Lost in Translation

Maybe...I've done myself a disservice.

The world I live in is very sensitive to the fact that, without certain adjustments, nonverbal communication tends to leave a great deal of uncertainty; I, however, am not so sensitive. Not in action, anyhow.

I stopped using things like 'lol' and smileys, for no real reason, honestly. Just kinda wanted to see how it would work out.

I don't know for certain, but I think it's kinda made me a chore to talk to.

I have my own me-isms and I use them freely, and I don't much mind it except that people ain't hearing me, doe. I'm gonna work on that, next.

There are some examples, sure, but suffice it to say that I will, for the sake of being less difficult (for difficulty's sake, at least) when it comes to talking to people.

You're welcome, President Vernon.

Foresight

I'm writing this now, assuming that SOMEONE out of you will decide to make a comment about my incessant emailing and, perhaps how ironic it is that I would suggest this "blog" idea.

Now it's your turn.

Side notes:

Don't use "ps" if you haven't made a salutation. That's just silly.

Support the music industry. Pirating music is easy, I know; but it's seriously killing the artists.

Is the term "beat a dead horse" or did I fuck that one up?

PS: Don't be a hypocrite. It's bad for business and no one will take you seriously.

Point Taken

Why does this "blog" still exist?

I ask myself that every time I think to post something, but almost instantly deem it too personal.

The only real answer is that the email still exists and, although I could easily delete them both, I choose not to.

Occasionally, I choose to post something "meaningful;" but, rarely ever in the sense that any potential readers* could mean the same world.

Some blogs are for reflecting.

Mine, obviously, is not. I don't feel the need, nor the desire, to be personally reflective. In fact, stating that anti-desire makes up a significant portion of the things I blog, halfway defeating the purpose.

Or so it would appear?

Exactly. Sadly, I can't explain why, as that would defeat the defeat of the purpose of this blog, thus defeating the purpose of this purposeless collection of my thoughts.

Some blogs are meant for entertainment of many sorts.

This one is super obviously not.

I never took the time to fashion an appealing layout beyond the careful-ish selection of colors, and a few wing dings here and there to give it the character that I needed at the time. In fact, the ticker on the right margin was added for a particular reason that has long since exhausted its use, but remains because I don't feel right/like taking it down. Every time I try to, I'm immediately interested in the information it holds and end up adding whatever stock I'm curious about at the time to its data range, knowing full well that I will never frequent this blog enough to use that information to serve any purpose. It is simply an aesthetic choice, I guess. Perhaps of of my readers is interested in that sort of thing.

I digress...a lot. It's not an entertainment piece because, well, I don't merit myself as someone who's opinions are readily communicable to the public in which I live. My tastes are volatile. I listen to music according to my mood, and that changes. I live a dynamic life. Sue me. So, why then, would I waste my life trying to promote the produce of whatever I find hot at the time? (Click the blog title, tho. I've inspired myself into promoting a rather solid compilation.)

What other types of blogs exist? I don't know. I don't read many.

My only concerns are with other people's self-reflective ones. Not to sound like a doucher or anything. I don't read them to find the latest "dirt" on someone or to have an edge against them in an argument or anything, I just find that other people have trouble letting their feelings be known, and their blog is often a comfortable place for them to express themselves. If that's what they need, so be it, and if I know your secret blog address, you can be sure no one's gotten it out of me, whatever the content. Hell, if there's only one post, and it's your favorite flavor Skittles and you want it to be kept a secret, that's your business.

My blog is a melting pot. At some points I just feel like trying something new. An occasioned poem or something. Blogspot is usually a friendly audience for that. Facebook notes, too, but I don't really fuck with them.

My blog is meant to give you something to read, not some part of me to understand. That's what a phone/skype/conversation/date/day out/eulogy** is for.

It's a lot like ramen noodles, I guess. There are some vegetables here and there, sure, but it's not a glass of OJ in the morning; I wouldn't even call it a salad... ... ...

...

Maybe a salad. I slip up every now and again.

Lots of codes, too. There's a lot about me on this blog, in one way or the next. Just very rarely direct. You could presume a lot from these contents, I mean; you just wouldn't "know" that much. I'm kind of just giving people what you really want.

So, feel free to take an inch and speak a mile about my character, in one form or another. At least now you know you're doing it.

And, seriously, click the blog title. It's cool as hell.

*heavy emphasis on "potential" there, as my reader count has to be no more than 3, inclusive of myself, Beebe (whom I love ever so dearly) and, perhaps, the Illuminati in their ongoing effort to know everything there is to know about the world population at-large.

**shoutout to whoever delivers my eulogy.

Running Rampart

I am racing against myself right now. It's kind of creepy.

That's not meant to sound as cheesy as it has to, tho. And I certainly don't mean it literally. Honestly, I don't mean it at all. :p
I only mean what it is meant to convey: a pen stroke within the message within the bottle. You know there are psychological readings of hand writing, right? Something like that.

I don't even know what it means to run against oneself, or how to tell if you're winning, or if winning even matters at that point. I feel like if you're racing against yourself, there are better questions to ask than "who's ahead, and by how far?"

I'm getting good at this. I've started a train of thoughts here. So, before they continue, I want to warn you, the reader, especially if you are me, the writer/reader:

I haven't slept.
I ate.
I'm not in one of my "thinky" moods, but I'm definitely in a "roooooll with it" mood.
I am 100% sober.
I'm going to type thoughts as they appear, in the order they deserve.
I like messing with people. =)

Now, I can start.

Race. You vs You. Who wins?

If you're ahead of yourself, would that mean you finish early, and is "finishing" a metaphor for reaching a goal, or is it death?

Let's say I AM "racing against myself right now." I can only be one of two of one person/people.: myself ahead, or myself behind.

If I am myself, ahead, I'm outpacing my own growth, which could be a good thing. Nothing wrong with being ahead of the curve. After all, Monday's work, completed Sunday, is either a Monday off or a lazy Tuesday, or a productive Tuesday and a lazy Wednesday, or any other combination of either present joy for future work, or vice versa.

And so "losing" would have to be the exact opposite. Being behind, I mean. If I'm behind on Monday, I'll have to work extra hard Tuesday, or Wednesday (plus Tuesday's work) and so on, compiling all of the forgone productive days' work into the present.

Sudden thought:

There has to be 3 of me. The middle man. The one who's on pace and not a step ahead, behind, or even side...but maybe sideways*. Sideways wouldn't hurt the flow...

Sideways is like...Mac or PC for web browsing. However you do it, as long as you're not on Firefox, you're essentially just web browsing.

But, anyway...this third guy. Let's say this race is life. Not because I have any type of interest in dying early, or late for that matter; but, because I figure if you're gonna die, you're gonna do it on time. *laugh*

That was funny to me, sorry.

But, anywho, you're going to die...when you die. No matter how you think about it.

So, back to the original point.

"I am racing against myself right now. It's kind of creepy."

It doesn't really matter whether I'm ahead, behind, or right on time.

The "ahead" guy will, eventually, have to cash in the rest he earned. Let's say he's 730 days, 2 years, "ahead" of his life, having completed literally everything up until the

"finish line." So, he's there, but the middle dude is 730 days worth of stuff away, so he just sits there for 730 "real" days (real, in teh economic sense) and then dies.

The "behind" dude, let's say, is 1,095 days, 3 years behind (I'm choosing these numbers because I'm having fun doing the multiplication in my head.) Once he gets to the last 3 years of stuff, he'll have to zoom to the finish. No choice, because no matter what, he has to finish...when he's finished. ;)

And, of course, the middle guy, being the "control" finishes right on time at average speed (total stuff / lifespan.)

So, who won the race?

Time For Some Action

I'm tired of undependable crews.

The inconsistency with which I work has run the course of my tolerance.

This doesn't mean much. Just means that I'm about to start doing more camera stuff on my own.

Taq Nation consists of a boy named Taqee, a tripod named Beebe, a camera named Barack and the will to continue.

I'm about to take a trip to my spiritual center. There's sure to be a decent movie playing there. =)

Sweet Life On Deck.

Life, she is good to me. How fortunate am I?

That's a good question, unquantifiable by modern standards of what is and what isn't good.

I live life in a different world than most. It's very strange.
I've been through a lot, by regular people standards. But I don't think it's been that much. I've been a lot of places. I still want to go more places though. I ain't complaining. Just looking forward to it.

I keep getting fluked out of these video projects, too. That irritates me.

Time for a great migration from the subject. i'm tired of talking about how good life is. It kinda defeats the purpose. Lol.

I golfed today. 48 on the 9. That's what I scored in high school. Coincidentally, it was the west side PSL golf championship today. So, I scored the score I scored 2 years ago. That's funny. In a haha fashion.

I'm not going to talk about women. I want to. There's something to talk about.

I guess I just don't like blogging anymore. Lol.

It conflicts too greatly with the fact that I don't want to wear my heart on a url. I'd much rather -- London Tipton is, like...the world's dumbest asian... --

Good afternoon, good evening, and good night.

Happy Birthdays

Yesterday was Africa's birthday. Today is Jessica's. And, while they may never find their ways to this blog post, I want to thank them both a happy birthday.

I've enjoyed my times with you both, I have.

Other'n that, today was cool. I don't blog too often, because I don't have too much to say, once you filter out all the real stuff. I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping myself from esposing my mind to the internet's call. Congrats.

On to brighter things, tho. I find myself being very wrong, as of late, about a lot of things. I hope the trend continues. The world may never know why, but I certainly hope it does. Sometimes, it's best to be reminded that life isn't as mundane and predictable as one may come to think.

People...surprise you.

Funny...I wasn't even smiling until I wrote that last part.

Bee Or Be

Just chilling, y'all. I don't know what I'm gonna do for the summer. I kinda found a place to edit and stuff, so Taq Nation's GDP may, in fact, exist.

Spent some time with my dad. Fun.

I don't feel like writing anything, having already decided not to wear my heart anywhere near the sleeves of this Logspace.

What's the point?

I'm gonna practice something right now.

Nah, I'm not. I don't have anything to say. Love life, funny, as usual. Nothing is especially chaotic. Just uncharacteristically stagnant.

I'm waiting on this Spanish grade to go through so I can stop thinking about it and stuff.

I'm reading more, and it's done nothing but justify my manipulation of the english language. John Milton is a mad man. I'm about to finish Paradise Lost. It's curious, the way I'm reacting to it.

I think the one month anniversary of me not being on FB and Twitter is either here or coming up. It seem like longer. Ain't that a trip?

I'm gonna have to go back, for the sake of my business, but I really don't want to. =(

AND myy phone's off, so I don't have any real communication with people. This is LOL worthy, I'd say.

Plight of the Lower Class

Eng 229, the last class I still have an assignment lingering for, is really trying to be important in my brain right now. It really is. But, being that I woke up at 7am to get to an 8-10am exam and finished an hour early, I'm in an especially "nope...nope, can't do it...nope....Believe me, I really wanna...but nope" sort of mood.

And having about 4 pages left to right of my 15+p essay is not as motivating as it may have been in, say, the 16th century.

Damn you, inflation. Lol

The Crowd is Here.

I was asked, a few months ago, to speak to a class at Northwestern High School in Detroit, a leadership class to be precise, by the debate coach there. I had no idea why. I don't, to this day, know what inspired him, on that day, as I took pictures covering a debate tournament for a Detroit Urban Debate Education newsletter, to see me as a leader, but I accepted the opportunity.

I imagine that when I finally do get the opportunity to speak to that class, I will look like the many people before me who, after just a few short months in college, returned to their communities to divulge the secrets they've learned in college into the minds of the students they left behind.

I'm not that guy, I don't think. But, I accepted the task. I've kind of just decided to take on the high standards that others seem to see in me, to the best of my ability, but that's another log for another time.

I thought for weeks about what I would talk about until, in one faithful shuffle before my iPod was forever lost in a short walk between rooms in my Scholar House, Lupe Fiasco "Superstar" hit me like a ton of bricks.

If you are what you say you are
A superstar
Then have no fear
The camera's here
and the microphones and they wanna know

If you are what you say you are
a superstar
then have no fear
the crowd is here
and the lights are on and they want a show


To a self-proclaimed, or even a critically acclaimed, "superstar", the message should be clear. If you've got it, show it. Not in a way of a braggart or the average doucher that we often find in the post-secondary setting, but in the way of someone simply living up to their own ability.

The camera's here to see you, the microphone to listen, and they're waiting to be amazed.
The crowd is here to follow you, the lights to show your path, and all that's left is to walk it.

We often find that we spend so much time afraid of what we are. Let's not do that.
Let's just be who we are and stop wasting our majesty.

That is all.

Looking for my Chapstick.

The sun is now out. It has made its decision. The weather is great.

The brownies now rise. The bunnies are a-hopping. It is a good day.

The first class is skipped. The second class is complete. The third: optional.

Done after today. Only office hours remain. The grind takes respite.

Finished before all. The city is mine alone. Windsor to Renni.

The day is half gone. The week still just beginning. Time for "us" is gone.

Winter swears, broken. Spring sunshine conquers delay. Summer love begins.

New beginnings found. Only to ends, will they lead. No regrets linger.

The nights ever last. The hours passed joyously. Paradise is found.

The breeze is pleasant. The grass is soft and fragrant. The people rejoice.

The weather is great. We have made our own decisions. The sun is now out.


Written in Haiku by Taqee Vernon.

34" Belt, 32" Waist

This is a prose written from the mind of a man two holes to the left of the last, with jeans, jeans of consciousness, inches wider than the waist.

This is the prose of a man below the waistline, that being the best clue he can bestow. From their comes this poem he speak, and from their his heart do hang, to the mercy of onlookers both peer and rival. For they are they who judge the lives of men.

From this place I so spake, at the expense of my cabulaire, the vessel of my chords and the bearer of sovereign thought. It is the gatekeeper that guards me from the cuts suffered he who sees safety in Kenshin's reversed blade, and the chain linking the Cerberus' faces against the sovereignty of my thought. For through this organ, not organ by nature, but by utility, I strum the words that seem romantic to my meaning and listens the crowd, both nodding and shifting as they feel appropriate; the account of my character so justly but unlawfully based.

From this place do my thoughts bestow, though my mind here take respite. And what better place than to unearth the truths of my sentiment. It is here that the Cerberus ear has fallen it prey to the songs matched before only in the Japanese fictions of Puff and Tuff. It is here that my mind, in its eventful slumber, discovers its mind before itself, and thoughts, though honest before, run deeper to elixir's truth. It is here, then, that I find myself willing to speak what, if spake with fitting pant, would not retain its sovereign delight, nor be appreciated in memory as it be appreciated in record.

From this message now, as gates do the wicked, a first final glance must be granted they who venture here. From mind unattended and fear incompelled comes truth unrelented. Though fact be created of chaotic lie, fact from rested fact is fact, alone, conceived.

'anna...you occupy the passageways, not they that wander the maize of my thought, nor they posted along its walls where memories, be they sweet or bitter, share their hosteline discomfort. But instead a fellow shifter of the walls. In your company is determined the course of our days and the cost to those Sisters to divulge, through sights both quarreled and equitted, the length of our starlit eve.

Good Morrow, y'all.

Sober Thoughts

Let it be know that, as of this time on this day, in this century, I finished the draft that changed my life forever. =)

Who Loves Short Shorts?

There's this hilarious College Humor video, DVD Commentary: The Movie. Check it out. Now!

Chester, Chester, Child 'Star

Never really thought I could write a 15 page paper, to be honest. It just seems like one of those things that only people who are genuinely concerned with the very nature of writing could do.
Like, people come to your high school every few months during your junior and senior year to chastise you for complaining about a 5 page paper, and they always say
"You should be happy. As soon as you get to college, boom. You're gonna be begging for 5 page papers."

I'm gonna take this moment to call them all functional illiterates. Or call myself a dysfunctional literate. Either way, someone's got problems.

For starters, no...I would never beg for a paper of any length. If you want to know just how serious I am, consider this: my application to UMich was delayed for [precisely] 3 weeks (21 days) because I didn't feel like writing the 500 word pre-admission essay for the Ross School of Business (for good reason, as I knew I wasn't in there).

I hate writing. I do. I'm sure my extra lengthy for no reason at all blogs might have you questioning that, but rest assured: writing sucks my soul out.

Now, back to this 15 page research paper about...video games.

Single for the Night.

Not a stranger to being single, I tell you what. It is definitely my neutral zone.
Not that I'm special for something like that, but it's the truth. Lol. The fact that we're not born into matrimony kinda means that it's everyone's neutral, but I mean it for me to be a evermore annoying quality.

Women...

The motions are so tiring, and so similar, it's crazy. I think going through the same thing a hundred times has me pegged with the burden of tested fatalism, with a hint of characteristic optimism. Lol

Long story short: I never cease to be amazed by the nonsense I go through...a lot. Lol

I could probably write a book on my life, as it pertains to me and the laydehs. Would it sell? Probably not, but it would make for a pretty good read for, like, an airplane ride, at least, and that would be enough for me. Tyra's book club would have to be my healthy silver medal.

But, in this book, would just be a long, drawn-out list of experiences, triumphs, fails and flukes- Flukes would even get a separate chapter to themselves on an individual basis- all in the interest of finding out that the only commonality amongst all these experiences- the only independent variable to the function that is my love life- is me. Ha.

I'm done ranting, for now.
Duty calls.

Newton, We Have a Problem.

I thought up a few interesting as heck essays to write. They seem like some real sweet stuff, but they're gonna require a whole mess of research. Dunno how I feel about that just yet, but I think I'll get over it.

Imagine, me using my brain for the sake of good. Lol. That'd Be something stupid. Of course, what I consider academia could just as easily seen as me being bored out of my brains for a while, but what's the difference?
I imagine Newton was bored to tears until that apple konk'd him upside the head and gave him the inspiration to do what, in his time, must have seemed like the work of the insane or at least the socially impaired.

"Yo, Isaac, wanna hit Ye Olden Shadowed Saloon with us?"
"No, I'm actually thinking to partake in the wonderment of the non-physical universe and its interactivity upon those things over yonder tree branch that doth cause them assault my fitted beret whilst I'd sit finishing mine independent studies."

All of this while he was out of school on account of the Bubonic Plague sweeping the nation like there was no tomorrow. What a strange fellow he must've been.

So, if I can duplicate that kind of boredom, let's say by not having anything better to do with my time in the library save to, dare I say it, read a book...well, then, I might just be onto something with these.

The reason I haven't disclosed the subjects of the essays, though, is because if I don't go through with their writing, I don't want anyone to be disappointed. Lol

Well, here's to you, whoever of you are reading this, for you must truly have nothing better to do.

Maybe, though, your time would be just as well spent on your own pondering and personal thoughts. I'm grateful to have been the subject of your interest, I'll tell you that much.

Taq

And I Heard 'Em Say

Only been a day. Lol. I ain't impressive, it would appear.

So far, I've just taken to Pandora Radio to give me something to do on the internet, Logging about nothing important and texting/calling people more often.

Sounds like a good start, I guess. I gotta keep working on this english paper, tho. That's something.

Isn't it weird that I wouldn't give up social networks and the like for my scholastic life? Lol. One would think that that would be the first thing on my mind. Nooope!

Kid Cudi, for the record, is a good start for a Pandora playlist, by the way.

I made her say...hold up...born in '91...how old is that..? Old enough. Lol

Just Call It a Come Ack.

I never really knew what the B stood for, anyhow, but fuck a blog. Lol

Having given up on social networks, I can't be true to form if I use this for anything big. It's just a log. Not a Blog, in the traditional sense. Not a place to put my soul on blast or something, I plan on having friends for that, at least by the time I'm done with this shit. That be the whole point. Not name-dropping, shit talking, virtual crying or anything of the sort. The bulletin board so that I remember the questions I'm, at the end of the day, seeking to answer and, eventually, the answers I had the audacity to question. Lol. Put that in your pipe and smoke, it, future employers!

So, to that end, where the hell did this all come from? Lol
To be honest, it was another whim's decision, brought to you by the good people at Taq Nation. Lol.
I saw, on Facebook, the return of someone who'd given up FB for Lent, and circumstances well within my control dictated I take a nap from the public eye. It all really started with the death of my Formspring's credibility.

That's that, the rest, as they say, is history in the making.

I'm really interested to test a theory of mine, and it won't be any less effective if the few people who entertain this blog know what it is.

I think that the existence of a Facebook, of itself, makes people feel so close that they forget that they're not close. The telephone, maybe. Text messaging, maybe too. But those are forms of communication that we've grown to accept in their place. Facebook, I think, inspires lack of communication and creates that very same lack as a form of communication.

Ain't that a bitch?

Like, you feel so close to your friends, and feel that they must too feel so close to you, that the responsibility of contacting one another is constantly tossed from side to side.

"I see [friend] is logged on to Facebook chat, therefore they must be choosing not to talk to me right now."
"Oh, you can tweet, but you can't reply to my text?"
"Hello in person = text message = hand written letter = @reply = FB message = telegram = affection"
"We're not FB friends -or- they don't follow me on Twitter, so we aren't friends."

^all those mentalities are the ones I'm seeking to rid myself of by getting rid of my social networking outlets.

Good luck to me, then, and I hope to see you all on the other side of the boob tube.

Taq

In Desperation, Fight Naked.

I don't like the Facebook generation. I find that it is training people to detach themselves from one another by always feeling attached to one another. In the cases of those we have lost contact with, or those who are simply too far away to keep convenient contact with, this is both the venom and the serum. On the one hand, we have a means to communicate. On the other hand, we have already taken the substance out of what it means to communicate.

Thanks to the facebook mobile environment, all my friends are in my pocket throughout the course of the day. The incentive to actually make direct, intimate contact has become so white-washed by the ease with which I could potentially do so that it has sullied the title "friend" by virtue of its nature. The online generation has trained a country of mindless drones, programmed to broadcast themselves to the whole of society without actually thinking about the consequences of doing so, and the result is [somehow] a less real world.

Who are my friends? This is the question I seek to answer in my hiatus from photo uploading, tagging and commenting.
What are my friends to me? A question who's answer has never truly been known to me, much less has it remained relevant in the "new world" of cybertronic affection.

Whoever is [un]lucky enough to have the [dis]pleasure of reading this and working it through the bureacracy of management, marketing and the like, feel free to shoot me an email timvr@umich.edu [entertain my acting like you don't already have this information on record], as I'd love to hear whatever response it is you find appropriate. I feel like it's a conversation worth having, if nothing else.

to the Facebook Team:
Thank you for all the good times. This is not at all a stab at your ability to make an enjoyable experience, it is simply a young man's attempt to find his place in whatever is left in the world not bounded by an LCD monitor.

Taqee Vernon,
University of Michigan Undergraduate Student