[Greg Has a Book] No U Turns, Except Wednesdays

[Rhuryc]

Where the Mind Ends I've been trying to write something meaningful here for two days now. I've loaded about ten different songs onto fileden and tried out twenty different pictures before settling on these. Maybe the song can speak for itself. There's something great about Bruno Mars introducing Eminem and bridging Royce with an underlying softcore melody. Emotion at its most bare sense in music is something astounding. You can hear it in the first lyric. That feeling, that raw sense of intent, then it flows into a voice laden with passion and fury. There's no one on the planet that can't relate to that. There's no way I can't relate to that. The very idea of baring yourself so openly is an almost foreign concept to me. It's something I'm trying to work on - this Scrapbook, for instance - but there's only so much trust someone can have when they're an emotionally traumatized vagrant. The truth of the matter is I may be able to sling pretty phrases and come up with touching anecdotes but none of this is more than the surface. I don't enjoy putting myself at a distance. I do it anyway. This may be strange, uncomfortable even, but I feel like if I lay into near strangers I may be able to pass that onto those people who are in my daily life. I'd like to think that everyone cares like I do. Beneath the bullshit and chips, the tongue and cheek, the sarcasm and forced humor, If I make an effort to communicate it means that I have your well being in mind. And no, it's not creepy or overbearing, it's knowing that any trauma, no matter how minuscule, is still trauma, and no matter your situation not having something that gives a damn is worse than anything. So I care because I can. Because I have the mental fortitude to make room for someone else's baggage for a little while, so that when you - yes you - need someone to inflate your ego, to listen, to sling insults at a person I don't even know, I can be be there and make your day just that much better. Arrogance and personal flaws aside, there's no one I would rather be than someone that can help, even if it is in just some small way. That's fair to a point. To preach some love and peace and all that jazz, it may even be open, but it doesn't explain much. So here's something I wrote in one of those dark corners of the internet I keep secret from the world: I know a lot about love. I know, for one, that love is unknowable. I know that love is unslightly, unberable, and so oddly close to loathing that there is a standard waiting period before one can decide that they are in love. Love is a blotch on an otherwise perfect record. A spot of mischief with habit of ruining the best laid plans of mice-inclined men. I know that love is beautiful. I know that when the world forsakes you and you numb yourself to reason that love, in its illogical manner, can sooth the most weary of souls. Gentle. Awestriking. Of all the things, all the concepts, ideas, of all the great pieces of art and longing, of all the bountiful tunes and melodies, none of them begin to compare to the sheer brilliance of that four letter word. One syllable. One ideal. One audacious miracle that satisfies our lives no matter what season they may be caught in. Love is unexpected, it is unwarranted and can be so sudden that it leaves you in its wake, it can be long in the coming, it can be broken and shattred only to be mended by kindred hearts. I know that love is unkind. I know that love is unfair. I know that love is unconditioninal and I know that for love I would do anything. That you would do anything for those you love. That I love. And no matter what lies are spoken, promises broken, that one statement remains the simple constant of reality. That love is always there. So there's that. Maybe, at some point, I'll grow enough balls to be able to talk about Amanda. Now to just trick myself into hitting 'Submit'. Extra Credit : "If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe."

[Rhuryc]

Wake for Young Souls What I'm really trying to say is shut up. I'm just not sure who it is I'm talking to. Stand and behold, friends, countrymen, the Magnificent Gregory, the one and only fool, a liar and a cheat, a man of principal made useless by the ages. There it is. Out on the horizon, that setting sun. just out of reach. No matter how fast you drive you will never catch it. Ephemeral light drifts through outstretched fingers, taunting, calling like the siren with a beauty unknown. As the sailor does I chase. Forever locked in this exchange, this unyielding desire. What am I if not foolish? The constant outcast, an uncomplicated enigma, one without purpose or poise, no matter the intention or effort it always ends in another chase. After twenty-fours years maybe I would get the hint. You reeled in yet? Where did we go, Back along some day, Tomorrow into the past Just to figure, Just to last, To be here again. Caught in exstacy, My fingers your chin, A one way street in reverse, We know the end, We just want to pretend, This try won't be our last. There's a way somehow, That this time for sure, The alcohol won't go to waste, In the morning you'll wake, I'll be right there beside you, But we both that isn't true. I'm coming down, Won't you come to? Back to sin, So deep within, All just to be here with you, All just to be here one more day with you. And no one wants to say, We'll just throw it all away, Take one more chance a second time, Maybe we can keep ourselves together. We can prove them wrong, March our tune to a different song, Find our way together. Where did we go, Back along that way, Yesterday was the future, An old beginning to a certain end, Just to follow, Just to pretend. And no one wants to say, We'll just end up back to the way, We were before, But I don't care this time around, It's time we found a way to be together. Some way to be together. No one wants to say, Maybe we'll find today, Just this time, For all those times, Where we promised time to be yours and mine, No more broken souls, No more empty holes, Just you and me together. One more time together. I haven't penned the music yet, but chords are fairly simple. I might record it once I manage some sort of system that doesn't sound terribly like ass. I lost count of how many of these I've written and have never shared. Extra Credit : "Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia."

[Caelum]

Just stopping by to say thank you for being awesome. Also, that's some damn fine work. Let me know when you put the music to it. I'd like to listen if you'd like to share. Here's this as it felt appropriate. “As a writer, rejection sometimes feels like someone telling me to shut up.” - Alana Noel Voth

[Rhuryc]

Where the Truth Begins If you're reading this, and if you've read everything else, then maybe you'll understand. If not, I imagine it's for the better. If I can't come out with it in real life the least I can do is write about it. No one would speak to him. Maybe they could tell. By the pacing, the forlorn glances, the worry. The dread. He was unaware of the fresh blood staining his jacket. Her blood. Only moments ago - or was it hours? - the young man had raced into the emergency room behind a horde of medics. Doctors. Whatever they were, they vanished in a blur of motion, distorted, unimportant faces, all talking, speaking, all saying nothing. All that mattered was the object of their attention. A dark face, pale, thin and full, her hair cast about in a mess, eyes closed and lips contorted in pain. That was the last image he had. The chair shifted under his weight. Old, often used, it was rigid and uncomfortable. Its young inhabitant did not seem to care. He sat and fiddled, his hands played about, one toying with a phone while the other abused his leg, gripping at his own flesh to test the reality of this silly dream. He did not wake. Instead he flipped through his digital contacts, names, numbers. Were they important? The scroll stopped long enough to highlight a single name. Minutes passed before he pressed call. "You're an idiot." Her voice was smooth. Silk. Beneath the stars she moved with her own glow, an ephemeral grace unbeknownst to the heart of mortals. At least, that was how he saw it. She laughed when he stared and came back across the field, her boots crunching in the snow with a light crackle. Even with the faded light he could see the details, the gentle sway of her hair, the ever-so slight glint of a smile she always wore. The half sewn mittens and whatever it was that stupid bracelet was for. "C'mon. Snow'll have to do. Now." She stopped in front of him and laid her hands on his chest. "Down!" He hit the ground with a solid 'oomph'. Before he could complain she followed, drew another such grunt, and laughed as she rolled off into the snow. Neither spoke. They lay in their own stupor, eyes cast to the heavens, one gloved hand wrapped about another in a gentle expression of affection. Crisp, chill air carried white breath away in miniature clouds, those that - before long - both of them attempted to manipulate through sheer force of will. "Do you ever regret knowing what the stars are?" She asked, her eyes flickering from the sky to the young man. "No. Not at all." "There's no mystery. No questions. You just look up and know; that doesn't bother you?" He glanced aside at her. For a moment their eyes locked, one set seeking and curious, the other humored and light. Before that moment he had known, at least, he thought he did. Though he never said it, he spent hours contemplating it. Wondering. Musing. At first he denied it. Then, gradually, he accepted it, but it always felt so hollow. Void of anything real. Months had not been enough to decide, a year even, but in that brief sentence, that one question, it came at him in a rush of certainty. The time spent debating its existence seemed foolish now. Stupid. The pause was long enough to draw her ire. "You're staring." She said, amused. "I love you." "I," She started. Then stopped. She blinked and looked away. All the while he watched her, his hand tightening about hers. A laugh found its way from her lips and she looked back, both cheeks red with heat. "I know. I love you. And now that's out of the way, answer the question." He lowered his hands to his lap. The call ended with a sigh, his own, and a heavier heart. Also his. What had he said? Back in the hospital. A complication. She had coughed up blood. Oh. He glanced down at his jacket and stared at the red, its mark barely visible upon the black backdrop. The doors caught his attention as another couple entered the lobby, his head swiveling to catch a desperate look. The new set of heels clicked across the tile as if imbuing new life to the dead faces that acted as scenery, all of them set with a temporary boost of hope. As the echo made its way down another hall the room returned to its somber state. Even he had grasped to what little life was there, but all he could was wait. Wait and worry. When he opened his eyes nothing had changed. From his corner he could make out the woman working triage and the other, scattered individuals spread about the room in their own grief. Darkness poured in from the glass front, illuminated by the impressive array of streetlamps and gentle, white lighting of purgatory itself. A dull hum emanated from the soda machines, each tone mixed with the late-night showing of whatever it was on the elevated TVs. For lack of better reason, he stood again. At least when he paced he felt like he was doing something. "That's so fucking adorable I want to punch you." Where was he now? Right. In the apartment. Her apartment. They were both on the couch in their respective sides, she with all the pillows, him with the blankets. There had been an epic struggle that morning. Clad in pajamas, neither was prepared for guests, instead content to reside in the night's previous antics. "Blanket armor. You can't break my stride, woman. You lost so get your ass up." "Dick." "Cunt." A pillow smashed into his face as she stood and went about the day's entertainment. The DVD player fussed at its duty, but it eventually fell in line before she made her way back to the couch. Despite previous protests, she curled up under the hoard of blankets and he wrapped his arms about her torso. Her head popped up in front of his. Their lips met in a gentle embrace, a soft, ginger kiss that ended with the beginning of music. He withheld a sigh and rested his chin on the crook of her neck, watching. "Eternal Sunshine?" "There's snow in Ohio, right?" He felt her fingers intertwine with his as she spoke. "Yeah. Especially around now, you'll see when we go. Why?" "We need to find a field. Something like the movie." He did not hear his name until the second time it was called. His head snapped in the direction of the voice and he sped his way over. How long had he been there? An hour? Two? Never mind. What mattered was her. Those few moments that it took him to close the distance were the longest in his life. A myriad of possibilities crossed his mind, a thousand different scenarios. The worst, the best, all of it stormed through his thoughts like a hurricane, a terrible torrent. He came to a sudden halt in front of the other man. Older, wizened. A doctor. He was stoic, calm, kept in a manner that only a man hiding his emotions would dare approach. No. "How is she? Can I see her?" They were stupid questions. He knew it, but he had to ask them. He needed to know something. "There were some complications." The world went dark. Complications? He felt his heart sink, his face pale. At his sides both hands balled into fists and his shoulders stiffened. The doctor continued speaking, but all he saw was a moving mouth. Words poured out as the man explained. Something about surgery. Something about what they missed before. That there was nothing they could do. He heard the man speak, he listened, but none of it sunk in. His eyes were wide as if it would help him to understand. Like a confused child. Every inch of his self grasped at the concept. He reached and tore at the surface, he begged inwardly for some kind of divine intervention. It was the silence that drew him back to reality. "I'm sorry for your loss."

[Rhuryc]

Castles in the Sky How happy is the blameless vestal's lot, The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd. I've written seven paragraphs in this space that you will never read and that I will forget by the time I wake tomorrow. Most of it was mindless musing, some of it could have been deep, but nothing was out of the ordinary for this quaint little blog. Maybe it's the music. Maybe it's me. Some of you may know that when the sun goes down I like to talk. I go on and on about nothing, baiting conversation that cuts deeper than the skin, but I imagine I'm doing it wrong. What I want to do is scream. To interject. To force interaction by sheer persistence. What I want to do is this. HEY, LET'S TALK ABOUT LIFE. Let's go beyond pleasantries. Let's talk about how you've loved, how you've been loved. Let's go on and on about our passions, our dreams; I promise to laugh at how stupid you are and I promise to be laughed at when I shove my foot in my own mouth. Can I stop playing it cool? If I wasn't interested in you I wouldn't have talked to you in the first place, so what is it holding you back? Do we need to go through the social mamba first? I'll give, you'll take, you'll give and I'll give and finally when we're both too tired to care anymore the stars will align and we'll be left to stare at where they used to be, confused, wondering what happened to the sky. You can have your norms. I don't want them, I'm done with them. With the assumptions, with everything we learned in highschool and for some reason keep close to our hearts. I'm finished. It's over. I'm sick of not caring. Why live at all if not for the sole baring of emotion. I'll go too fast, you'll get offended. Someone will scoff in the background. The masters of society will rage and we'll face the mother of oblivion, engrossed in our own rebellion without a hint of humility or hesitance. So don't do me any favors. Don't hold back. Don't tell me it's "alright" and for fuck's sake do not lead me on. Get mad. Maybe then we can interact like humans. Argue with me. Tell me I'm wrong! Let's fight. Just once let's be real. Talk. Speak. Feel. Be. I was happy once, and I will be again, but for now I'll settle for my world of conflict and strife, for my life of you and yours. Beyond this place. Beyond this thing, whatever it is, there's what we're looking for. Maybe I can help get there. And maybe I could use some myself. Extra Credit : I like comments. So comment if you have something to say. "You ever noticed that tear (Tyr) is spelled the same way as tear (Tair)? Odd."

[Rhuryc]

Cigarettes and Apple juice Dear Journal,         Today I told my mate's girlfriend she was a raging cunt. And it was glorious. Love, Greg Extra Credit : "One of these days, Alice! Straight to the moon!"

[Kendall Saarinen]

Conversations between Sarah the Cheshie Cat and Hugh the Awesomely Handsome Irishman We were talking about you, Gregory the Bearded Unicorn... [19:19] livenow4music: Rawr, I was about to IM him and he went away. [19:19] Hugh: See! He's sneaky. He knooowwws. [19:19] livenow4music: That elusive Greg! [19:21] Hugh: He's like a beardy unicorn! [19:22] livenow4music: I could not have put it better myself. [19:23] livenow4music: He gallops across America bringing sass and sarcasm... and rainbows. [19:23] Hugh: Exactly!

[Lazybones]

This picture made me think of you. <3 Not that I'd blow up your dad, I really wouldn't. That is not the message I am trying to convey here.

[Rhuryc]

He Wanted to Say I haven't been inspired for some time now. Not that I'm writing this in the grand discovery of such a thing. Years pass, time flies, and I feel like I'm stuck in some kind of one-person time capsule, grafted in a plastic box buried three-thousand feet above sea level. Everyone grew up. And I refuse to. Jobs, marriage, boring parties, children, conversations about the aforementioned, I don't fit in anymore with the friends who used to dream. It's not like they gave up, they say, they just settled into reality. Like a narrator detailing an epilogue into the sunset, it's over, the stars and sights vanishing with the waxing dawn of real life. I don't write like I used to. Ever since Amanda I've only ever grasped for finality, swept into the ephemeral by wishes and resigned prayers. Caught, maybe, by my own surreptitious desires, living in the present with want of the past and disregard for the future. Still. I can find time to assail the minds of a digital combine in the late hours of a Tuesday. Wondering, listening, reading, and seething with melancholic hesitation, the mind of one - subject Gregory - is a creature of both lassitude and anticipation, forever rocked between a hard place and a winding way. One day it will crop up. That inspiration. And maybe I'll even have half the brain to recognize it. I haven't done one of these in a while, so I'll allow you a splendiferous allowance of me performing my world famous rendition of someone that gives more than two hooker's worth of smack about opinions beyond my own: "I hope you die in a fire." The End. Extra Credit : @Sarah - I am not a unicorn, I don't let virgins ride me at all. @Lasz - That storm trooper's son has some seriously fucked disabilities compared to his father. "Split."

[Laszlo]

Just saw the GoT season 2 premier.

I think I'm in love with Rhuryc a little bit.