Colors are not limited to the rainbow

"The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint,

         The greats were great cause they paint a lot"

-Macklemore  

My first day in Kindergarten. 

The elderly teacher approaches me as I enter,

"Hello, what's your name?"

"Insolence."

"All right Insolence, have a seat in the corner over there

and I'll get you started with some paper and a box of crayons."

"Do I get to keep the crayons?"

"Do you? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret.

They will always be with you wherever you go."

She leans down next to my ear, cupping my ear with her worn hand and gently whispers,

"Use them well"

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The smell of a new car is incredibly refreshing. But when compared to a new box of crayons, it pales in comparison. The scent of the new paper, cardboard, and tangible colors combined with the anticipation of the limitless doodles, scribbles, and masterpieces now at your disposal. 

Junior High.

My friends at lunch bring me

into a conversation they are having.

"Hey Insolence, what is your favorite car?"

"Me? I don't care as long as it runs well."

Another friend chimes in,

"Come on man, haven't you ever read about the really nice ones?"

"No, I just like to spend my time learning about crayons."

"Crayons? You need to learn about something that's cooler"

"From what I can tell, your yellow, blue, and 

red-orange crayons are terribly underused."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you don't create with your colors very often"

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We are all entitled to a box of crayons, and no one has any influence as to the condition they are in, and the usage of them, except the individual. I find that I tend to be attracted to those with the worn out but well loved boxes the most.

The most beautiful people I know of are the ones that have their crayons embedded into their very soul. Every thought, every action, every breath is a creation of art. They color outside of the lines and will receive criticism, but don't let others dictate how they use their box. When they sleep, they lay on vivid memories and dream for the whole world to see. Each step they take is the stroke of a brush and everywhere they walk is a canvas filled with their existence, their masterpieces.

High School.

I lean over to the new girl sitting in the desk to the left of mine.

"What kind of math is that?"

Surprised, she looks up and says, "calculus"

"Oh, I would help, but I've never been good with math"

"Me either."

My curiosity was piqued, "why is that?"

"It's impossible to do any of the problems
since I only know how to draw.  And..."

Her voice trails off as she notices the box of crayons in my hand.

Pupils widen as we simultaneously shift our glances to meet the other.

In an instant, we both understood.

We stood up together and proceeded to walk out of the classroom and then the school, ignoring the threats and the taunts and the jeers of the administrative powers and our peers.

"I love how vibrant you are."

"I love your mix of ideas and colors."

And we left that place forever.



A few witnesses claim to have seen a trail of color following where we walked. A trail that none could attempt to describe due to feeling unable to adequately convey how those shades and pigments danced on the pavement like wildfire.



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There is nothing more beautiful than someone who creates the most wondrous works of art with their 12 color boxes.

There is nothing more tragic than someone who has a 72 color set and has it on the back shelf, untouched other than the company of cobwebs and cold dust.

Discover what your crayons mean to you.

"Use them well"

- Your Captain, Insolence is Bliss

The Hypothetical Boy

Suppose there is a boy who is spending his ninth consecutive Friday alone. He doesn't go to edgy weekend parties and laugh really loud at all the half-baked jock jokes. Nor does he find a new girl that night to invite into his car where infatuation plays it's tune and promises are made that neither side will keep. All that is left the morning after is tousled hair, a misshapen hickey, and a handful of regrets land-marked by scars.

He can't remember how many nights like that occurred, but things have changed by the time his daydream ended, and he can't seem to piece together the misconceptions and the forgotten lies to make sense of his reality. He walks naked through the halls of his school, leaving his heart open only to receive a chorus of "hey" from the closed off population that regards him as their friend. He can't help but think that hey is for horses and that maybe George Orwell was right all along. This animal farm he was living in didn't have the conscious to reciprocate his feelings or to hold their own opinions.

Hypothetically, he is documenting his thoughts during said Friday night in hopes to capture his experiences and his vision.  This is done because he is convinced that he is losing his sanity. The humanity that once dwelled within his heart is nothing but a faint memory. He no longer has that memory, all the picture books and the funny looks to the taking naps and sitting on laps. When he knew in the back of his mind that he was seeing the world a few feet shorter than everyone else but was perfectly content with that.

Consider then this boy doesn't know whether to address himself as a boy or a man because he sees great qualities in both and never really had a teenager phase. He had a paradigm shift that brought him to the same location but in a completely different state of mind. The anomaly of the times brought him to his knees.



Imagine that only just moments ago, this boy and his father just got into an argument that accomplished nothing. The boy once saw the brilliance of father and was now disgusted by the one dimensional man that he now stood before. The father yelled at the son and told him to stop making excuses for avoiding reality, and to shut down the keyboard that provided the boy an escape of the mind, and one of the few things in this life that actually provided significance to the boy.

"you're just a robot to me" says the boy

"get your act together" replies the father

"your ignorance is the most frustrating thing I know of" the boy chimes

"just shut up, turn off the computer, and get to sleep" the father yells

"you know I have insomnia"

"grow up"

"just listen to my words for once"





Thus ends the conversation. Thus ends another chapter in this boy's life. Thus another part of his sanity dies. Thus we all grow closer to death.

Hypothetically, of course.

What Comes Next

Sometimes I wonder:


If I die, will it be without regrets?

How will my health be tomorrow?

Is there a person out there insane enough to be coherent with me?

Do I truly believe in God or have I tricked myself this whole time?

Am I the only one left who hasn't traded my romance for security?




Yet I can't figure it out, I'm just trying to get a handle on today.

Flesh and Bones

Going about my daily routine

People pass me by

Walking, talking, laughing crying,

Living in their sphere of existence

Nothing but heaps of 

Flesh and Bones

Sat in class

Learned interesting facts

About dead folks

Whose history is supposed to matter to me

Yet now they are silently decaying

Flesh and Bones

Conversation is a thing I cherish

Being with others

Sharing

Ideas, questions, answers

Jokes, quotes, thoughts

strengths, weaknesses, feelings

that all belong to some

Flesh and Bones

A house that I live in

The others there defined as family

They brought me here

To this strange and beautiful world

Our DNA is alike

Other than my stepmom

But that doesn't limit what to consider family

Does it mean anything to have similar

Flesh and Bones

Holding a hand has great significance

But what am I grasping

Hugs are always soothing

Yet what do I embrace

Kissing is quite enjoyable

But tongues and lips are really gross if you think about it

So what am I locking lips with

Flesh and Bones

(and maybe hormones)

To eat is to survive

for a natural need and satisfaction

To feed a growth, a hunger

Organic and synthetic,

Cravings and comforts,

Preservatives and indulgences

We are only sustaining

Flesh and Bones

Systems

Organs

Tissues

Cells

Molecules

Atoms

Elements

Mitochondria, nucleus and whatever else I learned in Biology

God's legos for his human blueprint

Creatures capable of infinite possibilites

Although his work simply amounts to

Flesh and Bones

Sights are seen

Flavor is tasted

Textures are felt

Noise is heard

Aromas are smelt

Life is lived

By the guy who wrote this poem

Even though he is just 

Flesh and Bones

This is one of the first things that I wrote that I was ever proud of, and it was probably over two years ago. Start of high school or so. I am posting it because I enjoy it and want it documented, but also so you can see the evolution of my writing from then til now. Thanks to everyone who still reads this blog, even though most of you left Paris. I bought an apartment there, and you're all welcome for dinner sometime. Heck, you can all stay if you want.

-Your Captain, Insolence is Bliss

Prioritize the system.

"They warned about the violence in video games. The sex in movies. And the language on tv. But never about the romance in music."    -Dick Tidrow

They told me how to tie my shoes
They told me to love the red white and blue

But they never told me how to be happy

They taught about the founding fathers
They taught of Moses parting the waters

But they never taught me how to smile

They wrote of the ancient kings
They wrote of what war brings

But they never wrote on how to sing


At the end of each day, does your grade in your physics class affect the relationships that actually hold meaning to you? Does your spirituality make the joke that the atheist kid told any less humorous? Will it be more important to have read more books or to have more people you love without hesitation?


I am desperately trying to clarify to myself what my priorities are and what direction I need, but to no avail.

The system dictating the norms once again has limited the extent that I can dream.

I often find myself wanting to scream "screw the system" at the top of my lungs on all the rooftops so I can gather all the dreamers and start a coup d'etat against monotony.

But the monopoly of reality unpleasantly brings me to a rude awakening. Again.



They warned about trench-coat strangers
They warned about the different kinds of danger

But they never warned about falling in love.

- Your Captain, Insolence is Bliss

The Real Talk of an Insomniac

I have been told I have the happiest eyes.
I have been told they are the saddest shade of blue.

I believe both to be true.


But these eyes are tired.


Sleep have escaped this blue longer than a bad family reunion.

And I see you.

I see you, your Paris, and the way you dream.
But you can't see me, you're too busy sleeping.

You don't see the man who takes the stairs instead of the elevator because he wants to feel like he knows where he is going.
Who takes the beaten path because he likes the scenery better.
Who is afraid of sleeping, because he's worried he might miss a beautiful moment.



At night, I have staring contests with the stars
Don't get me started with the reigning champion Mars
I count the cars that drive by and the headlights make me blink.

The constellations have won again.

When I close my eyes, I look at the back of my eyelids and search for Paris, yet Paris is more than a few staring contests away.

I try to dream, but can't fall asleep because of the way you make me feel, the way you get my mind racing, the way you make me stop breathing.

You see, because of you I'm an Insomniac,
One thought of you and I have a heart attack,
Yes, this cardiac arrest in my chest
Is why you deprive me of my rest

But, rest assured, you don't even know.

You're too busy sleeping.

While I'm wide awake,
dreaming for the whole world to see.

 - Your captain, Sawyer Young

Today's breakfast was the best tasting food I've ever had

*Insert the clip from the movie Fight Club that Nelson showed us where Brad Pitt convinces the Asian man to pursue his dream as a veterinarian, and after he leaves, Brad says "he's gonna wake up tomorrow morning, and his breakfast is gonna taste better than anything you or I could ever imagine" (something along the lines of that, please watch the movie or find the clip, I just spent 97 minutes trying to find it with no success, so this will have to do)*

I've put myself in a full nelson.

I've been wrestling with this decision for awhile now.

But this neck-breaking illegal move just won't get me out of this stalemate. It won't get me to focus.

I've wondered if I just squeeze a litter harder and break my spinal cord that maybe not feeling anymore is the best way to go.

But then again "teenagers can't think straight. they don't have their spinal cords attached yet" - a mother of one of my good friends.

I've been out on the mat for such a long time, my endurance is nonexistent at this point.

I've listened for the referee whistle to snap me back to reality. Or at least for my neck to snap. Or my sanity. There I go again, losing focus. When the opponent is myself I can't afford to lose focus like this.

There's another wrestling move, also called the full Nelson. It's when the contemplation of continuing to love Raoul or ditch him to find my Phantom begins to suffocate me to the point where my head starts to spin, my vision starts to blur, and I lose all focus. 

And unfortunately, it's completely legal. In fact, it's a mandatory experience for those who aspire to be artists, have considered being an artist, and those who have truly witnessed art.

Whether I'm being strangled by my full nelson or getting choked by the full Nelson, I am dying.

Yes, every minute of every moment, the good, the bad, and the ugly, I take one breath closer to my death. I am not one to be morbid, but there's no plan, no cure, nothing even to ease the symptoms. The inevitable is upon all of us, from the newborns to the lovers to the fighters to the dreamers to the elderly and back again. There is nothing we can change about it.

Yet, there is something we can change. We don't have to spend each consecutive moment at fate's whimsy. As we approach death, we can make that destination more fulfilled.

You can care about success and wealth and careers and status and respect but when it boils down to when all those moments have vanished and you find yourself closer to dying than ever before, what matters most is the happiness you have accumulated, for your own means and for others, the love you give and receive, the cherished relationships you from over the years, and the passion you find in creation and art.












The date is January 3rd, 2014. I am driving with my father down a distant, unfamiliar road towards our destination. A moment passes, then another. I'm tired, I lack any legitimate focus. We approach death and our destination and as I found out, destiny, with increasing velocity. It was then and there I understood what my Phantom was. And how dumb I was to trick myself into loving Raoul simply because everyone told us we looked good together.

The muse came. I was able to breathe. I continued on my way to death, but I didn't mind. I found a purpose, a passion. At that moment I began to look at the world with a newly furnished glow in my eye.

There's an abandoned engagement ring somewhere along that road.

I have no plans of turning back, the Phantom and I are in a relationship now.





And you could say it's getting pretty serious.

- Insolence is Bliss