Perhaps it's too much to ask.

One day I will laugh at all of this: out loud, to myself, looking back on the insignificant actions and wasted time of my youth. You will not be there to hear that laugh, to reminisce, to relish the memories of growing up with the crazies. It will probably be Nate and I, wondering where you went and how you are, whether or not you accomplished your dreams and who you accomplished them with. Then we will pull out our matches and start lighting things on fire, because I get the feeling raw and unbridled flame is the only thing that can purge this indignant mood I am in.

Inspiration waits to strike at the oddest times, and unfortunately that is not tonight. Tonight I write with one purpose; to slow my thoughts to the speed of my fingers on this keyboard and distract myself from thoughts of the massive quantity of time I seem to have wasted over the last few years. I've found the one greatest mistake of my life to be committing to things, and more importantly, people. There was a time six years ago when commitment was far enough away from my mind to not even bother considering it, but even I have an emotional side.

I've found a small number of people in my life whom I thought committing to a relationship with was well worth my time and effort. It's my mantra as a boyfriend; open truth and my willingness to be there, whenever, wherever, for whatever. I wanted to make things work, at any cost to myself, and I was open to accepting that it's not really over until it's really over. So with this in mind I raised my periscope in search of another person to commit to, someone worth the strain and effort of the suits, ties, late night drives and the occasional 2 AM text message or phone call.

This goal in mind I found someone who I didn't expect to see stumble back into my life, but there she was! She is as beautiful as ever, smart, witty, athletic and single. She just walked back into my life with no complaint from myself, because, in all honesty, I had missed her. We'd grown up as friends, dated once before either of us was qualified to commit to anything serious let alone have a slight hint of knowledge as to what true commitment was. We slipped into an odd relationship that the word friendship cannot describe simply because we were more than just friends. At any given time one of us would want to be more than just the standard run-of-the-mill pals and try to make something more. This worked for the whole summer, an odd day-to-day pseudo-friendship.

Then I made a big mistake. I commited. I decided I wanted to be more than friends. Within a few weeks it appeared she would reciprocate. It turned out to be a one way street in her direction and suddenly every move I made, every subtle hint that used to slip by was an alarm telling her to get out. Each kiss grew more hesitant, every touch became a seemingly forced violation. We eventually settled back in to friends, but my commitment never really died. Though I am fine with the idea of just being her friend, it still hurts to think about what I am missing out on, and I can't help but wonder why it ended this way. I feel as if after 6 months of close friendship, two of which we played hide-and-kiss, that commitment to making something serious out of it was at reasonable pace. Now I feel differently though.

Tonight all I feel is the weight of 9 months of wasted time on my shoulders, the ache of countless hours of conversation strewn behind me, and the sting of unpaired commitment. I give it, they see it, and they walk away. It's a recurring pattern, every girlfriend comes into my life, takes me by the hand and walks with me for a while, but when I tell them I'll walk as long as they will they drop my hand and run off down some other road.

It's 1:19, and I have two quizzes in the morning. For some reason the time I've wasted trying to convince her to simply see me as myself now, not years ago; to think of my as a lover, not only a friend; to imagine what my best can be, and if it's the best for her; is over-shadowed by the realization that tomorrow we will both wake up... go about our lives... and she will never know what could have been.

And I will be left here to wonder why, no matter who in my past it was, I was left standing alone on that road watching them sprint into the sunset... my sunset.

Night, love.
Jon

An Eternal Golden Braid

What to say? What to write?

It's been such a long time since I have had anything worth writing about occur in my slowly ascending existence as of late. I still don't. Except perhaps to tell you why I am awake. Well... there is no one reason for me being awake at this hour. Actually, it's two things. This brilliant dichotomy; two completely different people, unattached in anyway, yet still forming two equal parts of a whole. But perhaps not a dichotomy, maybe a false one; these two are not so different.

Melodrama aside, I've had a lot of changes recently in my life and they have made something very clear to me. I just moved from my only home for my entire life to a new one, and I don't miss it. I have left behind most of my belongings, but I don't miss them either. I don't miss my kitten. I don't miss my dogs. I don't miss my old friends. I don't miss anything about my previous lifestyle save one thing: relationships. At home I was never alone, it was hardly possible. I always had a friend wanting to do something. I always had people I could call. But now I sit in my living room, reading Godel Escher Bach, and wait for the next day to come. I miss having someone to hold. The few people I know in this town are getting busier by the day.

This short story is a story about the dark and the light and why I loved both.

There were far too many things to love in the dark. It was perfect there. I see it and I can still feel its warm touch on my chest, it's gentle caress on prolonged moonlit nights. It's strong voice telling me this, and that, and sometimes more. The dark invited me in, it pulled me out, and where it went... I went. It ventured to share with me its secrets, and I listened diligently. I loved it there, in the places where all I had to do was sense and perceive. Where it's soft touch to my lips was all it said in parting when morning came. And for a long time I was happy there...

The dark was good for me, but it would not let me see.

There are many things to love in the light. It was perfect here. also. I can still feel its warm touch on my chest, it's soft hands in my hair while we lay in the afternoon sun. It's soft voice tells me everything but what I so desperately want to here. The light invites me to follow, where it goes... I go. It tells me it's secrets, but never bares her soul to me. I see here, where I was once blind, though I am wont for intimacy, for love. I am happy here...

The light is good for me, but it will not let me in.


Tonight I sit awake because of the dark. Too many things about it caught my eye, and more than one thing caught my heart. I was not enough for the dark to stay satisfied. She moved on to other... prey. I am done with the dark. I hate it. Yet it hurts to know that the only reason I am am capable of the hate is the honesty of the love I once had for it. It hurts to know that hate and love are so intimately tied as to have true hate be impossible without first having love.

So tonight, when I need solace and consolation, I reach for the light to help me.

But, as I feared...
at night, the light sleeps.

A girl, a car and a long drive home.

I don't know where to begin. It's the story of me and a girl, or at least the end of us. Not the end of our existence or the end of us as individuals, but the end of us in the sense that two, divided into two parts, leaves behind two seperate peices. I don't know how long ago this happened, the day, or the hour... it ended sometime around midnight, or thats when it began to end.

It was just another day as usual. She came by the house. We sat around chatting for a short while, sipping grape juice and letting the hours pass. Conversation was normal, flowing from topic to topic with laughter and quiet contemplation. Then we left, as was customary, and headed to a new destination.

Beehive is cold this time of year. The first signs of winter can be found in small piles in the shadows of the road or beneath large trees. The sun begins to set as we climb higher. I shift into the low ratio gears as the road climbs steeper and becomes more treacherous. This area of the burnt forest casts a foreboding shadow over the road. Darkness creeps in behind the suns fading rays. We reach the end of our drive and I pull off the road, backing the car to the edge. The lights dim and I slowly raise the trunk door, the rear seats already folded down. We climb into the back and gaze out into the abyss.

It is quite here... The only sound in the silence is that of two beating hearts and quiet breaths.

I lay on my back, leaned slightly towards her. She sits in a ball, as is customary when something weighs heavy on her mind. Her arms crossed tightly across her knees, she stares away. She finally turns her head and looks at me. A slight smile spreads a cross her lips. But she doesn't lay down. We sit in silence for what seems like a short eternity, though probably only an hour.

Something is different.

I can't put my finger on it, but something is wrong. I lay my arm across her waist, pulling her in. She succumbs and lays down, hesitantly. Her lips press gently to mine: one kiss, soft and fleeting. She climbs into the passenger seat, signalling she is ready to go home. I wait a while and then climb in beside her.

I drive. Left foot resting behind my right, right foot pressing the pedals; left hand on the wheel, right hand holding hers. We coast down the mountain. Wind rushes by. No words spoken. Nothing to say. We both know what happens next. She lays her head against her window. Her soft hair falling off her shoulders, covering her face. Scent of pipe smoke. Her eyes close.

Her hand slips from mine.

The drive ends, I walk her to her car. We exchange goodnights. One hug. No kiss. I close her door. She drives.

The end came, not unexpectedly, but exactly where we saw it coming from.
And there was nothing... nothing at all, that we could do to stop it.

The Rules.

There is eleven of them.

What are they for? Manipulation? Fundamental parts of the minutia of life? They just exist, and not matter what you do with them, they hold true. Examples? The ultimate goal of testing these was to find if they held true, so we looked for people where that would be the case. We found them.

The Rules:
1. People are stupid: they will believe a lie because they want it to be true, or because they are afraid it is true.

2. The greatest harm can result from the best intentions.

3. Passion rules reason.

4. Pay attention to what people do, not just what they say, deeds often betray lies.

5. Let only logic rule you completely.

6. Life is the present and future, not the past.

7. Deserve to win.

8. Willfully ignoring the truth is treason to yourself.

9. Contradictions do not exist in reality.

10. No one else can make your decisions for you. You alone choose how to live your life.

11. Caring and love always precede hate.

Some are made to be broken, and others there is no choice but to follow. Either way, take care in your decisions, think things through and follow your mind.

And never forget that your life is yours alone.
Rise up and live it.

-Jon

I want to save you.

But you would never let that happen.
My felicity and yours are found in different things.
If only we found it in each other.

I am going to bed now.
I think I will read all night.
No sleep; dreaming tends to lead down multitudes of pathways I don't like to awake from.

It eats away at me to discover that they were just dreams.

Selfish? I could never be anything less.

I have done nothing this week. Nothing at all. I have awoken every day at twelve. I have gone to bed every night at two. I have sat around the house reading page after page in book after book. It's just another phase I think; a phase of thinking. It's what I am thinking about that's really different though.

Normally I would lay here awake at night and think about what happened today and yesterday and a few months ago. Mostly a few months ago, I miss it sometimes.... No... I don't miss her, I miss what she brought to my life. Hours of MCS, Jack's Mannequin, The Rocket Summer and Yellowcard have derailed my train of thought and flung it back to the tracks, but in the opposite direction. My day dreams are of tomorrow. I am not content to do this forever, finally I have a plan, thought vague, it provides the motivation I need to actually give school some effort. And as for relationships....

I almost asked a girl out a few weeks ago. I liked her a bit, not much, but I don't know her too well. It wasn't so much that I liked her at first sight, but at the first words I ever heard her speak. She looked... fragile, almost. But above the fragility there was determination, that brushed it aside once it founds it's own footing. Hands trembling, tears rolling down her face, her voice faltering at the thought of some distant memory. She wasn't speaking to the audience surrounding me, it was to me. I don't know when she figured it out, but she seemed to know that I knew exactly what she spoke of. Maybe the tears in my own eyes gave it away. I wanted to hug her, but that was out of the question, out of bounds for that moment.

I still know little about her. But as long as she demonstrates that strength of character that it must have taken to speak like that; to weaken herself and expose her heart, she will be a beautiful person in my book.

Before I forget.
Someone tried to throw my first rule at me last week.
I threw it back.
Story if you ask for it.

Night, Love

-Jon

Taxed

My body is feeling it. I've started working out again, both in P.E. and after school. It's been a while. After my vertical jump stuff earlier yesterday I felt great, took a run in fact, it was good. But this morning when I woke up... I felt as if someone had beaten the backs of my calves with baseball bats. I can barely walk at the moment, which means tomorrow I do squats and presses, as well as some bench. The nice thing about working out though... I actually feel the need for a ot of food now, instead of just eating it because I know it's necessary.

My goal is to be between 155-170lbs by the end of the school year. Putting off the heavy vegitarianism for a bit until I bulk up. I want to serve 120. I want to run a 5:00. I want my palm on the rim. I want my palm on the ceiling outside the band hall. Nick and I are debating buying some boxing gloves and helmets, we match perfectly arm length and height, it would be fun to get some good sparring in as well as some reflex stuff beside ping pong.

My other class at the highschool is CW, which is pretty easy so far. Three days in and all my Public Meetings are completed. Benner seems to like me, he told me he was impressed.

Food calls...
Night
-Jon

Did I just say that...?

This post will be dedicated to my lack of the ability to arrange words properly in a sentence, or to arrange letters within a word, while speaking at a high spate of read.

Though there were countless ones before this...

Evan Winter:
Jan-26-2009
"Call of forty do"

Jonathan:
Jan-22-2009
"I can move it from here while it's reading!"

Jonathan:
July-27-2009
"What do you think I am, some sort of rind meader?

My Button

Tonight I relived my wildest and most painful fear. My mind torn between reality, the here and now, and my past; a drenched bed, silky white and red splotched sheets, a faded gray wire with one single blue button on the end of it hanging from a pump attached to a small metal pole, this machine limits my ability to press the button, once per eight minutes, with a quiet beep to let me know when it's ready. A clear plastic tube emerges from the bottom of the machine, running the length of the pole and onto the bed, from the tube to the needle, from the needle through a vein in my wrist, and in this vein is my blood. This pole supports my IV, mounted on four wheels. The wheels imply mobility, but I have none.

I lie silently on my back, watching the clock turn past 2 am. There is no sleep for me. To pass the time I have a cup of prune juice: the only alternative is an enema, I am not partial to either choice.

I have another tube, it runs to a machine as well. I cannot roll to my right or left because of it. This one has no needle, but still enters my body. Between my ribs, directly below my left arm, a half inch tube enters my chest. It runs in a few inches and then up, all the way to the top of my lung. Or at least where my lung should be. The collapsed lung leaves all my organs exposed to my chest wall, each openly available to be touched by the tube. The pain is excruciating, but after the first five days with this gardenhose attached to a vacuum I have adapted. Certain positions are more comfortable than others, and once I find a good one... I stay there.

The tube enters through an inch long slit in my skin that had very little bandaging on it, and the tube can move. Not much though, but it moves nonetheless, and this movement is where the problems begin. This movement is the soul purpose of the button which I all to often let leave my hand.

It starts with a cough, a laugh, anything where my breathing is short or sporadic. Worst of all is hiccups, they do no cease after one or two, I cannot stifle them like laughter. I drink from my plastic cup, prune juice is nasty, and I swallow air. I recline into the bed and am hit by the sudden realization of what I've just done. I reach for my button, hanging at my side, but I am too late. In the next quarter of a second the first hiccup reaches my mouth and I gasp for air, my lungs fill, the tube shifts, poking at my vital organs. My body rejects the tube and fights to purge me of its presence. Every muscle in my body tightens and releases at a pace beyond my comprehension and my entire body trembles. I lose control. My body surrenders to it's own primal fear, and it's primary means of ending the torture only fuels the pain, and the problem. Every movement is just another reason for me to convulse. It goes on indefinetly, there is no escape but through my button, and reaching it is beyond any strength and focus my mind could gather.

In the bed beside me lies my one hope. Hands that don't belong to my body, that vigorously writhes on the bed. One quietly reaches up grabs the end of the wire, pressing the button, releasing me. The pain slowly subsides, and my body calms. I collapse into my pillow; my mind is fogged, through the fog I don't feel the pain anymore. I struggle for conciousness, but it slips from my grasp. Then at last, sleep.

“In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge”

-Jon

One Nights Adventures

I sat sipping my tea. Earl Gray. My parents were having a few people over in a few hours, and as much as I love my parents, their friends I cannot tolerate. My original plan, to go to bed at ten, seemed too monotonous for a night such as this one. Tonight I needed something different, something new, an adventure... like Jurrasic Park! Which I have never seen.

And what better place to find an adventure than with Sean and Jon. A few text messages to both of them and they were outside my house, waiting for me. The fools came inside and tried to convince me that I would need more clothing than I had originally anticipated. Sledding is tonight's theme, they said. Silly fools, I will not bend to their will, I will not sled tonight.

We rode on for what seemed like a short version of eternity towards a destination unknown to me. The dank smell of rotting Tacobell hovered in the hot air of the vehicle, the best purple Jeep known to humanity, since the dawn of time. The travel up the treacherous roads of the mountain was an easy task for the Jeep and its expert driver. At last... our destination...

A wave of uneasiness swept over me as I was led towards the door. I had been briefed on what I could and could not say, as well as how to behave. I walked inside. Strangers surround me in an overwhelming quantity. Introductions are given and the fun begins. Wait... Christians...? fun? UNPOSSIBLE! Oh, by the way, I haven't seen Jurassic Park.

I spend the first half hour of our arrival watching my two slow-to-learn-and-play-card-games friends get beat at "Nerds" which I fail to pronounce endlessly. I "encourage" them with some "kind" words. At last the Secede from play and in order to spite me and my "encouragement" they decide to go sledding. I am left with a choice. Stay inside with the kids and play boring games... or go outside and freeze while watching them sled. I chose the latter. Did I tell you I haven't seen Jurassic Park?

We went outside, up to the hill, lit by tiki torches. The fools were already sledding when I arrived. My two fools though, stayed with me briefly before going off on a suicidal fight against gravity which would end in them being covered with snow. The fire at the bottom was cozy and warm so I hung out there for a while. Screams of pain and fear tore through the night as the riders plummeted down the icy slopes. After an immeasurable about of time we went back inside.

I challenged Jon to a game of Battleships.
I suck at Battleships.
I haven't ever seen Jurassic Park.
Jon is King of Battleships.

After battleships I flipped through a Book of Ripley's Believe It or Not, I want thirty minutes of my life back. Then it was back outside to the sled hill for more recklessness on every ones part, but mine. But they weren't near as reckless as when the boy tried to climb the electric fence in Jurassic Park, which I have never seen. The boys decided to sled down the road and I volunteered to pick them up at the bottom in the Jeep. Shortly after they left I decided to drive down and I realized the keys were nowhere to be found! Apparently Jon had them still, at the bottom of the hill.

Back inside for pictionary!

Then worship, which blew right through new years, thankfully we escaped in the middle. I spent my new years in a kitchen, in a house I had never been in before, with worship songs in the background, tightly hugging my two companions. And through all the noise, and all the distractions... to us... we were the only three that existed at that moment in time, we were alone, together.

After the songs ended we headed outside and started lighting fireworks. Sean burnt and imaginary hole in his jacket. He is the only one who can see it, kind of like how I am the only person to have not seen Jurassic Park. The fireworks ended and we gathered back into Jon's car for the ride home.

The car still smelled like Tacobell... and fireworks.

Never

I rotate the handle slowly and push gently with my shoulder, I move quickly inside the frigid room. I switch off the lights as the door gently closes behind me, the lock clicks shut beneath my fingers. The lights of the city shine through the fog and the window, far in the distance. The wind whistles through the trees outside and the house shudders, I close the window quickly and shut the blinds. Darkness. The dim blue digital clock is the only source of light. It illuminates my room with a soft semi-luminescent glow. I fumble across the carpet to my nightstand.

She pauses only to brush away the strands of blonde hair that have fallen across her face before returning to the task at hand. Her fingers fumble as she tries to place the small marshmellow on the hook in the darkness of the early morning. Gently, waves lap against the dock as the three of us sit with our poles. My best friend reclines behing her in his chair watching the horizon. The sun slowly rises over the tree line casting out the shadows of the early morning and filling the lake with a transparent blue. The air is warm, the red-streaked morning sky is cloudless, the water is calm, and so are we.

I find the edge of my bed and reach over to turn on the lamp, light fills the room and I am blinded temporarily, I pull back the blankets and sit down, exhausted from the busy day. Deftly I slide off my pants and shirt and crawl slowly into bed. The room is dark, and I am alone.

Together we row slowly across the crystalline lake. The water ripples in the light breeze as we travel in our small tin raft. It wobbles under the weight of the three of us. The sun is high in the sky, it's brilliant rays caressing every inch of the water. We stop paddling in silent agreement that this is the place, the water is warmer here, and clear-blue to the lake floor. She looks at us as if to say, "you first", and we slide off our shirts and slip into the cool water. We face away from her long enough to let her change. She splashes in beside us, soaking my hair and getting water in my mouth. She emerges from her dive behind me, laying her head back she lets herself float to the surface on her back, relaxed, thats what this place is all about.

I lay my head back on my pillow and close my eyes, the blackness of the room envelops me and I am left with my thoughts, of how, and why. Today was a long day between school and work. Not much time to stop and smell the roses, not much time to just relax, and think. But now I can't stop thinking about her, I sigh as more thoughts run through my head, all of them of her.

I dash out the screen door to catch her, which I do quickly; she had stopped to smell some unknown purple flower. We follow the path around the lake, winding and turning through the light foliage. Birds chirp softly in the trees as we walk. We follow the shore for awhile, walking over beached logs. She talks of how fun the weekend has been, how beautiful the lake is, how much she will miss it. About how she wishes life could always be this surreal, how she wishes that we could have a life like this continously, not just once a year. I whisper to her, telling her when were older we can come here, as much as we like, just the three of us, if we like. She smiles.

Never; such a very long word, and it's all that rings through my head. I will never see her again. Her face clouds my mind, the scenes of our last time together suffocate me. It truly hurts me to remember, but I know that it would only hurt me deeper to forget. She is gone now, far from here, dead. But she still lives in my memory, still breathes in my dreams. She plays tennis, she runs, she dances. All I have left to hold on to is an image, a picture frozen in my mind, of that last beautiful smile. That is all I need, to get me through the long nights. Finally, my mind can take no more, I drift to sleep, to dream; to dream of what we had, and what we lost.

Another weekend.

I hate this weekend. I love this weekend. I am torn between all that was amazing this weekend and what it preceded. I am in complete and utter shock at the loss I've had, and overjoyed at the time I had with friends. I guess they balance eachother. Perhaps thats while I don't feel anything at all, no pain, no joy, just the piano keys beneath my fingers and the weight of my shirt on my shoulders; it feels liks the world.

I need to sleep now. Good night,
Jonathan