this, please know I am not attacking you as a person. I am simply attacking your idea of love expressed in this quote. Because it’s really, really stupid.
I want serendipity to smell
As my anguish ignites,
Its carnivorous flames
Feasting on my doubt.
The breeze is perfumed
With a sinister smog,
And even though it hurts,
This smoke is the only air;
And so I am left choking
On the ugly scent
Of a burning heart..
I prefer sliding doors over the old fashioned 2-3 hinge models. It’s much easier to slam the latter, and while I’ve had my fair share of rage needing an outlet, it never appealed to me as a good way to vent. Why, you ask? Well, to put it simply, I hate the sound. It’s a whoosh of wind, then BAM! And it’s over. It rings for a little bit, a few milliseconds as the noise works its way into every corner and crevasse of that classic 50’s ranch style home. I hate that moment. It’s not the loudest or most annoying noise a house can produce, but it still irks me. I think it’s because the sound is trying to come off as something that demands attention, but it can’t demand a damn thing, so instead it worms its way into my ears and just sticks to whatever song or voice was already taking up my auditory receptors. See, it can’t demand shit, so it can’t drive out the sounds already in my head. No, that slamming can only latch on, like some sort of parasite. It’s a whoosh, followed by a BAM! And the moment is over. Only it’s not over. That slam is taped onto the opening guitar of Crazy Train. That whoosh is lingering in the background of the second half of Bohemian Rhapsody. That BAM is an annoying echo to every bass drum kick in Forgot About Dre. Like, I can forget Dr. Dre, but I can’t forget that goddamn annoying, dramatic, pointless, stupid, rude ass, motha fucking door slam! I don’t care if you slammed the fucking door, alright?! Slam all the fucking doors you want! Slam them, break them, who cares! You won’t ever have to see those doors again, right?! You’re slamming them and leaving, and they won’t ever have to take that abuse again! So just keep going! You want to make a scene, make me yell, make me scream bloody murder, but I won’t! I won’t even notice! Just watch, I’m going to sit here and not move a muscle, and you’ll slam those doors and leave, and I won’t ever turn around or say shit to you! I won’t say a single word! You don’t deserve my attention! You can’t demand a single fucking thing, not a God Damn THING!!! So I won’t answer that slamming door…I won’t even flinch…I’ll barely even register the noise with my headphones on and my music playing…I won’t react…Not right now…I won’t give you the satisfaction. I won’t do anything until you’re finished slamming those doors! So hurry up, get it all out! I know you’re still at it! I can still sense it, underneath my music and podcasts….in the bass lines and snare drums and lyrics…it’s there…you’re still there…you’re there…