fieryembers asked: HI there! You seem to like and reblog a lot of my posts. It means a lot to me! Thank you! By the way, hello! I am LIz. I see you are aspirating to be a writer? As am I.

Hello Liz, I’m Chad.
Yes. I do. There are some terrific pieces you post. I guess I didn’t realize most of them were from yours.
And yes again, I do. I am still learning, but it’s all I feel naturally comfortable at doing.
People my age, they can draw, act, sing, play instruments, and I feel at times left out because I was never good at doing those unless I tried and tried and practiced. Then I realized writing was one of the most natural and comfortable things I could do.

A swirl of phrases, of sayings, of words and letters. Bound and ended by dots and symbols; useless alone, but something when put together. The invoking of feelings and emotion, of memories and hopes for the future.

Story of my life.

… Something had been taken from him. In a sort of panic he pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes and tried to bring up a picture of the waters lapping on Sherry Island and the moonlit veranda, and gingham on the golf-links and the dry sun and the gold color of her next’s soft down. And her mouth damp to his kisses and her eyes plaintive with melancholy and her freshness like new fine linen in the morning. Why, these things were no longer in the world! They had existed and they existed no longer.

For the first time in years tears were streaming down his face. But they were for himself now. He did not care about mouth and eyes and moving hands. He wanted to care, and could not care. For he had gone away and he could never go back anymore.

Excerpt from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story, Winter Dreams. A terrific, beautifully written story concerning false and misguided “love”.

I’ve always loved watching the sunrise. I’ll say love because it’s by far one of the most beautiful natural occurrences that we can witness. I was out in the dead of cold all huddled by a fire, warm but not warm enough. All night long the hours ticked by, and eagerly and anxiously I awaited the moment when the eastern sky would begin to become light, uttering the signal that it’s near. Such anticipation of waiting for that sliver of orange warmth to peak over the ridge of the mountains overwhelms me. The cold I feel, goes away, and the rays just hit you. Oh wow, that’s a wonderful feeling. So bright, so radiant, so utterly beautiful.

(We’ll see who even fucking reads these things)

Kinda weird to think about things. Everything in general, at times. Just trying to broaden one’s perspective on what really matters. I’m not sure if I do that too much or everyone does it a lot as well. By no means do I see it as wasting time, I don’t see a problem with trying to familiarize oneself with the utter harshness of reality. Everyone everywhere sugarcoat everything to the point where their lines of reality and fantasy become interloped and they cannot see what is what.

I guess I have a problem with that. You know these people, who just don’t see the bitterness, harshness, imperfections, the faults, or the truth. I mean sure, that’s a way to be positive, but I believe it comes to certain point where it becomes too much. It makes you want to grab that person and shake some sense into them. Yelling, “Wake up!” right in their face hoping that somehow someway by some divine miracle they’ll be able to see what you see on their own magically.

Well, that’s another problem of mine. You hope people would understand what you understand or know what you know. The mistakes people make, the mistakes you make, you hope people would know that what they did was wrong, because you saw it as something which was wrong. Kind of like a, ‘Dude, you didn’t see that?’ question comes up. But then again, you can’t somehow “beam” your thoughts and experiences and beliefs and feelings into somebody hoping that somehow they’ll be able to figure it out just like you did and change their outcome to what you would do and how you would have handled it.

Wouldn’t that be the ideal thing?
Damn, then again, nothing is ideal. 
I had to learn that the hard way. I’m sure everyone learns things the hard way.
Tough way to live. But, what the hell. 

‘Nuff about this imperfect world bullshit.
How about the happy things such as rainbows and ponies and skittles and glitter and blonde hair and blue eyes? America, fuck yeah.

I was kidding about the whole “America, fuck yeah” part. America isn’t that great. But you can give it some credit. 

I pulled out some of my old things today. Things that I put off to the side and merely neglected. I took them out and started looking at them. It feels dirty, sticky, worn, stiff, dusty, but it also feels good.

Every piece of something I have holds such sentimental value to me. Around myself, I have procured so many things and most of it, I have no use for. Will I be a poacher? Hopefully not, but I feel it’s different when you know those things have a story behind them.

My shoes have shrunk; they’re brown instead of black; the red tag on the heel is worn, and they’re starting to tear. But there’s no telling of the places it has seen, the streets it has touched, the amount of people who have worn it. Sounds strange to hold such value in a worn out shoe, but I hold each side and just remember where it’s been; the good and the bad it has seen.

The beanie I wear nearly everyday, it’s starting to fray; the edges have been stretched out a bit too much; people have turned it inside and out one too many times, and not once has it been legitimately washed, which sounds gross, but whatever. But for so long it has kept my hair down and my ears warm. Never will I get rid of it, and I hope I will never lose it.

One more item, my pen. It’s scratched, it’s been chewed on, and I’m going to have to switch out the insert again. I’ve dropped and kicked it around; I’ve written and smudged many words and pages with it. I’ve attempted to draw pictures and landscapes with that pen. I hope to keep that pen for years to come.

It’s interesting to see these things around you and realize just how much they mean to you, no matter how big or small, absurd or normal. What is even more interesting sometimes is seeing that we would hold more value over an inanimate object than a living object. Like another living being.

Because of our society where children are becoming more and more intuned with technology and the internet, we’re becoming more and more out of touch with one another. We’d rather prefer sending small notes with our little devices than drive or walk down the street to see that person face to face. Our separation from one another I believe is one of the reasons why we aren’t as intimate with each other as we should be. I find it more meaningful when I hear someone say something to me in their own voice, in their own words; I can see their face, look into their eyes, and feel their physical presence all at the same time. You just can’t get those all together through any other means.

Like these numerous things around me that I hold sentimental value in, I am that way with people. We may not talk as much, we may not hang out as much, we may not hear one another’s voices as much, but just having someone in which to share such wonderful experiences with is one of the greatest things ever. Once in awhile, put down your phone, sign out of that facebook, grab your keys, and go see that person. The one you’ve been talking with all day, now it’s time to see their face, hear their voice, and feel them there.

Because there is no greater feeling than that.

Sometimes it seems people don’t exactly enjoy being alone.

Sure just the word, ‘loneliness’ sounds like an absurd, dark, sad state of being where you feel like you’re going to kill yourself because all hope is lost. Yeah no it’s not all that.

Many kids my age feel the need to always surround themselves with people. People they want to get to know, people who they’ve known for forever, and with people they don’t even like. They just want to be surrounded in the mess of things and people and feel the company of others.

I mean sure that’s a great thing, do that a lot. There’s nothing wrong with that for the most part. But, what’s so bad about being alone? I see no problem with it. I want to be alone about seventy-five percent of the time. There’s something about being alone which makes it worthwhile. It’s as if you become more in touch with yourself. You do things yourself, you hang out with just yourself, you do things that only you want to do. You don’t have to worry about making sure whether or not your friends want to do what you want to do. You just have to, do it. No one judging you or ridiculing you.

I like it.

Also, another thing I really like: stillness. The moment when you’re sitting in some favorite place of yours, and you just feel completely at ease, almost as if nothing in the world could come and bother you. Sure you may be alone, sure it’d be nice to share it with other people, but why potentially spoil it? You always get those idiots who take the serenity all around and just skew it. Yeah, that’s why I don’t particularly like big groups. 

Because, people can be idiots.

I would say people are idiots, but I’m an optimist and hold faith in our fellow human beings. I’m by no means perfect, but I just don’t like being around idiots.

I guess my introverted personality and way of living isn’t ideal, but What the Hell? I like it.

“The warmth of the fire and the propping up of your feet cannot undermine the fact that being in this present space here and now is all that you’ve ever wanted.”

I feel that with these sorts of things, there always has to be some type of lavish discussion talking about politics, theology, sociology, what have you. You know? It’s as if you always have to have something smart to say; it always has to be so constructed and organized in a formal manner.

Well, how about we just talk about the simple things? About the facts of life? I don’t want this to be just an endless and strenuous train of “Facebook status updates.” Okay, random train of thought. I really have a problem with the way in which that site has evolved. Why is it acceptable to tell people every little thing when ninety-nine percent of the time, people don’t give a fuck?

It’s actually pretty funny though because numerous people who do that on there, are starting to show up on here. Each post is less than 140 characters, blaring their insignificant wants and fears and frustrations to pretty much nobody. Nobody. Yeah, yelling out your shit without anybody listening will fix it. It’s just like, “Whoa, don’t find me on here.” 

Many people don’t see that things like this, it requires something more than just a little bit about how their day went. I feel this is supposed to be a more artful form of writing. I see these amazing photos, wonderful poems, incredible stories, and with all this, you see some little frustrated teenage girl talking about her boyfriend and how she’s so happy in her lovey-dovey type of bullshit just ruining it. I don’t want these types plaguing this place; ruining the serenity of the people who have the right to be posting meaningful words and pictures.

I apologize. I wanted to write something simple. I’m sorry if it doesn’t quite make sense. But, much more than a status update, right?

Looks like the ones who post everything about their lives on facebook are finding their way onto here.

God help us all.