Other Works

Since I have not updated yet (I am working on some stuff, however) I thought adding some past stuff might at least be interesting. So, my most popular story to date (which is not saying much, I assure you) is now up on the sidebar! Fools, Rolls, and Chopsticks. Feel free to read it and write comments in the feedback about how horrible it is and how my punctuation needs serious work! Hehe.

posted by Pacer 5/31/2001

Monday, May 21, 2001

Soccer

Jason watched Mathew come in their dorm room with his soccer ball under his arm. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His hair was wet with sweat, his shirt soaked through, and he smelled like he had just finished a full ninety-minute soccer match. All of this was not so un-normal on the surface, Jason knew. It was un-normal for most considering the circumstances, however. The fact that the weather outside was hovering at around thirty degrees with strong winds creating a wind chill bringing it down even further. It was also one AM in the morning. And there was definitely no soccer match going on in the middle of the week before finals. Mathew was being bothered by something.

Jason let it slip out of his mind, however, as he returned his concentration to the notepad and pen in his hands. He continued to jot down the list he had been working on for the past ten minutes. It was a list containing all the things he had tried to remember thinking he needed to, or wanted to, get around to doing tommorrow. He then began to draw a rough sketch of a time table for doing these things. Mathew just put up his soccer ball and began to change in the background. Jason knew he would not bother with a shower, and he did not mind either. Both of them were not the most hygenic, and both knew it. Both cared not at all, as well.

"Jason, how do you do that?" Mathew asked suddenly. Sliding on a clean, or semi-clean, t-shirt he always slept in. It was in actuality rather smelly.

"Do what?" Jason replied, not knowing at all where Mathew was going.

"Schedules. Plans." Mathew began. "Always moving from one thing to another."

Jason knew this was not an attack. When Mathew and Jason had first known each other he might have taken it that way. That was what seemed like an eternity ago, however. Jason knew that now it was just an honest question. Jason also knew that these schedules and plans alluded his roommate like Peter Pan's shadow eluded him. And both knew Jason was not the Wendy Mathew needed to help him capture it.

"I don't know." Jason answered honestly. "It just comes naturally I guess."

"I want to be able to do that one day." Mathew replied, more than a little hope sounded in his voice. "I want to be able to plan something. To see something through start to finish. I want to have some sort of drive."

Jason watched his roommate talk in the way an innocent and idealistic youth might. Of course, Jason's conscience told him, you are not so old and wise yourself. You are in many ways just as innocent and idealistic. Just, perhaps, with a few more scars. Or, in any event, a few different scars.

"I know Matt." Jason replied. "How went the soccer?"

"Well." Mathew replied to his friend's change of subject. He knew Jason was not the kind to talk in-depth about this sort of stuff. Normally he wasn't either, but sometimes he just blurted things out. More so than Jason did, he thought. Yes, Jason was much more reserved with his words. Mathew, on the other hand, seemed to put his foot in his mouth more than not.

"I got alot of practice done." Mathew continued. "It helped me calm down and put some things out of my head."

"Mathew," Jason began with complete sincerity, "that is something I want to do, one day."

posted by Pacer 5/21/2001

Wednesday, May 16, 2001

Depression

If you write from the soul,
If you somehow put a stamp of how you feel that moment on what you write,
Then can you ever write something happy if you are, to the core of your being, depressed?

A friend once told me that writer's don't write from their souls, that's what makes them writers. Everyone can write from their soul, but only writers can take that writing and make it into what they want it to be, not what their soul's conveyed it to be.

I have always thought of writing in a mystic sense. I always viewed poetry, stories, and all other forms of literature as giving me a part of that writer's soul. Now I don't know.

I want to write something happy. Can I turn the sad that permeates all that I put down on paper, in digital form, into what I want? Can I become a writer, as a writer is defined by my friend? I used to think I could write. I don't know now.

If I just let go, where will my free fall take me? Why do artists tend to be drunks, druggies, and more? They feel the need to let go so they find a catalyst. I do not want any catalysts in my life, I want to do it all on my own. I am all alone, and I always have been, and I will do this one on my own -- if I can.

I want to smile. I want to love without an empty feeling inside of me. I want to find God. I want it all to go my way, and that's the problem. But most of all, I want to end this ache in my chest.

Enough of the journalistic entry, just trying to explain the lapse in writing. I want to write something happy once more. I think I'll go for a walk.

posted by Pacer 5/16/2001

Tuesday, May 08, 2001

Memories

I sit among these trees
Looking at the world
                              around
               shake
Trying to forget these memories

posted by Pacer 5/08/2001

Friday, May 04, 2001

Enough

Jason sat on his bed and allowed his mind to wander. He often liked to let go of the artificial restraints he placed on his mind when it came to what it's attentions should be focused on, it was freedom to him. Unfortunately, as his grades showed in a glaring fashion, his "relaxing of restraints" occured perhaps a bit too often. A Wallflowers song was playing in the background.

"You're every bridge I should have burned/Every lesson I unlearned..." the speakers belted out.

"That's depressing." He murmured.

"Yes." Rachel replied softly. She sat at the other end of the bed.

They were sort of dating, Jason guessed. They hung out alot. And did the hug thing, occaisonally kissed, but right now they were not being very "loving," whatever that meant. She laid at one end of the bed, he at the other, and none of their bodies overlapped. Both were traversing the landscapes of their own minds, seperately and independent. Jason never thought he was an expert on the whole love thing, his lovelife past was a testament to that, but he was sure there should be more....something if you loved someone than Rachel and he had at the moment. Perhaps he was wrong, though. Perhaps this was what love really was. The simple fact that you could stand being around each other for extended periods of time without going insane. Of course, the passion was lacking. Perhaps that is what he missed.

"Jason," Rachel began in her 'here comes an important question' voice, "have you ever had one of those. I mean, someone you loved so much that, despite your rational mind, you kept going back and kept trying to make it work."

"Yea, once." Jason answered curtly. He went on to add, "I have definitely had my lessons, and I have definitely unlearned them."

"What were they?" Rachel asked, this time looking at him.

Jason went cold inside. He was still not whole, she knew this too. The life drained from his eyes as he touched the dark recesses of his heart and soul, a product of the complete disconnection from his feelings required to do such a thing, and he answered.

"I trusted someone." He began. "I unlearned that I should never trust anyone. I should always be skeptical, always cynical."

It was a cold response. It chilled Rachel. She knew there was a huge dark area of Jason's heart, he had been hurt very badly at one point in his life. She decided to let this one go. Despite what he thought, despite what even she thought at times, she did love him. Somewhere. Somehow. In someway. She wasn't sure if it was THE love, but it was A love. Perhaps, for now, it would be enough for both of them. At least they were not alone.

posted by Pacer 5/04/2001

Tuesday, May 01, 2001

Pitter Patter

Mathew let his mind numb to the pitter patter of the ball he was juggling with his feet. Thwap, thwap, thwap. The world around him blurred and slowly went away. The thoughts that tore at his mind drifted into mist and it was just him and the ball. Thwap, thwap, thwap. The world was squeezed out and, for a while at least, he didn't worry about a thing. He just watched it all go by and enjoyed himself.

posted by Pacer 5/01/2001