Coffee House Writing #4

Before I get to the actual writing, I should tell you that I did this on the same day as CHW #3. I did it later that night, and it'll be very evident immediately. I just felt like saying it before so you knew and would slightly understand why I didn't feel like typing 2 of these in 1 day. Alright, on to the writing. This is intense and different from everything I've written so far. I feel that way. How you interpret it is all you. That's the beauty of it.

Is it possible to do 2 of these writings in the same day (*See, I told you it would be immediate*)? Apparently I can give it a shot. I am unsure of how many of my better ideas are tapped out. Probably a lot. Although I would be lying if I wasn't of the opinion that my mind is an enigma and I am never out of ideas. I just might have a hard time grabbing onto the better ones. It's like a cash grab. You're in that big glass box and the air is blowing and cash is just going everywhere and in your mind all you can think about is grabbing bills that have more than 1 digit but at the end of the whole thing you count about $43 in singles and you have maybe 10 bills that are $10 or higher. It's an unfair thing when you realize that's how it's set up, but it's a blast while you're doing it.

What was I talking about? I sorta lost my pushcart of though. See what I did there? I changed the unit of thought from train to a slower, older version. I'm running on Windows 2000 as opposed to Vista. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm running on something more witty and funny. Maybe like.... Curtains Vista. Yeah, I'd say I'm the curtains to the smart guy's windows. Man, I love that analogy, it's just too bad it doesn't make sense at all. That's what happens when you just write.

I'm not sure where this passion for writing suddenly reappeared from, but it is entirely too mystifying for me to even think about understanding. Maybe it's because I have to force myself to go out into public places in order to get these results. If I stay in my apartment and try to type or write, I have a million things to distract me. Xbox, internet, movies, Family Guy, reading a magazine, making lists, reading lists, staring at my DVD's, other unhealthy things like that. Well, the lists are healthy. Really healthy. If I didn't make and read lists, I would have probably spontaneously combusted by my 17th birthday. It's just something that I need. More than most things. I've made it a month and a half unless I go out in public. Lists and things of the like have kept a majority of my sanity in tact. I really don't even know what lists are funnest to make. Top 25 lists, sure, but the subject is what I'm referring to. Top 25 movies. Ok, what category? Horror? Drama? Favorite Actor? Best Performances?

So I'm tired of that because I'm sitting here and I just looked up and the painting hanging right in front of me temporarily caught my complete attention. From the little girl in it who slightly reminds me of my little sister at around that age to the tall grass that seems to surround everything to the word 'school' spelled with the 'h' on the school bus and even the bus driver who has a hat that makes her look like the Creeper in Jeepers Creepers. There's a lot for me to enjoy in that painting. I'm not usually a 'stop and be taken aback by art or paintings' type of person, but this one definitely stopped my forward motion for a few minutes.

This time to just me, music, the paper, and the pen really makes me feel like I'm a completely different person for nearly the entire length of the session that I do. It doesn't matter if what I write seems like something I would say or not. I'm convinced it's all me flowing through something 180 degrees the opposite of myself. Yes, I'm fully on board with the concept that me and a pen are the exact opposite, but when I do this, my pen is my right hand. I don't have fingers. I have one writing utensil and it sprays down whatever needs to be presented. The grooves and dents in my fingers are the absolute proof of this. I am an object with a brain. I am the ink and the blood all in one.

You know, I'm not even listening to morbid stuff and I feel like I'm being evil, but I'm just writing and observing. I am sitting at Starbucks and there are 3 round tables that each sit 2 people. At the first, to my left, sits a gentlemen who is likely in his late 40's. He has a half beard and a fading head of hair. To be honest, I feel like I've seen him in a movie before. I'm fairly certain he is a teacher or a professor of some kind. He just has that look. He's writing on one of those steno notepads, but white instead of yellow, and he writes big and double spaces every line. I should consider doing that. He's wearing a button down shirt that has a box pattern in tan, thanksgiving-y orange/red, dark blue, and a very soft green with a tie that I didn't even notice until I really looked. He has an American flag type pin but it has pinheads to design the flag. It's above his shirt pocket. He has an organizer and something else in his pocket. I'm unsure what. He has a few other items like a trapper keeper-like object with a few business papers and a dictionary of some kind. He picked it up while I was writing the last sentence and I can't see the title of it. I know it wasn't a typical Webster's type dictionary. Ah, it's a compact office dictionary. Neat.

I just swiped a fuzzy off my notebook and it drifted for about 3 seconds before clinging to the back of my hand. So right now, I can't say I know anything like the back of my hand. Now I can. It disappeared in another swift movement. Called breathing.

At the second table is a guy you may know. He's got the table divided into 4 neat quadrants. On the first, at the south part of the table, is the notebook that is currently being written in. On the west side is an iPod, upside down, and tilted slightly. Above the notebook, after the open middle, is a bag that normally keeps a pair of Skull Candy headphones safe, and a straw wrapper is resting on the bag. The fourth and final quadrant is occupied only by a glass of water, almost exactly half full (which is kind of funny at this point in the writing) and the naked straw protruding from the lid's center.

Finally, to my right, is a young woman, either a senior in high school or a college student in her first or second year. She has a plethora of things. A purple binder with the word 'Micro' in small letters up top. Just thinking what that word entails gives me the heebies. She just stood up, giving me ample time to observe her work space. On top of the binder is an open (page folded over) book and what appears to be an assignment sheet on that. The letters near the top of the assignment sheet have the closed off parts of the letters darkened in, which is a trait that I also possess.

The older man just stretched and smiled at me and the girl. I returned it. I'm unsure if she did. It appears that they are both packing up around me, which is slightly disappointing because I will no longer have subjects to write about. Very disappointing, actually. Yes, indeed the girl has left, and the man is about to. Well, I can't say being an observer of my surroundings wasn't a total blast.

A woman in scrubs just walked in. She smiled. I smiled back. I love doing that. Whether it's an impulse or a genuine day brightener, few things are better than a smile.

I just engaged in small talk with the gentleman that was next to me. Just a few sentences, but the fact that it was my first real contact with someone all day is insane. Things like that can just help me realize there is faith in humanity yet. Just a random person wishing you a good night, and you returning it. Most skeptics of this place we call earth would be quick to judge, but between me being an incredibly optimistic type on top of being someone who wants to be in the field of talking to and about people, it's just something that is very welcome.

So I just transferred Starbucks. You couldn't see it for reasons that if they aren't obvious to you, then you might need punched. However, I went to another place simply so I could have more life around me and lightly be able to feed off of it. So far I would say it's an improvement mostly because I saw 2 people I know through Pursuit, which is cool. The fact that I got a longer conversation out of the random guy at the other Starbucks is slightly sad. It'll happen, though. Those 2 seem fairly deep in conversation so it's best to just let them stay at it and let me do what I do; namely write with music feeding me power through headphones.

You know that feeling you get when you hear a song you haven't heard beginning to end in a long time? I'm feeling that right now. Plus, I'm pretty sure I had forgotten this little gem for the Top 25 Song Conclusions (According to Me). I am doing that still, I promise. I'm just currently way more content with going to coffee places and writing. It's something I am suddenly very dedicated. If I don't have work or class and I don't have my lazy clothes on. I will get the itch. Hence me doing this twice today, even though I'm fairly positive this writing isn't going up for at least a day (*EDIT* I was right *END EDIT*).

I can't over load my blog already. Wasting the good stuff all at once is never a good idea, because what happens when you run out of the motivation and the dedication? All of a sudden you haven't updated in nearly 6 months and your friends stop talking to you. Ok, that second part was added for dramatic effect, but you get the idea. I hope.

I feel like a lot of the things I write either shouldn't sound profound and people take them that way or my intent is to blow minds and people don't get it. Typically, I would rather have a laugh than a brain on the wall, but I'll take what I can get.

Bon Iver continues to blow my mind. First of all, the band cannot be listened to in a car the same way it can be with headphones. I just listened to their song 'Woods' for the third time. The first 2 were in my car and it was a big 'flibbity boo who cares', it's another solid indie song. Not anymore. Just from that ONE SINGLE LISTEN in my headphones, up close and personal, I can honestly call it one of the most beautiful heartbreaking songs ever. EVER. Bon Iver commands your respect. You wanna know how much it did to me? I was another minute of the song from shedding a tear here in Starbucks. I'm lucky it's 5 minutes long and not 6. I don't expect a single person to get the same beauty from that song that I did, but I don't care. Everyone has those songs. I've got at least one and it's captivating. My tear ducts reacted favorably. Well, nearly reacted favorably.

So I'm looking around and the two guys leaving right now are helping to eliminate the douchebag factor in here. Honestly, if I ever look as pretentious, uppity, cocky, and just all around douche baggy as these two butt monkeys look to me, please for the love of God punch me in the neck. All douchebags need a good neck punching. Some need a few punches, but they all need hit in the neck with a closed fist.

Well, I think I've touched base nearly every emotion and all around weird thing that you probably could in an entry like this. The ability to keep pushing these little writing babies out of my pen's vaginal cavity (OH YEAH THAT WAS AWESOME!!!) makes me really happy. It's a true fascination to me. I was sure that my ability to write for long periods of time had all but disappeared after Kent Tusc completely defiled and raped my will to write with their constant non-major related classes, but it is clearly here. I know for sure that's where I lost it. I was gung ho about journalism coming out of high school and it took one damn year of college to make me not want to write at all. Well guess what? It never left. It just went to an amazing recession.

I would really like to be able to make a book out of these someday. Like Kurt Cobain's 'Journals' only less evil and way more easy to follow. As great of a read as that book was, the only thing I can really admit that I understood were the pages about lyrics. That was 5 years ago, though. Maybe I should go over it again. Maybe learn about the inner workings of a lyrical genius just a little bit better than a 16 year old mind can. Worth a shot.

By the way, I don't think I've said it before, but while it's not critical to listen to the soundtrack that I put down at the bottom, it can really give you a better look at how I felt while I was writing these. It's a magnificent thing when music can so simply and suddenly change the direction that anything is going, much less someone who is writing about the first thing that comes to his head.

I'm gonna need a new notebook.

And thus concludes Blog 4 from the Coffee House Writings. My soundtrack for this evening has been as follows:

The Killing Floor - The Accidental
Melatonin - Silversun Pickups
Nothing Much to Lose - My Bloody Valentine
Our Swords - Band of Horses
Three of Four - The New Pornographers
I Summon You - Spoon
Next Exit - Interpol
I Turn My Camera On - Spoon
What You Want - My Bloody Valentine
Slow Show - The National
Failsafe - The New Pornographers
What If - Coldplay
The Bleeding Heart Show - The New Pornographers
E-Pro - Beck
Blue Ridge Mountains - Fleet Foxes
Such Great Heights - The Postal Service
Feed Me With Your Kiss - My Bloody Valentine
Clocks - Coldplay
Woods - Bon Iver
Black Wave - The Shins
Exit Does Not Exist - Sun Kil Moon
Is There a Ghost - Band of Horses
All I Need - My Bloody Valentine
Paris is Burning - Ladyhawke
One By One All Day - The Shins
Strange Apparition - Beck