Onomastikon

22/m Trying to leave behind some written thoughts and memories before its all long gone from memory. 

[onomastikon]

8-7-2020

 Life ain’t so bad, it only took the whole world going to shit for me to realize.

Lucky I am to be in such disposition though. 

I feel indifferent. I am indifferent.

Statistics keep me numb. 

We live better than ever before. I got temperature control and a WiFi connection.

Only war can take that from us now it seems.

Rural America doesn’t look so bad now. 

We are all looking to bug out, “prep-in” ain’t so taboo now-a-days.

[onomastikon]

8-7-2020

It’s not that bad... I squeamishly exclaim! 

I’ve found someone special and they make everything okay. 

I know she hates poetry, this I ascertain!

We both study deferred gratification and I’ll see her in May.

Her smiles I love to see, this I concede.

I cannot wait to enjoy my life with her and show her no need.

[onomastikon]

3-20-2020

I’m cursed with a period-correct satirical nature. Nothing special, but it can be a characteristic that is difficult to relate with I’ve found. Understanding that it's okay if people don’t grasp what you’re trying to say. It’s always moderately enjoyable to watch people squirm in socially awkward situations anyways. I pounce on it, soaking in the weirdness. I log and describe it, acting as the local anthropologist for situations just like these. They look to polite protocols deep inside their psyche, letting me down with the least social grief. Smiling, I enjoy the demeanor of their response, accept it, the double down on the weird. Not the most guest like behavior I’ll admit, to exploit their good nature for my odd enjoyment of unpleasant moments. Just learning more about who I am, that’s all. Do we do that enough or too much? I know my fears, what causes complications, what drives me. Sometimes engaging in your fears is beneficial, the proverbial `they` say. Other experts would argue that this leads to a worse outcome, you could permanently change your soul’s vibration after all. The look, it’s the look you can’t forget after you see it. Being careful, I knew to verify where it was going. So is it true? Is it one of those things our rational brains thinks it can loop logic through to solve and infer the truth. I hope not. They gaze with true eyes seeping that gentle warmth of attraction. And none of that porn-attraction we’re so accustomed to in this decade. Real attraction, deeper than the flesh, they see a great person they want to enjoy the time we have left with. This is what happens when you don’t know what to do next (ya write bout it), I’ve always hated the implied combat of relationships. Probably says more about my experience and less about the path. At least I still have my logical acknowledgments to keep me sane. You can’t change someone’s feelings, and why would you?  

[onomastikon]

11-08-2019

My exits dives off the 210. I cut into the most well-groomed neighborhood I’ve ever seen, thinking “This is California, huh.” I pull a few blocks down the road to an interesting row of townhouses style apartments that are perpendicular to the road. I dial the Ukrainian. 

“I’ll be right out!”

I stumble out of the low 2-door. The red paint is almost blinding after the impromptu wax jobs my father and I gave it before I ventured the 4 hours to LA from Las Vegas. As I gain my bearings I begin to feel how beautiful it really is. The air, the plants, and temperature and I really hate to say it, but vibe (maaaan). Unfortunately, this feeling is cut with the weight of the $1.5 million median home value beginning to sink in a little. Step and I embrace, “Wow, 8 years!” we exclaim. 

We’re both officially titles scientists, of course, Step is closing in on a Ph.D. though. We share with each other some of the seminal experiences from the past 8 years in between the last time our life paths crossed.

I had decided when he told me he would be staying in California at CalTech for some research, I’d have zero excuses not to make the 17 hours journey across the mountains and desert between CO and CA. 

We exchange, listening to life tales for the next two days. On the Santa Monica pier, we joke about proposing on such a romantic evening. Another lame inside joke we’ve already formed in the few hours we’ve been back in the same Zip Code. We grab beers, inquiring deeper into each other's love life. It’s weird, but we share so many classic experiences. Not that I’m into all that hippy stuff, but we’re probably on a very similar frequency. My frequency is definitely a little more existential, but still very close.

This was proof to me, that sometimes distance can mature friendships longer than closer relationships. I hope to see you again in 8 years

[onomastikon]

3-8-2020

A swell of warm air paused over Colorado this weekend. I’m beginning to recall what ‘actual’ Colorado feels like. Hot nights, blinding sun, and a constant, slight-dehydration. Without a doubt, I’ve missed that. Cold Colorado goes to the Skiier, bombing slopes, knees, and shoulders. Skiing is one of the many activities that people mistake as totally safe, but if you were to be bombing down the big hill in the neighborhood with two beers in your gut on rollerblades, the consequences would be heavily in your mind. It’s not that skiing is a problem, its the lack of serious consideration we take for it and the religious war that ensues for questioning a core tenant of Coloradan Culture.

I press into the pedals aggressively, top-down, sun burning through to my scalp. No safety features, wait there's a supplemental driver’s side airbag, not required back in 1991. Suddenly, when you brake, you feel it. When semi’s buzz by and the massive air column they were pushing, begins to push you, you feel it. 

In our lives, we are ever closer edging to death in everything we do. More people died in car accidents in the US this year; then people killed by the latest virus fear (Corona, I don’t like naming them, feels like the school shooter mentality where they gain notoriety). We like to think we will die a fancy death because we’re not only ignorant of the fancy deaths, but also the banal deaths that pull millions from a pleasant and unsuspecting life. Corona won’t get you, the common flu will find you when you’re old and weak. Waiting in traffic won’t get you, a texting driver who’s late is probably more likely to show you the way out.

We live in America after all, and its been many a year since the People shoved a revolutionary arm up the Governments ass. If something’s unique or novel, we are genuinely surprised! Gang shootings killing 12 on Memorial Day weekend? BORING. A broken young adult walks into his high school on Valentine's day? Well, you get the point.

[onomastikon]

6-29-2019

Now, here I am

Simple apartment, furnishings, flora, and friends. The place is just outside of  Denver and Boulder where Michael and I get checks. In this stage of life, we are eager juniors, working hard, but hardly rich. 

I’m a maintenance guy in a start-up (backed by $500M taxpayer dollars) run by old white people from academia. There’s a lot to learn, and a lot to build which keeps it interesting. 

The prestige of being called an Ecologist is pretty overrated. I think people would enjoy living a life close to nature more than getting paid to enjoy it. This leaves me with another dream beyond being a “Scientist” (another heavily overvalued title). A job is a job, and being a scientist can be the Auschwitz of the mind.

Even the person who enjoys their 40-hours has to wish for more? Its a fact of life that we are never truly satisfied as if we can never find the right sleeping posture.

I dream of being close to the bees, hands deep in the earth, surrounded by my creations, living in my own little world. A life defined by careful attention. 

I’m only 24, but I can dream that being diligent towards a well-defined goal can end in a well-deserved accomplishment.

[onomastikon]

Every day has its meaning, today it was stars.

[onomastikon]

[onomastikon]

Life is to get it endlessly wrong, and thus improve endlessly.

Life is to be endlessly wrong and endlessly improve.

[onomastikon]

The worst part of my writing is my headers.

The adventures in lush bogs, fields of tall junkus, and wet spruce dens come to an end. An era elapsed. Actually, those bogs were God’s only purpose for rubber boots. The Junkus, a never-ending tick orgy/Lyme’s minefield. The spruce dens were cool though. 

Fittingly, I was hungover as I left the state. A 6-er of Moons, and a dark afternoon pushing my room into a van. Which in all seriousness, not a total mistake. Although, having your friends find you getting drunk by yourself is a tad embarrassing. You show just how foolish you enjoy being.

Yellow tamaracks posed to drop their needles on the wet sphagnum hold still as I drive through small Northwoods towns and forests. Lake Michigan greets me on the other side and I quickly count off all of the cool little things that happen in the summer.

Now it’s just Pizza and learning how to winter.

Soon its Colorado and the search for a better winter.

[onomastikon]

JESUS CHRIS.

It has been a long time. Seems to be a pattern here. 

Either way, I’m still in the throws of hedonism and purity. Can not yet seem to isolate me solely to one pursuit. The hedonism always slips in, can not yet contain its effects. 

Where have we left. I’m not sure.

I’m in the process of identifying what I’d like to be my morals and values. It’s pretty hard right now. Plenty of complications making it difficult to focus on self-transformation. Really tempting to curb my alcohol consumption, but it’s the only way we can seem to make mistakes. It’s a dependable way to socially fuck up and have a good time. Fucking up as it turns out is a blast, but we’re too afraid to do it sober.

The girl most desired also has no idea. She only knows that there are other successful females, purely because of their display. Everyone wants it, but there are easy alternatives that offer zero resistance so we take that instead. The instant gratification all too alluring. 

I can’t speak for the dead, but if I could I’d say they’d agree with me on this. Drunk people are here to fuck up on purpose.

[onomastikon]

I probably shouldn't write, so then maybe I should. Tonight I write from Kemp, a Natural resources station somewhere near CNNF. I've begun to feel more anxiety that will hopefully pass. This anxiety I believe stems from a delayed graduation, am unsure future, and a thoughtless diet. In the days to come I will begin to better grasp my life and see past the tall seas. For all is momentary and nothing is set. I hadn't not left my Leopoldic desires behind although I feel somewhat distracted by what society at large has to offer. It is not even my need for socializing, but my failure to adequately socialize that I feel holds me back from moving on to the bigger dream. Surely, this will not last long. I must find a trust worthy confidant, I suppose I already have in a discreet blogging account... I just realized I am finally fulfilling this blogs namesake by being a botanist in the North Woods. 6/6/2017

[onomastikon]

Still working on writing for myself, quickly I lose that thread of self-awareness when I forgo the relaxing activity. Nevertheless, I found the thread, a walking reading of A Sand Almanac remind me of the power of good writing. Powerful words speak outside of their original direct meaning. Instead, you envision a better life through the works of their writing. You hear the beauty of nature and the timeless nature of an endlessness of beginnings and endings.

It was this theme, the neverending end, that distilled to me an idea of what I want from life. Sure, describing nature and filling in boxes for future researchers is one beginning, but no end. Instead, I envision a land where a family of my own will care over, love, and be; a family jewel. A forest reconstructed from destructive land uses will serve as a reserve of local ecology. Nothing scientific, subject to extreme examination; instead, a place of obvious innate beauty where such questions are not required.

tbc

[onomastikon]

Long times pass to allow great clarity of the spaces between writings. Basically, I speak in a greater concise manner if the nature of my writings is a condensed account of a greater period of time. I can’t speak directly on the goings of my semester at conservation school because of the dull and ordinary nature of such occurrences. BUT, I will write now about the interesting lessons I’ve learned about life and existence.

I’ll start with a metaphor

Life is much like a room in the sense that one can be very orderly about the state of their room, whether or not they pick up all the clothes from the floor, form the paper clutter into stacks, recycle useless articles, blahblahblah. Damage to the room from previous owners can be unrepairable without the proper tools and capital to fix them. The white man could have burned, eroded, and confiscated all the wealth from the home and it has been left in such a state for many years, the preceding tenants unable to repair the damage. Or even simply it’s been one person’s house but they’ve been in the direct path of a shit storm for 22 years and have stood no chance, no time to clean up the dirty baggage and wash the dishes. A constant state of upheaval has left no time. Much as is life. This person can not concentrate on the future and instead remains locked on to the damages of the past that cannot be righted. This is what I continue to remind myself, feeling personally attacked by everyone who does not identify as a white male I’ve been on the defense finding that their arguments are seriously flawed. that we can never right the atrocities of the past and that the only move is to move on and live in our mostly equal society. And fight tirelessly against laws that are unequal but I'm pretty sure that wrapped up in the 80s. But what I’ve lacked in understanding is the emotional side of this. They’ve been fucked over, and the feelings are still raw. We have to comply with this. I can’t imagine the atrocity or the continuation of such sentiments. I’m a privileged white male.

But on the Road.

I realize now, by reading my third installment of Kerouac that we have something in common. We need the crazies, we need the interestingly insane people, who live a life unlike anyone from our family or media. People that tear apart the traditional sense of being and stride confidently towards their own destiny. I’ve chosen this because it forms a more interesting life. But since I know how this tale ends I avoid sticking too close to the path. Alcoholic death does not seem like a fate fitting to my soul.

I’m not done, but I’m done writing.

[onomastikon]

Hah, To think how much I’ve grown in ways not immediately perceivable. 4 years ago and I was grossly in love purely because I was looking for attraction. It's funny what women teach you things about yourself that you would never know otherwise. Only in looking back are the bizarre emotional feelings you had over an honestly not-that-great of a person. 

Perhaps I need to read more philosophy nowadays to satiate the desire of intellectual conversations. My physical being suffers from endless youtube politics. And as always I need to get my priorities straight and take back the yoke of this plane from the crazed pothead. 

Finally getting to know my fellow ES majors, however, it's only a few day left before I'm in FR, far away from potential friends. Must survive, the campus there. Fuck I hope I enjoy this.

[onomastikon]

2:55pm and I begin to make my first moves of the day. I’m good on the wrong type of perception. If I keep chasing after dreams, I won’t have any in the real world. Time to recognize the continual fatal flaw and make redirections towards becoming me.

[onomastikon]

Karma, the way things are. In this absurd world I am given omens but knowing their true intentions requires prolonged thought. This is something I did not account for. The omen begins as a good one, only to shift and teach me a new lesson. Perpetually wishing something that cannot be into existence is my insanity. A step back is required to save what face I have left. I was fooled by want and desire, that was initially acquired. However, life is ever changing, and so I too must be ever changing. Moving on is a powerful first thought, but it is one that must be followed with serious intentions. I can no longer allow certain thoughts to perturb my being into lustful want. Deeply I understand my situation, although the disconnect from understanding and following guided me to a endeavor that could only end one way. My small head has misguided me, I know now that I must be the controller of my thoughts and emotions. That I can no longer allow people to so easily drag me back to old ways. I create my own happiness and I would expect nothing less of the ones I wish to love. To know that happiness is not a place on the globe or a group of people, that is my curse. Having traveled to many places and intrigued by many peoples I know something painful. That no place or people can make me genuinely happy, for there is no substitute for true happiness. This happiness I seek is not the same for everyone. So I stared into your eyes, hoping for you to see the happiness that I can manifest. That far away places are always greener, because the alternative is often to difficult to consider. It's not that this idealization is a weaken state, it's only that its something contrived by your consciousness to make the immediate suffering numb. Now, without serious action or insight, you can manage onwards in a life that is controlled by substance abuse and delusion. There is no remedy, so I must let go. I can only control my own life. I hope that through my own genuine being I can elicit the person I've always meant to be. That through my own silence and aura you can understand everything about me without error.