I think that it should be said that this site is 'dead' so to speak. Perhaps not dead in the sense that it will stop, and cease to progress like a being that lives and produces through itself, but dead in the sense that it will lapse into this at the time being. Consider it 'MIA', not declared dead...but declared inactive.

I've gone into a type of creative lethargy, I think. No writing. No drawing. No painting, sculpting, photoshop. I've even seemed to have limited my aesthetic thoughts. I've dropped into the practical demeanor that seems to be productive and effecient, but due to this I have lost a level of creativity and even a certain level of emotional regard. Perhaps a continual raving to myself for public exploitation would be just what the Dr. ordered, but I'm a very lazy person.

So here it is, my public justification for taking up xanga.com bandwidth. This page is hereby put into a state of preservation and inaction, largely due to a lack of interest and a lack of substance. Here lies my blog.

Oh wonders that never cease to exist...tediousness that transcends the spoken word...torture to the mind that drive men into madness....in other words, work sucks.

It just seems tedious. I work for the college under the 'Media Services' department. We provide electronic equipment and technical support for almost all electronics (other than direct computer matters). We make posters, DVDs, video-record, provide projectors/microphones/stereos and anything you can really think that involves some kind of electronic media being used.

Waiting on a duplication of a theater production to convert to DVD. Still 2 hours to go, and then I have to make duplications of anouther DVD. This is what my expertise has been limited to, a glorified bootlegger. To sit in front of a TV and wait for some other persons boring, idiotic, trash of a video to be made into anouther boring, idiotic, trash copy of a video. So skillful.

It is productive, but it isn't exactly full-filling. Maybe I'm just bitter at having to work overtime. I dunno. Suppose the fact that I have time to bitch on a blog makes me kinda an ungrateful dick.

I've been feeling sorta psychotic with my writing, I think. The blood story might not be the only odd post. Some days I've had complete freedom to do whatever I want (which sometimes leads to boredom). Some days I've been pounded with homework. Tonight, is one of those nights where boredom takes over and my mind wanders. Like a lost child. Like a panic-striken bird. Like a grain of dust caught in a tornado. No real plotted goal or path, but just movement. Movement that is intedned to find some path, but movement that does not realize it's own path.

It's hard to explain. Sometimes my writing (which can probably be said to be a reflection of my mind/self/soul/whatever), wanders. Completly disembodied ideas. Idiotic rantings. Even the occasional odd story. Just writing for the sake of following a path that isn't really there. Starting out with a sentence, and using that sentence to build a paragraph. No idea where it comes from or where it's going. Lost....crying and following one direction in hope of finding it's way. Confused...wildly darting wherever it looks like there may be some kind of appeasement. Entraped....uncontrolled in a spiral of it's own accord.

I have no idea how much of it makes sense. Some of it makes little sense to me, honestly. When I do, however, decide to put my chaotic thoughts own paper (or keyboard)...it helps. I make alittle more sense to myself. Not so much reflecting the content of my writing, but the style. Organized, Structured, Random, Chaotic, Somber, Apathetic, Obessesive. However it comes out usually reflects my own thoughts.

I think everyone should occasionally write like this. One sentence. One statement that has no relation to much of anything. Anouther statement to extend on the last. Repeat, repeat, repeat. It's amazing what you'll find. Think of it as a thought experiment.

I dunno....suppose me and free-time don't mix well.

Ah, once again I am graced with the mind numbing intolerance of boredom. I suppose writing is as an effective way to waste time as any other, so enjoy.

I have blood in my veins, I think. Sometimes I wonder "am I sure that it's all there?". I look at my arm, I see the light pastel of my skin. My blood is hidden from me, and there is no way to tell if it's all there...let alone doing ok.

I like my blood. Sometimes my curiousity gets the best of me and I take a little cut to see if it's there. When I do, it's there. A few trickles...some trails of my favorite color running along my arm. My friend within myself coming out to say hello. How nice.

It really is nice. Knowing I have a friend with me any time I need one. To talk to, to share things with, and even to play with. I still worry, though. I want my friend to be happy.

I can feel my pulse. I can hear my heartbeat through my ears sometimes. Beating like a drum being violently assaulted. My heart and it's spasms...sometimes I think it should stop. My friend would be better if he didn't have to thrash about as it does. I don't think he likes it.

The blood likes to be outside. I don't think he likes to be such a house-body. I like to go out and enjoy a nice sunny day and take a little walk, I'm sure my friend would too. It is a shame, it's such a nice day outside.

I don't know. Maybe today me and my friend should go for a walk. I'm sure he would like to see the sun and the sky with all the beautiful colors and warming feeling it gives off. I kinda feel bad now, I've kept my friend from so many things.

They say 'if you love something, set it free'. I do love my friend. I want him to be happy, so I'm going to go take a walk with him. I'll let him out and let him see the sky.

 The sky really is beautiful today......

(I'm bored....sometimes my stories come out odd)

I leave my prison.. I have finished this years mandatory seclusion in higher-education.

I leave today to go home.

I leave today to go to my room, my santuary. I have established comfort and security there.

I leave today to go home.

I leave today to wait. To wait for the day that I leave my home in the pursuit of happiness.

I leave today to go home.

I leave today and will find myself leaving again. To hold my Love...my world.

I leave to go home.

I leave to find my home. If home is where the heart is, then my home is with you, Emma.

I leave to go home.

-Jordan-

(I've felt energetic and artsy....so indulge my poem/rant/whatever....just thought I'd post one thing before I leave...something to say 'brb' with, I suppose)