Note Taken

As humans, we automatically use our five senses to make observations; whether immense or diminutive observations are made, and mental notes are taken. We view our surroundings, analyzing every aspect of it: The colors, the mood of the atmosphere, as well as any events that are occurring. Preeminently, we examine the people around us. Regardless of where our minds are, or what we are scrutinizing at any particular moment in time, we subconsciously take notes.

Obviously, we remember things, both positive and negative. Some feel as though we remember everything, but the human mind is selective, based off what a particular does and doesn’t want to believe and remember. When getting to know a person, we often take notes: Their favorite color, what they like to eat, and if the acquaintanceship ever goes far enough, possibly personal secrets. We remember these things because the facts are valuable, extremely negative, or you care enough about a specific person, that every word is worth a note taken; Every bit of mindless chatter, every corny joke.

With that said, how many people do you know that are worth a note taken? How often is it that you choose to take note on something that you will not later use for personal gain, or use against someone? When do you take notes simply because you like the way one thinks, because you like their personal preferences? While I’ve noted that most people have not, my mind has been opened to the fact that there are people out there that do still value a decent psychological note, not based on more than the physical. Although they’re hard to find, I’m glad they do exist.

It’s natural to take notes. It’s your choice how you utilize these notes.

Just an observation; Just a note taken.

Writers Block

My mind feels light as empty thoughts cross my mind. I sit and try to write, but the words won’t flow. I sit in front on my dimmed computer screen, finding myself staring into its soul for some source of muse; some energy; something that can come across me and take my mind for a wild adventure. Something that will not only be a product of my constant tapping, tapping, tapping, and the keyboard, but a creation of my heart. I’m searching for something that can pull you into my world, something that would allow others to see who I am, what I am, and what I’m about. I sit and stare. The silence begins to drill a hole into my mind, and my body grows numb. Nothing is there, while absence is present.

I look over at my phone. The screen blackened from neglect. I press clear, only to see a picture of me and you. I feel it. The muse I was looking for. The electricity runs through my body as the words travel from my heart and out through my finger tips. First I am embarrassed of what I say and what I do. But then I realize it’s me. I realize that you’ve accepted me for what I am, as opposed to what I want you to believe I am. I let my emotions flow…

The Void

I look around only to find myself in solitude; my only friend, the keyboard. I only share this room with the four walls in captivity; The four walls which tend to present a barrier to my every thought. Writers block I once called it. I'm now realizing its a void. But with what could I possibly fill this void?

As I continue to present to myself solutions to this conundrum, I'm soon distracted by a tangent thought. -her- But why? Why does this thought linger in my mind so? My mind is now null, for I cannot get past my distraction. I wonder if she's thinking about me. Or if she knows I'm thinking about her for that matter. My soul, now drowned in thoughts of her. Does she miss me as much as I miss her? Does she reminise on the time we spent? What does she see in me? How could I have been so lucky to have had such a being grace my life?

UGH! Stop it! I begin to argue with myself internally. Why must my soul suffer over something thats not mine? Why must I fall so hard for something I can't have? I'm stuck. What do I do now?

I continue to sit. Staring at my computer screen. tapping at my keyboard whatever may come to mind. And it hits me. When I was thinking about her, though I was frustrated, I was happy. I was whole. Her presence brings joy. Her voice is alleviation. Her text are the cure to a rough morning. The answer is in front of me. But for some reason, I still can't get it right. Maybe someday she can fill my void. Sigh.

Until then...

I look around only to find myself in solitude; my only friend, the keyboard. I only share this room with the four walls in capativity; The four walls which tent to present a barried to my every thought. Writers block I once called it. I now realize its a void. I know how I want to fill this void. But that, I can never completely reveal until the time is right.

Just an observation

I sit back and examine our shallow superficial world....
So very full of expectations, tearing down those that don't meet it's standards.
I can't help but question our methods.

We say we want to make the world a better place, but I've come to realize that those that appear to be most helpful, always tend to have a personal motive; a goal dealing with self gain.

When will people begin to separate truth from lies? right from wrong? love from hate?Its hard to blame those that don't, because whose to tell whats what anymore? In our corupted little society everything that was once an innocent pleasure has become tainted; spoiled for those to come...

Just an observation.

Her

Her. She's beautiful. She's talented. Over all she's amazing. Everyone loves her. She's in a good relationship. She's living the life everyone wish they had. She doesn't need approval from everyone. She is the strong black woman that should be represented as power. Her intellect is beyond what anyone would image. Not to mention, her smile, so she's told, is like no other. Sometimes she can be a little difficult. But he loved her, for her. He loved her alone.

She sometimes whined, but it always got her far. Her head was always held high, regardless of the circumstances. She was a rock. She was solid. Nothing could ever bring her down. She was brave and caring to those that treated her the same way, and had no tolerance for those that behaved disrespectfully. She was goal oriented and always had reason to do what she pleased. She was what everyone wanted to be. Her...was me. If I could somehow turn back the hand of time, I would. Just so I can again be her.

Untitled

Well, I'm not doing homework. And I can't sleep. So I figured I'd let you in on what I'm doing.

Why is it that in this fast paced world full of technology and research, that we have yet to find a cure for imperfection and guilt? For how much longer must we continue to live a savage life full of jealousy and love as opposed to the robot-like life of emotional idolness? Why can they replace and fix every damaged orgin or bone, but have yet to heal an infinitively broken heart?

Everyone's life as we know it is full of flaws and mishaps; unable to control ourselves, as humans, we react in the only we we know how: according to emotion. In a perfect worl, that which lacks human emotion, that which is more controlled, we as people would no longer have to rely on others, directly or passively, to provide us with that happiness that we desperate beings long for.

con't----------------

Currently in our imperfect sad little world, we put time and effort into things that can never truely exsist. For example; we tend to try to create this thing called forever. Honestly. What is forever? According to websters, forever is without ever ending, eternally. But how often does forever really last forever? Why is it that we try so hard to live by this definition, when that dream of forever is often disturbed by people, events, and opinions?

In a perfect world, there would be no forever. There would INDEED by a short term future, but not forever. If forever yielded to exsist, many of the broken hearts, suicides, tears and sweat would also be non exsistant. Forever is full of broken promises and crashed dreams. And in a perfect world, there wouldn't be time for such.

Needless to say, I personally wish I could care less, but for some reason I can't. The one time I don't wish to remember and reminise, I do. I'm trying to hold on to something that is no longer near me, and that draws me closer and closer to the insanity of the imperfect world; chasing after something that you believe is there, only to find it is out of your reach...