So.
Today was to have been my triumphant return to the blogosphere. I had an interview of a certain professor, and his findings regarding american children and sex, which I was going to analyse and critique. I also had a few opinions to raise about the current election race going on in america, and maybe throw in a humorous anecdote at the end.
Instead, I've got a budding headache and eyeache, another underutilised day, and just a general feeling of having not done enough. Its amazing, how when you try to live your life right, that it seems to shrink down to a bunch of tasks and objectives, which do not seem so important in and of themselves, but if you are determined (and I most certainly am), then accomplishing them becomes a major part of your day, as well as a heightened sense of accomplishment when they are done. This, to someone who doesn't achieve very much on a daily basis, is a BIG DEAL.
So I'm not gonna let it get me down. I strive always to resist the pull of human entropy, which itself is constant, until you either learn to deal with it or to ignore it. Its a slow process, little victories and accomplishments each day. Wake up. Get out of bed. Do one useful thing each day, then two, then more. Get out of the house (that hasn't been happening of late), walk around (resist the urge to buy any cancer sticks) and breathe the open air. Just...live one day at a time (I never really understood what that meant before).
Just live, learn to appreciate yourself, what you have and what you can do. Learn about yourself. Take a walk into your mind. Sit in quiet, and listen to what you have to say to yourself. If you are quiet, you can hear your mind telling you what to do (this does not include that subsection of society that hears voices telling them that there are spies in the ice cream; these people need to either receive or go back on their meds, and not listen to themselves too much, if at all), and how to go about fixing the mess you're currently in. Then, when you've learned that much, you can go about gathering the necessary energy to get up and accomplish these goals.
Its not easy. Not by a long shot. There were days when getting out of bed was my major accomplishment for the day. Those are, thank god, FAR behind me at this point. Now, its achieving what's on my little list of things to do each day. The tendency to ship my oars and just float is ever present, and sometimes I'll catch myself just wasting time, and I'll have to get up and get back to what I was doing.
One does not break the programming of years of living overnight.
But breaking it IS possible, and it takes guts, grit, and the willingness to take a lot of healthy criticism from all those around you that really, truly care for you (the ability to recognise which, my friends, is one of THE best skills you can ever acquire in your life, mark my words). It takes starting, stopping, starting again, falling over, getting up, brushing yourself off, maybe a sigh or two, and starting again. After a while, it stops being starting and starts to become continuing, and the periods in between the interruptions get smaller and smaller. That's where I'm headed, and I'm not stopping for nothing. I have too much people (and one beautiful young woman in particular) waiting and hoping for me to realise all I have to offer, and get to work offering it to the world (their words, not mine :) )
Anyway.
I'm tired, and my eyes and head hurts, but I now feel better. One more thing I can say that I did with my day, and one less thing to feel guilty over as I go to my rest this night.
Peace my friends, you will be seeing a lot more of me around these parts in the future. Yeah, yeah, I've said that before, I know....
Anyway.
Walk in the light, think happy thoughts, and for gods sake think before you act. I'll see you around.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
*Blink*
*Blink*
You stand in a field of yellow flowers, all minor suns. In their center, a small ring of blue, like a child's tear, lies nestled. A small wind ruffles their perfect symmetry, a momentary bending of their heads to a higher power, then all isagain still. You look around. All is still, all is silent. All is perfect.
You shade your eyes against the sun and the blue, the yellow below and the impossibility of the situation. A single step would crush dozens of these minor suns, all packed in and around each other. You take that step, and an aroma like sunday mornings in the park, a perfect blue sky and your first kiss fills your nostrils, and you are momentarily lifted. Walking, the aroma is now a constant companion, so much so that have to blink to keep this field of yellow/blue in sight. The sky is a blue wall below which is spread this infinite yellow tablecloth, pure and unblemished. So blue it hurts.You squint.
(How did you get here...how...)
You blink. You are standing in a desert, with sand blowing in your eyes. Your mouth. Your teeth. Your nostrils. You cough and cover your face and ears. Its in your hair. Under your nails. You stumble forward, hacking against the storm. Fall to your knees and try to breathe through the onslaught.
It takes a few seconds before you realise that you're not feeling anything but the wind. The sand passes through you, around you, untouching. You kneel there, not understanding. The wind howls, and you feel its loneliness and despair in your bones. It echoes in the back of your mind, reminding you of disappointments past, and the many more to come. Despair. A constant companion.
(What, where...the hell is going on...?)
You stand, and walk. You discern movement, images, figures in the haze. Frozen. No. They move, but only when you look away, and only in a speed discernable by one familiar.
(Familiar...with what...hold on, what...?)
They're dozens of them around you, and you then realize that its not a storm, but thousands, no, millions of overlapped images of figures, horses, soldiers, people, cars falling off of bridges, people dying, running, crying, falling, standing in shock, fear, curling up in pain, shaking...just the pure horror of human suffering poured out in visual form onto your eyeballs. You stand there in shock yourself...and just watch. It washes over you. Your very heart turns black within your chest, and you shudder with the realisation that this is you, this is what it means to be human. To suffer, live in pain, and then die.
(No....it can't...what...)
Blink.
You're back in the field of blue and yellow, and you fall forward to your knees, choking on the tears you did not know were coming. Your vision blurs, and you cry your heart out there in that beautiful, lonely oasis. You fumble forward, and that scent of cotton candy and soft touches in the hall, holding hands as you walk and dancing under hot lights with the one you desire/love/lust after fills you again, and you begin to laugh through your tears. You feel as if you are going insane. Unable to process emotions of such diametric difference all at once, your body executes the most useful feature it possesses. In the face of an overwhelming situation that it cannot immediately comprehend or process, the human body possesses the ability to turn itself off.
You faint.
When you wake up, you're standing on a beach. The water makes a quiet shh-shhhh as it peaks beneath your feet, then recedes back to the arms of its mother, the ocean. You are barefooted, and the water is warm on your toes. A gentle wind, smelling of salt and sugar cane tickles your nose, and somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle strains of relaxed revelry. You lift your head, and allow the calm and peace of the moment to suffuse your being. You breathe, happy to have woken from that...nightmare. In, out, in, out, the breaths come. Your heart slows (hm, what, no...there was something...no..forget it) as you return to your normal state of calm. You turn to walk back towards (where...wait, where was I going before...wait wait wait) when a voice says;
"But its never that easy, is it? Being human, I mean."
You whirl, disturbing the sand and the scene. Everything shimmers for a second, white white, then settles back to normal colour. Standing a few feet down the beach is a man, nondescript, small, inconsequential. White shirt, white pants, straw hat. Beach bum. Beer in hand, his back to you.
"Its never that easy, being anything in this world."
He looks out from under his hat at you, and you realise...no, it can't be....
Blink.
You wake up in bed, and there is no more sleep for you that night. In the back of your head, you can hear the soft whisper of the waves on the beach, and beneath them...the silent cries of all those trapped in the haze. The sunflowers evade your mind, even as you reach for them in a desperate attempt as SOME kind of solace from this crazy dream. There will be no more sleep for you this night. None at all. You have much to think about, and morning....? It is still far, far away.
You stand in a field of yellow flowers, all minor suns. In their center, a small ring of blue, like a child's tear, lies nestled. A small wind ruffles their perfect symmetry, a momentary bending of their heads to a higher power, then all isagain still. You look around. All is still, all is silent. All is perfect.
You shade your eyes against the sun and the blue, the yellow below and the impossibility of the situation. A single step would crush dozens of these minor suns, all packed in and around each other. You take that step, and an aroma like sunday mornings in the park, a perfect blue sky and your first kiss fills your nostrils, and you are momentarily lifted. Walking, the aroma is now a constant companion, so much so that have to blink to keep this field of yellow/blue in sight. The sky is a blue wall below which is spread this infinite yellow tablecloth, pure and unblemished. So blue it hurts.You squint.
(How did you get here...how...)
You blink. You are standing in a desert, with sand blowing in your eyes. Your mouth. Your teeth. Your nostrils. You cough and cover your face and ears. Its in your hair. Under your nails. You stumble forward, hacking against the storm. Fall to your knees and try to breathe through the onslaught.
It takes a few seconds before you realise that you're not feeling anything but the wind. The sand passes through you, around you, untouching. You kneel there, not understanding. The wind howls, and you feel its loneliness and despair in your bones. It echoes in the back of your mind, reminding you of disappointments past, and the many more to come. Despair. A constant companion.
(What, where...the hell is going on...?)
You stand, and walk. You discern movement, images, figures in the haze. Frozen. No. They move, but only when you look away, and only in a speed discernable by one familiar.
(Familiar...with what...hold on, what...?)
They're dozens of them around you, and you then realize that its not a storm, but thousands, no, millions of overlapped images of figures, horses, soldiers, people, cars falling off of bridges, people dying, running, crying, falling, standing in shock, fear, curling up in pain, shaking...just the pure horror of human suffering poured out in visual form onto your eyeballs. You stand there in shock yourself...and just watch. It washes over you. Your very heart turns black within your chest, and you shudder with the realisation that this is you, this is what it means to be human. To suffer, live in pain, and then die.
(No....it can't...what...)
Blink.
You're back in the field of blue and yellow, and you fall forward to your knees, choking on the tears you did not know were coming. Your vision blurs, and you cry your heart out there in that beautiful, lonely oasis. You fumble forward, and that scent of cotton candy and soft touches in the hall, holding hands as you walk and dancing under hot lights with the one you desire/love/lust after fills you again, and you begin to laugh through your tears. You feel as if you are going insane. Unable to process emotions of such diametric difference all at once, your body executes the most useful feature it possesses. In the face of an overwhelming situation that it cannot immediately comprehend or process, the human body possesses the ability to turn itself off.
You faint.
When you wake up, you're standing on a beach. The water makes a quiet shh-shhhh as it peaks beneath your feet, then recedes back to the arms of its mother, the ocean. You are barefooted, and the water is warm on your toes. A gentle wind, smelling of salt and sugar cane tickles your nose, and somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle strains of relaxed revelry. You lift your head, and allow the calm and peace of the moment to suffuse your being. You breathe, happy to have woken from that...nightmare. In, out, in, out, the breaths come. Your heart slows (hm, what, no...there was something...no..forget it) as you return to your normal state of calm. You turn to walk back towards (where...wait, where was I going before...wait wait wait) when a voice says;
"But its never that easy, is it? Being human, I mean."
You whirl, disturbing the sand and the scene. Everything shimmers for a second, white white, then settles back to normal colour. Standing a few feet down the beach is a man, nondescript, small, inconsequential. White shirt, white pants, straw hat. Beach bum. Beer in hand, his back to you.
"Its never that easy, being anything in this world."
He looks out from under his hat at you, and you realise...no, it can't be....
Blink.
You wake up in bed, and there is no more sleep for you that night. In the back of your head, you can hear the soft whisper of the waves on the beach, and beneath them...the silent cries of all those trapped in the haze. The sunflowers evade your mind, even as you reach for them in a desperate attempt as SOME kind of solace from this crazy dream. There will be no more sleep for you this night. None at all. You have much to think about, and morning....? It is still far, far away.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Tuxedo Mask
*looks up from sweeping*
So today I decide to go online and finally, finally, FINALLY decide on a tuxedo for myself and my groomsmen. Having not chosen one the last time (contrary to what my fiance believes, hm) I decide that enough is enough, I need to go on and just get this done.
Right.
So, I'm on this site, looking around at the various styles, comparing one to another, and looking at the different cuts and whatnot, and it comes to my attention that most of these look awfully similar. I flip back and forth, not daring to blink lest I miss a difference in the cut of the lapel or the length of the jacket or whatnot. If the difference isn't made obvious by the name (a 'shawl lapel' versus a 'notch lapel', and the promisingly titled but oh so disappointing double breasted suit) or a glaring difference, well then, I have to focus my eyes on a point on the tux and flip back and forth to spot a difference. Yet another case of complexity outgrowing necessity, but that's the way it is and has been.
I've discovered that I go for the more traditional cuts and styles (up to a point). Like, I would never, ever see myself in a tux that's not a dark colour, maybe grey being the highest shade I would go. A white tux appalls me to no end, and don't get me started on the other colours (pimpwear, as I call them). Knowing absolutely nothing about the history of the tux, and maybe having worn one maybe once before (my second sister's wedding, go figure) I've come to the conclusion (no doubt based on years of James Bond, fashion magazines and other such trustworthy and upstanding sources) that a tux should be of dark colour, the darker the better.
I've also realized that I dislike cummerbunds to no end.
UGH. Why do you need that band of colour, in what is an awkward place to draw attention to for most men?
*clears throat*
*lays aside broom and walks over to window*
I went to wikipedia just now to look up the history of the tux. Makes sense that something that's giving me this much trouble would be british in origin (and funnily enough, was popularised by an act intended to enable a lord to get it on with another mans wife. So much for its being the symbol of the wedding, and all that crap). Damn brits, first they colonize my country (well, one of the many, but more on that later) and then they give me this headache. Curse you britannia!!!
*breathes*
Right. So. I've settled on a three button something or other, and this other one that looks really cool (can't remember the names right now, I mean come on, have you seen the names of these things???) and might fit me well, if I can just start exercising again, and stay away from the cigs (24 hours and counting, how many more times will I quit?...anyway). I'm really excited, like, I never thought these things would ever look good on me, much less get married, and here I am, picking out my tux for my wedding.
So excited. Can you tell?
Sure you can.
Peace out, I'm done for the day. Bathe, and then to bed. Tomorrow I've got things to do, and then I gotta go to town to see the pastor. More on that later as well.
So today I decide to go online and finally, finally, FINALLY decide on a tuxedo for myself and my groomsmen. Having not chosen one the last time (contrary to what my fiance believes, hm) I decide that enough is enough, I need to go on and just get this done.
Right.
So, I'm on this site, looking around at the various styles, comparing one to another, and looking at the different cuts and whatnot, and it comes to my attention that most of these look awfully similar. I flip back and forth, not daring to blink lest I miss a difference in the cut of the lapel or the length of the jacket or whatnot. If the difference isn't made obvious by the name (a 'shawl lapel' versus a 'notch lapel', and the promisingly titled but oh so disappointing double breasted suit) or a glaring difference, well then, I have to focus my eyes on a point on the tux and flip back and forth to spot a difference. Yet another case of complexity outgrowing necessity, but that's the way it is and has been.
I've discovered that I go for the more traditional cuts and styles (up to a point). Like, I would never, ever see myself in a tux that's not a dark colour, maybe grey being the highest shade I would go. A white tux appalls me to no end, and don't get me started on the other colours (pimpwear, as I call them). Knowing absolutely nothing about the history of the tux, and maybe having worn one maybe once before (my second sister's wedding, go figure) I've come to the conclusion (no doubt based on years of James Bond, fashion magazines and other such trustworthy and upstanding sources) that a tux should be of dark colour, the darker the better.
I've also realized that I dislike cummerbunds to no end.
UGH. Why do you need that band of colour, in what is an awkward place to draw attention to for most men?
*clears throat*
*lays aside broom and walks over to window*
I went to wikipedia just now to look up the history of the tux. Makes sense that something that's giving me this much trouble would be british in origin (and funnily enough, was popularised by an act intended to enable a lord to get it on with another mans wife. So much for its being the symbol of the wedding, and all that crap). Damn brits, first they colonize my country (well, one of the many, but more on that later) and then they give me this headache. Curse you britannia!!!
*breathes*
Right. So. I've settled on a three button something or other, and this other one that looks really cool (can't remember the names right now, I mean come on, have you seen the names of these things???) and might fit me well, if I can just start exercising again, and stay away from the cigs (24 hours and counting, how many more times will I quit?...anyway). I'm really excited, like, I never thought these things would ever look good on me, much less get married, and here I am, picking out my tux for my wedding.
So excited. Can you tell?
Sure you can.
Peace out, I'm done for the day. Bathe, and then to bed. Tomorrow I've got things to do, and then I gotta go to town to see the pastor. More on that later as well.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The return of the King.
*looks around*
*knocks dust off of overturned chair*
*places chair upright, raising a cloud of dust*
*sneezes*
*sits*
Oh-kay. *dusts off pants* Wow, I've really let this place go to ruin. Haven't been here in ages, and I guess you can take the (past) failure of this as an indication of how things have been going in my life recently. Whoo, haven't been here since...the 27th of Oct. last year. Wow. 6 months and change.
*looks around again*
Its not that this isn't a nice place and, its not that I don't like talking to you all. Its just that sometime I feel pressured, and I realise now that that was the entirely wrong approach to be taking. Sure, its cool to be pressured, it motivates us to bigger and better things. However, we should never let ourselves get so pressured that we lose sight of who we are, and why we're doing the things in the first place. If we do that, then...the whole point of the exercise becomes pointless, and we may as well have been at home, reading manga online for all the good any further pursuit of that venture will do us.
That is what happened to me recently.
*breathes for a few minutes, looking around at the mess, covered furniture and layers of cobwebs and dust*
I forgot why it was I was getting married, hell, I forgot why it was that I was in the relationship with my fiance. Its not because we're going to get married, no, the marriage is the end result of us wanting to be together for the rest of our lives, in a manner that will allow us to be unmolested or shunned (shun the unbeliever, my god, charlie the unicorn, youtube is a time waster's paradise, shun) by all and sundry. Also, since we (all, or most of us at least) were young, we've been taught that that is the socially acceptable thing to do, before man and God; when you find the one you love, and want to make babies, grow these babies, let them out into the crazy ant's nest that's the world, and then grow old and crotchety with this person, you marry this person.
Hence you avoid being shunned and sanctioned by society at large.
So, she and I are getting married. However, somewhere along the way I lost sight of that fact, that the marriage came after the desire to grow old together and whatnot, and that clouded my judgment, perspective, whatever-you-want-to-call-it there for a while, and things got messy, both inside and outside of my head.
Whoo. *looks around again*
But I'm back now, and I've managed to (with the help of a few friends, more on that later) get myself back in the game. Granted, I'm not in the same position that I was in before this...run in with reality (and let me tell you, try and avoid running into reality, its an unforgiving bitch), but where I am, I can make it work, with focus and determination.
And all those other things that they say one needs to have to be successful, but whatever. I'm simply gonna get up everyday and do it to it, that's all. No big philosophy, just a state of mind.
*wipes hands on pants, and rises, stirring up yet more dust*
So, I'm back, as they say, and you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me around here than you did before. I know now that I have no obligation to post here whatsoever, which has, as these things are wont to do, made it that much easier for me to come here and post my thoughts, feelings, musings, brain hiccups, whatever. There's a lot of work to be done with the place, but...its my goddamn place, and the onus is on me to fix it so...lets just get it done.
Right. *looks around* Now, just where the hell do I start....?
P. S. Scouting for Girls is a lovely little indie-pop band. I don't remember exactly how I heard of them (more than likely from the fiance), but I've since acquired their album, and I must say its been holding its own on my playlist for a bit now. Songs like 'Elvis ain't dead' and 'James Bond' illustrates their uniquely british sense of humor, even when dealing with heartbreak and issues of identity (...or at least, I assume that they are...). Also, 'I need a Holiday' is the british look at the grind, and guess what, they hate it as much as we do, if not more so. Topping it all off is their oh so appealing british accent, and youthful earnestness pouring out of each effort (along with a lighthearted but talented instrumentation on every track), and you've got another surefire summer hit reel here folks. Go check it out.
Charlie the Unicorn. Charlie, the goddamned Unicorn. What, the mother****? No, I mean, come on, if I didn't know that it existed before, I've surely just encountered abstract comedy. Sketch comedy, no, this has moved beyond that, to test the edges of what can logically be called a plot and humor. Stop motion unicorns with squeaky voices going on random quests, meeting stranger and stranger individuals, in an ever increasing comedy maelstrom that comes to its inevitable climax with charlie (the third unicorn, if you weren't following) getting shafted in some unspeakable way. Arguably the strangest thing I've seen online in recent memory. But with all that said, then, why do I find it so goddamned hilarious (shun the unbeliever, shun)? Maybe its the voices of the two other unicorns...yeah, that has to be it, the voices make me break out into peals of laughter in public, earning me dark looks from the more upstanding members of our society, those that I've now started referring to as (dear god) unbelievers. I need help. Charlie needs to just wait for those two with an uzi and some c-4, and wipe them out before they can get their mouths open, that's his only chance of a night of peace. As for you...whether or not you go and check out Charlie the Unicorn on youtube is up to you. But remember, you have been warned. Whether or not I have done so adequately, however, well...that remains to be seen, no doesn't it.
Peace.
*knocks dust off of overturned chair*
*places chair upright, raising a cloud of dust*
*sneezes*
*sits*
Oh-kay. *dusts off pants* Wow, I've really let this place go to ruin. Haven't been here in ages, and I guess you can take the (past) failure of this as an indication of how things have been going in my life recently. Whoo, haven't been here since...the 27th of Oct. last year. Wow. 6 months and change.
*looks around again*
Its not that this isn't a nice place and, its not that I don't like talking to you all. Its just that sometime I feel pressured, and I realise now that that was the entirely wrong approach to be taking. Sure, its cool to be pressured, it motivates us to bigger and better things. However, we should never let ourselves get so pressured that we lose sight of who we are, and why we're doing the things in the first place. If we do that, then...the whole point of the exercise becomes pointless, and we may as well have been at home, reading manga online for all the good any further pursuit of that venture will do us.
That is what happened to me recently.
*breathes for a few minutes, looking around at the mess, covered furniture and layers of cobwebs and dust*
I forgot why it was I was getting married, hell, I forgot why it was that I was in the relationship with my fiance. Its not because we're going to get married, no, the marriage is the end result of us wanting to be together for the rest of our lives, in a manner that will allow us to be unmolested or shunned (shun the unbeliever, my god, charlie the unicorn, youtube is a time waster's paradise, shun) by all and sundry. Also, since we (all, or most of us at least) were young, we've been taught that that is the socially acceptable thing to do, before man and God; when you find the one you love, and want to make babies, grow these babies, let them out into the crazy ant's nest that's the world, and then grow old and crotchety with this person, you marry this person.
Hence you avoid being shunned and sanctioned by society at large.
So, she and I are getting married. However, somewhere along the way I lost sight of that fact, that the marriage came after the desire to grow old together and whatnot, and that clouded my judgment, perspective, whatever-you-want-to-call-it there for a while, and things got messy, both inside and outside of my head.
Whoo. *looks around again*
But I'm back now, and I've managed to (with the help of a few friends, more on that later) get myself back in the game. Granted, I'm not in the same position that I was in before this...run in with reality (and let me tell you, try and avoid running into reality, its an unforgiving bitch), but where I am, I can make it work, with focus and determination.
And all those other things that they say one needs to have to be successful, but whatever. I'm simply gonna get up everyday and do it to it, that's all. No big philosophy, just a state of mind.
*wipes hands on pants, and rises, stirring up yet more dust*
So, I'm back, as they say, and you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me around here than you did before. I know now that I have no obligation to post here whatsoever, which has, as these things are wont to do, made it that much easier for me to come here and post my thoughts, feelings, musings, brain hiccups, whatever. There's a lot of work to be done with the place, but...its my goddamn place, and the onus is on me to fix it so...lets just get it done.
Right. *looks around* Now, just where the hell do I start....?
P. S. Scouting for Girls is a lovely little indie-pop band. I don't remember exactly how I heard of them (more than likely from the fiance), but I've since acquired their album, and I must say its been holding its own on my playlist for a bit now. Songs like 'Elvis ain't dead' and 'James Bond' illustrates their uniquely british sense of humor, even when dealing with heartbreak and issues of identity (...or at least, I assume that they are...). Also, 'I need a Holiday' is the british look at the grind, and guess what, they hate it as much as we do, if not more so. Topping it all off is their oh so appealing british accent, and youthful earnestness pouring out of each effort (along with a lighthearted but talented instrumentation on every track), and you've got another surefire summer hit reel here folks. Go check it out.
Charlie the Unicorn. Charlie, the goddamned Unicorn. What, the mother****? No, I mean, come on, if I didn't know that it existed before, I've surely just encountered abstract comedy. Sketch comedy, no, this has moved beyond that, to test the edges of what can logically be called a plot and humor. Stop motion unicorns with squeaky voices going on random quests, meeting stranger and stranger individuals, in an ever increasing comedy maelstrom that comes to its inevitable climax with charlie (the third unicorn, if you weren't following) getting shafted in some unspeakable way. Arguably the strangest thing I've seen online in recent memory. But with all that said, then, why do I find it so goddamned hilarious (shun the unbeliever, shun)? Maybe its the voices of the two other unicorns...yeah, that has to be it, the voices make me break out into peals of laughter in public, earning me dark looks from the more upstanding members of our society, those that I've now started referring to as (dear god) unbelievers. I need help. Charlie needs to just wait for those two with an uzi and some c-4, and wipe them out before they can get their mouths open, that's his only chance of a night of peace. As for you...whether or not you go and check out Charlie the Unicorn on youtube is up to you. But remember, you have been warned. Whether or not I have done so adequately, however, well...that remains to be seen, no doesn't it.
Peace.
Monday, October 29, 2007
People
Hey.
I was in a taxi heading home from the school where I work (I work in the office, no way I could teach this generation of criminals and hooligans, I'm sorry), and I was just watching all the people that we passed, the yards and houses, people going about their daily lives, just....going. Walking, moving, not still, just...in motion. Always in motion. I wondered how many of them lived their entire lives like that, in motion, on autopilot, without stopping for any meaningful consideration of where they were at, where they're going, and just how they could make their own lives better, or help to improve the life of someone they knew.
I was having this same discussion with my resident hippie/intellectual, a very good sistren of mine that did(surprise surprise), psychology as her major, and is now pursuing her second degree. I brought it up to her, and she said that she thought that maybe 45% of people live life, from birth till death on autopilot, going where society, their peers, their parents, their significant other or whoever tells them to go, maybe all the while believing that what they're doing is their own decision/intention. Of the other 55%, maybe 35%, iirc (...what, lazy this evening) only wake up due to some kind of crisis, such as the quarter life crisis (boy, did that reach me last year), the mid life crisis, or the old age crisis/arrival. The rest are intellectuals, hippies (such as her, god bless her), revolutionaries, or just thinkers in general that are aware and choose their own path, but usually end up suffering for it. We also included weedheads, but for today I'll chose to ignore that controversial grouping.
*ahem* Anyway.
So, according to our two person survey, there's only 15% of the earth's population with their eyes (physical and mental) open, the rest being sheep, for the most part, acting out an unthinking and unreasoning drama for the better part of their lives, from birth till death.
This makes me very sad.
I believe that free will is a God given right (yes, I also believe in God, but that's an arguement for another day, focus), and the least that we can do is exercise it, come what may. The thought of just....masses of people coasting from birth till death......just animated flesh, going through their paces, heads down, blinkers on, staring at the carrot to the complete denial of all else, what might exist, what might be possible, themselves. Just..........blind.
Sad.
These are people that never challenge the status quo, even mentally or just amongst their friends. They never look around and go 'Why is the world like this? Isn't there some way I can make this better? Why does everything have to be this messed up, can't we fix this?' They never look outside of the well rutted path that they're trodding, and see that if they just took a little bit more time, or showed just a smidge more consideration for their fellow man, then there would be an exponential increase in quality of life for all.
Think about it, when was the last time you did something for someone without looking for a reward? Or you helped someone out without being asked in the first place? Hmmmm? Be honest.
Smile. Open a door. Breathe, and stop and give a quiet answer the next time you feel like tearing your neighbour/spouse/customer/sibling/random driver on the road's head off. Take a little more time to do.........something, anything, better for someone, and don't look for thanks. Do it in the name of improving the universe. Send out the positive energy, let it spread out from you, and even though it will look like its been swallowed up by the universe, like a ripple, it is spreading beneath the surface, the forces are still at work, and believe me, it will come back to you. Just....be a better person, even for a minute or two, especially with a child or children, because they, of all else, have it the worst; they do not understand this mess they're born into, so they try, and get hurt, rebuffed, and suffer throught a cold, uncaring life to become the harsh, cold, uncaring adults that populate the world we all live in.
Take the time to brighten the universe, and to stop and think about who you are, where you're going, why you're going there, and if that is really where you want to end up. Trust me, such deep reflection one's own state and condition will never be a waste of time.
Lastly, you've heard this truism dozen times, but its still true (hence, its a truism. See, brilliant.) Smile, it'll make you feel better.
:)
More as it develops.
I was in a taxi heading home from the school where I work (I work in the office, no way I could teach this generation of criminals and hooligans, I'm sorry), and I was just watching all the people that we passed, the yards and houses, people going about their daily lives, just....going. Walking, moving, not still, just...in motion. Always in motion. I wondered how many of them lived their entire lives like that, in motion, on autopilot, without stopping for any meaningful consideration of where they were at, where they're going, and just how they could make their own lives better, or help to improve the life of someone they knew.
I was having this same discussion with my resident hippie/intellectual, a very good sistren of mine that did(surprise surprise), psychology as her major, and is now pursuing her second degree. I brought it up to her, and she said that she thought that maybe 45% of people live life, from birth till death on autopilot, going where society, their peers, their parents, their significant other or whoever tells them to go, maybe all the while believing that what they're doing is their own decision/intention. Of the other 55%, maybe 35%, iirc (...what, lazy this evening) only wake up due to some kind of crisis, such as the quarter life crisis (boy, did that reach me last year), the mid life crisis, or the old age crisis/arrival. The rest are intellectuals, hippies (such as her, god bless her), revolutionaries, or just thinkers in general that are aware and choose their own path, but usually end up suffering for it. We also included weedheads, but for today I'll chose to ignore that controversial grouping.
*ahem* Anyway.
So, according to our two person survey, there's only 15% of the earth's population with their eyes (physical and mental) open, the rest being sheep, for the most part, acting out an unthinking and unreasoning drama for the better part of their lives, from birth till death.
This makes me very sad.
I believe that free will is a God given right (yes, I also believe in God, but that's an arguement for another day, focus), and the least that we can do is exercise it, come what may. The thought of just....masses of people coasting from birth till death......just animated flesh, going through their paces, heads down, blinkers on, staring at the carrot to the complete denial of all else, what might exist, what might be possible, themselves. Just..........blind.
Sad.
These are people that never challenge the status quo, even mentally or just amongst their friends. They never look around and go 'Why is the world like this? Isn't there some way I can make this better? Why does everything have to be this messed up, can't we fix this?' They never look outside of the well rutted path that they're trodding, and see that if they just took a little bit more time, or showed just a smidge more consideration for their fellow man, then there would be an exponential increase in quality of life for all.
Think about it, when was the last time you did something for someone without looking for a reward? Or you helped someone out without being asked in the first place? Hmmmm? Be honest.
Smile. Open a door. Breathe, and stop and give a quiet answer the next time you feel like tearing your neighbour/spouse/customer/sibling/random driver on the road's head off. Take a little more time to do.........something, anything, better for someone, and don't look for thanks. Do it in the name of improving the universe. Send out the positive energy, let it spread out from you, and even though it will look like its been swallowed up by the universe, like a ripple, it is spreading beneath the surface, the forces are still at work, and believe me, it will come back to you. Just....be a better person, even for a minute or two, especially with a child or children, because they, of all else, have it the worst; they do not understand this mess they're born into, so they try, and get hurt, rebuffed, and suffer throught a cold, uncaring life to become the harsh, cold, uncaring adults that populate the world we all live in.
Take the time to brighten the universe, and to stop and think about who you are, where you're going, why you're going there, and if that is really where you want to end up. Trust me, such deep reflection one's own state and condition will never be a waste of time.
Lastly, you've heard this truism dozen times, but its still true (hence, its a truism. See, brilliant.) Smile, it'll make you feel better.
:)
More as it develops.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Natural Born Hustler.
So anyway, its been a long week. Lost a fight to smoking, got my paycheck (and finished it the same day, oh well, good thing I still live at home.....no, actually, its not, but meh), dealt with my asshat coworkers that have decided to not speak to me, all because I am supposed to have 'carried news' on one of them or somesuch bullshit, but whatever, I'm there for the paycheck, I ain't got to talk to none of them.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
I tried to figure out some ways to make extra money earlier this week, and what I realised was, I'm not a natural born hustler. Yup. Its a humbling realisation, for someone that once had thug life aspirations (haven't we all.....no?.....well, ok then...), to realise that if I was probably plucked out of my current position in life, and plopped down on the mean streets of (insert city possessing mean streets here), I'd probably starve to death, if not end up in a hotel room somewhere, in a bathtub full of ice and lacking my (insert internal organ of choice that human can live without, and possessess a great demand on the black market).
Its sad really. At one point in my life, I had it all planned, how me and my friends were gonna be hoodlums, and do all manner of dastardly deeds for money, turning my back on my morals and my family to follow a life that the music that I listened to at the time led me to believe was the life to live. I look back at those days, and shake my head at how far out of my god given brains I was. The things I used to do, the way I'd disappear out of my house for days at a time, and then the things I'd spend those days doing.....planning this, scheming on that, and, in all seriousness, looking at the long term, for the life of a gangster.
I must've been out of my mind.
I look back at that time, and the person who I was is standing at the other end of a loooooooong hall, and I can only make out his shape and maybe his clothes, other than that, I can't see him clearly at all. I don't understand the way he thinks, the things that drive him to do what he does, I don't know what kind of home life he has, I just.....don't know him at all. He's alien to me. He's like that cousin, you know, the one that everyone has. You're close to him as a child, but when you grow up, you don't see him at all anymore, and you only hear of what he's up to through the family channels, still getting up to his tricks and antics, but you've moved on to the serious process of being an adult (or at least not doing the crap that he's doing these days). He was fun to hang with for a while, but you're too old for that now (and secretly, your happy that you stopped hanging with him before something really serious, and potentially life threatening/changing happened).
Like I said, crazy.
Which brings me back to my current predicament. I've got a wedding in a few months, and I need to make some money, like pronto. I've never really had to.....hustle before, just winging it got me bye, supported by friends that would let me crash, or cadge a meal (or ten), and then my family (the long suffering folk that they were/are) would turn up at a critical moment (okay, they'd be there throughout, but I'd only turn to them when I had NOTHING left....which was waaaay more than I liked), and provide something. But, I could get by, uptown hustling, if you get me. Now, I'm in a eight to four, in a town that, despite having grown up here, I don't know at all, and which I don't (nor have I ever) felt a part of, everyone of my other friends that I went to school with seem to be moving up, whether legally or illegally, and.....my brain hurts. I just can't seem to hack it, and its really beginning to piss me off now.
Bleagh. Going to bed now.
More as it develops.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A moment of Truth
This is hard.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
Mhm.
It is. It really is.
I can't skimp where writing is concerned, and if I don't think its quality (for me at least, lemme not appear too full of myself, its still early in the game), then I won't present it, give it in, let it go until I think its, if not right (and that rarely ever happens), then at least acceptable, if not workable, and more than sufficient to the task, or to my purpose in writing in the first place.
The same goes for this blog. While no one's reading it, they might some day, and in that instance, I wouldn't want the person to be met with the same plain fare that clogs so many other blogs, but which many seem to seek out with such gusto, and then scarf by the tonload. I want to be a writer, and I want to write for many reasons, not the least of which I want to entertain with my writing, tell enjoyable stories, and provide (If I'm any good at all), some food for thought, or at least a pleasant afternoon's entertainment. I also, however, want to maintain a certain level of quality while I'm doing so. Since, not to toot my own horn (oh what the hell, I think it anyway), but, I believe that I could write some derivative crap based on what's popular now (sex, death, Harry Potter?) and be financially viable doing so, if not achieve best seller status if I keep it up long enough (yes, I've read some 'bestsellers' in my time. Oh boy.) But that would be breaking the unspoken code that exists between every reader, and their writer of choice.
Know what that is. It is to be true.
Its that simple.
Every writer has an unspoken obligation to everyone that spends their money, goes to a library or even just goes to a friends house and picks up their book, to be true to them. Now, I'm not talking about some high flown moral code, a literary Hippocratic oath, or anything of the sort. Neither am I saying that the (fiction) writer shouldn't bullshit their readers (a fiction writer's stock in trade is finely crafted, exquisite, world class bullshit, with the occasional life lesson thrown in). I'm saying neither of those things.
What I am saying is, a writer should be true to their reader, the best way they know how and as much as they can, given the situation. That's it. It's a simple concept (I think), but one that is disregarded out of hand, almost as a matter of fact these days.
Lemme explain.
Only say what you really, truly, deep down have a burning desire to say. If its fiction, and its a job for you, then you shouldn't be doing it. That's my thing. Fiction writing, in the very least, shouldn't be a job. It shouldn't feel like work. No matter how hard it is, sitting down day after day and grinding oneself down, waiting for the muse to come and perch on your head and deliver his moment of inspiration (yes, mine is a man. What?), at the end of it, it should be exhilarating, uplifting, a moment of such....transcendence, that it makes the other hours of erasures, changes, swearing and frustration all worth it. If it doesn't feel like that, or that doesn't even enter the picture, its only a nine - to - five for you, then maybe you should think of trying your hand at something else. For the sake of your readers, hmmm? How about it. Spare their (hopefully, after years of reading your writing) delicate sensibilities and already jaded sense of perception. Give them the chance to experience something real, in this slick, pre-packaged, one size fits all, two to a pack but you can get five for a buck world.
Please.
I've come so far off track, but I said all of that to say this. Blogging, as I see it should be done, with a healthy serving of truth in every post, is hard to do. Whilst a lot of things run through my mind everyday, I don't think that they're all worthy to come home and shoot out into the world on a moments notice. I don't feel like adding my mental garbage to the intellectual garbage heap that is the internet, and I make no apology for that statement. None. If I'm gonna say something (to the readers I hope to have one day), then I intend for it to be of a quality or calibre equal to what I would want out of a good blog post, in the very least. This is fair, and more than reasonable.
So, this is hard. I'll only be here to update this thing when I feel I have something worthwhile to say, and share with my so far, insubstantial readership. That is all. I think its a healthy view to take with writing in general. Even if one isn't passionate about the subject, at least, in the very least, try and be true.
What that means, however, is different for every writer out there, and for all of us that are trying to join their hallowed ranks.
For me, this is what it means.
More as it develops.
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