i find myself trying to escape pretty much everything nowadays.
if i don't like it, if i'm not "feelin' it," if i'm too tired, i ditch. i check out and leave. someone once said to me that they never understood why i just sit back and took whatever was handed to me. actually lots of people did. well i guess i'm not doing that so much anymore. i think at first i was liberating and important for me to be but a little selfish. now, i must confess, it's like i'm doing it to just punish myself.

in the false pursuit of happiness, i found myself on the streets of waikiki twice this weekend--watching while sipping coffee from mikelee's and avoiding eye contact of drunkards with cat calls. the first night was a glorified defeat with manny, dan, and kelsea to finally have a sample of funnel cake. i had won the bet that it would take 15 minutes to walk there, but the stand was closed. story of my life. *enter shana's sigh here*
on sat night, i got enough courage to try again but at 9 pm i was glued, along with cheryl, to a group of free style rappers trying to out do one another to a live drummer's beat. it wasn't like that main-stream crap you hear on sell out radio. it was like real stuff without pimps, dollas, bling, and 40grand rims. you feel me? even though dan and i have juggled with the idea of putting spinners on alfie. it was interesting how these guys were just basically telling their stories or making up ones on the spot.

my favorite was a guy in a red hat, who looked like he could eat your face. he had that cold atmosphere around him, like you could feel it if he passed by you. he rapped at first about himself and then rapped about how much he was or is disappointed with himself when he goes through struggles. but just briefly. it was as if he accidentally made a rhyme about it unconsciously.
"...and if i could tell you all about the mistakes i made,
feelings i laid,
emotions and devotions i could trade,
then i'd never be able to look you in the face
cause i'd lose my pace
and it would leave me in such disgrace."

what started out as trying to get to that dang "world's best funnel cake" stand two nights in a row, landed me listening to some guy beating up on himself. in the pursuit of happiness you often forget a lot of it has to do with the pursuit of recovery.

i went home and prayed for him. prayed that he could forgive himself and whatever he needed to forgive. prayed that he wouldn't just turn from who God made him but turn towards who God is making him into. and then i prayed the same for myself.

perhaps there are times in life where one just wants better.

there is this monotonous rhythm to life. that gets really obvious when the melody is boring. it sounds as if its been raining for days and not letting up. i used to like the rain.

the thing that is completely distressing is that most of the time out of sheer comfort and/or personal weakness, we choose the beating sound on the window.

this is the problem. now it is time to fix the dang problem. or eat the irish.

you know, which ever comes first.

so i've been writing for class and i took out the entire day to really figure out what the heck i want to write.

i sat in my parking lot. kinda just observing things and such. and i wanted to write about everything besides the nature around.

i wanted to have some kinda awesome thing to write about for class. and seeing as the theme is nature, i don't really have much to write about. i'm pretty much blah and boring.

i researched the fact that i'm not worth writing about. yay. i got a lot done.

perhaps the biggest problem i have with writing is just that i don't know why i'm writing. i look at my little words that fumble over each other, expressing my altogether meaningless and meaningful words about natue, love, me, and the vast majority of random items this world has to offer. it doesn't surprise me that i find myself daily tackling with the idea of weather or now my thoughts are worth something to write down.

how often do i look back on my own work? not very often. i pose these questions and ideas to a meaningless void. do i want an answer? most likely yes. if it's not an answer a simple shut-up some how seems even more satisfying.

does my own understanding of my surrounding have anything to do with you? in my head i've already answered the question. no. simply no. why should you care if i decided to roll over my pomelo tree or decided to count blades of grass? at the most negative view you'd think i'm insane, absurd.

i don't write for myself or for you.

like writing on the sidewalk with chalk. i'm just writing, drawing, laying it out in truth just for the possibility that somehow you or i'd see it and think.. hmm.

Perhaps the most depressing thing i notice when i first step outside is this little crack in the cement. between this riff there is this small primal struggle that i believe that happens everyday on a large scale. i can see, which i think is most likely the last thing they are struggling for, a line of grass reaching out from between the two slabs of cement. i wonder how long it took for it to grow that tall? and it doesn't seem like it's growing any taller. i don't understand how they manage. even the reason why such a thing might happen. i'm not quite sure why it's depressing, but i know it doesn't last that long.