You can never think–
you can’t even stop yourself
before the words have been spoken
And you’ve already said
you would give everything
and something for nothing.
Everybody thinks you’re joking:
The picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.

When your life is never what you wanted,
not even halfway normal,
just tarnished and soiled…
When in your reach,
a framed and frozen moment,
so far from perfection,
not truth or transcendence
will set you free.
Still you don’t believe:
The picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.

“You can never think–you can’t even stop yourself before the words have been spoken.” — “Broken” by Tracy Chapman.

I made a mistake.

I thought myself capable of great things. I believed what I was told, that I could achieve anything with sheer will and a little elbow-grease. That following my heart could be crazy enough to work. That dreams were more than just fantasies of the heart.
I was mistaken. And I was foolish enough to believe that all I needed was time to reset myself and start again.
But, you remember games for the Nintendo Entertainment System? (Old-School Nintendo.) Sometimes you hit the reset button and the screen became all fucked up and jittery? And you’d have to push down and pull out the cartridge and just blow in it?
I wonder if all I need is someone to take me out of the machine and force air and life into my connectors to the world.
And as much as I would love to go in-depth on this, per normal, I won’t.

I’m done with saying I know what is wrong with me and what is best to fix said problems. This boy is merely human, and as much as we like to pretend they don’t, humans fail a lot harder than humankind would want us to believe.

—

I used to dream.

Not like, while sleeping. I won’t ever avoid that kind of dreaming. But I used to have plans for myself. I could see a future in which I was doing what I wanted to do. Goals were achieved that I set for myself and it was glorious.
Somehow I came to the realization that those were just fabrications of a heart, fabrications near-comparable to delusions of grandeur. (Minus the whole… insanity part of it. But am I minus that?) It was easy to dream up big solutions to the problems I was and am currently facing, and see a life free of such. My saviour was to be the end of school and the chance to support myself in a happy life. It won’t ever end like that. No one is saying it can’t, there is no need to claim I know what can and cannot happen. I am just stating that it won’t.
I don’t have the strength to make it my own. Or the strength in general.

—

I asked for change.

In the presence of a shooting star, a clock reading 11:11, or the tear-filled moments hiding under the blankets and sheets of the world’s most uncomfortable futon, I found myself asking for change. Godly influenced change, world influenced change, life influenced change… whatever I thought would be right for the moment, I asked for it.
Often I used to wonder if I ever was granted the change I desired. Looking back on it now, I realize that yes, yes Matthew, change was more than simply granted. It was heaped upon me while I blinded my eyes with claims that everything was normal.

In the moments of change, I lost my chances of grasping at any path out of my current situation due to what will be the death of me: apathy. Apathy so deep it appears to be more like its murderous cousin, lethargy. With both, I am all too familiar.

—

I claimed I was able.
Probably the biggest truth about myself to have finally found home under my skin? That I cannot stick with anything for more than a passing moment. It was brought to my attention earlier this month, that I have changed my major countless times. I have shuffled through potential schools, claiming each one “better than the rest, perfect for whatever reason.”
Admitting to it, is the hard part. I like to think of myself as a guy who can “stick to his guns.” The problem is, my guns were swapped out and upgraded as often as possible, as long as it fit expectations and offered a quick-fix.

Quick-fixes to my life seem to be the downfall. Well, quick-fixes and signing onto the longest possible “recovery plan.” (read: Air Force.)
My claims hold no merit. That’s what I’ve decided for myself. What I say about my plans truly have no weight in the words that are being used to describe them.

—

I am ready to stop it all, I just wish it was as easy as recognizing what the problem was. Now the ball is back in my hands and I am lost.

There’s just one thing I have left to say this morning:
Autumn came early and the winter follow-up seems too long away.

Don’t worry about that not making sense. Only the superhumans in my life will truly understand this blog, let alone that line.

- Mat.

There is fiction in the space between
you and reality.
You will do and say anything
to make your everyday life
seem less mundane.

There’s a science-fiction in the space between
you and me.
A fabrication of a grand scheme
where I am the scary monster.
I eat the city and as I leave the scene,
in my spaceship I am laughing.
In your remembrance of your bad dream
there’s no one but you standing.

“Give us all what we need, give us one more sad sordid story. But in the fiction of the space between, sometimes a lie is the best thing.” – Telling Stories by Tracy Chapman.

1) I’m home from Cabo, and it was hot and hilarious.

2) I love my family, they just happen to be in the dark about who I am and they are slightly-narrow minded and prejudiced. Not enough to be called narrow-minded or prejudiced though, right?

3) I wish I had the guts to stick up for myself a little more often, even if I’m not the one under direct attack.

I always tell myself that the next time I meet with these people, that I’ll be straight-up. Instead, I just turn out to be “straight.” And I mean, come on, I pull off straight still?
Maybe they know and are just waiting for me to stop being dumb and tell them already. And I wish I could believe that, but please, I like to think that with just how out-spoken they are (and believe me, these people…) they would say something, anything.
Yet no. Not one joke, question, comment, eye-flashing, anything. 

I want to say I’m just going to give up on worrying what they think, because well, do I ever really care what people think in this regard? No.
So I don’t know why they all so intimidate me.

-shrugs-

Those were the thoughts of a Matthew today. Actually, the entire trip.

That’s what I hate about family get-togethers, I just become so self-focused.

- Mat.

It’s a wonderful lesson of patience to those of us with growing political concerns who just so happen to be under the legal age. Those of use stuck watching decisions get made about our future that we know are not the decisions we would support or endorse.

But it’s whatever. Let’s just rally the apathetic to get off their asses and fill out a paper. Yannow, with answers they refuse to research or base their knowledge off of their parents, their friends, or the signs sticking out of the ground.

(And on a specific side-note, I find it mildly appalling the amount of “Yes on Hate Eight” signs around this place. I have the design practically memorized. Whereas the No on Eight signs? I have seen them twice, and one was in front of Rob’s house. Interesting.)

What happened to researching a candidates history of decision-making and policy-backing? Or listening to what they have to say based upon that, and not what the tabloid “finds out” in an article next to one about hotel heiresses or tweaked-out Grammy-award winners?

Haha, you want to know something ridiculous? If I heard my own argument, I would tell the whining writer to just shut the hell up since said writer didn’t vote.
Only problem is, that was not of my own accord. No, the government feels that on February 3rd, 2009 the magic faerie of all things “Adult” will bless me with her magic wand, rendering me capable of making decisions and supporting myself and giving me a little voice among millions. (And millions more who care and are silenced.)

Basically, I say fuck this election. To be quite frank (as if I haven’t already) I am just so damn tired of hearing about the same problems with the same people over and over again.
Politics should be like porn. If you’re under-eighteen, you need to keep your eyes and ears away, lest you be tainted. Churches should support this.

Hmm. I should start a campaign. “People for the Defense of Youthful Political Corruption” or some shit like that. (I was never very good with acronyms or naming advocacy groups.) Maybe I could even get some child actors in on it. Make a video discussing the negative effects of anything political on the “growing psyche” of the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds of our beautifully washed-up nation.

I’ll get to work on that. Just as soon as I cure political apathy and make it legal to U-Turn in unmarked intersections in all 49 states. (Alaska doesn’t really matter to me right now. It should, but, we know how that goes.)

- Mat.

this is your night,
so smile.
’cause you’ll go out in style.

“don’t you know by now: you can’t turn back, because this road is all you’ll ever have.” — Fences by Paramore.

There are things in my life that have needed to be changed. Things that, honestly, I have been avoiding simply because I didn’t want to compromise other parts of my life by putting them up for scrutiny.
I didn’t want to offend anyone, and now, I’ve come to the conclusion that it would be in my best interest to simply stop (completely this time) pleasing the people around me with what they want to hear. Pretending I am what they want me to be is just a disservice to both them and me. (Yes, that rhymed.)

—

There is a confession I must make.
I have not necessarily been the best friend I should have been.
To a number of people.

I will not go into detail. That’s between me, and well… me.
So, I must apologize to you, big group of nameless people.
But don’t worry.
The problem is fixing itself.

I’m just sorry you haven’t done your best either.
It’ll come back to bite you in the end; count on it.

—

No really, I am much too bitter at the moment to be writing a blog. (No, I will not talk about it. Don’t even mention it; for it concerns you not.) But here I find myself, writing a blog. -audible sigh-

Sometimes.. sometimes we make decisions. We make them because we think they’ll benefit us, seeing as what we’re deciding on won’t really affect anything. Or so we think.
Because sometimes.. sometimes it blows up in our faces, weeks later.

I made a mistake. Now I’ll suffer for it.

But that doesn’t change a thing.
I’ve still got plans. Just wait and see, okay?

At least I’ve got something resembling plans.

—

NO!
I’m going to stop avoiding the topic!

This goes out to all of you, every last person who reads this AND considers me their friend.

I am sick and fucking tired of this.
Have I fallen off the planet to you? Have I just been wiped from existence? As far as I know, I’m still alive and kicking. My pulse is still goin’ at it.
Have I offended all of you in one swift motion? Am I really this repugnant?

I don’t demand attention. I attempt to get it, and often fail.
Maybe that’s my downfall. Maybe I’m not pushy enough
But that should not be a bad point on me.
Not when I’ve done my part.

All in all?
I am sick and tired of being the one who’s trying to fight for your attention and affection.
Don’t feed me the “ But I love you” bullshit. Don’t try to give me your excuses.

I have been here the entire time.

Keep your friends. If there’s no room for me, then there’s no room for me.
Don’t save me a spot I don’t fit into, and don’t try to convince yourself (or me) that you’ve all been “too” busy.
If you’re too busy to me on your own, without my instigation of a conversation, believe me, it isn’t worth it in the first place.

I am just so tired of these one-sided, “use me when you need me,” bullshit faux friendships.
Honestly. Just stop all contact with me. You’ll get over it, and I’ll just have to replace you.

That’s the cold hard truth, dear.

Go ahead and tell me to value the friendships I have.
I can go back to being a loner. Solitude can be just as much a bliss as your ignorance.

—

That’s all for this entry.
I am so in a rift with everyone, I cannot even form paragraphs.

Private entry, here I come.

– matthew.

nothing compares to
a quiet evening alone.
just the one
two of us is counting on.
that never happens,
i guess i’m dreaming again,
let’s be more than
this.

“if you wanna play it like a game, well come on, come one, let’s play. ’cause i’d rather waste my life pretending, than have to forget you for one whole minute.” - Crushcrushcrush by Paramore.

The itch was in his fingers
and it traveled to his feet.
It started off a simple dream,
but soon became concrete.

He didn’t waste a second,
and out the door he went.
His bag in hand, away he fled
his time, this place had spent.

Step by step he made his way,
and closer and closer he came.
Soon he found himself so lost
he didn’t feel the same.

He found the desire to leave,
had quickly parted from him too.
By then he was so far gone
there was nothing he could do.

He was now inside the world
he had longed to be a part.
This offered him no solace,
no comfort from the start.

But after some time he understood,
he had been naive and wrong.
He adjusted to the world he craved,
and kept himself moving along.

The place he desired to be
had turned out differently.
He knew it now, he knew just how
an itch can set you free.

(by Matthew O’Haverty)

—

Perhaps it would be in my best interest to not start my blog entries with poems I’ve written.
Because if employers do look at these entries (and I’ve no doubt they will,) I’m not sure I want them to see that deeper part of me.
Not that my poetry is every terribly deep or profound. I usually tell a story unrelated to my own with poetry, in order to keep my wits about me.
And to solve some mental insanity we are all too familiar with.

Let me give you a little anecdote. Before this moment, I used to be entirely uncomfortable with my writings, because I felt they were much too short and “real” stories and the like need to be long, drawn out and very descriptive. But then I realized, whoever set such rule into play? Who decided one day that “good” writing means having to overly describe a situation, possibly giving no room for the mind to fill in the gaps? Is that not how we are supposed to keep the imagination alive, by letting it fill in the gaps we leave out on purpose, in order for them to better related to the story and somewhat make it their own?
So now I’ve decided. I can write short descriptive paragraphs. I can leave things to the imagination of others. As long as I leave my writing open to such, and describe just enough to get by.
Because really, who wants to read through two chapters of someone describing the setting? That isn’t what people want to use to fuel their imagination, that is just being overly descriptive in order to make sure 100% that people understand what you want to say. The problem there? No one will ever understand 100% what you see in your mind. That is the beauty of it all. They are able to take what you’ve said and in their mind, make it into a world their own. A world which yes, may not be what you intended sometimes, but as long as you’ve got them thinking about it at all, isn’t that joyous in and of itself?

Maybe this is me growing up with my writing, or maybe this is just me making an overly played out observation. But I cannot deny the truth I feel in it.

—

So, while we are on the ever productive topic of writing, it excites me to tell you (yes, you!) that I’ve finally sat down and planned out a story. Or rather, a series.
It may seem like quite a large task to take on, being only a semi-seasoned writer myself. But at least it is giving me purpose and reason in writing, while offering a way for me to get to the point where I can write as well as many others. As much as it pains me to admit it, I’m only a sixteen-year-old. I would love for others around my age to make a name for themselves in the adult literary world, to combat the notion that one must be very experienced in reading and writing literature to write anything worth a read. For that is simply unfounded, and only finds truth when looking at the generalizations.
And not only would it combat the aforementioned notion, but it would provide some sort of starting ground for youth to actually get excited about writing. It appears to be a dying art among this generation, for countless times I have met people who can count on one hand the number of books they’ve read on their own.
As expected, I am quite content knowing that I don’t have the brain capacity to remember every book I’ve read, let alone count them on all my fingers and toes, as I think more children should be.
Reading is not to be taken lightly or ignored. Neither is the writing that gives reading its existence.

—

To tell you the truth, I am quite surprised with how much I’ve written in the past … fourty minutes? Usually I’ll take hours and hours of self-editing before I write this much. I am very excited.
I must credit this to my summer school English teacher, because really, I’ve never felt a passion to write like this ever. And I’m not even sure I could tell you why. In a matter of two days, I’ve had a switch turned on and I can just feel desire to write, to describe, to give life to words. It’s quite enthralling and I cannot wait to see it develop. Let us cross our fingers, or whatever sort of act we feel may help this continue, okay? For me?

Though for now, I must part from this little release. I do have school in the morning and so much to do after it, so I must not be tired throughout it. Though, it’s quite inevitable at this point, but I’d do better to not prolong it.

Until the next time, which will hopefully not be terribly long away,

– matthew.

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love’s a two way dream.

you are the one who grows distant,
when i beckon you near.

“i’m a path of cinders, burning under your feet. you’re the one who walks me, i’m your one way street.” — Bachelorette by Björk

I’ve found myself writing more.
I’m not sure what to think of this… occurrence. Or to whom/what I should give credit to for putting me in this position that makes me want to write more than ever. But I am glad that it’s coming back to me… even if it’s a slow process.

This past Sunday, my father bought a Bright Blue Chevy Aveo 5. I like to claim it as mine, since it should become mine in time. Let’s cross our fingers, or whatever you like to do, kay?
It really is a cute car. I love driving it because it’s so.. smooth. And it is simply adorable. Haha. There’s nothing more I can really say about it I suppose? I just love it.
And I love that it could be my car to drive in a little over two months!

—

Sophomore year is finally winding to a close. I won’t lie to you, I’m ecstatic.
I hated sophomore year. It’s as if high-school is a perpetual horror.
Though, I’m very excited to see if this will be my last year (the upcoming year) before France.
Just because I really don’t want to spend another year in Manteca already. But I have to. So I want to make it as best as I can before I try to escape, even for a short while. -sigh-

I’ve decided that if I can’t get accepted to go to France senior year, I want to test-out.
I know, a high-school diploma sounds far superior to a GED, but I can’t sit around for two more years like this.
I’m hoping it will get better with driving, and I won’t feel as… restricted. I’m not saying driving gives me all this freedom, but it definitely loosens some bonds to this place that I just can’t stand.
I’m sorry if I sound bitter; I’m just trying to get away. But I need to focus on getting somewhere, not just the away part. Otherwise the rest of my life, all I’ll feel like doing is getting away… When all I want to do is get away from here.

I’ve still got time to decide. So we’ll see.

—

My last batch of finals is in a few hours, so I’m gong to have to part much sooner than I would like.
Today I have my aerobics and World History finals, in that respective order. I’ll probably sleep after finish the aerobics written test, just like I slept after the math test today.
Tomorrow is my last day of doing graded schoolwork this year. One step closer, I say. (To what, summer school?)

After tomorrow, I have a full day and a minimum day in which… I have no idea what to do.
The full day is a joke, though. I mean honestly, sitting through each class period with absolutely NOTHING to do, while the seniors practice graduation about 936 times? (Ahh, yay for hyperbole.)
And even the minimum day sucks, because each class is still 30+ minutes. /=
At least they can’t make us do work.

—

Well, I’m ready for bed.
Time to listen to Björk, catch some z’s, and do everything all over again.

– matthew.

“did I imagine it would be like this, was it something like this I wished for… or will I want more?” — Wanderlust by Björk; from the album “Volta.”

Good evening, morning, or afternoon my dear readers.
And if you’re caught somewhere in-between, I’m sorry I could not more personally accommodate you with a specific greeting, so this may have to do for now.

I’m here to tell you yet another story of my life. I suppose that is the real point to this blogging activity of which I just can’t get enough. But which story and how much I’m to tell you, I’m not sure. Some sort of update would suffice, with the right mixture of wit, humour, and sarcasm. Though I’m not sure I’ll be getting the recipe right addressing my limited audience like this. I do hope addressing you directly is not weird or anything. I just feel up to breaking myself from the routine.

And I would sure like to type as much as I can in this mindset before fatigue grips me like a lost child and I find myself in a land of subconscious filing (read: dreams.)

—

In the last eleven days, my loves, I managed to play the part in a five-day long relationship. Now I must deal with the awkward task of telling those who don’t know that it is over.
Truly, I’m not as affected with this event as one might think I should be. The five days really just helped me realize that rushing myself into a relationship is stupid, not that I didn’t know this before. It provided me with the backing so that I can, in the future, point to this event and say “see, I do know what I’m talking about.” However, that was not my intention at first.

Now I just see that five-period as a way of healing severely old wounds and cutting off any tethers I might’ve had.
Though sadly it has left me craving someone (perhaps in particular? I shall never tell) a little more than before. Though, now it’s more a craving for the emotional exchange than just a “going-out” relationship, which I swore of ages ago. I’m desiring someone to share my emotions with and have a relationship with, not just a fling.

And I will admit it, there is someone that I -might- be considering, or have in mind. But that’s enough of him.
(I figure if I admit it it’ll assuage my desire just enough to allow me to sleep.)

But let me say though, with this person that I am refusing to mention further, I am taking all steps at a snails pace. There exists not even a whiff of romance and, despite how much I would like to think there may be (romance that is,) I understand and love that I’m allowing myself to move slow.
The speed just feels right, however, I truly hope it doesn’t come back to bite me. Though, I suppose a nice, big (and metaphorical) chomp to the rear would be all I need.
I just hope deep down it isn’t.

—

Though, for now, I must part.
I am tired enough to lay myself down to rest, and submitting this entry will in itself be a challenge.

Thank you loves, for your time. If you’ve made it thus far in the entry and read all of the above, thank you again.
If not, well, one day you’ll get a little more thank you when you do.

Until my return dear ones,

– matthew.

je ne suis pas sûr pourquoi j’écris ce blog en français, mais je préfererai qu’il est en français.

je ne veux pas ce blog être très long. je ne suis pas assez fort en français comme je quelquefois pense.

—

elle a dit qu’elle est “pushing me away.” je ne peux pas le voir. je ne peux pas voir ce qu’elle parle. et il me rend confus.

—

je suis préparé aller à France. aidez-moi? héhé.

je vais au lit. (j’oublie comment le dit-on.)

ciao, à bientôt.

“it’s a matter of trust because you don’t care about us.” — You Don’t Care About Us by Placebo; from the album “Without You I’m Nothing.”

In a matter of one day, someone who has meant so much to me (and it was a mutual feeling) has done a complete 180-degree turn and began pushing me away.
I won’t lie, again, it hurts. But he needs to understand one thing.
I’m not as far from the cliff as most people may be.

I don’t care what he thinks about the whole situation. I have so many people who can agree with my position on the issue, that I’m not doubting what I did when I was being the best friend (best in the matter of more better) I could be.
Just because I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear at the time, lie to him and tell him everything would be okay, does not make me any less of a friend. And when he tries to tell me that I’m the one at fault, when I -have- put aside my views on the topic so that I could be a friend first, a responder second, I’m treated like shit and left for someone who IS willing to tell him such lies.

And after this I’m told that he is done with me until -I- can grow up and be mature? That our friendship is over until I can bring myself to apologize?
Get a fucking grip on yourself.
What happened to the guy I could count on to be himself and not get influenced by whatever the crap has a hold of him now?
What happened to the guy that, despite his obvious desire to not be mr. goody-two-shoes, could still be a friend and put aside any emotions to help, making if any judgments later?

Brandon,
whatever this is, whatever has taken ahold of you and filled you with such anger and potential hatred, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to take the blame and/fall for it. I am your friend, and I thought we were damn close enough to not have to worry about such things like this. But yet when I treat you fairly and maturely, I am rewarded with anger and immaturity? Where is the fairness in that? Where is the relationship in that? The problem is, there is no relationship in that. And that leaves me thinking, was there ever a relationship in that in the first place? Because you’re doing nothing to support that idea right now and it hurts me.
So until you can wise up, until you can see through this dark veil and realize that no matter what you could have done, I still would have said what I did out of my friendship for you, then I’ll be here waiting.
But don’t sit there and expect me to apologize for being a friend, especially when most all of your friends are telling you similar, if not the same -coughCharleighcough- thing.
You can consider your “better” friends the ones who will tell you what you want to hear, but your true friends will always be the ones who tell you what you need. And no matter the instance, I will not put myself into a bad position by lying to you to make you feel better, because that leaves me open to attack down the line, if and when the foreshadowed outcome does arrive.

Don’t expect us to try for very long.

– matthew.