Jack Williams

Something I wrote awhile ago but never posted, mostly because I thought it sucked.  But reading over it now, after it had awhile to age in the bottle, so to speak, I figured what the hell.  So if you'd like, please read, and if you'd like to make my day and have any sort of feedback--impression,  suggestions, whatever--please pass it on to me.  All ink is good ink, the piece could use the help.  It doesn't even have a title yet...

I slept like the sand,

Like the peace of nonexistence.

How I wished I’d never wake… 
For just that moment, barest instant, 
I was eternal motedom, 
Drifting and tumbling through limitless landscapes,

Splashed with sensation like an unfinished watercolor.

The world in swooping sketch lines,

I laughed aloud in silence.

 

For a concrete second that stretched forever,

Not knowing I was already there,

I lay placidly at your feet,

And closed my eyes in contentment.

And as I fell asleep within myself I felt

Myself dissolve.

I am the sand.

I am the dune.

I am the desert.

What is thirst

But another gift from your hand?

- -

 

And then there's this kid, Mondaiji.  Such an emo, but for some reason I love her work.  I guess the little emo inside likes hearing its language sometimes.  I personally think this is one of the best pieces she's made, the last line is shockingly powerful, at least to me--

Just tell me,
Over the phone,
How much you'll
Never feel about me.

exactly.

- -


Well, besides my recent literary kick, not much news to report from Cali.  I've already started work at a coffee shop on base, and other than that I spend most of my time idly hiding from the heat outside and wishing I had jiu-jitsu.  I can't wait for school to start.  Now that I'm over the fear and nervousness, I have this great big neon sign in my head every time I visit the subject that says "omfg boys!"  I'm so excited.

I was reading someone else's poetry online, and as my well of creative energy was being rapidly refilled, I read something that sparked a reaction in me.  This is a first draft, and I sense it's not really enough to be called a poem, it's not complete.  But an interesting snippet came pouring out of my fingers.  Feel free to disregard, honestly I'm just too lazy to open a word document to save it on.  (Hey, but now all traces of it won't fall out of my pocket and be lost to the crushing black oblivion of uncaring society.  There's a silver lining.) But if you care to listen, here's, I think, the portion of my ramblings that's most presentable.

- -

Ahh, but night!

A life alone it leads, the night,
Whose secrets span the stars.
He glimmers, smiling sparingly,
She roils with furious force.

I've heard it said that night is dull,
Or sad, or Satan's day.
But night is only more reserved,
and in that, its beauty lay

Okay, this sore thing is starting to get old.  I don't mind usually, it actually makes me feel happy and accoplished.  The sensation is a reminder that I'm burning calories and pushing my body to be stronger.  But everything hurts today.  It's funny, my mind keeps thinking I can take it and keep working, but my body won't.  I just get so frustrated with myself, I'm so weak.  

I'll be strong one day.  I'll be able to finish a three hour class without breaks, and get up the next morning without hissing and wincing.  My body will learn to be fast and smart.  

But until then, I think I'll get off the computer and go hunt down some aspirin.

For real this time, Jon has gone off to basic training.  It's wierd, I didn't cry at all the first time he left.  But that was basically my day Thursday.  Fun stuff.

In other news, I'm glad to report that I'm well on my way to getting my summer balance.  I have a couple of kind of half-assed self improvement plans for this summer.  Thankfully, my mind is far less occupied after spending so much time out of it, so meditation is far easier, and I've got my real hippie self back faster than I ever have.  I've also decided that to become a better poet, I'm going to get to know my words before I use them.  I'd call it a word a day thing, but it's nowhere near that structured.  But study of words themselves should slowly give me a much deeper mastery of the language.  Of course, at some point I'm going to have to break down and buy a thesaurus.

I've applied for a job, but honestly, I'm only going to be here for another month or so.  I'm really hoping to skip that part and just conserve the money I've already hoarded.  

This was a really pointless post.

I'm going to go find something productive to do. Love you guys!

 I don't know what's happened to this guy to make him write these things, but they're really great, and so applicable to emotions I've had.  His name is Mondaiji on fictionpress.com, and he's the same guy I quoted a few days ago.  For anyone wondering, no, this isn't applicable to my present state of mind, but I just had to share.  This is a piece of a poem called "I'm Sorry".



The phone rings and I
answer without thinking.
At your melodious hello,
my heart stops and I forget how to breathe.

No. No. No. How dare you
call after all you've
done without any regret
to speak of. Then my
common sense returns
and I look at the caller
ID.

Okay.

Okay.

It's all okay.

Poor guy, he got all the way there, and then got sent back home because he wasn't at 100% health.  That must feel bad, he got all mentally prepared to go into training and now he's got months to kill.  In an unbelievably selfish way, I admit I'm glad I get to spend some more time with him.  But that must really suck.

Hey, now you'll probably get to meet him, Tom!  There are some fundamental differences between you, but I think y'all would get along.  


Oh, and the Godsmack concert was exactly as awesome as I thought it would be, but in a different way.  It wasn't at the coliseum like I thought, but the performing arts center, which meant that there was no floor.  But those were still the closest seats I have ever had to a concert.  Not that we used them, we were up the whole time.  But it was great.  Great music, awesome show, I got a really cool band tee, and I'm pretty sure I'm in love with the lead singer.  They had the best drum solo I have ever experienced.  They had two massive drum sets, and the lead singer used the other, matching the other guy perfectly.  It wasn't just a solo, it had to have gone on for at least five minutes.  It was amazing.

You know, I go through long silences, but the rest of the time I seem to feel the need to ramble about random, unimportant stuff all the time.  And that's a rather immature habit.  I should really get a handle on that.

maybe we were
destined to fall apart,
the way glasses are
meant to slide down
one's nose.

I may have accidentally made fun of Anna Heyward...

I honestly didn't mean to do it, I mean, I don't seek out trouble.  But I was eating in the shell house, and Anna Heyward was there, naturally taking up the entire couch and bitching incessantly.  She started in about prom, saying it was stupid blah-blah-blah she didn't even have a date this year, and even if she found somebody who would go, to ask someone later than tonight was out of he question.  I kept my attention on the page I was writing on; I didn't trust myself with a reaction.  But what sypathy she got was hilariously fake.  Big smiles on their faces, Hannah asked her about all of the guys she had asked or considered, fished for her desperation level, and Erin Haley offered her phone numbers for basically the most undatable guys she knew.  

I really tried not to do it.  I packed up and tried to leave the room, but it was to much.  By the time I had gotten to the door it busted out of me; I started laughing my ass off.  Happiness, irony, relief, whatever, it had me laughing all the way to class.

While I swear I didn't do it on purpose, a sadistic part of me still likes to hope that she caught on to what had me so jazzed.  She has got to be the most selfish, bitchy human being I have ever known.  And it's kinda nice to see her having to face the consequences for that. 

I have a prom date.

This is going to be so much better than last year.  I have the most gorgeous outfit, all silver and light blue, the theme is so much prettier (it's going to be Gastby), and this year I actually have a date!  Jon is going to go with me.

I've been glowing all week.

Today I walked from Ashley Hall all the way to Broad Street.  It took a half an hour one-way, and it felt amazing.  It bugged me a little that there was nowhere to shop that didn't look like it had come out of a Southern rich-people catalog, but I still managed to find a great Greatful Dead pin for my bookbag.  And when I got back to school, I collapsed on the Shell House couch, very pointedly sitting up so I wouldn't be temped to sleep, prepared to start my physics homework... and woke up an hour later.  

And now it's spring break.  And I'm headed over to John's house to wach Jim Hensen movies.

What a great day.

Being so convaluted for so long, it's hard now to tell the difference between balance and apathy, control and lack of emotion.  Honestly, I have never really understood it.  Every time things calm down, I always seem to invent something to fight for or against, just to keep myself moving.  I like caring about things.  I like that tired feeling after a fight.  I like the feeling I get when I'm doing something, but I appear to have run out of things to do.

John is joining the National Guard once our vacation next weekend is over.  In a way I'm glad, I was almost afraid he would get stuck there working at Sonic for nothing, still living with his family.  But it also really sucks, because I was planning to ask him to come to prom with me.  But maybe, in an apathetic and pessimistic way, that's  okay too.  Because asking and being turned down would only add more awkwardness to our already shaky friendship.  


And, my official non-emo moment of the day!  I have finally officially decided what I am doing next year!  Cal Poly turned me down again, so I am going to find an apartment in Santa Maria, and go to Cuesta to become a mechanic before I reapply for a real engineering degree.  I'll finally get to go to coed school, I'll be in amazing California, and I will finally get to take the auto mechanic classes I've been dying for since ninth grade.

Today was officially random smell day.  Twice today, different times, different places, I walked into an area and suddenly smelled Fort cafeteria cheese pizza.  It was that specific.  And no one had brought pizza into the building.  It was wierd.

Then, on the way to McBee, walking outside, I was suddenly struck by a smell that can only be described as industrial, acrid.  It was one of thos outside smells you can't quite find the source of, that kinda dry out your nostrils in a way that is far more unpleasant than the smell itself.  And don't ask me why, but this smell triggered a sudden burst of writing which thouroghly pissed off my physics teacher, but was actually surprizingly good.

Also, I have been trying for weeks to write this poem about sitting at the to of the stairs on the third floor of McBee, looking up, and wondering what's on the top floor.  It is a mysterious thing, being downtown Charleson, a fourth floor at all is a curiosity, but in this case in particular, the stairs that are on other flights carpeted were suddenly not, and the stairs and banister painted black where before they had been white or allowed to be wood.  And in the specific place I have been, one can see how the banister curves out at its end, like it's going somewhere, but it's imposible to say where.  I sat, and wrote, and fantasized that the very secret of life was up there, guarded by that strange little, black gate and the philosopher who's office is between me and it.

I went up there.  I had hesitated for a long time, because I was afraid it would be a letdown and ruin my efforts at writing it.  But it was better than I imagined.  It was real.  The floor was black and uneven, made of old, old wood, and the cieling was barely high enough to stand erect.  The door at the end of the banister, which I knew would be there, was locked with a padlock.  But there was another door, half-sized, that led to a dark, cluttered attic that somewhere led to the beautiful front windows that are in every picture.  It was bright and hot up there, that close to the huge skylight, even though it was cold outside.  And in a way I can't quite describe, this was all better than I could have imagined it.  I'll have to go up there again, it looks like the most perfect place to write.

I believe in the nowhere man.
I can not blame him for his emptiness,
I keep thinking, he could turn around,
And I know how it feels to turn, and find nobody there.
But he keeps me awake nights, asking "why?"
Asking "what happened?" to the darkness.
When the audience has no voice, and the question no answer.
Sometimes I cry in that night-darkness, and don't know why.


My birds aren't that educated, they only speak English.


Am I the only one still hurting over this?  Or am I just the only one weak enough to still be talking about it.
It's just...  It's still hard to let go, you know?

--(smiling through warm tears)--

God, shut up, you emo.

If I let you,
You would make me destroy myself
In order to survive you,
I must first survive myself
I can sink no further
and I cannot forgive you.

There's no choice but to confront you, to engage you.
I've gone to great lengths
to expand my threshold of pain.
I will use my mistakes against you
there's no other choice.

I'm shameless now,
I'm nameless now,
I'm nothing now,
I'm no one now,
But my soul must be iron,
'Cause my fear is naked
And I'm fearless

-(these are Tool lyrics, not my words.  But you know, I've had this Tool CD for ages, and never really liked it.  Or maybe I just didn't understand it yet.  I was very young at the time.  But it really is amazing.)


I've about journaled this thing to death, and I think I've boiled it down to something intelligable.  I can forgive everything Karmi has done over our time together, as I hope she can forgive me.  I can and I have forgiven it.  But I can't forget, because they weren't incidents, but symptoms.  Every claw mark and gunshot is a symptom of the very emotionality I always loved, but more than that, a symptom of how we've both changed.  We're just not aligned any more, despite anything we've both tried to come back together.  And I'm done.

Karmi, if you're reading this, which I somehow have no doubt of;  I'm done.  I'm sorry I responded in the first place, I hope you can forgive my immaturity.  But I'm through fighting with you.  I would erase my comments, but as LJ has already emailed them to you, there's no point.  I won't invade your journal, and if at all possible, will not argue with you any more.  Let's just stop beating a dead horse.

Have you ever laughed at a funeral?

Have you ever feared for your sanity?

Have you ever been alone?

Have you ever felt blind?

Have you ever looked up at the sky, and wished you could be the hawk hovering there?

Have you ever wished that you could just stop feeling?


Look, I'm really sorry, I hate being an emo like this.  Just let me get it out of my system and I'll be fine, I promise.
After so long...                          The end is so trivial.

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Just so you know, I didn't make this.  I just saw it and thought I'd share. 

Valentine's day is coming up soon, and shocking as it is, I have amazing plans for that night!  But not in the way you think...

Relson Gracie, as in Gracie Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, is teaching a two-hour seminar at the West Ashley Jiu-Jitsu club.  I get to spend two entire hours learning under an honest to God Gracie himself!   This guy has been learning martial arts his entire life, his brother Royce was the original Ulimate Fighting champion of the world.  They're like the martial arts royal family.

I'm still just starry-eyed at the concept.  This is without doubt the best Valentine's I will have ever had.

Okay, since time is getting short and there's too many schedule conflicts, my birthday barbeque is officially the first Saturday of March.  No, I'm not handing out invitations, mostly because I don't want to do the work, and I'm honestly not that uptight about who comes.  If you're reading my journal, obviously I want you there.  And if you want to bring someone else, I trust your taste.   I don't have a concrete time set up yet, but as I said before, for those who need/want, I'm totally cool with going home on Sunday.

Oh, and I also realized that my top-of-the-head wish list had no music and generally nothing easy or cheap, so here's an expansion, mostly just to hear myself talk.  Again, presents not required.  But there's no harm in vocalizing, right?

music: Stone Sour-- "Come What(ever) May", SoaD -- "Hypnotize", or anything else cool you happen to burn, since I don't have downloading capabilities

other: throw blankets, the warmer and more natural the better.  I've become wierdly obsessed with them, I sleep with almost almost all of mine in my bed.

also other:  things to put on my walls.  My bedroom walls are pink and uncomfortably bare, and I'd like to kill them.  Maybe smothering them to death will work.



Anyway, I'll talk to y'all later!
-Jack

Things are getting out of hand.  I'm hiding too much.  I'm pretending.  And that's just not right.

I want to do something, but I can't think of what.  I want to assert myself, but all I end up doing is drawing on my hand and writing in my book.  I'm friendly, I'm generally well-liked, but it's not me they like.  They like me being nice to them, turn to me for some cheap momentary attention and then turn away again.  And I'm left there with their back to me, torn between the need to be near people and the need to be myself.  Funny that I should be drawing this simile, but being alone is like living in the desert.  I read in a book once that any strong enough person can stay in the desert for awhile, but unless you were born there you're going to have to leave eventually.  Because no matter how strong you are, if you're not a native, eventually the desert will dry you out and you'll crack and deteriorate like a tree branch in a fire.

And I know the obvious answer is to be myself and be with people, but seriously, it doesn't work.  I mean, the girls here aren't evil, I get serious respect for being different.  And I guess that's better than nothing, better than a Kisa situation.  But respect from  across the room is just as cold as nothing at all.

And I know that there is an underlying reason for why this is coming up again, I even know what it is.  But it's no one's fault but my own.  God, I'm being such a coward.  I just don't know what to do about it.

It's one of the most common sayings about writing fiction: "A good writer speaks not in his own voice, but the voices of others."  This sentance seems to imply an unspoken understanding that the creative are by nature not mentally normal.  I mean, you have to admit it is a fact, normal people don't make extrodanary things, they make normal things.  But I learned something very interesting today.

Virginia Woolf once said that she knew things were getting out of hand, and she had to start writing again, when one day she was sitting at her desk, listening to the birds sing outside of her window... and found that they were singing in Greek.




I think I'm going to Hawai'i Pacific next year.  It looks like a good place to be, I think I'd be happy there.  It is far from home, but really, could you think of a better place to be away from home for?