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moved: aetataureate.tumblr.com



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Things are going to change for the better

Sometimes, I wonder.
I wonder about
the names you chase
in the untamed meadows
that field your mind;
names whose gentle,
emerald stalks hold
curved lilacs in spring,
mauve and sweet;
names you've spent
quilting with a certain
daydream quality
for your tattooed heart,
hereafter, stretched,
bent, bending still—
my heart—
you've thrown,
you've forgotten,
you've brushed aside
for another.

Wait

Wait, though, wait: I should tell you too how happy I am,
how I love it so much, all of it, chopping and slashing and all.
Please know I love especially you, how every morning you turn over
the languorous earth, for how would she know otherwise to do dawn,
to do dusk, when all she hears from her speech-creatures is "Wait!"?
We whose anguished wish is that our last word not be "Wait."


c.k. williams

what is planning?

at its core, the profession of planning is societal existentialism. it can be about laying down new streets, re-using historic buildings or even creating new jobs, but in the end it's what the community wants because it believes that whatever is planned is what's best for them (at least theoretically). but planning isn't all icing on the cake and peace-loving turtle doves; it is arduous and can be extremely taxing on the individual.

to go to both work and school has had physical consequences on me this fall semester. but more than the physical beating, the emotional loosening has weighed heavily down on me. i constantly realize that i'm not intelligent enough to grasp technical ideas; that i'm not as creative in problem-solving as i thought i was; and that i certainly do not have the clarity of mind to think big ideas out, and thus save the world (or take it over). if these attributes is what makes up a good planner, i am admittedly not one. and this kills me.

in my twenty-five years of living, i never liked the idea of doing something if i couldn't be the best at it. for this reason, i gave up on the piano; i was frustrated with math and the sciences; and i walked away from sports. some form of a superiority complex? possibly. i just want to excel at something; maybe it's my desire to be god-like. whatever the case is, my internship and my classes have revealed to me that i am not the greatest. i know it's a lie but i can't help but feel that, in my universe, i am a failure.

aside from being technically astute, the real kick to the nuts is that planning is really about relationships. it is more about how we get somewhere rather than what we end up with. it's about the people and having genuinely collaborative dialogues. you can't build a twelve-acre mixed-use retail, commercial and residential development without consulting the existing population, and finding out what they want first. again, planning is implementing the collective will for its greater well-being. one needs to communicate effectively to others, and this is where i also fail. worse yet, i lack not just as a planner but as a human being.

i suspected it on my first day in the program: to be a good planner was, and still is, synonymous with keeping to my faith, christianity. you see, christianity entails having healthy relationships between you and your Creator, and you with everyone else. i have gross shortcomings when it comes to this. i am mean-hearted and take for granted those closest to me; i disregard those who annoy me; i shake my head at those who are ignorant and uneducated, and who think they are entitled to a legitimate opinion. i catch myself running away in my mind to some city utopia where my ideals are upheld and my favorite people live. i know thinking like that is immature, so it makes me really question if i can or want to be a planner.

the funny thing is, something is telling me to keep studying and practicing. though i foresee the occupation being, at times, a critical mirror to who i am and what i do, i see the potential for sheer joy (granted i stick to it). i may have given the impression that it's been bad news since the beginning, but really, my last year and half has had some really bright moments. i have walked out of classrooms full of enthusiasm and refreshed, as if i were on my way that minute to go build the cities of God i had envisioned once before. what is planning to me? as with all things in this life, it is an opportunity for me to be a more faithful person.

ship in the bottle

in my dream last night, i had gained 1.2 million dollars on a single stock. it was quite amazing. my make-believe portfolio grew tenfold. i woke up and having still remembered what happened, i began to daydream what i would do with the money. i wouldn't take all of it out at once, just liquidate about half. then, i'd put most of that into a house. and not just any house. a big one, six bedrooms. i'm thinking some house in old sunny hills. of course, being that this is a daydream, the ideal house, which valued at roughly 1.5 million, would be marked down to high 800's, low 900's. man, recession's tough!

anyway, i'd move in and get six or seven housemates. being the nazi i am, i would have a few ground rules: cleanliness, environment-sensitivity, responsibility. i don't think that's too much to ask for, is it? especially if i gave them all really low rent. like, ridiculously low. although, i think i would be very selective on who got in. they would have to bring something to the table, be it varied interests, experiences, talents--it would be a mini-collective of sorts. everyone learning a little bit from everyone else. plus, this way, the mortgage wouldn't be too bad, which means we could have one of those huge grills in the backyard. steaks on a whim would be the norm. i'm also thinking of keeping one of the bigger rooms as a multi-person guest room. you know, for friends who want to crash over the weekend. their payment for staying would be in the form of cereal, or other perishable goods.

there would be a lot of people at any given moment but depending on who i rent out to, the house would definitely be manageable. for the most part, we could have an open door policy, where pretty much anyone can come in and hang out. with a constant flux of people, the house would be safe. it would be a focal point for creativity and innovation; a refuge of sorts for those who have great ideas but need a helping hand to get started (and a cheap place to stay without overbearing parentals). it would be the best. best house. we'll have a dog too. maybe two.

push

scowlers. let me tell you about them and why i have a hard time getting along with them. a scowler is a person, usually a girl, whose general disposition towards me is almost always one of disdain. they like to roll their eyes at me when i crack jokes, be light-hearted and sarcastically witty, and/or try to make things enjoyable. in other words, they cramp my style. like, big time. i don't know if it's because they don't understand me, or i them. maybe it's their natural reaction to my humor. whatever the case, i don't like their scornful looks. they are acts of belittlement; an, oh-you're-so-immature resentment. hey, news flash: you ain't too mature either. well, ok, sorry that was a bit mean. oh, and sorry that you have that stick up your butt. i say, chill out, banter back and forth with me. be witty and tough-skinned. er, at least, be a little feisty. feisty is fun, maybe even flirtatious, which always makes things pleasant. unless you're married or in a relationship, then that's no bueno. otherwise, serious inquiries only. i guess in the end it's a personality preference. my personality (un)fortunately doesn't prefer yours. or theirs. or whatever. like, totally.

and all the world is green

one time a few years back, a friend came home from living abroad. she had a difficult time adjusting to life and it didn't take an einstein to figure out she was a mess. she called me one night with a shaky voice. i could hear her discomfort through the phone because it felt as if she was looking behind and around her every five seconds, as if nothing seemed right. tired, she confessed she wanted to hear a familar voice; that she wanted to maybe hang out for a few minutes, nothing special, just to be around something that reminded her of home. i thought that was funny because she was home, at least physically. naive me, i thought she was being a girl, being crazy. we eventually met up but in all my immaturity, i didn't know how to help her. i did more harm than good and in the end, she left more sullen than before, defeated, and worse yet, more alone. i was an idiot.

because irony is my second middle name (my first being, awkward), it only makes sense that i should come to a point in my life where i can understand where my friend was. or at least maybe think that my current circumstances are similar. after a long and treacherous semester, one that left me bereft of the comfort of close friends, i took off for a small island in the north. prior to leaving for iceland i believed that three weeks would be nothing. my social environment had sifted largely into a nascent (thus superficial) one, where acquaintances significantly outnumbered my go-to-when-all-the-world-is-amiss friends. i mean, not to discount my new friends, not at all. i was not held down as i once was to life here at home. so, i put my foot forward but before i knew it, i was thinking of home: the places and things, the responsibilities, the people both new and old. driving towards husavik, iceland, i thought of laramie, wyoming. i thought of my hospital bed and the phrase that was literally knocked into me, "that life without love is meaningless." i cut my trip short and came back a week early. glaciers and beautiful scandinavian women could wait. it was about community.

after a few hundred dollars, i leaped over hoops of fire and voila, i was on the 105 eastbound. i was bound for an island of a week's worth of good times. or so i thought. it was a mixed bag. there was disinterest and indifference with the ones i held especially close, yet outright smiles and cheers with friends and acquaintances made from this past year. ah, i said to myself, but this is how people are. people are people and that's life, that's community. love? love. but now i feel disjointed, not in a proper place, where my life is just a death in progress. almost as if my identity is being sandblasted away. of course, i'm being overly dramatic. still, my lego city of reality has been deconstructed, block by block, and as i wait for my flight to china, another three-week venture, i frantically struggle to find something left, some remnant that was untouched. something, or rather someone, i can rebuild from.

my ex-girlfriend always told me that i had a lot to learn. i resented the fact that she had such little faith in me, but whether or not she really understood the implications of what she said, the truth is, i'm just a kid. i wonder if growing up means (or at least partially) really understanding your mistakes. i am certainly old enough to have the years under my belt where i do have the "sorries." i also wonder if becoming more mature is recognizing that life is really about how you treat other people: how you love or unlove them.

aristophanes

they wheel-barreled themselves in
like school children rolling on yards

of dry, amber-pale grass, but the clouds
didn't speak; no, not even a murmur.

from afar they came, from beyond the
sea, without so much a glance they

passed us by, as heavy as they were
with rain, trance-like, not sparing—

we watched them go by. dream-like,
she floated onward, and i—

i couldn't stop her.

2.2.07 227

the woolgatherer quills

i've heard the rumors, but it just doesn't add up. people say dreaming is dead, so i wonder if they're running, the dreamers that is, ducking for cover, hiding from the hands of the short-sighted and their cohorts, the pragmatists. it's clear that in this world of television plots and magazine fantasies, they aren't welcome anymore. they are a threat to the status quo--but i know they're not completely gone. they leave their quills behind and i find myself collecting them like old stamps from the yester-century. curiousity gets the best of me so i try writing, drawing, even creating the quintessences of stars, with the goose feathers whose ink entices with faint hints of wild hue-berry and crushed mint. i'm intoxicated with the lingering scent as it's on my hands, in my hair, and in my heart. i sense now, the tug underground, but i don't think i can go so quietly down there without trying for change up here, first. i haven't seen my visions lucidly enough yet, but i know my grand, surrealist plans will be spilled out and scribbled across anything, everything, and well, everyone, including you.

hi