Berserk - The Becoming [NIN] AMV

Setting/Achieving Goals

11.3.11 
Yesterday, a buddy agreed to bring his truck over and to help me move. The truck only had a six foot bed. So, we took a few trips and then called it a night. Thankfully, he arranged to have access to a larger truck for today.

One of things we did manage to move was my couch. Whenever bed time came, I slept on the floor of the partway emptied out place. This morning, when I awoke, my landlords were standing over me. Which, in their defense, is not that creepy cuz a.) I was supposed to be gone on the 31st and b.) I sleep like the dead.

Compounded with that, I accidentally missed work. An entire shift. No-call, no-show. That never looks good.

And yet, despite all that, I had a great time today. Joey Booker helped me move, I have to say, with a raging broner, the dude is the bee's knees. It was like hanging out with myself. Funny, high-energy, full of vitality. I loved it. A grueling experience for most, was a hang-out/story-time for our optimistic asses. Ever the consummate gentlemen he treated me to bacon pizza not once, but TWICE, during our moving ordeal. Once yesterday and once today. I am rather shocked at what it essentially feels like to hang out with me. I almost never want to hang out with a "normal" person ever again. That young man, single-handedly took what was a daunting and somber task and turned into a funtime partytime cakewalk. It was so nice to for once be on the outside looking in. Take a look at dis rah-dikaluss mafucka right here:


Fantastic. I am definitely stoked to hang out with him without the need to ask favors or complete tasks. That kid is goin' places.

A few months back I started walking on my hands again. After breaking my wrist 3 years ago, I was told that I would NEVER again be able to walk on my hands and that I'd possibly never be able to lift weights. When I was granted one more month in my place, I challenged myself to handwalking the entire length of the apartment before I left. DIRECTLY (I have a witness, haha) after moving EVERYTHING out (2 dudes, 2 trips, 5 hrs total) I had Booker record this:


It's kind of amazing to me that I literally did something I was told by medical professionals that I would never do again. I'm having a real hard time not dwelling on the awesomeness of overcoming such a prognosis. Such is the power of Consciousness. Of Intent. If you fully and truly set your mind to something, NOTHING can get in your way.

Booker had to book it somewhat early and I had one last item left to transport. My big corkboard. He was kind enough to drop me off and after completing the handwalk challenge I was up for another hurdle to clear. Unfortunately I was not prepared for reality.

When he dropped me off, and I entered my old apartment, now completely bare except for the corkboard, I was overwhelmed with loneliness and memories. I broke down into tears (rare) and even began talking to myself (INSANELY rare), I eventually gathered my composure and set off on my quest. Not before ungracefully calling my ex and suffering a subsequent text barrage wherein she requested that we cut ties completely. I let the difficulty of the task at hand distract me away from that. I do love a good challenge.

It took me a damn long time to walk it over. I had to switch hands every thirty seconds or so. By the time I'd actually made it to Brookline blvd. it was around midnight and my forearms/hands/shoulders were screaming/burning. That trek was harder than the day of moving and the handwalk challenge combined.

The corkboard ended up serving as as conversation starter/topic of interest. A group of three dudes randomly inquired as to what I was carrying and a conversation developed. The readily available, and visually digestible, collage of all things Vish quickly ingratiated me to them. They were somewhat young and my frank/humorous nature seemed to take them completely by surprise. I spoke candidly about "beatin' ma dick" and then we waxed philosophical on the mathematics of a properly proportioned posterior. Mentions of Alexis Texas, Kristina Rose, Rachel Starr, Pinky, and Kim Kardashian followed. I do so enjoy a good rump.

*pauses to think about bums*

Anyhoo, a cop drove by and told us to keep it down. One of the dudes got lippy. The cop dismissed us and set in on the young buck. Myself and the other two rolled up to my crib where they practically fell in bro-love with me. Topics of discussion ranged from ass to cannabis to martial arts and philosophy. Such an amazing feeling to literally have it be your first day in a new neighborhood and to already be making friends. I offered to smoke them out for free and I hope they take me up on it. The concept seemed quite novel to them, and in our short time I already seemed to have a positive impact on their way of thinking.

Eventually I sent them home though because some buddies contacted me about middle-manning for them. The English language may be direct and nice for spelling out things plainly, but it's somewhat lacking in attaching beauty to events the way more Romantic languages do. There is something quite sublime about smoking for free in the company of people you enjoy. This seems an obvious and oversimplified concept, but there's much more to it than words are capable of communicating.

They came, we blazed, they left.

Shortly thereafter, I got a call from my "old" neighbor to help find her cat. I struck off her way but as I anticipated, the moment I was almost there, I got a call that they had already found the fickle feline. Happy she found 'im I about-faced and headed home, content to categorize the jaunt into the "health and exercise" section.

I was plenty high while walking and the effects of such a state combined with music and physical activity made for a powerful experience. One I usually take for granted. Walking, after such a long physical day, being high and listening to music felt just perfect. I was the master of my own destiny, forming my own path with my own two feet.

When I got back home, the concept of buildings seemed overly simplified.
"It's just outside that's inside is all."
Specifically what brought this revelation on was the stairway up to my new apartment. I live above a couple of businesses and it's pretty evident to me that over time, as things grew closer and closer together, the stairway materialized out of necessity. What was once probably wrought-iron steps on the side of a brick building has become wooden steps inside a building directly next to another building. The "coats" of "growth" seemed more noticeable.

On the way there, the sidewalk width, the road width, business, traffic, people all made perfect sense to me. The organic progress was immediately apparent. Hey people walk here a lot, lay down some concrete. Hey a lot of people walk here, lay down some additional concrete to increase the width of the path.

My buddies that I'd smoke with earlier had been texting me intermittently about ideas for some characters I'd explained to them. The Josh Vish show seems more inevitable than ever. What an absolute blast making it would be.

Another bonus of my new place is free wi-fi. Granted I have to sit dead center in the middle of a room I hadn't planned on using, but hey, it's free. Shutcho mouf n enjoy it, ya silly bitch.

I've waited long enough to publish this that a few days have passed, and with them more adventure/stories have occurred as well.

11.4.11
My old landlords refunded me the utility deposit they asked of me at the beginning of the month. The refund was granted in the form of a single hundred dollar bill.

Look at Ben Franklin. That smug motherfucker. Judging you. His pursed lips and solid stare practically scream "You're a fuckup." His face says, "What are you going to spend me on? It'd better not be petty. I hope you're using me wisely."

Fuck you, Franklin. I'm my own man, I'll spend you on whatever I want. Don't judge me.

And the game is on to figure out how I want to spend it. A vacuum cleaner is at the top of the order because I need one and I really wanna clean this place. I also need food. Decisions, decisions.

Tonight was the Annual After-Halloween Party.
One of the girls hosting it offered to pick me up. She's SUPER cute and nice and even popped my Phantom Fright Nights cherry not too long ago. I was broke as a joke and she picked up the tab. I was tired out of my mind before she suggested the evening but I could not pass it up. And my God am I glad I didn't. What a fun fuckin' time. Being at Kennywood at night is kinda magical. I mean being at Kennywood is in and of itself magical, but compounded with Halloween decorations/lights and workers in costumes, it was surreal. I was sober, but due to my lack of sleep and the novelty of the event it very much felt like one big drawn out psychedelic trip. It was epic. We had a blast for sure.

So when she offered me a ride, I'd just got home from work and she had just clocked out herself and was headed my way. I got in a superquick shower, showed her the place for a little bit and then decided on a "costume". We decided to get some pizza as both of us were hungry as fuck and had plenty of time before the shindig officially began. When we got to her place, the stress of having to set up/clean up was getting to her and I was eager to help. I did what I could yet largely felt ineffective. I communicated this and she told me a way in which I could help. She proffered some duckets and her keys and bade me acquire more beer.

Crew morale was the name of the game so I didn't want to prolong or increase her stress by asking for directions. I drove to where I remembered and then drove the strip back and forth to no avail. I came upon a CVS that I know a good friend lives near and here's where things got really adventurous.

Not finding the beer distributor on my own, I called my buddy and asked if he was home. He was. I asked if he'd come down and guide me to beer. He would. He did. He came down and popped in the car and while guiding me to the suds store told me of my serendipitous/synchronous timing. He and his girl had just ordered Chinese and were about to blaze. --- Sometimes I just really really REALLY love my life. --- So we went and purchased all the necessary provisions and headed back to his place. We headed upstairs and moments later the food arrived. They both insisted on sharing and being financially well off enough, for the first time in a month or so, I was able to throw a few bux their way for hospitality. I think of it less as "paying" them and more like keeping them in business. We smoked, we ate, we chatted. Our time was too brief, but unfortunately ice was melting in the car. They suggested I rock a custom-made Finn hat, and they didn't really need to twist my arm. Indeed, this was already shaping up to be quite The Adventure Time.

Hat in tow, high, beverage and ice in car, I headed to the party. Fortuitously enough I arrived just after the scheduled start point and thankfully many others had already arrived. My entrance wasn't as grand as I'd imagined (Kicking down the door, holding all three cases of beer, both bags of ice, shirtless, barefoot and capped FOR ADVENTURE TIME.) What actually occurred was decent enough though. After comedically interpreting an overhead insult as aimed at me (someone yelled 'slut') I furiously tore off my clothes and began setting up the brews in a bucket. Already the energy had been established. Ladies were starin'/touchin' and I was feelin' great.

A couple of dudes were apparently excited to see me specifically and indeed upon my arrival bromance was thick in the air. I was told that my youtube account and facebook profile were followed closely and that, and I quote, "I don't even fuck with Twitter, because I get everything I need from your facebook." My beard was complimented, as was my physique. The Ego was getting HEAPS of strokes from many different people.

My favorite moment of the evening however had little to do with fitness or appearance. One young man that had already expressed his fondness for my facebook and youtube videos went on to cite my encouraging his decision to quit smoking tobacco as pivotal in the execution of it. Absolute music to my ears. That is one of those bat 'em outta the park moments where something you always want/try to do actually gets done and to a degree beyond what you initially desired. I'm deeply honored and powerfully pleased to have contributed to a person eschewing tobacco use and reclaiming the sanctity of their flesh. Feels good, man.

This young man was also quite eager/excited to smoke cannabis with me. I don't know if you know, but I kinda/sorta enjoy smoking marijuana. I mean, just a little bit. The party was well underway and I was feeling great. Another crowd was indulging in ganja and quite willing  to share, again being able to do so for the first time in a little while, I threw a couple bux their way to pay it forward. To keep 'em in business.

Sometime during all the shenanigans, shirtless bro-antics occurred on the back deck/porch and my innerbro was all too happy to oblige. Rugby, wrestling and other forms of cock-measuring stirred up my age old desire to have a physical equal to play rough with.

Basically the night consisted of enjoying genuine conversations with some, silly ones with others, flirting with girls, bonding with bros, drinking shots and beers, hittin' pipes and blunts, and of course, eatin' snax. Floatin' from room to room makin' people laugh, ogling girls' legs/asses. An absolutely amazing time.

After the night had kinda died down a bit and people began trickling off, one bold young lady bravely swooped in for a few smooches before departing. I cannot stress what an insane Ego-boost this celebration was. I practically feel justified in calling myself a celebrity at this point. Definite positive reinforcement for continued development down this path.

I was hoping to cuddle and maybe a little more with the girl that brought me, but unfortunately she goes hard in the motherfucking paint and was passed out by about 2. I lost her amidst the sea of inebriated individuals that populated her bed/floor. No room for Vish. :(

As serendipity would have it however there was room for Vish in another female's bed. Yes that's correct, I was lucky enough to cap off my night by enjoying some cuddles with a cute/funny/smart girl on her comfy bed. I am indeed just that fortunate. On our way to unconsciousness she brought my youtube knowledge up to speed. She showed/introduced me to some of the funniest shit I have ever seen. A lot of it I can't believe I didn't already know. The funnies were almost (almost) more pleasurable than the cuddling. She also went on to display some of her accomplishments and achievements and I must admit they are noteworthy, I am genuinely intrigued, my interest has been piqued.

11.5.11
In the morning, I pressured her (in the good way) to relax a bit, as she definitely seems to be the workaholic type. It felt so nice to wake up next to a soft body under covers on an actual bed again. When sleeping alone, I prefer a couch/futon, but there's not much in existence that compares to the pleasure of regaining consciousness on what is essentially a giant pillow that's been raised off of the floor with a member of the opposite sex directly sidled up to you.

In another example of my/our "small world" getting smaller, she apparently used to date an increasingly close friend of mine.

I had to go to work, so the girl that brought me, then took me home and was also kind enough to take me directly to work. I worked a super short shift today, the purpose behind it was to practice steaming milk. I'm a barista-in-training and despite what some humble caffeine-slangers say, it's very subtle art. I worked with a new co-worker and we seemed to hit it off pretty well right from the start. Conversation flowed easily and he is exactly where I wanna be when it comes to coffee knowledge. A bona fide connoisseur. I will be shadowing him, and him specifically, closely in the coming weeks. So far I've found two worthwhile work-related mentors there.

On the way home I stopped by Molly's to try their by-the-slice offer and let me just say, WOW what a fantastic product. I am thoroughly pleased and will DEFINITELY return for more. Absolute quality food being serving at that establishment. I woulda taken a picture of those delicious slices of 'za, but alas my phone was dead. Between that and the "hand-pies" I've been purchasing at Pitaland I'm really enjoying my new apartment's location. The proximity to street-food that I can eat on the fly (and for pretty dang cheap) is a huge plus. I've been striking a nice little rhythm of waking up a little bit before work, heading out, spending $3-5 on something I can eat while I walk, eating free food at work and then having my tips from the day recoup and typically exceed the day's expenses. I am more than okay with this. Wake up, have certain amount of money in pocket, buy some food, eat free food, go home with more money than when you came. My net worth is steadily gaining currently and obviously I very much enjoy this.

Tomorrow is my first day off since moving in and I hope to at least establish a basic living area. Kitchen, bathroom and a moderate bedroom set-up. I'll let everything else kinda develop organically as I go. I really don't know how I wanna lay everything out. It's a lot of room for one person. I'm heavily considering having a roommate move in. I don't really wanna unpack too much because history has taught me that I don't typically stay in once place for too long. While the location is ideal, the cleanliness, or lack thereof, has me very much entertaining the thought of moving again after winter. I dunno, we'll see.

Remember, remember! 
The fifth of November, 
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot; 
I know of no reason 
Why the Gunpowder Treason 
Should ever be forgot!

One Step At A Time

The apartment is cold, dark and empty. JUST LIKE MY HEART, haha.

I'm in that bodily state of low temperature wherein normally trivial bumps and scrapes attain a brand new layer of pain. Bumping a knuckle here, bonking an elbow there. It all seems to hurt much more when one is cold.

I've never been one for subtlety so I'll just go ahead and acknowledge the obvious symbolism in that.

Things that wouldn't normally hurt or affect us, have much more impact when we're already in a state of distress.


A lot of the trauma of this series of events is due to the proximity of its constituent parts. Any standalone portion of this would be a daunting obstacle in its own right, but all combined together it's like the Voltron of Ass-Fuckery.

I just want some stability, you know?

I've done this (unfortunately) enough times now, that it hasn't fully taken me by surprise or fully taken me off my feet. I am still standing. I have a good idea of what to do. I will go on. That much, I know. The exact details of how, however, are going to need worked out.

I'm doing what I've taught myself to do in these stressful situations: putting my blinders on. Willful tunnel vision.

I began writing in an effort to center myself. I meant that as in here and now, but in general I guess that applies too. Writing focuses me. Makes my thoughts more tangible. When they're inside my head I'm more susceptible to the ebb and flow between them and my emotions. When they're on the screen and flowing off my fingertips, I'm like a scientist or a student assessing a problem. I look at the problem, eliminate as many variables as possible and then proffer a solution, fully prepared to embark upon the process of trial-and-error.

So what I know now is: I have to be out by the 31st. I have no income. I have no place lined up to go. Most of my belongings are already packed and stacked in a way that, I have to give myself, is much more efficient than past versions of myself or current versions of others could accomplish. It's impressive, really.

This sucks, and it hurts, but like a newly christened boxer well into the sophomore years of his career, I've been hit before and I KNOW I will be hit again. And it's like Rocky Balboa tells me,

"It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much you can take and KEEP MOVING FORWARD."

It hurts, my head is stinging, my ears are ringing and I'm having trouble seeing straight, but I'm on my feet. And more importantly, I'm aware that "he" is on his feet too, and gearing up to strike me again. I mustn't give up. I must be prepared. I will get through this. If this series of events hasn't stopped me in the past, why should I let it stop me now? Fatigue? I have too much pride to be beaten by that. If I'm going to be stopped, it's going to be all the way.

So what needs to be done?

First and foremost, I need to eat. I've lost a lot of weight/strength and I can't afford to lose any more.

So... I will make some eggs. I will eat them, and I will do the resulting dishes.

And then I need to secure income, so I will walk around and collect applications from ANYWHERE with a now hiring sign.

I will fill them out slowly and purposefully over this weekend and I will turn them in bright and early on Monday morning.

Lastly, I need to be more mobile, so I will bring everything up from the basement. Including the uniform empty boxes needed to finish packing. I will pack as much as I can tonight before falling asleep, whilst simultaneously trimming the fat anywhere I can. Getting rid of excess possessions. Things I don't need/use.

I may hate this process and it may make me doubt my Higher Self and this entire plane of existence, but that doesn't change my ability to recognize, and be impressed by, my growth and resilience. At each iteration of this cycle I have gotten better. Leaner, faster, stronger. Each crisis only serves to hone my resolve and mold me into a more pure version of myself. Hopefully, one day, there will come a point in my own development where I can never be caught off-guard again. Not living in a state of prepared paranoia, but living in a state of fully relaxed alertness.

The more I watch my life fall apart around me the more remarkable I find my own reactions to it. An objective part of me is literally awestruck at my awesome ability to pick up the pieces and move on. In my head sometimes I think "This is too much. I'm not going to make it. I'm in over my head.", and yet all the while I'm thinking that, I'm watching my hands, consolidate things into neat piles. It's almost like my physical being has a will of its own. And if what I've observed holds any truth it would appear that "he" literally does not know how to quit. At times like that, I'm all too happy to turn the reigns over to him.

There are problems, very real problems, that are going to shift out of my future and shift into my present very soon, but I can't let those distract me from the ones at hand. Cross each bridge as I come to it. What use is it to fret and worry about future bridges when there is one that needs immediate attending to?

I will let tomorrow's problems worry about themselves. For now, I'm going to deal with today's problems. Here and now's obstacles. Right now, the biggest things in my way are hunger, lack of income and loose possessions. All of which I have the power to fix, here, now, today.

My First Day Of Training

10.11.11

I'm only wearing underwear. I'm slightly sweaty. My hands/feet are still wet from washing them. I just got in the door a few minutes ago.

I've emptied my center desk drawer. It's been broken for a while now, and yet right now seems like the time to fix it. This is how I'm attempting to escape reality.

Writing this is an attempt at centering back in on reality.

I am about to super-glue the corner of my busted desk drawer, and then after that, hammer in nails where it makes sense to do so.

I've stopped to begin this though, in order to keep on track. To stay mindful. To watch myself.

My house of cards is swaying in the wind.

Now the drawer is repaired, and refilled. The task is complete. And yet, I still had to tear myself away to type this. Even now I feel a tugging on my solar plexus and I can feel myself standing up and walking back to my desk.

I have to find my social security card. I brought my birth certificate today because I didn't have enough time to find it. So now, that I'm home, I must locate it. Now. This has to be done now, my thoughts say. And so I will stand...

I've laid all my files out in neat little piles. And shortly I will begin searching. You can see what I'm doing, can't you? Let me spell it out. Ruin the romance of the symbolism by directly acknowledging what is going on.

I am desperately searching for things to fix, that I can fix.

I want immediate gratification. I want to fill my drawer back up and slide it back into place. I want to stand back and say, "There! I did it! Me! All by myself! I fixed it!". I want to give myself a big old pat on the back.

I want to locate my elusive social security card so I can say, "Ha! I found it! Nothing eludes me!" Followed, of course, by a big old pat on the back. Good job, self. Great hustle out there today.

Even now, I'm losing myself in the fun of writing. Alas, the pull is too strong, I return to the piles...

Well, got rid of some surplus paperwork, but I've yet to locate the card.

I decided to call the number, that I should've called directly after receiving it, just now. At 4:30. Hours of operation ended directly at 4:30. Some times life speaks so loud and clear it's a wonder anything gets misconstrued.

I'm hungry.

My desk is a little cleaner, but the social security card is still M.I.A.

Now I've decided that it's important to redeem some High Life codes. After that, I'll probably do dishes. And after that, I'll have no recourse but to come back, finish this, publish it, and continue on with damage control whilst staying as mindful as possible.

Dishes are done.

Man, I am so frickin' hungry.

So everything is done. No more distractions.

The day started off with me waking up to my new badass alarm.

Which I specifically searched for and downloaded last night prior to going bed on time like a responsible boy. I wanted to be well-rested for my first day of training. And I wanted an alarm that would get me stoked to begin my new journey.

I got breakfast together (despite breakfast's attempts to foil me) ate it, got dressed and then rifled around for the social security card that I still haven't found. I didn't let it make me late, though. I adapted. I flowed. I got a manila folder and popped my birth certificate inside. Popped that inside a little black zip-up dealy. (Think adult Trapper Keeper. Er wait, no, get yer head out of the gutter, not that kind of adult. Okay, pervert, think Professional Trapper Keeper.)

Anyhoo, I strapped on my Vibrams, popped in my earbuds and hit the road. I enjoyed this unusually nice weather (for October) and made the 2 mile trek to my new job in no time.

I arrived early, good little employee that I am. I filled out ALL the new hire paperwork. And then I sat rapt with attention as Loren told the class more about the position. Well, part way through, the door opens up and Loren excuses herself. I take that opportunity to visit the restroom, and when I'm making my way back, both Melanie and Loren are still standing in the hallway. They ask me to come into their office. I do.

I failed the background check.

My record shows that I have a felony (which I do not) and that I have an open case (which I also do not). The felony charge was dropped, I did my time (220 hours of community service and about $1000 in court costs) and the case was closed. I was told all I'd have on my record would be a summary charge that wouldn't even show up in background checks. Surprise, surprise, I was lied to. The American Justice system, lying? Screwing over one of its citizens? Crazytalk...

I'm gonna try to fight it as best as I can, and I'm going to attempt to work there if I can, but I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that a big part of me sees this as a sign.

Life/The Universe/Fate/God/My Higher Self -- whatever label you wish to attach to it -- simply will not sit idly by and let my exist in mediocrity. It demands my excellence. Requires it. WON'T ALLOW ANYTHING ELSE.

So I have a clean[er] desk, an empty sink and that ever-present blank state.

No debt.
No income.
No car.
Less than a month left in this place.

No where to go but up, right?

So I suppose I'll take the bull by the horns and try to make the most out of my night/time under a roof.

I'll share this on facebook and in addition to that I'll make specific posts, but if you are reading this, right now, and you're in the Pittsburgh area, I want to sell you something.

I have many talents. Take your pick.

I will gladly give you a personalized nutrition and exercise regiment. I can take you through many different kinds of workouts and diet plans to help you achieve your fitness goals.

I can draw.

Ask me for a picture, I will draw it for you and then you can decide whether or not to buy it.

I am teh turbosex.

Take some pictures of me. Leave me currency in return.

I'm a storyteller.

Get me goin' and it's hard to get me to stop. I'll talk your ear off for HOURS about some of the most interesting shit you've ever heard. And then, you pay me. Da cash bux.

I'm funny.

During any of these activities, I will probably make you laugh. Not a measurable service per se, but please feel free to pay me for it.

I can write.

I will write you a story and you can decide whether or not to buy it.

Acting.

Bring over a camera, you will have more footage than you know what to do with. I talk a mile-a-minute and I'm basically a human cartoon character.

Videogames.

I will beat you so bad in Smash Bros., that you'll probably never play again and flinch every time you hear either "Falcon" or "PAAWNCH."

I am a good listener.

I will listen to your problems and then solve them for you. Despite my righteous beard and masculine demeanor, I'm very sensitive and in touch with emotions and the innerworking of the human mind.

These are just a handful of goods/services I'm willing/able to render. I'm a Jack-Of-All-Trades, Master Of Some.

Also, there is always the option of giving me money for free. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

There are LOTS of things I'm good at. Won't you let me help you? It would help me.

Pittsburgh, NM

NM stands for New Mexico.

And no more. And no more New Mexico.

And no mother.

And needs me.

As in no more New Mexico, Pittsburgh needs me.

I'm beginning to feel really really trapped. The lines between guidance and limitations have blurred. I can no longer tell them apart. I keep hoping it's just my depression flavoring my perception, but everything in my higher thinking tells me that I'm justified. I keep trying to steer myself out of this tailspin, to tell myself it's going to be okay, that everything happens for a reason, but it's getting harder and harder...

Life seems like a cruel parody of itself. Nothing seems real and everything seems arbitrary. I've lost the name of action.

I'm blathering and spiraling so I'll attempt to ground myself in some facts and lose myself in some storytelling.

A while back I was faced with a multitude of difficult events assailing me all at once (an increasingly common theme in my life). Without too much backstory it basically left me homeless, jobless and licenseless. But there was hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. That light has grown very very dim. Typically I am a beacon of light and hope for others. I can keep them positive, happy and motivated rather easily. However, it would appear, I am immune to my own medicine. I was able to deal with all the things I was dealing with because I thought I was headed toward an oasis. Rest. Well Deserved Rest. Everything I persevered through, though hard, seemed easy in a way because I knew I was heading toward something. Working toward something.

At what point does aiming toward a goal become more foolish than abandoning it?

I was due to move out west with my family and to attend university. Something I'd worked long and hard to zazz myself up about, and quite successfully so. I threw away many crucial possessions (bed, tv, entertainment center, washer, dryer, microwave, etc.) simply to be more mobile. I was moving halfway across the country. To live with my parents. I wouldn't need these things again for at least 4 years. Holding on to them would've held me back. Would've been too expensive to move it all. And I'd have no place to put it once I got there. But I did what had to be done. Or so I thought, at the time. I'd be able to afford new and better things once my education garnered me gainful employment. Why hold on to my dinged futon and nicked entertainment center? A California king and HDTV were in the works down the line.

No more.

Shortly after the incident with my car (see this entry for details) my mother disowned me. So now I'm down a sister and a mother. All I have left is my dad and baby sis. Both of which are pretty aloof to the whole situation. She stated her reasoning as this very blog. I suspect it goes far deeper than that. There is a very complex interplay of submissive and dominant personalities in my immediate family, it's for this very reason that my youngest sister and father are oblivious to these recent goings-on. On the outside world there is no question that I am an extremely dominant force (sometimes overly so) and the rest of my family is pretty much the same. However in comparison to the forces of myself, Taylor and my mother; my father and Sami seem tame and demure. And at times, when held in relation to my mother or Taylor even I can seem passive. Astonishing, I know. We are all very powerful personalities. While Sami, my dad and myself have all come to terms with this (for the most part) and let the dynamic shift and change as it will, it seems to very much trouble Taylor or my mother to be dominated. Especially so by me.

In essence I think my mom was saying, "You can't fire me, I quit." I think she has always feared abandonment by me and when the stakes got this high she preemptively struck. I also believe a hint of reverse-psychology was present to try to motivate me and switch the balance of power to her favor. Doing what I do best (pushing past things, moving forward) my brain got to work at rationalizing the issue. Two branches developed simultaneously. Denial and acceptance. Both due to pride. My initial defensive thought was, "Fine, you know what? She was holding me back any way." (Which I've come to modify and understand more realistically.) And then it developed into rage. I'll stay sequential. While I love my parents more than anything and wouldn't change them for anything (up to the point of disowning me) my mother has always been close-minded and conservative. Very "Christian". In the derogatory sense. Many of my sources of shame with regards to sex, swearing and religion came from her.

Growing up (and still today) my dad was always far more approachable. Calm. Rational. Open. Ready and willing to answer my questions about God and The Universe and sex and my own body and swearing and society. My mother however was very oppressive. Like the Pope."Why [x]?" I'd ask. "Because God says so." she'd reply. Pretty much any time I've ever felt shame in my life it's come back to her. Not God or my own conscience, but her. WHAT IF MY MOM FINDS OUT?! So her disowning me, in a way, was a huge relief. A freedom from a burden felt for a quarter century. No more needlessly worrying over a backwards individual's slant on my life and actions. While a lot of that still holds true (and is getting me through this) it's been severely altered since. She is still my mom and I will always love her no matter what. The lionshare of who I am (meaning mostly the good, but the bad as well) was directly plagiarized from her. While she often felt like I held my dad in higher regard than her, the truth was (and still sorta is) that I look up to her in most every way imaginable. While my dad is very nice and open, he's not very assertive and prone to getting stressed.. My mother is the picture of calm and strength (except when it comes to dealing with me) and I still try to exemplify the ideal caricature of her I have today.

The moniker of "Fat Toni" (as she is as authoritative, demanding, and scary yet relaxed as a mob boss) was anything but slanderous. This is still the portrait I paint of her to others. The Pinnacle Of Feminine Strength. And in a lot of ways nothing her present self does can ever sully this perfect portrayal of her. So while I still feel freed in a lot of ways there is an obvious and devastating sadness to surmount. This is, after all, my one and only mother we're talking about here.

Backpedaling and explanations aside, what she did is pretty much unforgivable. If she approaches it correctly and enough time has passed in between, I am near positive that I will forgive her. (Much like my sister.) But only if she asks. (Also like my sister.) At this point they are dead to me. Completely due to their own actions. I didn't want it this way, believe me, but alas I can not control everything. The sad part is her pride (again much like my sister) will probably prevent her from ever asking for forgiveness. Indeed she is probably reading these words right now feeling bitter contempt and seething rage. And all I can say to that is something she taught me a long time ago. "You made your bed, now lie in it."

At the risk of sounding dramatic pretty much the entire course of my life was swayed by this flippant decision of her's. Not just material possessions were cast aside. My career path and many other things have been caught in this maelstrom as well. And for that, a part of me will possibly forgive her, but will absolutely never forget for as long as I hold conscious thought in my brain. The one person in this world that I am supposed to be able to depend on, abandoned me. When all else fails, you have your mom. Not me. Not now. Not ever again. My trust is shattered and can never be restored. It is a one time only thing. While I might be civil with her in the future (not the least of which for the sake of my dad and Sami) we will never have the old relationship that we used to.

Point blank I think my mother is scared of me, and I think that her fear drove her to push me away.

So now where do I go from here?

I'm living with my girlfriend and I've got my license back, but my bank account is still in the negative, my car has a flat and I've yet to secure employment. Things are better than they were, but by no means ideal.

At what point does striving for a goal become more foolish than abandoning it?

I lost my ultimate goal in life some time ago. I wish I could blame it on this singular event, but I can't. Though it has certainly contributed greatly. I know all the little things I still want from life, (entheogens, Japanese culture, a gym membership, real whole food, to positively impact those around me, fame, freedom, some world travel, constant learning, constant improving in all three fields: spiritual, mental, physical) but I have forgotten the end goal. If I am currently lavishing looking at the stars on my way to the moon then consider that I have forgotten where the moon is, what it looks like and the fact that I'm even going there.

I love comedy and I love consciousness exploration but I can't fathom either of those blossoming into standalone career paths for me. They will certainly attach on to whatever I choose but I can't rely on them alone. Day in and day out one thing continuously stands out to me. One path screams at me. One path I've barely begun down but am extremely excited to follow. Movies.

Every time I watch a good movie I am energized. Moreover even if I watch a horrible movie. As long as I am not indifferent to it, movies motivate me. Good ones inspire me to catch up/keep up and bad ones inspire me to surpass and show how it's done. I am severely aware that I am simply talking to myself here but, there has only ever been one choice for me for what to do when it comes to my life. Make movies.

To me, it's the only thing worth doing on this Earth as a main source of income. I have trouble working for companies or bosses that I don't understand or sympathize with, but creating visual fiction with a band of individuals that share my goal sounds like heaven to me.

Maybe I'm not as lost as I thought....

There is another thought/fact that came to me a few days ago and has been working wonders to calm and focus me again: I have always been (and will probably always be) a late bloomer.

From where I was born in the Gregorian calendar, to the epoch I was born into, from the late age I first spoke to even hitting puberty years later than my peers. But that late puberty and the delay in speech held apparent reason: when it rains, it pours. I may have spoken later than my peers, but I began speaking in full grammatically correct English. No coos, no ma-mas or da-das. My parents were beginning to get worried that perhaps I was slow. Until one day... "May I have a cookie, please?" "You were biding your time." My mother said. From complete silence to full sentences. Puberty. While everyone else was getting chest hair and beards and growing taller I was seemingly following the same path as my father. Literally a single chest hair (I had a song about it), sparse leg and underarm hair, a shadow of moustache and nothing else. But when puberty DID hit, it hit like a ton of bricks. I went from zero to manly nearly overnight. To this very day in my outward appearance it is painfully obvious that I practically bleed testosterone. And this being from a person who had resolved himself to being beardless, hairless and puny for the rest of his adult life.

I have to remember that I'm ALWAYS late. ALWAYS. It's one of those things that makes me who I am. However, while I am usually late, I also usually go above and beyond. Far surpassing those that "arrived on time". This thought is quite comforting to me. Like a warm blanket. Heck I didn't begin lifting or smoking marijuana until my late teens and yet when I did.... BOOM. I went full tilt. With lifting, I went from 181 lbs. at 12.5% bodyfat to 225 lbs. at 9% in under 6 months. Steroid-free. I meticulously planned my workouts, absorbed knowledge from every available source (especially trial and error), fastidiously monitored my nutritional intake and constantly fine-tuned. One of my nicknames at the gym was "The Mad Scientist". Due to my stacks of notebooks chronicling my daily diet and fitness regiments. When I commit to something, I commit to it fully. I go hard. I was resolutely against marijuana and other substances that I was foolishly taught were "drugs" as a teenager until I moved to California and had my consciousness expanded and the truth revealed, and since then I've become a regular shaman. I own scores of books, I've read countless articles online, joined forums, done hundreds upon hundreds of hours of research on the subject, I ingest anything that can educate me about entheogens greedily and thankfully. I've smoked copious amounts of cannabis in different settings, quantities and potencies. I went on to explore alternative methods to smoking; vaporizing, oral consumption, etc.  I've taken a variety of psychedelics and been mindful from onset to several days later.

If I truly have cemented my life path (filmmaking) then nothing will stop me. I may be 25 and far older than I wanted to be when breaking into the scene, but I have to remember, it's all going to be worth it when I'm more well-known and more synonymous with movies than Steven Spielberg or James Cameron.

I will begin creating my New Mythology, here in Pittsburgh. I'm done fighting to break free from this city. If it wants me this bad, it can have me. ALL of me. Until it can't handle me anymore. Until I inevitably grow too big for it. I'll resume my writing, utilize my resources and friends, jump on stage at the improv, I will do whatever it takes to succeed.

"Don't let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do." - John Wooden

Choice and Sacrifice

1:00 on Monday. I should be doing community service right now. Or packing. I called off. In a 'chicken or egg' moment I can't tell what caused which. Directly after calling off my stomach started to hurt. Could I have subconsciously anticipated this? Maybe. Psychosomatically created this? Again, plausible. Or perhaps a more mystical explanation is fitting? Maybe God is punishing me for Straying From The Path.

I know it seems bratty (because it is) but after 7 months of little more responsibility than a teenager not yet of driving age, one tends to grow spoiled. Getting used to watching movies, playing videogames, surfing the web and working out whenever I wanted has made my recent productivity feel laborious by comparison. My higher thinking knows I'm doing the right thing, and has me vowing to stay on track (which I will) but my lower human self needs a break.

Yesterday was Sunday and supposed to be my Day Of Rest. Of all the dogma and rules I've assimilated from organized religion over the years, there is but one hard and steadfast rule I ascribe to: there is to be no work done on Sunday. Sunday is the Day Of Rest. Early in my foray into the workforce, unavailability on Sundays was built into my rider. Filled out on every application. And I was generally a better worker because of it. I postulate that as long as you know you have one day of the week on which there are no responsibilities or obligations, during the rest of the week you will much more easily be able to push yourself. If your jogging in the desert, hoping to find water or civilization, you might wanna slow your pace, lest you never come upon it. Without the foreknowledge of its existence you must act carefully. But if said desert was equipped with an oasis every 2 miles or so, and you knew this, well running through it might become a game. You might even push yourself to see how fast you can clear the desert gaps in between each rest stop. The days of the week are no different in my mind.

Yesterday didn't go as planned (few things ever do). And as such my need to rest is spilling into Monday. It was your typical case of being so busy during the week with work (and community service in my case) that the weekends are the only time you actually have to get household chores done. Laundry, dishes, cleaning, etc. And again, in my case, packing. It kinda sucks when you've been pushing yourself for 6 days and then on your 7th you still have work to do, albeit located at your home instead of the office. I didn't get nearly as much packing done as I wanted to. Indeed, other than boxing up a few video game systems my only real accomplishments yesterday were bringing up boxes from the basement into my bedroom and clearing out a single draw of a beater chest I keep in the basement. Abysmal.

In addition to being swamped with things that simply need done I was left with a mental burden as well. One that was the main cause of my calling in sick today. After a few phone calls with friends and family and a lengthy one with my Mom it was decided that I should see if my grandfather would be willing to house some of my stuff temporarily. After going through a list of other family members my Mother arrived on him with glee and the explanation of "Well since your grandmother passed away and no one else other than your Uncle lives with him, he has that whole big house to himself. Plenty of room. Give him a call." After hearing that, I did a dangerous thing: I built up hope and expectations. My Grandpa is somewhere in the realm of 80 and lives in a pretty large house. This seemed a surefire bet. Something to bank on. Well after a short phone call with him that was shot down. Much to my chagrin. A few calls to random other family members tried to stop the bleeding but the damage was done. The blow had been dealt. My peace had been robbed.

I am not getting down on myself or saying that I'm giving up, I am just saying that I need a breather.  Especially because this time around I know where my oasis lies and I have miles and miles of desert to trek before reaching it. Yes I am dealing with some hardships now but in actuality things are only going to get harder. And soon. I have to be out of this place in exactly a week to the day. Other than having a friend offer to let me crash on his couch I have no clue as to where the lion-share of my possessions are to go. Obviously when with him I'll be bringing the bare essentials, clothes, toiletries, etc. But a good many of my accumulations are still unaccounted for.

Again, I'm not losing sight of my goal or my path, I'm merely taking a moment to compose myself on a nearby bench. That bench in this case being this blog. I've been talking to a few professionally trained therapists lately, simply by chance, and in addition to being busy, my gushing to them seems to have sapped my need/desire to gush on here. They are simply friends and not being paid or actively striving to counsel me (nor I to them) but we inevitably end up doing so anyway. It's human nature. Background in psychology or not, it is simply how friends interact. We help each other through things. Before the field existed many of us got our therapy in (my opinion) a much more natural way. From friends and relatives. Closed loved ones. Not paid detached third parties. I'm not knocking the profession or devaluing its practices or practitioners (or patients), I am merely stating that it is a recent development in human history.

In much the way my fictional brothers, the pair Elric, have tried to cheat the system, I too am looking to have my cake and eat it too. I mean what's the point of having cake you can't eat? And how exactly does one eat cake that one does not have? That phrase has NEVER made sense to me.

"To obtain, something of equal value must be lost."

"Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is Alchemy's First Law Of Equivalent Exchange." - Alphonse Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Is this always this case? Is this the only way to gain? It would seem so. Alchemy and the symbolism of Alchemy seems to pop out in most aspects of my life. With cooking, the ingredients are sacrificed to make a complete dish. With bodybuilding/fitness, water, money, food, time, and energy are sacrificed to create muscle mass and performance. It's all there. It would seem to be an immutable law. It goes hand in hand with the concept that there is no such thing as a free lunch.

My Dad is a hardworking man. As most fathers are. I cannot even begin to imagine the sacrifices (both physical and mental) that man has given for the benefit of his family. For the benefit of me. For as long as I can remember my dad has been on the road. His presence at home was very rare and sometimes disruptive. Without getting into too many details I will outline a telling analogy. Much like me (like father like son) my dad is a very clean and organized man, and as such he would often clean during the time he was actually "stationed" at home. I say stationed because now that I think about it, it was similar to military leave. He is a Health & Safety Inspector and has been one for years. His duties (along with paperwork) mainly consist of supervising others in hazardous environments. Dealing with nuclear waste, etc. He came to this job at entry level, and being the man that he is quickly moved up the ranks. Unfortunately, many who hold his same position are trained. Have been to school. Have a piece of paper that says they know what they do. My Pops has no such paper. He only has his grit and his experience. Due to this he has largely been dicked around by the system for as long as I can remember. He'd spend 6 months away in Guam and then come home for 6 months. As a kid, 6 months is a very long time. Certainly long enough to make the man who contributed to giving you life feel like a stranger. My sister and I (my youngest sister had yet to be born) grew accustomed to our Mother's ways and (despite being a positively wonderful man, one of the best human beings I've ever known) when my Dad was home it kinda through things out of whack. Even for my Mum. Back to the cleaning thing actually, I can remember more than one phone call from my Mom to him where she grilled him about where he had put certain items during his stay. He was always putting things away in high or hard-to-reach places. At least high and hard-to-reach for women and children. For him it was simply organization and efficient use of space. He'd go to Ohio for 3 weeks and then be home for 2 days, New York for a month and a half home for 2 weeks. He travelled all around the country, and at times around the world. He had to go where the work took him. Like I said, I can't even begin to fathom how taxing that must have been for that poor man. (Or my mother.) 80 hour work weeks, sending the greater portion of his paychecks home to his wife and children, while he slept in hotels and lived on his per diem. The bare minimum. A superhero for sure.

Well about 2 years ago now (maybe longer or more recent, but I'll say 2 for the sake of argument) he got an offer for a permanent job in New Mexico. The job itself was a dream job. For him and my mother. Finally, this man who had been on the road for 15+ years simply to keep food in our mouths and clothes on our back was getting his due. And my mother, who after giving birth to a miraculous third child (one the doctor's say she should not have been able to have and hence earning my baby sis the nickname "miracle child" which was sometimes used derisively by my other sister and myself) had to also get and secure a job to contribute to raising us was also finally getting a break. Samantha is 5 years younger than Taylor and 7 years younger than me. Quite a gap for siblings and quite a gap for parents. At just the point where money was being shelled out for kids now aware of fashion and clothes and interested in and performing extra curricular sports and activities and such they now had to provide for a new born.

Honestly I don't know how they did it. Raising a baby is one thing. But doing it while also maintaing two elementary age children is a feat nothing short of a superhero status. My mother too, a superhero. Both of my parents, a duo of superheroes. The disparity only continued through the years. High-school age kids needing car insurance and help with new cars and rides to work, with an elementary age child attending choir practice and concert recitals. Just thinking about it makes my head spin.

My parents are simply amazing people and I could devote more than a few entries solely to them (and probably will) but I gave all this background to put a certain scenario into context.

When my Dad was offered this job that was well-paying enough that my mother would not have to work, it was again in New Mexico. That meant getting rid of possessions that couldn't make the trip and saying good-bye to most of the family that is settled here in Western PA.

I was well into my twenties at the time and for the most part independent, so this did not affect me as much as it did them. I had a job, a license, a car and soon my own place. I also had a girlfriend that I still consider to have been the love of my life. In addition to her there was my best friend Kevin and a slew of other people keeping me here. It was decided that I would stay. Despite my ability to remain behind with my other younger sister, who also stayed, I still felt for the sacrifices my parents were going to have to make. More so for my Mom than for my Dad. For my Dad this was a well deserved dream come true. He'd finally be able to go to work during the day and return to his wife and kids (well, kid) at night. Any one who knows him knows he's wanted this forever and moreover knows he's deserved it just as long. It was high time it happened. But for my Mom, the transition wasn't so easy. She had settled down. We lived on the street she grew up on, with one of her sisters occupying the actual house where she grew up. All her brothers and sisters (6 total including her) were within driving distance. Many within 5 minutes or less. She comes from a very tight-knit family and maintaining that closeness was/is crucial to her. Despite tapering off a bit after both of her parents passed away, her side of the family still regularly gathers for holidays, birthdays, weddings and the like. Something I think they all need. Including her. Moving to New Mexico for her would mean forfeiting all but one or two of these events. She could only attend when finances and my father's schedule would allow them to fly back out.

It has since struck a nice balance with her brothers and sisters (all well established adults) occasionally flying out to spend a week or so with her and my dad and sister, sometimes in tandem. Even so, the strain must still be enormous.

At the time when this was a bridge yet to be crossed, I instinctively knew I too would one day be crossing it.

My Dad from having lived on the road for so long and perhaps simply from being male is a much more mobile human being than my Mother. He is quite used to living on the bare minimum and making do with what he has. Only buying or acquiring what he needs as the need arises. My Mother on the other hand is a wonderful Mother Hen. She created an amazingly comfortable nest for herself and us there on Eastern Avenue. Filled with all the amenities you'd expect of a typical North American White Upper/Middle-Class family to have. Dog, cat, a car per licensed driver. Big screen TV, TV in each of the kid's bedrooms, a well-stocked kitchen (both in instrument and ingredient) which she frequently utilized to more than adequately provide for our needs and occasionally to entertain guests. She was established. Settled. In her element. Tasteful knick-knacks every where, drapes matching carpets matching couches and so on. And seasonal sets of each. I always teased her with "When the pilgrim and turkey salt n pepper shakers get put away, the snowman and reindeer ones are coming out." She had a seasonally themed item for most everything in the house and regularly rotated between them as the seasons passed.

All of this and her family would need to be left behind. She was moving into unfamiliar territory.

While I did sympathize with her greatly at the time I was maybe not as apt or able to show it. I was even a bit cold. Not because of anything like being an unfeeling psychotic, but because it simply did not apply to me. My mind could recognize the gravity of the situation and yet it did not affect me. Literally and emotionally. I have an Uncle that is particularly handy and oft called upon to supervise or undertake repairs to homes or cars within the family (I think everyone has an Uncle like that) and a few times I've been privileged (Or burdened depending on my age and outlook at the time) to work with him. He is a old-world man with old-world values but an intense sense of humor. That's a pretty accurate descriptor for most of my Mother's siblings and her side of the family in general, but particularly for him. Being the oldest of the 6 he is the quintessence of that dynamic. A cigarette-smoking, beer-swilling (in the past), country-music-listenin', handyman Zen Master. Again, I could devote an entire website to the gems I've heard fall out of this man's mouth. One of which being "Ain't my house." Said jovially but still meant in that truth said in jest sort of way. When something would go wrong with a particular project, say a piece of molding falling off a bannister, or a crack accidentally forming in a wall, he'd let out his hearty yet raspy, wheezy and guttural smoker's laugh and follow it with a "Hey, ain't my house!" More like 'hahs' this being Pittsburgh and all. He never meant it mean and almost always went on to repair the damage himself or to leave proper instructions for us to do so, but the care-free zen-like attitude has always stuck with me. At the end of the day, no, it was not his house. This was largely how I dealt with my parents shuffling thousands of miles off to the other side of the country and leaving prized possessions and family members behind.

"Ain't my problem." Again, I was not entirely unsympathetic nor am I a heartless individual, but the fact of the matter remained, it simply was not my problem. I had a car, a girl, a place, a job, a life. Here in PA. No sacrifices needed to be made. But even then I had a sense that eventually I would be pulled out there. In the back of my mind I knew that one day the sacrifices that they made, I too would have to endure. And here we are.

The West has always held a pull on me. I've lived there before and I continue to gravitate toward it. Well before my parents headed that way. Yes I am Tertium Quid and a mix of both East Coast and West Coast mentalities, but spending most of my adult life on this coast has left me enamored with the other. The grass is always greener. Much like I identify with the Japanese more than Americans, so to do I defer to the Left Coast. In much the same way I hold the French lifestyle in high regard above America's I also value the Californian mindset over Pennsylvania's. I am an East Coast, Pennsylvania Pittsburgh boy through and through and this part of the world will always feel like home to me, or at least serve as a base of operations but like many other men before me the cry of "Go West, young man! Your future is untold! You can find your dreams on the California Coast!" rings powerfully through my head and acts like a magnet to draw me in that direction.

There are several geographical (and cultural) locations to which I am drawn, in no order: The UK, France, Japan, California, Oregon, Pennsylvania and Australia. And I believe that the path to stepping on the soil of each of these lies in first heading West. Within the next five years I plan on being the next James Cameron or Steven Spielberg. More accurately the one and only Josh Vish. Yes I aspire to be rich and famous but those are only tertiary goals to my main causes. Making film, being a father and benefitting the world. As long as I get to do those last three I don't care whether or not the wealth and fame come. I simply desire them to facilitate my goals. And yes, maybe a bit out of ego. I want to make movies like Avatar, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, The Matrix, Fight Club, Into The Wild. Entertaining pieces of fiction that also serve as lessons to those willing to learn them. And I want to be the best father I can be. I also GREATLY desire to spend time in Japan, observing its landscapes and scenery, culture and people. That last goal is the most "pointless" or "self-indulgent" Ultimate Goal I have. I have been in love with Japan for quite some time now and I really want to see it up close.

As it stands now I believe that in order to achieve those things I must head West. I spoke about it in my last entry, but it's worth reiterating. I need to complete my legal obligations here, and then move forward (meaning West) with my life. I'm not getting any younger and I've already wasted a good bit of time being "lost", so it's high time I make my dreams a reality. Next to fulfilling the stipulations of my being legally able to leave the state I also need to further streamline my person. Mentally and materially. I have made great strides in both, incredible strides really (I shall have a hell of a "True Hollywood Story" or "VH1's Driven" if they still make either of those) but I still have more to make.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
 - Frost

Robert really put it best (and quite poetically), but that's where I am. I am battle weary and exhausted, ready to quit. And without a goal I would've likely succumbed to weakness and old ways by now. As it is, all actions I undertake, including calling off my community service today and typing this blog are with my Ultimate Goals in mind. To me this is progress. Forward momentum.  I needed this. I didn't get it yesterday, so I'm taking it today. Writing centers me. It gives me peace. It helps me regain myself.

I already know this entry is coming to a close and with the end in sight I feel rejuvenated. Invigorated with purpose. Typing and re-reading this serves as a very long mantra, a re-realization of my goals. I am motivating myself.

I said I always knew I'd eventually deal with the dilemmas my parents had to deal with when they headed out West, and they are drawing near. I know I'll finish my community service soon and hopefully pay my own court costs, after that it's onward and upward. Well no, not after, continuing through that it's onward an upward. I'm like a train, slow to start and get up to speed but near unstoppable once it does. The difference between my symbolic train and a real one is that no stray pebble or wandering cow can derail me, my path is set, I'm the only one on the tracks and now that I'm moving, I'm not stopping until I reach my destination. I've accumulated a lot of things. Things that I like. Some self-made, some bought, and while in my more spiritual and Zen days it was easy to detach myself from them, in my self-actualized I-am-only-human-not-Jesus-or-Buddha-or-Satan, but-I-am-Josh-Vish days it's not so easy. I want what I want, and I can be extremely stubborn when in that mode. Stubborn is only biased as such when it leads someone to ruin, when it leads to success we instead say Driven or Motivated. Self-Assured. These are better terms for where I am right now.

What I'm saying is: if I have to get rid of my desk, my chest of drawers and my shelving, I will, but I really really really really really don't want to. I like them and I want them. The items inside them can be packed and eventually put into replacement chests, desks or on shelves, but as it stands I want the ones I have. I am prepared to make necessary sacrifices, but I'd rather not.

Hopefully in a few years I'll re-read this from a lightning-fast, top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art computer set atop a gorgeous desk, sat in a comfortable and supportive high-backed King's Throne style Executive office chair, in my office, in my house, that I had built, to my specifications, from the ground up, and I'll be thinking "How silly that I wanted to hold onto those old things. And yet how admirable was my determination."