something about this just makes me feel old.
winter heart
Published 12.31.2006 by matt o.
thoughts as 2006 closes:
three years ago, on the night 2003 became 2004, i was living the dream. i don't use that expression anymore because you only live the dream once, and it's a short moment, perhaps the space of an evening, in which you are aware that you are living the dream and it's the only thought that you have the entire time. this is it. here i am.
it was a party to celebrate the new year: i'm half-way through my junior year of high school, have just performed in a band for the first time; it's nearing midnight and i'm in the process of "getting the girl," as i suppose they'd say. on the same night. because i'd made a resolution to "be more proactive" and talk to her. considering my age and circumstances, that was the dream. a dream of immediate results that to this day i have a hard time believing. a year later i was at the end of an emotional rope, much in the way i am now, and i was seeking a closure that i expected with the coming of 2005. it came, in its way, eventually, for the most part, and 2005 ended up being interesting for a lot of other reasons that, as i've mentioned before, i'm still processing on many levels. this year was confusing but not nearly as much as that. so i compare now to 2004.
anyway, at the end of 2004, half-way though my final high school tour of duty, with a january that would yield surprising and life-changing results as a precursor to a year of the same and more, i was writing in my livejournal. i still have it online so i can look back at the emoish, angsty ranting and cryptic phrasing (intended for the benefit of one person in particular, though i couldn't come out and say it at the time) that distinguished it. i go back and read bits sometimes and some of it even i don't remember what i was talking about, a fate i fear most of my writing will soon fall into: unremembered and uninterpretable even by its author. i wrote a year-end post in which, though it seems oblique and heavy-handed now, i managed to convey in writing (after an obligatory prose version of the weakerthans song "left and leaving," which graces my aim profile as i write this) the exact feeling i was having:
and just to get this out -- and it all relates -- these words have been running through my mind for three months now: you were the language of winter.
it was a party to celebrate the new year: i'm half-way through my junior year of high school, have just performed in a band for the first time; it's nearing midnight and i'm in the process of "getting the girl," as i suppose they'd say. on the same night. because i'd made a resolution to "be more proactive" and talk to her. considering my age and circumstances, that was the dream. a dream of immediate results that to this day i have a hard time believing. a year later i was at the end of an emotional rope, much in the way i am now, and i was seeking a closure that i expected with the coming of 2005. it came, in its way, eventually, for the most part, and 2005 ended up being interesting for a lot of other reasons that, as i've mentioned before, i'm still processing on many levels. this year was confusing but not nearly as much as that. so i compare now to 2004.
anyway, at the end of 2004, half-way though my final high school tour of duty, with a january that would yield surprising and life-changing results as a precursor to a year of the same and more, i was writing in my livejournal. i still have it online so i can look back at the emoish, angsty ranting and cryptic phrasing (intended for the benefit of one person in particular, though i couldn't come out and say it at the time) that distinguished it. i go back and read bits sometimes and some of it even i don't remember what i was talking about, a fate i fear most of my writing will soon fall into: unremembered and uninterpretable even by its author. i wrote a year-end post in which, though it seems oblique and heavy-handed now, i managed to convey in writing (after an obligatory prose version of the weakerthans song "left and leaving," which graces my aim profile as i write this) the exact feeling i was having:
I'm going to assume that such a common conception existed as this:
The years are a series of mountains and valleys. Every New Year's Eve is a peak in the range. It's narrow, the size of a single day. The previous year just then ending is a valley below and behind that can be surveyed and reflected upon. This is a day of reflection and Twilight Zone marathons where one can see back to the peak of this day the year before. One can see the hopeful younger reflection of oneself that so closely echoes the present self standing quite hopeful enough in its own right. The valley of the future, such as it is, stretches ahead under cloak of darkness. As the year changes over, it becomes time to begin the descent and thus begin the year, a dance with the darkness that by its very nature is not discernible for what it really may be. There's plenty of reason to be hopeful even if you don't know the steps.
This is the dead time of the year. The previous twelve months are weary of carrying the banner of a year for their own length of time and yearn for that number to be passed into the ever-turning pages of history. Much as the day darkens into night, unable to hold the mighty weight of sunshine or bear the responsibility of appearing in countless daily planners worldwide, so does the year lapse into the milky-surreal holiday season that we all will be soon shaken from.
During the night, often as the day is shifting its responsibility to its slightly younger sibling, who will dwell in darkness both at the beginning and end of its twenty-four-hour life, we dream. Dreams, some say, are the mind's necessary device of processing the events of the day. It seems to me that everyone stays up late on New Year's Eve. This day, we consider and process when still awake. In general, anyway, it's a change of pace. If there ever were a day for it, this is it. The day will arise and come of age in brilliant sunrise just as the year will. This time, they will do it together.
As for myself, the only thing I can say is that it was a year of ups and downs. Everything is really full of ups and downs, so I don't really know exactly what I mean in saying that. Life is never constant, and I know that better than ever now.
This dead week had barely been able to cling to life enough to produce the half-hearted sunrises. I haven't gotten anything accomplished during school vacation, save finishing up Bloody Mary and reading this weird sex book that I think I read just to give Jennifer a run for her money on weird sex books. Mostly I just wanted to get this year out of my system. Detox for 2004.
I'd like my new beginning, please.
-- subtitled "A few melodramatic parting words for 2004."
out on the lawn
Published 12.28.2006 by matt o.
i stepped outside earlier and i thought about how the simple touch of the night brings with it an awareness i don't find inside that there's a whole set of possibilities slipping by. home paralyzes me as i've said before, but in that cold-but-not-as-cold-as-late-december-should-be air i immediately started whispering to myself the sort of words and phrases that come to me in moments of fond or bitter remembering: that there was love here, or its condensed approximation that flared on summer nights; the special places i can still see right where the street descends with the hill. and on the coldest nights of deep winter that i can trace back in concentric circles of the months and years since: it was there too. there's an awareness to it, and the other special places of significance to other people all over town, all over everywhere. sometimes i know even my memory is slipping but it's the awareness of the places that brings it back. and the times. and the years. the new years.
i don't know what i'm expecting, but i'm going to try something, try to craft at least a portion of my life that can be lived here instead of waiting for the 17th in stasis.
i don't know what i'm expecting, but i'm going to try something, try to craft at least a portion of my life that can be lived here instead of waiting for the 17th in stasis.
guns for jesus
Published by matt o.
fucked-up christians via sadly, no!:
"In “Shooting Back: The Right and Duty of Self-Defense,” van Wyk makes a biblical, Christian case for individuals arming themselves with guns, and does so more persuasively than perhaps any other author because he found himself in a church attacked by terrorists."this is the craziest paragraph i read all day yesterday. keep in mind i'm currently reading a novel about jesuits in space.
cheesecake and fire extinguishers for the people
Published 12.25.2006 by matt o.
i knew what i was talking about when i said that the christmas spirit dies somewhere around two in the afternoon on christmas day, when the morning is done and the world closes up again. you're left amid wasted wrapping paper and the objects of desire fulfilled with a night ahead of you that is on the other side of time from when you can enjoy the holiday again. it's a night that seems best spent in but you know others are out and your excuse wilts-- loneliness so deep and grey that it can only be associated with the birth of christ sets about its grim work as the sun sets and robs the overcast sky of its backlighting.
and the house is cold, damp with the sorry slouch and whispered apologies of decorations which have just hours ago outlived their collective usefulness. there have been family gatherings both here and elsewhere and they only have the effect of making you long for family, but someone else's. waves of jealousy that shouldn't exist splash down at the sight of the stable lives of relatives with their significant others. at the gathering the mention of the name 'emily' conjures images of idyllic 1950's suburban landscapes, a little girl my uncles must have known, low yellow houses, summer porches and christmas cheer. winter has just begun but it feels like it should be over already. it is not yet january. it's not even 2007.
from tomorrow it is a stolen season, a state of mind: a long, cold spring.
and the house is cold, damp with the sorry slouch and whispered apologies of decorations which have just hours ago outlived their collective usefulness. there have been family gatherings both here and elsewhere and they only have the effect of making you long for family, but someone else's. waves of jealousy that shouldn't exist splash down at the sight of the stable lives of relatives with their significant others. at the gathering the mention of the name 'emily' conjures images of idyllic 1950's suburban landscapes, a little girl my uncles must have known, low yellow houses, summer porches and christmas cheer. winter has just begun but it feels like it should be over already. it is not yet january. it's not even 2007.
from tomorrow it is a stolen season, a state of mind: a long, cold spring.
have a festive festivus...
Published 12.23.2006 by matt o.
"the snow! the men!"
Published 12.21.2006 by matt o.
patty has quite a few, you've heard. a sampling:
winter break manifesto
Published by matt o.
to live this break, this month, this time. to appreciate what i'm getting away from, and to appreciate that those i'll miss may actually miss me as well. to know that in a month's time the joy of returning to them will overshadow the negative aspect of returning to what i dislike about this place. to read intensely because outside reading time will be hard to come by next semester. to keep my room somewhat organised so i'm not spending a month in a storage area. to call people i've been meaning to call and have the proverbial coffees if the opportunity comes up. to never fear the telephone. to listen to "left and leaving" for its narrative value and recognise that it closely mirrors what once happened to me, but not to live in the past and become depressed over this fact. to exercise dominion over creativity and try to process the last few months in writing. to stay up late and get up early, rarely wasting a moment and letting the wasted moments enrich those spent well. to lie in a comfortable bed and dream vivid dreams. to find a new voice. to yearn for spring but not despair in the present. to make decisions about the future. to start going for walks even though i can't stand to look at the places around here sometimes. above all, to make time pass slowly.
eel binder, soap factory
Published 12.19.2006 by matt o.
reasons i wish we could all stay vs. reasons i can't wait to go home, conveniently appearing in back-to-back moments earlier tonight:
moment 1: i'm out in the lounge reading when claire comes back from home to spend the night before her final tomorrow morning. i say hi to her and her father as they come in, and after he leaves and she gets settled she comes back out to the lounge to study. we each read in silence for a bit and then start talking about a great range of things: dreams, how i used to think there was a secret floor on top of my elementary school, dreams, the nature of time, hallucinations, "symbology," tardiness; i'd hoped i woud run into her tonight.
moment 2: i go back to my apartment only to find one roommate and a couple of other guys who don't live here watching some vapid movie and laughing obnoxiously. i grab an orangina, make a beeline for my room and i hardly come back out and have no plans to before sleeping.
distilled, simplified version: good conversations with interesting people vs. inane, annoying men. it's not that i want to get away from people (my usual feeling this time of year), it's that i want to get away from some of these people.
moment 1: i'm out in the lounge reading when claire comes back from home to spend the night before her final tomorrow morning. i say hi to her and her father as they come in, and after he leaves and she gets settled she comes back out to the lounge to study. we each read in silence for a bit and then start talking about a great range of things: dreams, how i used to think there was a secret floor on top of my elementary school, dreams, the nature of time, hallucinations, "symbology," tardiness; i'd hoped i woud run into her tonight.
moment 2: i go back to my apartment only to find one roommate and a couple of other guys who don't live here watching some vapid movie and laughing obnoxiously. i grab an orangina, make a beeline for my room and i hardly come back out and have no plans to before sleeping.
distilled, simplified version: good conversations with interesting people vs. inane, annoying men. it's not that i want to get away from people (my usual feeling this time of year), it's that i want to get away from some of these people.
hideaway from your intricacies [snippets]
Published 12.18.2006 by matt o.
i want to go to a store on saturday and watch the last-minute holiday shoppers, because i am whimsical.
--
i have to get up early tomorrow but i don't want to sleep even though i should.
--
i can't decide if i want to go home or stay here. not that i have a choice, but i'm torn on where desire lies on the matter.
--
i used the word 'ouroboric' in a paper the other day and in a conversation the other night, and i feel shallow and intellectually dry.
--
would it be a square?
--
susan lynch, catherine keener, and maura tierney.
--
i really can't write. i really can't. i want to worry about the future, or maybe i don't. no, i don't, but i do worry. i wish i didn't suddenly erupt on this issue sometimes, and i wish christine would actually hit me one of these times like she keeps saying she will.
--
i said a lot of things last week that weren't helpful at all, didn't i? i'm sorry.
--
i don't want to fuck up christmas this year the way i think i fucked it up last year.
--
"for far too long..."
--
looking out for yellow brightness.
--
i have to get up early tomorrow but i don't want to sleep even though i should.
--
i can't decide if i want to go home or stay here. not that i have a choice, but i'm torn on where desire lies on the matter.
--
i used the word 'ouroboric' in a paper the other day and in a conversation the other night, and i feel shallow and intellectually dry.
--
would it be a square?
--
susan lynch, catherine keener, and maura tierney.
--
i really can't write. i really can't. i want to worry about the future, or maybe i don't. no, i don't, but i do worry. i wish i didn't suddenly erupt on this issue sometimes, and i wish christine would actually hit me one of these times like she keeps saying she will.
--
i said a lot of things last week that weren't helpful at all, didn't i? i'm sorry.
--
i don't want to fuck up christmas this year the way i think i fucked it up last year.
--
"for far too long..."
--
looking out for yellow brightness.
put your hand over the side of the boat, and what do you feel?
Published 12.17.2006 by matt o.
kate bush's "a coral room" is a really fucking sad song. the last time i listened to it before tonight was back in october, one night when it fit the mood perfectly; i put it on repeat with the lighting just right in my dorm room and laid on my rug with the sun patterns on the floor-- then i called catherine.
the long goodbye
Published 12.16.2006 by matt o.
that's something that bothers me this year, that the nature of finals time means everyone will be drifting on a different schedule around the school if they're around at all and taking their final leave at varying times. so many of those 'if i don't see you, merry christmas' moments, leaving people on all sides hanging, wondering, since the chance has been left open, if they will see these other people again before the holidays are fully upon us. and who will you see last?
i remember the way it was back in high school, how there was that last day before winter break and they had that volleyball tournament that emptied out classes, how we weren't supposed to wander or go to multiple lunches but everyone did, and how we'd find ourselves playing cards in some nearly-empty classroom or mingling in the band room with holiday cheer, how i'd be given christmas cards by kate and [i think] alli and be surprised that i'd been remembered enough for that. and how at the end of the day there would be that moment we'd be waiting for buses to arrive and the schoolday to end all sitting together somewhere, all feeling that sense of resignation and tiredness that comes with the knowledge that it was the last moment for everyone, and people would individually get up and say goodbye, best wishes, merry everything, see you all on the other side.
i remember the way it was back in high school, how there was that last day before winter break and they had that volleyball tournament that emptied out classes, how we weren't supposed to wander or go to multiple lunches but everyone did, and how we'd find ourselves playing cards in some nearly-empty classroom or mingling in the band room with holiday cheer, how i'd be given christmas cards by kate and [i think] alli and be surprised that i'd been remembered enough for that. and how at the end of the day there would be that moment we'd be waiting for buses to arrive and the schoolday to end all sitting together somewhere, all feeling that sense of resignation and tiredness that comes with the knowledge that it was the last moment for everyone, and people would individually get up and say goodbye, best wishes, merry everything, see you all on the other side.
reading day
Published 12.13.2006 by matt o.
visited a spookily empty campus center this morning and got a concrete image of what the inside of my head will feel like now that our time has passed until mid-january. just as i wrote this krystin sent me an instant message saying that after one day she was already having withdrawals and i know how she feels. the yankee swap was a fine grace note to the group that has developed; i have a feeling next semester will be different. we may get kicked out for our loudness and our composition may change based on everyone's new schedule, but we'll always have the last couple of months and we'll always know that it felt like so much longer.i took up a windowside seat at the library a little later on after a walk through the spectral campus on the limbo day between classes ending and finals beginning and built up more of a work ethic than i've had in college up to this point. it was a work ethic founded upon a need for distraction more than anything else, but i was also having fun with what i had to write.
i'm keeping myself around on campus for an artificially long time to avoid going home. it'll be lonely and it'll be empty but at least it won't be home. yet.
at least that's what we say we are doing
Published 12.12.2006 by matt o.
last day of classes today, can't not be happy about that. or maybe i can, especially with all of this holiday merriment-- it's bittersweet this time of year. i'm told i should be far more upset than i actually am, but after my inital moments of dazed wandering the other night everything has become clearer and a little easier to navigate.
yesterday was a bad day following up on a bad weekend, but it was one of those times. i think we all have them: when people you don't actually know that well become closer to you in the course of a few hours because they must sense something is wrong, or maybe it's just the circumstances of the day, and you find yourself entering the world of another for a brief visit. it's the same thing as meeting people, except these are people you've seen before, perhaps even talked to. i could write a book about yesterday, whether it was reality or just my perception that a strand of helpful people full of companionship and good conversation wove itself through the day and made everything that much easier.
yesterday was a bad day following up on a bad weekend, but it was one of those times. i think we all have them: when people you don't actually know that well become closer to you in the course of a few hours because they must sense something is wrong, or maybe it's just the circumstances of the day, and you find yourself entering the world of another for a brief visit. it's the same thing as meeting people, except these are people you've seen before, perhaps even talked to. i could write a book about yesterday, whether it was reality or just my perception that a strand of helpful people full of companionship and good conversation wove itself through the day and made everything that much easier.
the cartoon version of my father
Published 12.10.2006 by matt o.
except he's not a doctor.
via family guy.
via family guy.
a winter talisman
Published 12.08.2006 by matt o.
powdery flecks of snow dancing in the air at awkward angles and i want to compose a poem, that's how i was thinking after walking against the wind early this morning and ending up looking out a window in meier hall with a few moments to spare before the day would truly begin. i didn't get anywhere with that - do i ever? - but the moment set me up with a need for serious conversation. just to linger for a while with the cold outside and no one else around but one other person and for us to talk about things that weigh on the mind and pass judgements and laugh about the strangeness of it all.
i keep thinking about the semester being nearly over and how different it was last year: the night the honours seminar ended (a late class over at 5, wednesdays) and catherine and i went over to the bookstore with katie and talked about how we were maybe too smart for this place and maybe we'd all be getting out soon, and i'd just written a short story i was moderately proud of and there was the definite sense that a period of my life was ending even though it wasn't quite through yet. i didn't know yet how the next one would be starting either, i just knew that i wanted to slip back into the past and regain a lost youth and eat breakfast in the middle of the night. had it snowed yet then? i know we'd been looking up at the moon, and it had been cold, and the nights in that period had this hue to them, this...
what i look forward to now is the holiday warmth, our second annual festivus dinner at home and christmas eve and that descending feeling of disappointment as christmas day winds to a close. december always passes too quickly and it's over before i can settle into a place where i can sit next to a window with someone i care about, watching the falling snow and discussing the falling year.
i keep thinking about the semester being nearly over and how different it was last year: the night the honours seminar ended (a late class over at 5, wednesdays) and catherine and i went over to the bookstore with katie and talked about how we were maybe too smart for this place and maybe we'd all be getting out soon, and i'd just written a short story i was moderately proud of and there was the definite sense that a period of my life was ending even though it wasn't quite through yet. i didn't know yet how the next one would be starting either, i just knew that i wanted to slip back into the past and regain a lost youth and eat breakfast in the middle of the night. had it snowed yet then? i know we'd been looking up at the moon, and it had been cold, and the nights in that period had this hue to them, this...
what i look forward to now is the holiday warmth, our second annual festivus dinner at home and christmas eve and that descending feeling of disappointment as christmas day winds to a close. december always passes too quickly and it's over before i can settle into a place where i can sit next to a window with someone i care about, watching the falling snow and discussing the falling year.
i'd forgotten what it really feels like
Published 12.06.2006 by matt o.
oh i know she rose early
for i heard her sweet singing
echoing over the flowering heath
she gathered the willow
the elder, the linden
the holly, the ivy
twined into a wreath
oh, the notes you are forming
i long to possess them
they leap from your tongue
and ascend on the breeze
had i risen early
from bed in the morning
then i would have held all the notes you release
and she gave me the wreath
and she sang like a starling
my fingers entwined in
her feathery hair
but she shrugged me away
and said 'alasdair, darling,
when a song's on the wind
it belongs to the air.'
see polly, she sings as she sits at the spinning wheel
mary, she sings as she skips with her rope
and johnny, he sings as he fetches the herring kreel
and billy, he sings as he rolls down the slope
and the whole house is singing
the whole house is singing
the rafters are ringing and the timbers are thrummed
the whole house is singing
the whole house is singing
and i overhear them and this is their song:
we are stronger when the moon grows in the skies
and the moon causes the tide to rise and rise
and the wheat carried upon the drawing foam
we will gather to bedeck our happy home
-- alasdair roberts, "the whole house is singing"
saturday moment of ruthlessness
Published 12.02.2006 by matt o.
the decemberists - "the culling of the fold" (live), featuring colin meloy screaming into someone's cell phone.
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also me
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about
-
me: aspiring writer, 'music nerd,' seeker of beautiful moments, college student, armchair theologian, nominal quaker, 'the diet coke of emo with no caffeine,' eclectic left-winger, and generally someone who thinks about things too much.
this: unedited, uninhibited, and uninteresting thoughts, nebulous stream-of-consciousness ramblings of memory, inside jokes, obscure references, emotional paroxysms, and slices of life. sometimes there are pictures.
what people are saying about me
'...something entirely different from anybody i've ever known.'
- krystin
'...a nice boy.'
- laura
'...a maoist!'
- greg
'...elevate[s] emotional self-destructiveness to an art form.'
- greg
'...my favorite pixie.'
- lizzie
'...a damn good conversationalist.'
- kelly
'...blue-raspberry [pie]! or or maybe cranberry raisin.'
- becky
'i feel like a wide eyed kid in the socialist candy store...and [he's] the clerk.'
- christine
'...far too sensible and perceptive to be straight.'
- catherine
'...not british.'
- catherine
'...would have made a good medieval monk. one of the non-crooked ones.'
- catherine
'...should have been born a dolphin.'
- elizabeth
ATOM 0.3
'life was just a series of things i'd read about coming true.'
-- michelle tea, the chelsea whistle