More people watching

People are endlessly fascinating. When I walk the chaotic hallways from class to class I soak in all of the little mannerisms of those around me—each one a minute treasure of raw emotion. It makes me realize that everyone, when absorbed through these snapshots of recognition, is truly beautiful.

I see a deaf girl and guy flirting with their hands. (or perhaps they're just two students studying sign? Maybe it's more exciting to not hear each other speak? I can imagine that being so.)

A skinny-spiky-blonde-haired-kid turns around in front of me and scratches the back of his head with his index finger. His eyes glance at mine before instantly looking down. He's agitated. At what I wonder?

Some good looking/well dressed guys stand behind a table with a bunch of pamphlets and booklets. One of them does a karate-chop through an invisible...piece of wood? The seemingly unwilling patron viewing this act takes a shocked step backward after the swipe.

A small group of dancers in spandex are relaxing—lounging on each other on the floor against the wall. One guy has his buzzed head resting on the leg of another guy. His smile is so casual and inviting. These people are so at ease together! It amazes me. I don't have anyone that I could rest my head on like that.

A girl is looking at her phone—no, she's smiling at her phone. She tilts her head to one side and looks up for a second to make sure she doesn't run into something. Then she looks back at her phone and continues smiling. I glance at the screen as she passes. It was a texting conversation. I wonder what was being said? With whom?

Tanka #1

All was said and done,
So God closed his weary eyes,
And sighed a deep breath.
"Don't forget that I made you."
He thought, drifting off to sleep.

This is a blog post about a TV show that I watched that was about some dogs that were being treated poorly and were saved by some animal-loving people.

I saw a show on TV a while ago that showed how these animal-safety-activist-superhero-people had saved a bunch of dogs from a house where they were supposedly being abused/malnourished, etc. Their plan was to take these dogs to a park and let them run around on the grass and bask in the warm sunlight—which was, I guess, something that these dogs had never experienced before. When they got to the park they opened the back doors of their animal-rescue-van and opened the kennels and they were expecting the dogs to just jump right out and run around and have a great time. Instead the dogs started pissing themselves and curling up in the rear of the kennels. After a long time one of the dogs was coaxed out of the van somehow and when its paws touched the green grass it didn't know what to do. It couldn't stand up. It just slumped down and laid there whimpering. My guess is that its paws were not used to the softness of the grass. They were probably used to hard concrete and chains and coldness. Eventually the dog gained some confidence and started walking around.
I have to go, but just one more thing: That one brave dog influenced all of the other dogs to jump out of the van and face the unknown. Maybe they thought the sun was going to kill them. Maybe they thought there was fire outside of the van. They had a lot to be afraid of, but they eventually faced it all and realized that all of the things that they thought were scary were actually good things that could make them happy. Anyway, I'm glad that I stayed up late and finished watching that show.

SOCKPUPPETARMAGEDDON

I created this blog upon request for a class. Since then it has become somewhat dear to me. I realize that (starting with this post) I, meaning you, Bryan, are the only person that is going to be reading/writing anything pertaining to this blog. Is it worth continuing? Wouldn't that be kind of strange? Writing a blog to and for yourself?
Probably.
You could try and gain a devoted fan-base—form a cult, perhaps. The Bryanists. But that will never happen, because you're an INFP and you don't seek attention,, acknowledgement, or fame.

But, am I not writing this, and this, and this and THIS, because I crave attention? Am I not writing this in hopes that, perhaps, God willing, some stranger (possibly some literary talent-scout-stranger?) might stumble upon my blog and see my writing for what it truly is: Brilliant and Original and Twisted and Poignant and Clever and, let's just say, a myriad of other cliched adjectives.

Anyway. Maybe this really is your last blog entry, Bryan. What do you want to say? Do you want to say something Poignant and Twisted? Or maybe you want to say something Brilliant with a dash of Clever and maybe just a pinch of something Twisted?

Something Like:

As I was driving to work today I counted seven flags at half-mast. The flags, of course, got me thinking about the Newtown massacre and how fucked up things can get in this world. Then I started thinking about December 21'st and how it might be the end of the world and how, especially for the parents of the Newtown victims, it might be a good idea for God to seriously consider following through with that plan.
If I was God and if I was trying to come up with a cool way to kill the earth, I think I'd gather up all the guns and the ammunition and the steel and the iron and the copper and the gold and the silver and the nickel and all the things that have built up our collective conglomerate of evil and I'd melt them all together and form them into a massive bullet-shaped-projectile-device and I'd blast that bitch at the speed of light straight into the earth's black heart.

Mr. INFP

Today my work asked me to fill out the online questionnaire: Carl Jung and Isabel Briggs Myers’ Typological Approach to Personality, and, to be honest, I really didn’t want to be a part of it. I didn’t want some internet site telling me who I am, or who I should be, or could be, or can’t be, et cetera. And even now, after having taken the questionnaire, I’m not really sure what to think about it. I will say that I’m a bit surprised at the depth of the end result. It wasn’t just some formulaic answer to life’s conundrums:

*You do not do well in stressful situations, Mr. Nolte. You might consider seeing your doctor about a possible risk of high blood pressure.

No, the results were detailed and thought-provoking. I ended up wasting a few hours at work (they started it) researching this stuff, and everything I’m reading seems to be pretty legit. Reading something that describes who you are specifically, in an almost obituary-esque fashion, is a rather surreal and uncomfortably revealing situation. I can only liken the experience to one that I had three years ago, an experience in which I was given the rare opportunity to speak with my future-self in the year 2067.

So, this is who I am:

INFP

Introvert (100%)
iNtuitive (50%)
Feeling (25%)
Perceiving (89%)

The percentages are important and have meaning, but I don’t feel like going into that. Which would explain why I answered “YES” to the statement: “Your decisions are based more on the feelings of a moment than on the careful planning”

If you want to know who I am (this article is possibly a blogpost/non-published/POS, but it's ripened with flattery and doesn't focus so much on the fact that the word "introvert" is really just a synonym for "asshole". But, then again, INFP's rarely give themselves enough credit.) click here:

http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html

If you want to know who you are, click here:

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Rolaids for writers-block

http://www.tinhouse.com/blog/podcasts

sorry, but you're a racist pig.

Are you feeling good today? Are you feeling good about yourself? Are you feeling confident with your fine-tuned persona? Are you feeling confident and assured with the way you view/perceive/tolerate your fellow man? If so, then perhaps you are in need of a serious reality check, my friend.

Take some time with this site:

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/

By doing so you will most likely come to this singular, incontrovertible conclusion:

YOU SUCK.

Perfect Paragraph / #2

Two paragraphs from 'Disgrace', by J.M. Coetzee:

He has dinner with his ex-wife Rosalind. They have been apart for eight years; slowly, warily, they are growing to be friends again, of a sort. War veterans. It reassures him that Rosalind still lives nearby: perhaps she feels the same way about him. Someone to count on when the worst arrives: the fall in the bathroom, the blood in the stool.

"That's wonderful, then. I'm sorry, my child, I just find it hard to whip up an interest on the subject. It's admirable, what you do, what she does, but to me animal-welfare people are a bit like Christians of a certain kind. Everyone is so cheerful and well-intentioned that after awhile you itch to go off and do some raping and pillaging. Or to kick a cat."

more people watching

A boy and a girl are sitting together at a small round table. His hair is big and all in disarray like a young Einstein. His demeanor seems to be saying that he has no time for her. He is obviously busy and deep in thought, or at least he is trying to appear so. His face is craned over scattered books and papers. He refuses to look up at her. He completely disregards her pleadings. She is desperately trying to gain his attention. She wants to know something. I can see her mouth form the words, “Tell me, please, just tell me!”
She seems to be entirely out of his league—blonde and just plain gorgeous head to foot, so I’m intrigued by his subtle and reserved ability to resist her. She clearly wants him. She is leaning over, revealing everything she has and everything that he could ever want, yet still, he shows no interest whatsoever. His gaze remains fixed on his books.
She lays half of her body over the table. She puts her hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her. He seems repulsed. He seems to not know her at all. She tries to kiss his lips but he averts his face and pulls away.
Her body goes limp with defeat. She says, “Fine. Whatever,” and takes a big bite from his sushi platter. She stands up and waits for a sign of recognition that never comes. She looks around the room, embarrassed from her rejection. She puts on her coat and gathers up her things and before leaving him there to be alone and free of her, she leans over and whispers something into his ear. Whatever it is, it causes him to lift his head and watch her walk away through the busy crowd of student bodies.

So,

So, I'm walking aimlessly around UVU because my class is cancelled and I'm looking at everyone walking around and I start wondering why no one else is looking at everyone walking around. Why am I the only person staring at other people? Am I some kind of creep? Must be.
This also happens when I'm in a car. Whenever I'm at a stop light, or whenever I pass people, or whenever people pass me, I always have to look. For some reason I always have to see whoever is in that car. And I'm always impressed with the people that don't have to look. I'm impressed that they can just mind their own business and not give a rats ass who's next to them at the stop light. Cheers to them.