This Blog Is The Boy I Once Was (We'll See How It All Turns Out)

July 2008-August 2009

Last Week in Town (It's Pretty Weird)

I saw 500 Days of Summer today, and it was pretty magical.

Any movie starring my future wife (zooey deschanel) and a cast member from 3rd Rock from the Sun is going to be right in my wheelhouse. Especially if it liberally references popular bands that people pretend are obscure.

Also it has a guy brokenhearted about a girl, so that's a pretty big draw.

This movie managed to couch something i've been trying to elaborate on in the Magic Blog better than i have been able to couch something i've been trying to elaborate on in the Magic Blog.

There is a sequence of events where female romantic lead opens up to male romantic lead in that super special we're special friends way, and mr. voiceover narrates, "Male romantic lead knew that these were stories that not everyone heard, these were stories that had to be earned."

First of all, I appreciated that they called these exchanges of words "stories" because i like to describe things as stories. But also, i think this may be a more (genuine, no) (appropriate, no)... complete explanation of my constant complaint about "carrying someone else's baggage." The way things happen is that, not only must I be bonded to someone through these packets of emotional hpv, but in order to receive one in the first place, I must work so very hard. I must sacrifice, i must love, i must put up with all manner of nonsense, to phrase it eloquently, I must earn it.

Here again, we draw on another theme that runs throughout my life and the life of the magic blog. My very immature way of not seeing the world for how it really is, but as this sort of fanciful wordfairy land populated by charming, beautiful, and interesting people, with myself as the ruler of this adolescent candyland.

Every once in a while, the real world sneaks up on me like an agile freight train and ambushes the back of my pretending-nodes. (In my brain!) And i take a mental-breath and take reality-stock of the actual-situation.

I am a nineteen year old college student who is moving to a new town to find something that I probably just imagined. I couldn't even tell you what this thing is. If pressed, it would be a girl. A girl like Clementine in Eternal Sunshine; a girl who by her very affections makes the world into something different, something out of a story.

I am studying journalism because i want to be a household name. I want to be iconic. I want to be an archetype.

I want to be a fictional character.

I don't even want to be superman or anything, i want to be famousrichhappyman (I would like flight), and i would settle for just happyman.

This distresses me.

I am distressed because as far as I know, this person has never actually existed. It's just me getting caught up in fiction again.

(Let this be a lesson for you future parents; don't let your kids read)

My friend nelson left the state today. He is going to Colorado for the year. Despite us drifting apart some in college, as i left his filthy apartment this afternoon, i still felt that sting in my psyche and bruise in my gut that comes with separation. I can only imagine how it will be on Friday.

I recently described my current emotional state as "lumpy." And i feel that it is a remarkably accurate way to describe the way i am feeling the things that i am currently feeling.

All these different emotions are just floating in my cut like clay (non-toxic) with no discernable form or shape. And maybe that's pretty much how it as to be until there is some new stimuli to act on it. To mold it like patric swayze in ghost into something i could readily identify, like, sad, lonely, hungry, happy, magical.

This is the problem with summer readers, not enough to say.

Kyle's Sappy Blog (Sappier Than Usual)

It's good to see you internet, it's been a while.

This is my third to last day of work. I've been here for around a year, and now i'm ready to leave.

I head to Austin on the 20th, it's not very far away.

KMB erupted from my mind-placenta a little over a year ago, and things have changed a lot since then.

Back then, I was insecure, mopey, and isolated. I'm still insecure and sometimes I get a little down, but it's not the same. I've figured out how to be happy.

It wasn't even a conscious decision, just something that grew organically out of my socializing and the normal maturation that comes with age (a whole year!).

I used to come home every night and lie in bed and feel smothered by nothingness. Even if i spent the whole evening with friends, having a good time, I would come home and be consumed by all kind of negative emotions, usually worry, often anger, and sometimes just apathy. And ever so slowly, God brought me through that.

This just dawned on me last night, as I was laying in bed. I'm leaving basically everyone I know and love in two weeks, armed only with awkward social skills and the wit of oscar wilde; but as i sat there, waiting for tired eyes, I was perfectly content with this, perfectly confident; everything is alright.

More than anything, this has made me grateful for the people in my life, I'm trying to see as many of them as possible in this short time, and as i'm doing so, i'm seeing the influence they had over me that i never noticed, and I love them all for it. I love you guys.

So here I am, at this weird empasse, that I don't know if i'll ever experience the same way again. This transition, a year late, from everything i've known to everything i don't. It's a new beginning.

And I wonder what the implications of this are for the Magic Blog. The way I see it, the Magic Blog was a story. A story in a couple of layers, the story of me figuring out who and how i want to be for the rest of my life, the story of my first year of college, the story of me working out all of this misplaced sadness and aggression in front of all of you with a few turns of phrase; but most of all it was the story of me trying to tell a story about a boy and a girl.

And i never even got around to sharing it.

A long form of the story exists. I wrote it a week after I graduated high school. It has all the gorey details, beginning to end, every jot and tittle, other cliches for completeness. But, you guys don't need that, and I don't need that.

So here is the story I made this blog to tell.

Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl. The boy thought the girl was the most special girl he had ever encountered, so he tried to make her feel the same way. Sadly, the girl couldn't make herself feel the way the boy felt. This made the boy very sad for a long time. But, one day, he realized that maybe it was better to be friends than to be sad; so he stopped. And it didn't matter so much anymore and things were better.

So now the Magic Blog has to find a new identity. The awkward part is that every story I told featured characters that I was familiar with for years, which enabled a certain sort of honesty that I feel i might be incapable of duplicating, especially since I will be writing about new people.

I can't really see myself telling the story of the girl that I like from my film class in the Magic Blog, especially since i'm trying to use it as a seduction tool; she'll think i'm a fourteen year old weirdo.

So much like myself, the Magic Blog has to make this transition blind, hopefully she will survive, she should, she's a fighter.

Tonight I Write (Words and Sentences)

Hello world (the little slice of it that visits my corner of internet that I am renting from the benevolent proprietors of blogger.com, which i believe is the mighty google) I have decided to return to the Magic Blog; I apologize for my prolonged absence.

I haven't really been ruminating on anything to talk about recently. My life has been remarkably stable and predictable. I wake up every morning at 7:15am. I take a shower. I get dressed (just shorts). I drink orange juice from the carton and instant breakfast from a glass. I always stir it with a little spoon, because using a big one is superfluous. I put on a shirt, then i take it off, then i debate whether it will get too sweaty over the course of the day. Usually, I convince myself that it won't, but eventually it does. I pack up my computer, cord in the front of my backpack so it doesn't make a weird shape on my back, the actual laptop sequestered in a neoprene case.

Then I go outside. The annoying mockingbird squawks at me, and I think maybe Atticus got it wrong. I get in my car, slinging my backpack into the passenger seat. (WORLD! if you will allow me to get a little fanboy, Max Bemis posted a song from Baseball on youtube, this is marvelous news!). Then I start my car, usually, i see the "low fuel" light and get a little annoyed thinking about going to the gas station and putting in $10. Then my ears are assaulted again by my ipod adapter waiting a few seconds to intercept the magical sound wave it uses to give me music. (fm 93.2). Then a few seconds of fumbling with morning hands and I'm pulling out with This American Life or The BS Report or The Bugle, or later in the week, shuffle, accompanying my ears.

Left, Right, Left, Right, weaving through the border between half built suburbs and half diminished prairie, rolling through stops like a common criminal. Then down a dirt road, bumping and rattling, assuring myself that eventually i'll take better care of my car. Then down the newly constructed loop, getting angry at New Mexican drivers and those who don't understand it's a freeway. Slumping in annoyance at the ill-timed lights on campus. Parking under a shady tree if I'm lucky and grabbing my bag and ipod and strolling inside.

I clock in, always eight minutes late, go upstairs and grab the ticket selling machine (old dell laptop) and return to my post. I put on my poorly knit work polo and set up my laptop and the school's laptop. I check my blogs, trying to hold off on world of warcraft or watching tv shows because i feel that the time passes faster that way.

I do weird stuff like that sometimes. Every once in a while I give myself weird little endurance tests. Like how many days can I go with only five or so hours of sleep. How many days can I go with just sleeping and not eating except when my mom makes dinner. Or even stupid things, like, how long can I go with an irritating rock in my shoe. On saturdays, I refuse to get up out of bed and use the restroom, instead, just being uncomfortable for about a half hour before i realize how stupid I am.

I don't know why I do those things. Maybe it's the aforementioned doldrums of my life. In high school there were all sorts of ways to push myself, be it academically or in baseball. And in college I pretty much focused on getting As, kind of transferring the energy that used to go to athletics toward academics.

In the summer there's not so much to do.

After work, I come home and nap. I wake up around six. If my mom makes dinner, I eat with my family. If they are at tennis or something, I take a shower, drink some orange juice, and then repeat my morning routine. I text someone and go to where they are, getting food at some point.

Then I come home and sit in my bed, propped up by pillows and a headboard, I talk to people on facebook and check other blogs. (Sometimes the MB for comments, futiley).

Then I go to sleep and it happens again, but dreams happen in between.

Magic Back (After A Magic Mini Hiatus)

I have returned internet.

My life has not been particularly eventful recently, I have been a peripheral character in my friends' stories for the past few weeks, which is pretty alright with me.

I have not blogged in several weeks; if asked, I could not provide a reason. Perhaps, subconsciously, I felt that the Writing Monster post sort of bookended a year of thoughts. You know what I mean readers, a real year (January 1-December 31), just doesn't adequately fulfill the mind's need to cut up life into twelve month blocks. So, at least while i am young, the year is more usefully divided between beginnings and endings of school.

I don't know how this works in the future, once one is employed year round. Maybe anniversaries, or children's birthdays, or perhaps the Gregorian (that's what my last name is) calender reclaims its rightful place as the king of the time-keepers (grandfather clocks are the princes, metronomes are the serfs, the sundials were all killed in the people's revolution).

Regardless, in addition to be conveniently timed with a mind year, that entry also sort of finished up the Blog's mission to try to make claire fall in love with me.

A mission it did not succeed in, but, to be fair, it's probably not entirely Mr. Blog's fault. He performed well, always posting my entries, with limited spacing issues. The fault lies with me. (Any songwriters who want to make that the name of a gentle acoustic lullaby are welcome to, with proper attribution).

So for the next monthish, we're in a bit of a limbo, as not a whole lot will be happening. KMB's one year anniversary is July 23rd, which might herald a rebirth.

I have to find a new story. I've spent a year telling one, and never even got around to finishing it, but it doesn't feel necessary anymore. I think i'm a little more mature and not as insecure and i'm learning how to not be lonely.

Michael Jackon died the other day.

This is relevant to me.

When I first lived in Lubbock, as little child, I had a VHS tape. On this tape were several popular music videos with equally popular cartoon characters superimposed into the videos. These cartoons would dance, lipsync, and generally cavort with the singers in the videos. I had a favorite video. In this video, Alvin, (of Alvin and the Chipmunks) donned a red jacket, some shades, and a sparkly right glove, and proceeded to dance around on pool tables with Michael Jackson to Beat It.

I thought it was cool.

I wasn't aware of who Michael had become (creepy ghoul, possible pedo, child endangerer). So whenever anyone mentioned Michael Jackson, I would associate it with a young black dude wearing a snazzy glove, singing a catchy song (with an animated rodent), and an eddie van halen guitar solo.

UPDATE THE VIDEO EXISTS ON YOUTUBE, it also has Smooth Criminal. Apparently Mike wasn't rocking the glove, and my memory has been tainted. Memories

I was too young to pick up on the cheesiness, which is kind of endearing to me now; I identify with Dave Chappelle's sentiment that, whatever you think of Michael, he really did want to be loved, he turned himself into a white alien creature because he thought people would like him more. It's a pretty tragic tale.

I could write a pretty lengthy tale about how MJ is the modern Oedipus (father issues, undisputed ruler, disturbing pecadillos, and a catastrophic self destruction) but it's too soon after the fact to not feel dishonest.

Anyway, this exposition all to say that, Michael Jackson is important to me because he was the first artist I ever identified as my "favorite" and Beat It was my first favorite song.

Keep in mind, it was 1996 when I was making these claims, well into his crazy stage. And I remember riding in the car with my friend Chris' mom, listening to the radio, and she asked me who my favorite singer was. Not thinking anything of it, I replied, "Michael Jackson." She gave me a very strange look. "Really, you know he's weird right?" I didn't know he was weird, but after she said that I didn't really watch the Beat It tape anymore.

I don't like lists, but I feel like doing a list.

A List of Kyle's First Favorites (Excluding Song and Artist, As They Have Been Covered)

Book - Goodnight, Moon (my mother and father would read this to me all the time before bed, it used to make me feel safe and happy)

Movie - Dumbo (foreshadowing my future insecurities about myself?)

Halloween Costume - Pinocchio (much like Tim Kasher, I was pretty captivated by the tale of the wooden boy)

Allow me to explain why Pinocchio is brilliant.

Pinocchio is a story about what it means to be human. It tells that universal tale of self discovery, and doesn't skip over the hard parts (being turned into a donkey, eaten by Monstro), and it has a happy ending.

It's also a Creation allegory, and the story of the prodigal son; with songs!

Pinocchio is the best movie for children to love. You learn early not to lie, not to run away, to trust your conscience, and most importantly that you have a Father that loves you unconditionally.

I have thought about getting the album cover of Is A Real Boy tattooed on my foot one day. This is a good tattoo because, not only do i love that album, but because it is also Pinocchio's nose.

It also let Tim Kasher write Driftwood: A Fairy Tale, one of my favorite songs ever, so I feel like it is a good thing for me to love.

My mom still has my Pinocchio costume in her closet, tiny red overalls, white shirt, little felt hat, and a rubber nose.

Readers, I am happy to be writing, but I am out of practice and tired. I feel like I will cut this entry off now, maybe soon inspiration will strike and I can write an entry that makes me stay up all night sweating and whispering to myself about how brilliant I am, but tonight will not be that night.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Dreams (The Kind That Accompany REM Sleep)

Hello magic groupies, how are you all today? I am well, thank you for e-asking.

Today we are going to talk about dreams. I have done this before, in fact, dear readers, the very first taste of Magic you all received was just a simple little description of some dreams that had recently played in my mind theatre. (I think it's an AMC).

But today, my friends, we are going to discuss a different kind of dream, are we excited? (Yes!)

This kind of dream is called a recurring dream, and I've been having three different ones!

Here, I will describe them.

The first type started occurring shortly after my beloved childhood dog, Piha, died. In these dreams I bomb around with a dog. They are generally pretty uneventful. Usually just me taking a walk with a dog. Usually it's a Boston Terrier, sometimes it's Piha, other times it's some future dog that my parents have not yet bought.

Normally these dreams are good, because, as we have documented several times, dogs make me happy.

Other times they take a turn for the tragic, and the dog I am walking will run away and be struck by a car. But whenever the dog getting hit by a car dreams happen, the dog either changes from a Boston Terrier to a German Shepherd or was a German Shepherd all along.

According to The Google, "Pay attention to dreams about dogs, as they often bring important messages. Dog dreams that are positive mean that the dreamer is lucky in friendship. A threatening dog signifies discomfort with large social groups."

So apparently, sometimes I have good relationships with my friends, and others, the relationships are threatened?

I think I probably just miss my dog, and wish that Chopdick had died instead of her.

My second dream is fairly common. I will be tooling around some mountain pass or other high thing, and suddenly, the ground will release me and I will fall for a bit, and then of course you realize, "Hey, I'm dreaming," and then you wake up. UNLESS YOU HAVE MASTERED WAKING LIFE!!! But, I haven't, so I just wake up.

MORE GOOGLE INSIGHT!!!

"As with most common dream themes, falling is an indication of insecurities, instabilities, and anxieties. You are feeling overwhelmed and out of control in some situation in your waking life. This may reflect the way you feel in your relationship or in your work environment. You have lost your foothold and can not hang on or keep up with the hustle and bustle of daily life"

I don't know about this one, I feel pretty in control most of the time, if a bit annoyed about how scheduled my life is.

"Falling dreams also often reflect a sense of failure or inferiority in some circumstance or situation. It may be the fear of failing in your job/school, loss of status, or failure in love."

This one makes a little more sense, as they tend to correspond with Magic Blog posts. Maybe they'll stop happening now?

"According to Freudian theory, dreams of falling indicate that you are contemplating giving into a sexual urge or impulse. You maybe lacking indiscretion."

My already tenuous relationship with Freud has just gotten worse with this "interpretation," God knows I'm not in any position to give into any urge, I can't even get kisses with tongue!

My other dream is probably the most unusual.

I always dream that I am preternaturally good at ice hockey. This dream has no basis in fact. After my years in CO, I am an okay ice skater, but i've never actually played hockey in my life. Yet, often enough, I dream that I am taking people part on the ice, either with my brother (who played roller hockey and is also good in the dream) or with a bunch of people who aren't as good as me. Let's consult Google.

First, we'll tackle the times when I am just skating alone. In a section the "dream dictionary" calls "Playing Sports - Individually."

"You may feel responsibility for your own success or satisfaction. Many times, entertaining ourselves stems from being neglected by others, so we dream of playing alone and enjoying ourselves in spite of them. Other times, it is a product of distancing ourselves from others, even if perhaps they would want us to play in the group."

If we follow this interpretation maybe I just feel isolated, possibly from dwelling on and then executing my move back to my parents, as well as my eventual move to Austin. The website also has handy feedback questions.

The website asks, "Do you feel a sense of loneliness or comfort in the dream?"

Well dream page, as a matter of fact, I enjoy these dreams a lot. I like to effortlessly slide on the ice and whack stuff around with an aluminum stick.

Now we will address the part of the site that says "Playing Sports - With Others."

"Dreaming of playing with others can be a symptom of your need to enhance your interpersonal communication skills. It can also inform you of the possibility that you have been neglecting communion with others, and that you need to seek more camaraderie in your life."

This is bullcrap dream website. I have lots of friends and I communicate excellently. I think that maybe the webpage is jealous of my human emotions and the ability to feel, and that's why he is trying to bring me down.

Also his question is, "Is the game being played for fun or competition?"

In my dream state, it's always just for fun, it also always has both genders represented, in more of a pick up game type atmosphere. This also makes me the star of the dream, because, as I said earlier, I am the best player out there.

Maybe this is just my brain letting me enjoy what it feels like to be the best player, because there is never a situation where I am playing a team sport and I'm the best person out there. Maybe that's why it picked hockey, because I won't be able to say to my dream self, "Hey, you're not better than that person in basketball, you've played them before."

I suppose it doesn't really matter.

There are some dreams beloved readers. I hope you enjoy reading about them (slash) interpreting them, and always remember, if you dream about falling, wake up before you hit the ground, or you will die in your sleep!

Writing Monster (Blogheara)

Hello friends,

I am concerned. I am concerned because there has been an almost criminal dearth of comments on my most recent updates to KMB, and honestly readers...this hurts me where my heart is.

I think it may be psychological for you cats. Apparently the entry Night Writing made people too sad. I find this strange, seeing as there have been countless similarly disheartening dissertations on my still difficult to discern emotions. Maybe we just reached a critical mass, like it was all too much for my beloved readers. The omni-present bitching, regardless of how poignantly expressed, overwhelmed everyone's sympathy receptors.

The fact that I could potentially be writing to empty air, that no one might read this for months is, in a way, liberating. (also lonely). I could say whatever I cared and damn the consequences. This is usually the attitude I have when writing, but occasionally, i will refrain from being too eviscerating in the name of good taste and common empathy.

I am one of the angriest people I know, but no one is ever directly affronted by my rage. I like to spread it out, mail little packages to neutral parties, so that eventually only a shadow is left. But the shadow is just as dangerous. It colors my perception, influences my interaction, casts a pall on every sentence i speak, type, or text. I don't know why this is. I like to pretend it's out of sincere motives. That I don't confront people I care about because I don't want to risk losing that camaraderie. And I realize that's probably disingenuous and being a crappy friend, but maybe i'm just that caring. Or maybe I don't care enough. Or maybe I'm just a wiener.

I don't know team. I'm used to using my Magic as a sort of outlet. A way to express myself with thinly veiled messages.

And for the past year almost every message has been directed at one person.

But i want that to change.

I'm tired of trying to please this one person, I'm tired of this, as Jordan so eloquently put, "Fight Club type situation," defining me and defining how i see myself. I'm tired of trying to insert myself in someone else' story.

I think I turned a corner the other day. I think I may have, if not resolved, at least articulated how I feel and how I want to change.

But I'm turning a corner like a firetruck. I can't do it alone, and i'm worried, i'm downright scared that if the driver in the back doesn't help me get around this corner; then maybe history is doomed to repeat.

But this person, this passive aggressive little coward is not who I feel like I am. I'm an angry son of a gun, I'm like Bill Hicks, without the addictions. (Also I'm funny). (TAKE THAT BILL HICK'S ESTATE).

So now i'm apprehensive to be all up on front street in the Magic Blog, maybe it's time I started behaving like a man.

A few months ago, I wrote an entry called Checkmate. It was good.

When I wrote this, I listened to La La Lie on repeat, it took twenty-two listens. All I could think was "Guess what? I'm done."

I realize that maybe that wasn't the way I should do things. Maybe there's no such thing as all or nothing; maybe i shouldn't focus on one relationship so relentlessly. Maybe I should find fulfillment in something else, rather than this imaginary wonderland i've convinced myself would make my life ever so grand.

Maybe it's a process, maybe it's gradual, maybe hours of dialogue and honesty aren't enough. Maybe every problem can't be solved by slight of tongue. Maybe sometimes it just takes time?

I don't like things that take time readers. I don't especially like things that take action either. I pretty much just like to hear myself talk. I also like to overthink. I think the overthinking is what does me in. I analyze everything so much and I expect others to do the same, to devote a lot of time to hypothetical pursuits, when in reality they have much more productive and probably healthy things to spend their lonely times doing. So when that time comes, when i'm free to pontificate; it comes out in a rush thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts, a tower of babble, if you will. And after i have flushed my brain, I expect the other person to feel this same sense of relief, to see it as this wonderfully cathartic experience. Maybe they don't see it as that, maybe it's just a step in the right direction, not the destination. (Dinosaur Comics has made me realize that we need new metaphors world, i'm tired of everthing being about traveling or playing sports).

This is where I err. People are not all me. Things take time. I think I'm ready to take time, I think I'm ready to spread myself out. I think I'm ready to find genuine fulfillment.

I think maybe my love letter ends here. This is the conclusion of the pages and pages, and maybe it's better that way.

Or maybe it's just the first step.

I love you readers, even if you're just me.