Merriam-Webster defines "laugh" as:
"To show mirth, joy, or scorn with a smile or explosive sound; also: to become amused or derisive."
Another dictionary defines "laugh" as:
"To make the spontaneous sounds and movements of the face and body that are the instinctive expressions of lively amusement and sometimes also of contempt."
The second one is pretty dramatic, no? Still, they mean the same thing, and it's not something one should have to define because it's a fairly universal experience shared by all. More often than not, laughter is induced by something funny (which again, is fairly difficult to actually define and put into words because humor varies from person to person- not that I had to tell you that). And other times it is caused by something sad, that you find funny. Or you're being tickled. The point being there's always an obvious stimulus that triggers laughter. Or giggling and chuckling, if that's your thing.
Or is there?
Do you ever have those moments where you just want to laugh? Sometimes for no reason whatsoever? Sometimes, you just burst into a fit of laughter and people ask you what's wrong but you just can't figure it out. Have you ever had that happen? It's a strangely comforting feeling because you know you're human and all that good stuff.
You can argue that there's nothing really awesome about being human and that humans are generally scum but I'd say that we're magnificent scum. Villainous, vile, jolly, incredible beings, and all that optimistic jazz. But that's another story another time. This particular post is about laughter.
Spontaneous, explicable, inexplicable laughter. A violent ballet of merriment engulfs the being and ensnares the vessel. For a while you aren't entirely in control because you can only communicate by saying "ha" in varying pitch and tone. Sure, you might be able to squeak out a monosyllabic word or two but cannot entirely communicate what the hell is happening. Those fits are fun.
I knew someone who didn't like it when I made them laugh. Probably because I did it to excess but to complain? I always thought it was weird especially because it's not like I ever tried to make light of a serious subject or situation. Sure, I made that person laugh a lot, and spent a lot of time trying (and succeeding about 9/10 times) but still. I was oft accused of "trying to kill [that person]" with laughter.
But I've also met people who don't like gelatin or yogurt. So this isn't very weird. Or maybe I'm weird? No, that's not it. We're all weird. Some more than others, by means of perspective, technicalities, and trick angles.
Hmm.
And the scribe grinned wolfishly.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Suits
At the risk of sounding cliched, magic is everywhere! Yeah! Groovy! Far-out!
Erhm.
It used to be that the things we take for granted these days or find ordinary (for the most part), were once considered magic. Fire, photography, medicine, death, etc, you get the point.
Despite not being a child anymore, I sometimes catch myself being fascinated by stuff around me the same way I would if I was one (the times I don't catch myself I'm just completely engrossed in whatever is fascinating me that I can't put myself outside it). Some may say it's unhealthy and that's fine, they're entitled to their opinion as long as they don't start causing trouble for others.
And then there are those who would argue that retaining some child-like sense of curiosity and wonderment is actually a boon. I would definitely agree with these because an active imagination (or one that doesn't completely suck / isn't completely buried by scars of time and the sands of age) helps come up with solutions to problems, helps create new ideas and so forth. You get the point.
I don't mean that everyone should actually behave like a child. No, society being the way it is sets certain expectations for a reason- so everyone can progress. I'd like to believe that this is the case though it probably isn't. Still, it's a nice thought.
But since we are expected to do something a certain way, in order to progress, you have to roll with the punches thrown at you. Part of that includes wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase if your line of work requires it. And putting away your propeller hat and slingshot.
I say suit because for me that has always been the ultimate sign (in the 20th and 21st centuries) of adulthood and being fully grown up. In the sense that after that, there's really no turning back: that necktie might as well be a noose and the suit a straitjacket. And really, all those people in business suits all look the same to me. Yes, there are some differences but more often than not, they all look the same despite boasting brand X and Y with adjective+color.
So, yes. I equate suits with the end of one's colorful personal identity that has set one apart from others. To some degree.
I've also seen those people in suits as having an incredible amount of pressure placed on them, paired with the levels of maturity and seriousness that go with that. High stress, high tension, high stakes. Hi, steaks! Clearly, no room to mess around, right? But many times, those suits have to make decisions that affect not only them but their companies and the (comparatively) common person. And then of course there comes the backlash over poor decisions and such.
Let's not even get started on how suits have been synonymous with some sort of doom and gloom type authority figure that wrecks everything and must be stopped (read: suits = "The Man").
So, a suit is the end.
The preceding paragraphs kind of sound like something a child would say. You'll also notice that I started talking about magic and didn't actually go anywhere with it.
Or did I?
I still find suits interesting, though I'm not a big fan of wearing one. Not necessarily because of that whole suits are the end thing but for reasons I won't discuss right now (another story for another time). What is interesting to me about them is the world that they are a part of. Business, responsibility, wondering how they can stand the pressure and responsibility of whatever it is they do.
I remember meeting up with a man who works for the city. I remember being being terrified and fascinated by the work he does and the responsibility. Terrified because his works affects a lot of people in very profound ways and any errors can cause a train-wreck of sorts. He isn't affiliated with any transportation department or the like, I was using train-wreck in a metaphorical way. I was fascinated for the same reason: his decisions really do have a widespread effect on a lot of people.
I realize that the sort of magic I saw in his job was filtered by a more adult/grown-up way of thinking. Still, I found his work interesting but too daunting to ever pursue something like that for myself. Of course, this also has to do with the fact that since I am very critical of my work and of myself, that if I were in that position of power, I wouldn't get much done as I would spend most of the time writing run-on sentences and being extremely dissatisfied with my decisions and thought process, dismissing them as inadequate and dreadful. The one area where a child-like sense of awe will not help much.
Still, one can't help but be moved (metaphorically) by the world in at least a slight degree as everything has the capacity to stun and mesmerize and make one's eyes widen with fascination. Make you feel 2 feet tall again looking up at everything and wondering how things work.
I still do that, though I'm much much much taller than 2 feet.
Erhm.
It used to be that the things we take for granted these days or find ordinary (for the most part), were once considered magic. Fire, photography, medicine, death, etc, you get the point.
Despite not being a child anymore, I sometimes catch myself being fascinated by stuff around me the same way I would if I was one (the times I don't catch myself I'm just completely engrossed in whatever is fascinating me that I can't put myself outside it). Some may say it's unhealthy and that's fine, they're entitled to their opinion as long as they don't start causing trouble for others.
And then there are those who would argue that retaining some child-like sense of curiosity and wonderment is actually a boon. I would definitely agree with these because an active imagination (or one that doesn't completely suck / isn't completely buried by scars of time and the sands of age) helps come up with solutions to problems, helps create new ideas and so forth. You get the point.
I don't mean that everyone should actually behave like a child. No, society being the way it is sets certain expectations for a reason- so everyone can progress. I'd like to believe that this is the case though it probably isn't. Still, it's a nice thought.
But since we are expected to do something a certain way, in order to progress, you have to roll with the punches thrown at you. Part of that includes wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase if your line of work requires it. And putting away your propeller hat and slingshot.
I say suit because for me that has always been the ultimate sign (in the 20th and 21st centuries) of adulthood and being fully grown up. In the sense that after that, there's really no turning back: that necktie might as well be a noose and the suit a straitjacket. And really, all those people in business suits all look the same to me. Yes, there are some differences but more often than not, they all look the same despite boasting brand X and Y with adjective+color.
So, yes. I equate suits with the end of one's colorful personal identity that has set one apart from others. To some degree.
I've also seen those people in suits as having an incredible amount of pressure placed on them, paired with the levels of maturity and seriousness that go with that. High stress, high tension, high stakes. Hi, steaks! Clearly, no room to mess around, right? But many times, those suits have to make decisions that affect not only them but their companies and the (comparatively) common person. And then of course there comes the backlash over poor decisions and such.
Let's not even get started on how suits have been synonymous with some sort of doom and gloom type authority figure that wrecks everything and must be stopped (read: suits = "The Man").
So, a suit is the end.
The preceding paragraphs kind of sound like something a child would say. You'll also notice that I started talking about magic and didn't actually go anywhere with it.
Or did I?
I still find suits interesting, though I'm not a big fan of wearing one. Not necessarily because of that whole suits are the end thing but for reasons I won't discuss right now (another story for another time). What is interesting to me about them is the world that they are a part of. Business, responsibility, wondering how they can stand the pressure and responsibility of whatever it is they do.
I remember meeting up with a man who works for the city. I remember being being terrified and fascinated by the work he does and the responsibility. Terrified because his works affects a lot of people in very profound ways and any errors can cause a train-wreck of sorts. He isn't affiliated with any transportation department or the like, I was using train-wreck in a metaphorical way. I was fascinated for the same reason: his decisions really do have a widespread effect on a lot of people.
I realize that the sort of magic I saw in his job was filtered by a more adult/grown-up way of thinking. Still, I found his work interesting but too daunting to ever pursue something like that for myself. Of course, this also has to do with the fact that since I am very critical of my work and of myself, that if I were in that position of power, I wouldn't get much done as I would spend most of the time writing run-on sentences and being extremely dissatisfied with my decisions and thought process, dismissing them as inadequate and dreadful. The one area where a child-like sense of awe will not help much.
Still, one can't help but be moved (metaphorically) by the world in at least a slight degree as everything has the capacity to stun and mesmerize and make one's eyes widen with fascination. Make you feel 2 feet tall again looking up at everything and wondering how things work.
I still do that, though I'm much much much taller than 2 feet.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Ye Olde
It has come to my attention that I am like one of those people who have some sort of fixation with the past, or times that precede my birth. This became pretty obvious when I saw that a good chunk of my music library is predates my birth. And when upon recommending movies to a friend, I saw that a good number of them were either from the Criterion Collection or older than my parents. Funny, in a way.
By fixated, I don't mean that I wish I was 17 years old again only in the 1960's because my favorite bands played at Woodstock! Peace and love, man! Groovy! Far out, man! Keep on truckin'! Hell no, we won't go!
No.
Well, some of my favorite bands did play at Woodstock but that's not the point here. What I'm trying to get at is that I fall into that category of people that for some bizarre reason (that they can never truly justify or even describe thoroughly) have a fondness for the past. I say my fondness falls within a healthy range whereas others really freak me the fuck out, though they are rare.
For a lot of people, this notion of longing for the past they never actually knew is romanticizing certain ideas and events while disregarding the entirety of whatever it is that happened in the past. The people who lived in those days don't actually want to relive them in any capacity other than their memories. Or so I've gathered based on conversations we've had. This most likely means that they accepted that things come and go, and the fondness attached to those memories only withers when you wish and pine for the past repeatedly. They are healthy individuals who are comfortable with themselves that they rarely feel the need to make the past sound more awesome than it is or was.
Of course, I get very annoyed when I'm told that it was possible to pay for full-time schooling and housing on a part time job. That'd be really awesome to experience. Which kind of proves my point about wanting to go a-la carte with the past, or days one never knew. You can't really do that; you have to take EVERYTHING.
For instance, a lot of minorities (myself included) who somehow pine for an era predating the 70's often forget to take into consideration that for most of American history, minorities have not actually had a say in how things work. I'd make a generalization that this was a global thing but I don't want to sound like more of an ass. Very scattered and sparse events began to change the tide but to willingly place yourself in an era during which you have very little room for upward movement, strikes me as odd and unwise. If I could tell myself that when I was younger, I think I would have grown up faster. Or gotten the ball rolling, at least. I don't exactly pin the blame on anyone but ourselves because the stories we heard from our elders were meant for entertainment and to provide insight and above all: wisdom. Appreciate what you have as fully as you can now, while you can. They don't tell us these stories to brag or make us want to travel to their eras. I rarely hear about the harsh times they faced, which is probably an indication that they don't want to relive those times even if the memories and stories they share are fucking awesome and make one feel warm and so forth.
As for my fixation of sorts. I guess it really boils down to stuff that can be achieved today but isn't for reasons unbeknownst to me. Stuff like: better manners, more personal accountability, a stronger sense of integrity, better quality music, better quality films, a stronger moral fiber, a greater emphasis on actually doing things, and a greater sense of optimism among everyone. I may be jaded (and to some extent: bitter) but that doesn't mean the plucky optimist will drown any time soon.
Maybe I say these things because I'm a maladjusted young man but you have to admit that it'd be fucking awesome to be able to afford a burger, milkshake, newspaper, a slice of pie, and ride the trolley all for a dime or however that repeated anecdote of the past goes.
By fixated, I don't mean that I wish I was 17 years old again only in the 1960's because my favorite bands played at Woodstock! Peace and love, man! Groovy! Far out, man! Keep on truckin'! Hell no, we won't go!
No.
Well, some of my favorite bands did play at Woodstock but that's not the point here. What I'm trying to get at is that I fall into that category of people that for some bizarre reason (that they can never truly justify or even describe thoroughly) have a fondness for the past. I say my fondness falls within a healthy range whereas others really freak me the fuck out, though they are rare.
For a lot of people, this notion of longing for the past they never actually knew is romanticizing certain ideas and events while disregarding the entirety of whatever it is that happened in the past. The people who lived in those days don't actually want to relive them in any capacity other than their memories. Or so I've gathered based on conversations we've had. This most likely means that they accepted that things come and go, and the fondness attached to those memories only withers when you wish and pine for the past repeatedly. They are healthy individuals who are comfortable with themselves that they rarely feel the need to make the past sound more awesome than it is or was.
Of course, I get very annoyed when I'm told that it was possible to pay for full-time schooling and housing on a part time job. That'd be really awesome to experience. Which kind of proves my point about wanting to go a-la carte with the past, or days one never knew. You can't really do that; you have to take EVERYTHING.
For instance, a lot of minorities (myself included) who somehow pine for an era predating the 70's often forget to take into consideration that for most of American history, minorities have not actually had a say in how things work. I'd make a generalization that this was a global thing but I don't want to sound like more of an ass. Very scattered and sparse events began to change the tide but to willingly place yourself in an era during which you have very little room for upward movement, strikes me as odd and unwise. If I could tell myself that when I was younger, I think I would have grown up faster. Or gotten the ball rolling, at least. I don't exactly pin the blame on anyone but ourselves because the stories we heard from our elders were meant for entertainment and to provide insight and above all: wisdom. Appreciate what you have as fully as you can now, while you can. They don't tell us these stories to brag or make us want to travel to their eras. I rarely hear about the harsh times they faced, which is probably an indication that they don't want to relive those times even if the memories and stories they share are fucking awesome and make one feel warm and so forth.
As for my fixation of sorts. I guess it really boils down to stuff that can be achieved today but isn't for reasons unbeknownst to me. Stuff like: better manners, more personal accountability, a stronger sense of integrity, better quality music, better quality films, a stronger moral fiber, a greater emphasis on actually doing things, and a greater sense of optimism among everyone. I may be jaded (and to some extent: bitter) but that doesn't mean the plucky optimist will drown any time soon.
Maybe I say these things because I'm a maladjusted young man but you have to admit that it'd be fucking awesome to be able to afford a burger, milkshake, newspaper, a slice of pie, and ride the trolley all for a dime or however that repeated anecdote of the past goes.
Monday, April 16, 2012
0100000101001001
A while back, someone asked me a few questions in an effort to compare and contrast the intelligences of humans versus machines. The purpose was also to write about what intelligence means and how to relates to humans and machines. The main argument, if I recall correctly, asserted that only humans (and other legitimately organic beings, for that matter, I suppose) are capable of legitimate intelligence because machines are only capable of artificial intelligence which, as the name suggests, is not real and furthermore just an illusion. A machine can only process what information is fed to it and cannot come up with legitimately original thoughts, ideas, etc. You know, that same old argument that everyone uses.
Of course, one should point out that the level of sophistication of artificial intelligence may someday reach the point where machines will etc Terminator scenario humans blah blah war to really fuck shit up blah back to the stone age etc doomsday blah blah blah. Blah.
Anyway.
Being the closest available human, I was chosen to answer a few questions. I saved my answers because I thought it would make for an interesting entry not because I can't think of anything else to write at this point in other than this run-on sentence or because my prose stuff is in a weird state of hibernation while good ideas surface and so forth.
As with the other entry, any stuff that has been italicized is just me (currently) expanding on the original answers.
First question. "What is love?" Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more
That's a pretty hard question for anyone to answer because love is a lot of different things to everyone. Any definition of love always depends on conditions, setting, people, and other shifting and time-sensitive factors. And there are different types of love: platonic, romantic, family, etc. I still haven't come up with any end-all definition (or one that could stand the test of time for a few years, at least) for myself in regards to those types or in general, to be honest. Partly because it's one of those things that are difficult to put in words and not have their meaning get lost. And because I have a hard time understand the already established definitions without wanting to defy them, somehow. Not maliciously or even willingly, but I always find myself straying from the set path.
If I had to give an answer right now, I would probably have to say that, to me, love would probably be this mutually-held strange [sic] and comforting feeling of being at peace at all times with yourself and whoever you love, through the good and bad times. Not that lurid TV/movie bullshit that people unfortunately use as a standard for god-knows-what. I have another answer that is oft used in a more humorous vein and actually hits close to the truth but it is a bit obscene; so I'll spare you, reader. Chances are you can probably guess what it is because you probably think something similar.
What is your goal in life?
I really don't have what you would call a conventional "goal in life" other than to be happy, however I can. And to own a motorcycle. Seriously, that's my only tangible goal in life: own a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle but a Triumph Bonneville. It's one of the very few things in my mind that has remained entirely consistent since I was a kid: the motorcycle thing. The specificity came into play after I saw The Great Escape (not after watching Sons of Anarchy as some people might think). What? I'm not ashamed to admit that a movie further fueled my interest in a "dangerous" vehicle.
Nor am I ashamed to admit that I don't have a set of conventional goals in life. That's not to say I don't have a plan because I do. Well, I have a rough draft of an idea of what I want to do. I say rough draft and idea because I want to leave enough room for growth and anticipation of unexpected events because the only that's certain is change. That's not being reckless or a drifter, that's being pragmatic.
But yes, other more conventional goals like "owning a house" and "driving a fancy car" don't really appeal to me. That's not say that I think those are stupid goals or anything like that, they just don't appeal to me. If they appeal to others, fine, whatever, go for it, pursue that ride, etc. Chances are we do have some common ground. Say, housing, for instance. One would say they want to purchase a lovely 4 bedroom home with lawn and all that stuff. I would say that I'm more inclined towards living (at least for a while) in a simple one bedroom apartment.
I'm led to believe that not wanting what others want (read: the more traditional goals in life) makes me different. It isn't my intention to try to be different, it is how it is. I don't want the things people tell I should want, or the things that they want. I'm also under the impression that this also indicates that there may be something wrong with me. Other than my physical flaws- poor eyesight etc, I didn't realize that I was a monster of some sort. But I'll be fair and acquiesce that this may be in part a temporary state of mind.
How are you doing today?
Pretty well, I guess. A generic but fitting response in a way. Well, more versatile than "generic" though either term can be misused and so forth. Kinda cold but that's why I have my jacket. Well, as cold as it can get around these parts anyway. It doesn't help that I'm thin and am more likely to be torn apart, metaphorically speaking, by the cold. Yes, I almost begin to convulse if I get cold enough.
Can you ask me a question?
I can and I will. Have you seen "Once Upon a Time in the West" yet? I've lost count of how many times I've fucking told you to see that movie. Plank.
What was the last movie you saw?
The last movie I saw was Pi. Directed by Aronofsky. It was alright. Fucking numbers, man.
Of course, one should point out that the level of sophistication of artificial intelligence may someday reach the point where machines will etc Terminator scenario humans blah blah war to really fuck shit up blah back to the stone age etc doomsday blah blah blah. Blah.
Anyway.
Being the closest available human, I was chosen to answer a few questions. I saved my answers because I thought it would make for an interesting entry not because I can't think of anything else to write at this point in other than this run-on sentence or because my prose stuff is in a weird state of hibernation while good ideas surface and so forth.
As with the other entry, any stuff that has been italicized is just me (currently) expanding on the original answers.
First question. "What is love?" Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more
That's a pretty hard question for anyone to answer because love is a lot of different things to everyone. Any definition of love always depends on conditions, setting, people, and other shifting and time-sensitive factors. And there are different types of love: platonic, romantic, family, etc. I still haven't come up with any end-all definition (or one that could stand the test of time for a few years, at least) for myself in regards to those types or in general, to be honest. Partly because it's one of those things that are difficult to put in words and not have their meaning get lost. And because I have a hard time understand the already established definitions without wanting to defy them, somehow. Not maliciously or even willingly, but I always find myself straying from the set path.
If I had to give an answer right now, I would probably have to say that, to me, love would probably be this mutually-held strange [sic] and comforting feeling of being at peace at all times with yourself and whoever you love, through the good and bad times. Not that lurid TV/movie bullshit that people unfortunately use as a standard for god-knows-what. I have another answer that is oft used in a more humorous vein and actually hits close to the truth but it is a bit obscene; so I'll spare you, reader. Chances are you can probably guess what it is because you probably think something similar.
What is your goal in life?
I really don't have what you would call a conventional "goal in life" other than to be happy, however I can. And to own a motorcycle. Seriously, that's my only tangible goal in life: own a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle but a Triumph Bonneville. It's one of the very few things in my mind that has remained entirely consistent since I was a kid: the motorcycle thing. The specificity came into play after I saw The Great Escape (not after watching Sons of Anarchy as some people might think). What? I'm not ashamed to admit that a movie further fueled my interest in a "dangerous" vehicle.
Nor am I ashamed to admit that I don't have a set of conventional goals in life. That's not to say I don't have a plan because I do. Well, I have a rough draft of an idea of what I want to do. I say rough draft and idea because I want to leave enough room for growth and anticipation of unexpected events because the only that's certain is change. That's not being reckless or a drifter, that's being pragmatic.
But yes, other more conventional goals like "owning a house" and "driving a fancy car" don't really appeal to me. That's not say that I think those are stupid goals or anything like that, they just don't appeal to me. If they appeal to others, fine, whatever, go for it, pursue that ride, etc. Chances are we do have some common ground. Say, housing, for instance. One would say they want to purchase a lovely 4 bedroom home with lawn and all that stuff. I would say that I'm more inclined towards living (at least for a while) in a simple one bedroom apartment.
I'm led to believe that not wanting what others want (read: the more traditional goals in life) makes me different. It isn't my intention to try to be different, it is how it is. I don't want the things people tell I should want, or the things that they want. I'm also under the impression that this also indicates that there may be something wrong with me. Other than my physical flaws- poor eyesight etc, I didn't realize that I was a monster of some sort. But I'll be fair and acquiesce that this may be in part a temporary state of mind.
How are you doing today?
Pretty well, I guess. A generic but fitting response in a way. Well, more versatile than "generic" though either term can be misused and so forth. Kinda cold but that's why I have my jacket. Well, as cold as it can get around these parts anyway. It doesn't help that I'm thin and am more likely to be torn apart, metaphorically speaking, by the cold. Yes, I almost begin to convulse if I get cold enough.
Can you ask me a question?
I can and I will. Have you seen "Once Upon a Time in the West" yet? I've lost count of how many times I've fucking told you to see that movie. Plank.
What was the last movie you saw?
The last movie I saw was Pi. Directed by Aronofsky. It was alright. Fucking numbers, man.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Lord of the Flies
click to open in new tab for a better view
This really has nothing to do with the book and it was just a sketch that I felt like sharing.
Yes, it was drawn in a composition book. If you look closely, you can make out the words G bar 3, and some notes regarding music.
Plastic Flowers
This is a poem I wrote in 2006.
staring at the sidewalk
from dawn to dark
i just blankly gawk
at this gray sidewalk
i still blink
and thoughts soar through my head
and i think
i think that everything is dead
flowers are plastic
love is synthetic
this world is pathetic
drowning in plastic
and choked with lies
singing corporate lullabies
that dont rhyme and make sense
and give you shivers instead of warmth
from the course of good we have drifted far
soon the boat will sink
and all aboard will die
no lifeboats in sight
or is this another lie?
find the good and the real
find your natural flowers
and all will be well
Rhyming -awk with -awk? Genius! It's quite bad and it makes me laugh, then again I could the same for the stuff generated today.
staring at the sidewalk
from dawn to dark
i just blankly gawk
at this gray sidewalk
i still blink
and thoughts soar through my head
and i think
i think that everything is dead
flowers are plastic
love is synthetic
this world is pathetic
drowning in plastic
and choked with lies
singing corporate lullabies
that dont rhyme and make sense
and give you shivers instead of warmth
from the course of good we have drifted far
soon the boat will sink
and all aboard will die
no lifeboats in sight
or is this another lie?
find the good and the real
find your natural flowers
and all will be well
Rhyming -awk with -awk? Genius! It's quite bad and it makes me laugh, then again I could the same for the stuff generated today.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Have Kittens?
I often recall days gone by, as I am wont do, and notice different things each time I take that "stroll down memory lane." Sometimes I notice how foolishly I behaved, how gallantly I behaved, how she used to kiss me, how strange I looked without a mustache, and various other things of varying importance.
But more relevant to this post, I noticed how I rarely seemed to panic. How I seemed to be more cool under pressure, and could probably still shiver in a burning building. An exaggeration, obviously, but I thought it made my point more colorful. I didn't think I ever actually had nerves of steel but the more I remember, the more it seems like I did. Of course, these days, those nerves seem to have rusted, so who the hell really knows anymore? Or my perception has changed greatly, which I wouldn't doubt given that I seem to be rather ambivalent and sometimes apathetic about most matters these days. I've hinted at this in previous posts.
Hmm.
I do remember sitting back in a chair and watching peers freak the fuck out and run around like headless chickens while I just sat there, thinking about what movie I wanted to watch when I got home. Or just spacing out humming a Pink Floyd song. I also recall how I could sit down a day or two before an assignment was due, write whatever came to mind, mold it into something relevant to the assignment, turn it in, and receive a pretty high grade while others would receive less than stellar marks (or a grade lower than they wanted) despite larger amounts of time spent sweating and killing themselves over the same assignment. Sure, it felt unfair for a second but what mattered was that I kept my cool. This, I can probably still do.
Though it does amaze me sometimes how quickly the future seems to be approaching and how unshaken I am. It's appalling, frankly. Other are freaking out, or relishing it, and I'm just standing there. Scratching the back of my head, eyeing suspiciously at this behemoth barreling towards me. Is something wrong with me? I think the very existence of this blog indicates "yes."
I have to be fair and admit that even today despite my swim in the ocean of ambivalence, whenever fear strikes me, it strikes hard and paralyzes. It's only fair, I guess.
I have to ask, how is "have kittens" synonymous with panic?
One thing I am sure of is that days gone by often seem brighter in the rear-view mirror.
But more relevant to this post, I noticed how I rarely seemed to panic. How I seemed to be more cool under pressure, and could probably still shiver in a burning building. An exaggeration, obviously, but I thought it made my point more colorful. I didn't think I ever actually had nerves of steel but the more I remember, the more it seems like I did. Of course, these days, those nerves seem to have rusted, so who the hell really knows anymore? Or my perception has changed greatly, which I wouldn't doubt given that I seem to be rather ambivalent and sometimes apathetic about most matters these days. I've hinted at this in previous posts.
Hmm.
I do remember sitting back in a chair and watching peers freak the fuck out and run around like headless chickens while I just sat there, thinking about what movie I wanted to watch when I got home. Or just spacing out humming a Pink Floyd song. I also recall how I could sit down a day or two before an assignment was due, write whatever came to mind, mold it into something relevant to the assignment, turn it in, and receive a pretty high grade while others would receive less than stellar marks (or a grade lower than they wanted) despite larger amounts of time spent sweating and killing themselves over the same assignment. Sure, it felt unfair for a second but what mattered was that I kept my cool. This, I can probably still do.
Though it does amaze me sometimes how quickly the future seems to be approaching and how unshaken I am. It's appalling, frankly. Other are freaking out, or relishing it, and I'm just standing there. Scratching the back of my head, eyeing suspiciously at this behemoth barreling towards me. Is something wrong with me? I think the very existence of this blog indicates "yes."
I have to be fair and admit that even today despite my swim in the ocean of ambivalence, whenever fear strikes me, it strikes hard and paralyzes. It's only fair, I guess.
I have to ask, how is "have kittens" synonymous with panic?
One thing I am sure of is that days gone by often seem brighter in the rear-view mirror.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Elation Anew
There is no reason for this variety of panic.
Though something is rusted and crumbling apart.
There is no reason for me to feel this frantic.
Even if nothing I do generates any adequate art.
This is not the season for distress.
Despite being unable to flow like a mighty river
this isn't the time for despondency,
it only creates a bigger mess.
The thing to do is
scribble
breath
laugh
skip
hop
snarl
shout
growl
roar
roll around
and stop.
Only to repeat
until you've revived
that lost spark.
There is no cause for alarm.
Everything picks up.
Though something is rusted and crumbling apart.
There is no reason for me to feel this frantic.
Even if nothing I do generates any adequate art.
This is not the season for distress.
Despite being unable to flow like a mighty river
this isn't the time for despondency,
it only creates a bigger mess.
The thing to do is
scribble
breath
laugh
skip
hop
snarl
shout
growl
roar
roll around
and stop.
Only to repeat
until you've revived
that lost spark.
There is no cause for alarm.
Everything picks up.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Gray Elbows and a Sudsy Sea
I'm not very young but I'm not very old either. By most standards, I'm still considered young though there are times when I feel much older than I am: when my hearing seems to be fading. This wouldn't be a problem if people learned to speak up. Planks.
But because I'm still considered young, many people (some only slightly older than me) seem to think it is their god-given duty to tell me what to do, in a rather condescending way. I acknowledge and understand that I am not very mature as I tend to joke around a lot but that by no means is an indicator of immaturity. I joke around a lot because I like preserving whatever youth I do have left before my life starts to resemble that Low song Death of a Salesman.
I should point out that these people carry an ingrained bitterness that they would never admit to having. Sometimes, I find it refreshingly surprising to find that there are people more bitter than I am, though I wouldn't say I'm bitter, just more prone to anger.
Very few people are in any sort of position to tell me what to do because not all of them have their shit together. Many are so scattered and fucked up that for them to tell me what to do is downright stupid and infuriating. They're really in no position to tell me what to do because they are barely to keep their shit together. I find it rather bizarre and inappropriate that one of the things they tell me to do is get married. I shall hereafter refer to these people as lemmings. (And yes, I know that I repeated myself in this paragraph)
Marriage, in my opinion, is something that involves an immense level of responsibility and demands a certain amount of maturity. If, according to lemmings, I'm immature (and to some degree irresponsible), then I am not the best candidate to get married. Not to mention the obvious fact(s) that at this point in time I: have no way of making good amount of money, at least not enough for two or more people to live on; can barely take care of myself (according to lemmings), but I disagree as I can cook and clean and am not dumb enough to go looking for life-endangering trouble; and, most obvious of all, I am not in a relationship.
And I'm certainly not going to go out there with the goal of finding someone to marry.
So, if I "can't take care of [myself]", "[am] too immature and childish", and am not in a relationship, how/why can/should I get married? It's like asking a whale to run a marathon. It's not gonna happen.
As for the responsibility portion of that debacle, I know that I wouldn't even be able to handle it. Marriage is more responsibility than I can handle at this point in time and it just isn't for me. Or maybe I'm just stubborn and unwilling to settle down and all that young, angst-y, pseudo-rebellious stuff that is common with people in my age bracket.
I feel compelled to point out that I grew up watching various marriages fail or crumble. This serves as an obvious discouragement from marriage. If they (lemmings) failed at their marriage, why then should I seek it out? I have a lot of problems and marriage isn't going to solve them. Why drag down another person down with me?
I like what a friend of mine once said about marriage. She shared an anecdote about how many members of her family are all pretty fucked up and married. They were married by the time they were her age, and every chance they get they tell her to get married herself and settle down and all that. She mentioned that they are pretty fucked up (though I won't go into why but you can use your imagination), are always fighting, can't get their acts together, etc. So whenever they tell her to get married, she responds with something caustic like "So I can end up as fucked up as you?"
That's pretty badass.
I have to be fair and acknowledge that things are bound to change. I may not feel the same way about this particular topic next year (though I'll probably still detest lemming-talk: "My life is pretty fucked up and I can't do anything right and I'm generally a horrible person and I'm married therefore you, [Gustavo Barba-Roja] should get married! It'll totally make you a happier and wonderful person!"). I may be even more of a catch in a few months. By that same token, I may lose an eyeball next week. At which point, I'll wear an eyepatch.
Oh, and I've only begun to scratch the surface of one side of this matter.
But because I'm still considered young, many people (some only slightly older than me) seem to think it is their god-given duty to tell me what to do, in a rather condescending way. I acknowledge and understand that I am not very mature as I tend to joke around a lot but that by no means is an indicator of immaturity. I joke around a lot because I like preserving whatever youth I do have left before my life starts to resemble that Low song Death of a Salesman.
I should point out that these people carry an ingrained bitterness that they would never admit to having. Sometimes, I find it refreshingly surprising to find that there are people more bitter than I am, though I wouldn't say I'm bitter, just more prone to anger.
Very few people are in any sort of position to tell me what to do because not all of them have their shit together. Many are so scattered and fucked up that for them to tell me what to do is downright stupid and infuriating. They're really in no position to tell me what to do because they are barely to keep their shit together. I find it rather bizarre and inappropriate that one of the things they tell me to do is get married. I shall hereafter refer to these people as lemmings. (And yes, I know that I repeated myself in this paragraph)
Marriage, in my opinion, is something that involves an immense level of responsibility and demands a certain amount of maturity. If, according to lemmings, I'm immature (and to some degree irresponsible), then I am not the best candidate to get married. Not to mention the obvious fact(s) that at this point in time I: have no way of making good amount of money, at least not enough for two or more people to live on; can barely take care of myself (according to lemmings), but I disagree as I can cook and clean and am not dumb enough to go looking for life-endangering trouble; and, most obvious of all, I am not in a relationship.
And I'm certainly not going to go out there with the goal of finding someone to marry.
So, if I "can't take care of [myself]", "[am] too immature and childish", and am not in a relationship, how/why can/should I get married? It's like asking a whale to run a marathon. It's not gonna happen.
As for the responsibility portion of that debacle, I know that I wouldn't even be able to handle it. Marriage is more responsibility than I can handle at this point in time and it just isn't for me. Or maybe I'm just stubborn and unwilling to settle down and all that young, angst-y, pseudo-rebellious stuff that is common with people in my age bracket.
I feel compelled to point out that I grew up watching various marriages fail or crumble. This serves as an obvious discouragement from marriage. If they (lemmings) failed at their marriage, why then should I seek it out? I have a lot of problems and marriage isn't going to solve them. Why drag down another person down with me?
I like what a friend of mine once said about marriage. She shared an anecdote about how many members of her family are all pretty fucked up and married. They were married by the time they were her age, and every chance they get they tell her to get married herself and settle down and all that. She mentioned that they are pretty fucked up (though I won't go into why but you can use your imagination), are always fighting, can't get their acts together, etc. So whenever they tell her to get married, she responds with something caustic like "So I can end up as fucked up as you?"
That's pretty badass.
I have to be fair and acknowledge that things are bound to change. I may not feel the same way about this particular topic next year (though I'll probably still detest lemming-talk: "My life is pretty fucked up and I can't do anything right and I'm generally a horrible person and I'm married therefore you, [Gustavo Barba-Roja] should get married! It'll totally make you a happier and wonderful person!"). I may be even more of a catch in a few months. By that same token, I may lose an eyeball next week. At which point, I'll wear an eyepatch.
Oh, and I've only begun to scratch the surface of one side of this matter.
Cuaresma completa
Lent has ended.
I wish I could say I found the experience enlightening or fulfilling but the truth is: I didn't. I found the whole affair frustrating and unnerving. I don't feel as if I've actually learned or accomplished anything meaningful that will help me with anything (or even help me grow as a person). Maybe all that was accomplished was a slight form of suffering and sacrifice but is that really an accomplishment, per se?
My moral fiber remains as it has always been; little has changed in regards to spirituality, and I guess my patience however shaken it was, remains steadfast.
Perhaps because I'm not an actual Catholic, I did not gain anything from this experience. My reasoning for attempting Lent, despite not being a Catholic, was that I thought it was unfair that my Catholic friends had to make sacrifices while I got to strut around free from guilt and sacrifice, as I don't belong to any particular religious organization. I figured I'd show solidarity by giving up two things that are almost intrinsic to me: swearing and drinking. More swearing than drinking; although, I was faced with a constant supply of alcohol (read: I was surrounded by beer every day for about 3 weeks straight).
It was very difficult because I was always on the edge of just saying, "nuts to this" and surrendering ahead of schedule. I should mention, however, that I failed a handful of times. I swore out of great frustration, and drank (once). I don't know how to justify the drinking so I won't even try. I did feel an enormous amount of guilt when I did these things but consulted a friend who said to just start over and not to do it again.
I was perplexed because I figured there'd be some sort of ritual required for atonement whenever one slipped up. I really am not familiar with Catholicism other than the stuff I hear from friends during rare/sporadic discussions of faith. I was baptized when I was 2 or 3 but that doesn't mean I can recite fundamental/important tenets and such. And despite my ancestors being Catholics (thanks, Cortez), I know little about the whole thing. I do have my opinions, but they are rather undercooked and thus need more knowledge before they can be shared without coming off as banal and dim or appallingly ghastly in their foul nature. (I ain't too learned in these here Catholic ways to sound like one of them folks with eloquent opinions an' such. I'd be talkin' like of them other fools! Ah-hyuk!)
That same friend also told me that you can take Sundays off when I said that I had finished Lent (when it fact it wouldn't be over for another few days).
"I did 40 days, it's over." I said, breathing a sigh of relief and itching to get back to swearing regularly.
"It's over on Easter, dummy." he chuckled.
"But it's been 40 days." I said, perplexed.
"You take Sundays off." he said, in a nonchalant yet matter-of-fact way.
"You mean I could have been swearing and drinking on the Sabbath?!" I asked, almost outraged but more stupefied.
"Hahahaha yeah!" he responded, coolly.
Hmm.
Maybe I did learn something: research things thoroughly beforehand. Whether or not I apply acquired knowledge is a question that can only be answered by time.
I wish I could say I found the experience enlightening or fulfilling but the truth is: I didn't. I found the whole affair frustrating and unnerving. I don't feel as if I've actually learned or accomplished anything meaningful that will help me with anything (or even help me grow as a person). Maybe all that was accomplished was a slight form of suffering and sacrifice but is that really an accomplishment, per se?
My moral fiber remains as it has always been; little has changed in regards to spirituality, and I guess my patience however shaken it was, remains steadfast.
Perhaps because I'm not an actual Catholic, I did not gain anything from this experience. My reasoning for attempting Lent, despite not being a Catholic, was that I thought it was unfair that my Catholic friends had to make sacrifices while I got to strut around free from guilt and sacrifice, as I don't belong to any particular religious organization. I figured I'd show solidarity by giving up two things that are almost intrinsic to me: swearing and drinking. More swearing than drinking; although, I was faced with a constant supply of alcohol (read: I was surrounded by beer every day for about 3 weeks straight).
It was very difficult because I was always on the edge of just saying, "nuts to this" and surrendering ahead of schedule. I should mention, however, that I failed a handful of times. I swore out of great frustration, and drank (once). I don't know how to justify the drinking so I won't even try. I did feel an enormous amount of guilt when I did these things but consulted a friend who said to just start over and not to do it again.
I was perplexed because I figured there'd be some sort of ritual required for atonement whenever one slipped up. I really am not familiar with Catholicism other than the stuff I hear from friends during rare/sporadic discussions of faith. I was baptized when I was 2 or 3 but that doesn't mean I can recite fundamental/important tenets and such. And despite my ancestors being Catholics (thanks, Cortez), I know little about the whole thing. I do have my opinions, but they are rather undercooked and thus need more knowledge before they can be shared without coming off as banal and dim or appallingly ghastly in their foul nature. (I ain't too learned in these here Catholic ways to sound like one of them folks with eloquent opinions an' such. I'd be talkin' like of them other fools! Ah-hyuk!)
That same friend also told me that you can take Sundays off when I said that I had finished Lent (when it fact it wouldn't be over for another few days).
"I did 40 days, it's over." I said, breathing a sigh of relief and itching to get back to swearing regularly.
"It's over on Easter, dummy." he chuckled.
"But it's been 40 days." I said, perplexed.
"You take Sundays off." he said, in a nonchalant yet matter-of-fact way.
"You mean I could have been swearing and drinking on the Sabbath?!" I asked, almost outraged but more stupefied.
"Hahahaha yeah!" he responded, coolly.
Hmm.
Maybe I did learn something: research things thoroughly beforehand. Whether or not I apply acquired knowledge is a question that can only be answered by time.
Smiling Passports
This is the first entry of that series about fortune cookie fortunes. I suppose this initial entry should serve as a prologue, obviously. What I guess I'll do is:
• scan and upload the fortune itself, type what it says (if the image doesn't load for whatever reason)
• give some background- where I ate, what I ate, how was it, etc
• present my reaction, thoughts, interpreted meaning (if any) and that should suffice.
I should point out that I may not always remember what I ate or where. There may be an indicator on the fortune- it may say Panda Express, for example. The title of these entries will most likely come from the fortune itself or a variation.
It's all pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
Right.
Let's get started.
Whenever I go out for Chinese food, I eat the food first and save the fortune cookie for last. Because that's just how I roll. One time someone asked me why I hadn't eaten my fortune cookie and I simply said that I like to save it for last. He in a rather strange way said, "Because you don't want bad luck?" almost sneering. I shrugged it off because it didn't affect me; he made himself look like an ass.
For this first entry... I don't remember what I ate. I ate at place that's about a mile or two from where I live. The place isn't bad, and it gets a fair amount of business from what I can tell. And it should as it is located across the street from a hospital. I'm surprised it's still open given it is also across the street from a McDonald's. That particular McDonald's used to have N64s in its play place. I don't know if they're still there or if they've upgraded to Gamecubes or Wiis but this entry isn't about that McDonald's.
I probably had orange chicken, as I usually do. And beef & broccoli, and something spicy. Because that's how I roll.
A smile is your passport into the hearts of others.
I smirk more than I smile. That's not to say that I don't smile but that I don't smile often. See? Still, I can see where this is going. I keep hearing how smiling actually makes you happy. I'd rather laugh though. Because that includes smiling, laughter, and a good feeling that can extend itself. Once I figure out how to do it, I'll probably start grinning wolfishly like Sam Spade. Let's see what kind of reaction that'll get.
LEARN CHINESE - Boyfriend
男朋友 nan pun yau
Lucky numbers 12, 15, 39, 43, 25, 5
The pronunciation is off, it's missing assisting accent marks. According to Google Translate, at least.
Don't really know what else to say about this side of the fortune. Lucky numbers... for that particular meal?
I don't know why or how I could use this phrase. A more useful phrase would probably be, "May I have some water."
But I don't print these things so I won't knock them too much.
Pretty lackluster first entry but as with all things, these'll improve.
• scan and upload the fortune itself, type what it says (if the image doesn't load for whatever reason)
• give some background- where I ate, what I ate, how was it, etc
• present my reaction, thoughts, interpreted meaning (if any) and that should suffice.
I should point out that I may not always remember what I ate or where. There may be an indicator on the fortune- it may say Panda Express, for example. The title of these entries will most likely come from the fortune itself or a variation.
It's all pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
Right.
Let's get started.
Whenever I go out for Chinese food, I eat the food first and save the fortune cookie for last. Because that's just how I roll. One time someone asked me why I hadn't eaten my fortune cookie and I simply said that I like to save it for last. He in a rather strange way said, "Because you don't want bad luck?" almost sneering. I shrugged it off because it didn't affect me; he made himself look like an ass.
For this first entry... I don't remember what I ate. I ate at place that's about a mile or two from where I live. The place isn't bad, and it gets a fair amount of business from what I can tell. And it should as it is located across the street from a hospital. I'm surprised it's still open given it is also across the street from a McDonald's. That particular McDonald's used to have N64s in its play place. I don't know if they're still there or if they've upgraded to Gamecubes or Wiis but this entry isn't about that McDonald's.
I probably had orange chicken, as I usually do. And beef & broccoli, and something spicy. Because that's how I roll.
A smile is your passport into the hearts of others.
I smirk more than I smile. That's not to say that I don't smile but that I don't smile often. See? Still, I can see where this is going. I keep hearing how smiling actually makes you happy. I'd rather laugh though. Because that includes smiling, laughter, and a good feeling that can extend itself. Once I figure out how to do it, I'll probably start grinning wolfishly like Sam Spade. Let's see what kind of reaction that'll get.
LEARN CHINESE - Boyfriend
男朋友 nan pun yau
Lucky numbers 12, 15, 39, 43, 25, 5
The pronunciation is off, it's missing assisting accent marks. According to Google Translate, at least.
Don't really know what else to say about this side of the fortune. Lucky numbers... for that particular meal?
I don't know why or how I could use this phrase. A more useful phrase would probably be, "May I have some water."
But I don't print these things so I won't knock them too much.
Pretty lackluster first entry but as with all things, these'll improve.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Granite
Whenever I can't think of anything to write (in the vein of prose or poetry), I will often say to other creative people (or anyone who cares) that I've been in a creative rut for "a few weeks" or "lately". The truth is, I've had an abnormal creative block for about 3 years now. The more creative stuff I write these days is nothing to what I used to be able to write back then. The rate at which I produce stuff these days is chump change compared to then.
A fog of mild but heavy despair sets in over the scribe
I used to be able to come up with lengthy substantial stories on the spot. Or more accurately: ideas and outlines. Things came to me far more easily than they do now. If I were to snap my fingers back then, each snap would generate an idea or two. The triggers for creativity were very sensitive. For instance, I would enter a conversation about musicians that, after a few moments, would spiral into a long narrative about romance and the meaning of life. How long would this narrative be? About 3 or 4 pages, minimum. Approaching 10 or more pages, if I were to actually truly, fully, over-the-top-ly expand on details and such.
It upsets me that my general creativity has been crippled for so long. One can only hope that things return to normal, or a state in which I can produce a greater volume of quality stories with greater ease. While one hopes, I try to do things that could possibly kick-start my creative prowess once more. I read, I scribble ideas and stories, I draw odd shapes and bits and pieces, I listen to music all time, I go hiking and wandering around but whatever it is that is holding a ceiling on my imagination and creativity and such cannot seem to be undone or repaired.
A beam of light shines dimly.
No, I'm not being a jerk who's rubbing his own ego. The truth is that a lot of the stuff you read here (the prose and poetry) is chump change compared to the stuff I used to be able to write. Alas, that stuff disappeared because I wasn't careful when hitting delete. But I've learned my lesson. At least, one would hope. But I have in some way. I back up the stories and poems and such that I want to keep and work in greater detail. Or, at the very least, outline the major details that can bleed the rest of the necessary details. On paper. In pen. Yeah. Feels good.
But it still isn't what I used to be able to conjure up.
Let there be light
I suppose I just need motivation. Yes, I had various sorts of motivation back then. Maybe getting older (even slightly) is taking some sort of toll on me. Maybe I've been exerting my creativity in different ways, ways that are unseen by my own eyes or by my own awareness. Or I'm so focused on other things that I don't notice them. This is quite possible.
Or I'm as equally imaginative today as I was then but I subconsciously focus on quality over quantity giving the illusion that I don't create as much work as I feel is adequate when in fact the prose and poetry are actually substantial and meaty rather than flimsy hors d'oeuvres I may have cranked out with great breezy ease. Or I'm simply just a very vicious critic of my abilities.
The scribe ends this entry.
A fog of mild but heavy despair sets in over the scribe
I used to be able to come up with lengthy substantial stories on the spot. Or more accurately: ideas and outlines. Things came to me far more easily than they do now. If I were to snap my fingers back then, each snap would generate an idea or two. The triggers for creativity were very sensitive. For instance, I would enter a conversation about musicians that, after a few moments, would spiral into a long narrative about romance and the meaning of life. How long would this narrative be? About 3 or 4 pages, minimum. Approaching 10 or more pages, if I were to actually truly, fully, over-the-top-ly expand on details and such.
It upsets me that my general creativity has been crippled for so long. One can only hope that things return to normal, or a state in which I can produce a greater volume of quality stories with greater ease. While one hopes, I try to do things that could possibly kick-start my creative prowess once more. I read, I scribble ideas and stories, I draw odd shapes and bits and pieces, I listen to music all time, I go hiking and wandering around but whatever it is that is holding a ceiling on my imagination and creativity and such cannot seem to be undone or repaired.
A beam of light shines dimly.
No, I'm not being a jerk who's rubbing his own ego. The truth is that a lot of the stuff you read here (the prose and poetry) is chump change compared to the stuff I used to be able to write. Alas, that stuff disappeared because I wasn't careful when hitting delete. But I've learned my lesson. At least, one would hope. But I have in some way. I back up the stories and poems and such that I want to keep and work in greater detail. Or, at the very least, outline the major details that can bleed the rest of the necessary details. On paper. In pen. Yeah. Feels good.
But it still isn't what I used to be able to conjure up.
Let there be light
I suppose I just need motivation. Yes, I had various sorts of motivation back then. Maybe getting older (even slightly) is taking some sort of toll on me. Maybe I've been exerting my creativity in different ways, ways that are unseen by my own eyes or by my own awareness. Or I'm so focused on other things that I don't notice them. This is quite possible.
Or I'm as equally imaginative today as I was then but I subconsciously focus on quality over quantity giving the illusion that I don't create as much work as I feel is adequate when in fact the prose and poetry are actually substantial and meaty rather than flimsy hors d'oeuvres I may have cranked out with great breezy ease. Or I'm simply just a very vicious critic of my abilities.
The scribe ends this entry.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Deluge of Delusion
You're all crazy. And this is a fact. There's nobody crazier than you. Anybody who tries to outdo you is only scratching the surface of a body of water. Why did I use this example? Because you can scratch the surface of water and nothing will actually happen, or the effect of said scratching will be pretty much be impossible to gauge.
Actually, we're all crazy and deluded or: a gaggle of gullible suckers that will believe anything. I'm part of that group as well though I would say (probably incorrect in saying) that I'm not as gullible as the rest of the gullible saps out there. My only problem, or issue is that I just can't seem to say "No" to people.
That reminds me of Warren Harding. Not in the sense that I, myself, "look like a president" or have any desire to run for political office or anything of the sort. John Marston from Red Dead Redemption said it best: "I'm many things, most of 'em bad. But a man of political principles? No." There are many reasons why Red Dead Redemption is one of my favorite games of all-time. But that's another story, for another time.
What I mean is Warren Harding was known for being someone who was very kind, friendly, and generous. He was a pleasant fellow who was prone to violent outbursts of profanity but still remained a friendly chap of sorts. He was afraid of offending people and in a nutshell: was unable to say no. His own father was interviewed and answered to a question with something along the lines of being fortunate that Warren Harding had not been born a girl because he couldn't say no to anything. And I think we all know what that implies.
Now, I don't pretend to know everything about the man because I don't know much about him immediately, other than the stuff I remember from history course lectures. And that's what seemed to stick, probably because I thought it was a hilarious historical tidbit. Still, in a way I am like you who is like Warren Harding as well. You have a hard time denying requests but can be found in denial. Funny, isn't it?
No. You know why? Because you're crazy.
Actually, we're all crazy and deluded or: a gaggle of gullible suckers that will believe anything. I'm part of that group as well though I would say (probably incorrect in saying) that I'm not as gullible as the rest of the gullible saps out there. My only problem, or issue is that I just can't seem to say "No" to people.
That reminds me of Warren Harding. Not in the sense that I, myself, "look like a president" or have any desire to run for political office or anything of the sort. John Marston from Red Dead Redemption said it best: "I'm many things, most of 'em bad. But a man of political principles? No." There are many reasons why Red Dead Redemption is one of my favorite games of all-time. But that's another story, for another time.
What I mean is Warren Harding was known for being someone who was very kind, friendly, and generous. He was a pleasant fellow who was prone to violent outbursts of profanity but still remained a friendly chap of sorts. He was afraid of offending people and in a nutshell: was unable to say no. His own father was interviewed and answered to a question with something along the lines of being fortunate that Warren Harding had not been born a girl because he couldn't say no to anything. And I think we all know what that implies.
Now, I don't pretend to know everything about the man because I don't know much about him immediately, other than the stuff I remember from history course lectures. And that's what seemed to stick, probably because I thought it was a hilarious historical tidbit. Still, in a way I am like you who is like Warren Harding as well. You have a hard time denying requests but can be found in denial. Funny, isn't it?
No. You know why? Because you're crazy.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
A Blueprint
There haven't been many updates to this blog. In regards to substantial content, anyway. I do always manage to update the quote of the week or the phrase on the banner (for want of a better term). I'd hate to throw that old "I've been busy" excuse but it's true. Things outside this blog for me have gotten complicated and unpleasant. As such, I've had to spend more time, than I want to, dealing with them. Things are getting better. Anyway, this month, I'll try to update as much as I can. This is evidenced by the fact that I've posted four (five with this one) entries in the course of three days.
Furthermore: this is the plan for this month and possibly the following months.
• Finish A Real Mess. I was going to finish it way earlier but I didn't.
• Another story. Let's hope this one doesn't take too long. Or if it does, that the ending is actually worth the wait.
• Start an ongoing series about fortune cookies. I collect fortunes from fortune cookies. I've collected quite a few of them to this day and I haven't done much with them other than carry them with me.
• Actually post up a drawing, though this will be sporadic.
Four goals for the fourth month. Apt, in a way.
Though sometimes I do wonder if anyone actually reads this stuff, on a regularly subscribed basis or at all.
Furthermore: this is the plan for this month and possibly the following months.
• Finish A Real Mess. I was going to finish it way earlier but I didn't.
• Another story. Let's hope this one doesn't take too long. Or if it does, that the ending is actually worth the wait.
• Start an ongoing series about fortune cookies. I collect fortunes from fortune cookies. I've collected quite a few of them to this day and I haven't done much with them other than carry them with me.
• Actually post up a drawing, though this will be sporadic.
Four goals for the fourth month. Apt, in a way.
Though sometimes I do wonder if anyone actually reads this stuff, on a regularly subscribed basis or at all.
Senescence
I take another breath and watch more of myself commit its own weary, chuckling self to an approaching sea of dust and seemingly endless darkness. And it doesn't bother me like I make pretend sometimes. There are no cobwebs or gray hairs yet. My hair is still quite dark brown and scattered red, hence my pen name. I don't predict any gray hairs yet though I did have one gray hair when I was about 19 or 20.
I was under some amount of stress then and I guess it did get to me as evidenced by that solitary gray hair. Of course, it wasn't entirely conspicuous like I seem to imply. It was hidden, for the most part within my hair, on the right about an inch away from the forehead or so. I had shorter hair then so it was somewhat easier to notice than it would be now with my mighty* lion's mane*. By easier, I mean I (or an interested party) wouldn't have to "hunt" for it. It is possible that with my frequent hair loss / shedding, said gray hair has fallen out.
Cobwebs, on the other hand... Nah, those aren't a big problem for me though I should do something about them.
At this point in time, I would say I'm very mixed up and misguided. All the time, every day. But once per year this is punctuated far more sharply than on any other day. Through well wishes, for which I am grateful and lukewarm words which seem to get less and less genuine, or maybe something is wrong with me, or the circumstances in which I find myself are poisoning me. I'm sure they mean well but something just doesn't ring true. Though I should admit that they do melt frost and tame poorly written metaphors involving ice, beasts, and ugly cracked deserts.
Though I cannot slow the flow of time, I am very grateful that the ride isn't as bump or as coarse as that poorly written metaphor of a desert. It would truly be misery if I were to go it totally, completely, absolutely, utterly alone.
I was under some amount of stress then and I guess it did get to me as evidenced by that solitary gray hair. Of course, it wasn't entirely conspicuous like I seem to imply. It was hidden, for the most part within my hair, on the right about an inch away from the forehead or so. I had shorter hair then so it was somewhat easier to notice than it would be now with my mighty* lion's mane*. By easier, I mean I (or an interested party) wouldn't have to "hunt" for it. It is possible that with my frequent hair loss / shedding, said gray hair has fallen out.
Cobwebs, on the other hand... Nah, those aren't a big problem for me though I should do something about them.
At this point in time, I would say I'm very mixed up and misguided. All the time, every day. But once per year this is punctuated far more sharply than on any other day. Through well wishes, for which I am grateful and lukewarm words which seem to get less and less genuine, or maybe something is wrong with me, or the circumstances in which I find myself are poisoning me. I'm sure they mean well but something just doesn't ring true. Though I should admit that they do melt frost and tame poorly written metaphors involving ice, beasts, and ugly cracked deserts.
Though I cannot slow the flow of time, I am very grateful that the ride isn't as bump or as coarse as that poorly written metaphor of a desert. It would truly be misery if I were to go it totally, completely, absolutely, utterly alone.
Fresh Feat
A new adventure awaits the bold. No, that's not entirely true. "A new adventure" is such a broad phrase that it can mean anything and apply to anyone. Well, the word adventure itself can refer to a number of things but often the connotation is mired in traditional thinking and definitions. There's no need for everyone to be "bold" (in the traditional sense) and all that, anymore. Everything really has become relative. And because traditions are being downplayed more and more all the time. They have more or less been put to the side in our fast-paced world of fast cars, lax morals, and whatever else people complain about regarding the present and the seemingly decaying future.
That's not always the case, though, is it? I mean: it really is all relative, isn't it? What is x to you, is y to me and etc and so forth. It's not all bad. Sure, things carry that illusion but is the illusion really the truth? No. Things aren't all bad. They can always be salvaged, repaired, and improved; things are always changing.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit. (Everything changes but nothing is truly lost.)
But what is adventure?
According to the characters from that Disney-Pixar film, Up, adventure is out there!
According to Merriam-Webster, adventure is defined as
• an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks
• an exciting or remarkable experience
These days it seems anything can be considered an adventure. This isn't a complaint but more of an observation. This, however, is a complaint of sorts: If this (anything being classified as an adventure) is the case, it is a sad testament regarding the equally sad times in which we live. Have our ancestors and predecessors taken up all the adventures worth having and left us with a barren world?
One could argue that times were different; their eras (now gone by) were filled with opportunities and undiscovered countries and such. The world was still a blank slate, for the most part. The previous generation builds for the one that comes after it. In this way, things become murkier and murkier and heavier and heavier for the following generations. Yes, those repetitions were intentional. But they got all the seemingly cool stuff before the present had a chance. Bummer.
On the other hand, one could argue otherwise saying that it is up to us to make or find our own adventures. This is still possible because our universe is always growing and our potential for adventures is more subtle than it was before, and it is becoming less obvious each day. Our technology while helping us, also hinders us. Though I would say it helps more because it'll force us to find our own adventures and thrills, or it'll make them more satisfying when found.
So, adventure really is out there. Maybe not in the vast reaches of space... yet, but in our own backyards.
Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Adventure is out there.
That's not always the case, though, is it? I mean: it really is all relative, isn't it? What is x to you, is y to me and etc and so forth. It's not all bad. Sure, things carry that illusion but is the illusion really the truth? No. Things aren't all bad. They can always be salvaged, repaired, and improved; things are always changing.
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit. (Everything changes but nothing is truly lost.)
But what is adventure?
According to the characters from that Disney-Pixar film, Up, adventure is out there!
According to Merriam-Webster, adventure is defined as
• an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks
• an exciting or remarkable experience
These days it seems anything can be considered an adventure. This isn't a complaint but more of an observation. This, however, is a complaint of sorts: If this (anything being classified as an adventure) is the case, it is a sad testament regarding the equally sad times in which we live. Have our ancestors and predecessors taken up all the adventures worth having and left us with a barren world?
One could argue that times were different; their eras (now gone by) were filled with opportunities and undiscovered countries and such. The world was still a blank slate, for the most part. The previous generation builds for the one that comes after it. In this way, things become murkier and murkier and heavier and heavier for the following generations. Yes, those repetitions were intentional. But they got all the seemingly cool stuff before the present had a chance. Bummer.
On the other hand, one could argue otherwise saying that it is up to us to make or find our own adventures. This is still possible because our universe is always growing and our potential for adventures is more subtle than it was before, and it is becoming less obvious each day. Our technology while helping us, also hinders us. Though I would say it helps more because it'll force us to find our own adventures and thrills, or it'll make them more satisfying when found.
So, adventure really is out there. Maybe not in the vast reaches of space... yet, but in our own backyards.
Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Adventure is out there.
Resiliency Amazes Me
I often say "it could be worse" because it's true. Things could, in fact, be worse. If you're alive, you could be dead. If you're suffering from an illness, said illness could be incurable. I could go on, but you get the point (and you've probably read the entry that talks about this at length).
I look at people who are really going through some living nightmare (compared to what ever I may be going through) and somehow still manage to pull through. Or, at the very least, they do not get so discouraged by their present situation that they sabotage themselves and everything they've ever worked for by giving into despair and their weaknesses.
It amazes me how they can still go in day and day out with the same steadfast determination and forward momentum. Their chasing something and are not letting anything get in their way. They go down life's cruel, cracked road, undeterred by the weight of the surrounding world. Undeterred by poorly scribbled metaphors. Or they give off that illusion of being undeterred because if one were to show cracks in their foundation, they inadvertently throw open the doors for actual crumbling and allow doubt to flood in and ruin everything. And we know that can have disastrous consequences. With or without bad metaphors.
These are the kinds of people that I tend to look up to and from whom I draw inspiration of sorts. The ones who can withstand being horsewhipped and still have the energy to juggle chainsaws. Or if I were to put it in a less ridiculous analogy: the single parent who works in a factory performing all sorts of back-breaking tasks all day and comes home weary but still summons some sort of energy to feed and help their kid(s) with their homework. The ones who can still take being crushed by the same boulder day in and day out. And shrug it off because they know that there are things greater than them. They recognize this and don't let it go to their heads, nor do they let this misguide them or distract them from whatever it is they are doing: taking care of their family, taking care of business, doing what needs to be done, etc.
Those are the people for whom I have great respect and who continue to amaze me.
I look at people who are really going through some living nightmare (compared to what ever I may be going through) and somehow still manage to pull through. Or, at the very least, they do not get so discouraged by their present situation that they sabotage themselves and everything they've ever worked for by giving into despair and their weaknesses.
It amazes me how they can still go in day and day out with the same steadfast determination and forward momentum. Their chasing something and are not letting anything get in their way. They go down life's cruel, cracked road, undeterred by the weight of the surrounding world. Undeterred by poorly scribbled metaphors. Or they give off that illusion of being undeterred because if one were to show cracks in their foundation, they inadvertently throw open the doors for actual crumbling and allow doubt to flood in and ruin everything. And we know that can have disastrous consequences. With or without bad metaphors.
These are the kinds of people that I tend to look up to and from whom I draw inspiration of sorts. The ones who can withstand being horsewhipped and still have the energy to juggle chainsaws. Or if I were to put it in a less ridiculous analogy: the single parent who works in a factory performing all sorts of back-breaking tasks all day and comes home weary but still summons some sort of energy to feed and help their kid(s) with their homework. The ones who can still take being crushed by the same boulder day in and day out. And shrug it off because they know that there are things greater than them. They recognize this and don't let it go to their heads, nor do they let this misguide them or distract them from whatever it is they are doing: taking care of their family, taking care of business, doing what needs to be done, etc.
Those are the people for whom I have great respect and who continue to amaze me.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Stultify
It's actually been pretty good weather lately. Here, at least. Makes going outside worth it. Of course, I'll probably be complaining about the heat in a few weeks, as humans are wont to do: complain. And get bored easily.
I try not to do too much of the former but the latter is a problem of sorts.
How does one combat boredom? By doin' stuff. But that in itself becomes problematic because you can only do so much until it becomes repetition. Even "doing new things" and "being spontaneous" is eventually going to turn into that boring cycle of despair. Also, it's impossible to live life following a misguided creed based on the lurid expectations of a 16-year old girl. Spontaneity can easily bleed into routine, or instability. That's not be trying to justify safety and a controlled pattern, it's the truth.
To live your life always doing "new" things and all that stuff that actually makes me cringe just reading, is only going to hurt you. Why? Because you'll always be trying to outdo yourself and top yourself and set the bar higher and higher and each time you can't top yourself, you're going to fall a million stories and be so hurt that- you get my point.
As such, you need a balance between stability and spontaneity. It should keep you on your toes for a while.
I try not to do too much of the former but the latter is a problem of sorts.
How does one combat boredom? By doin' stuff. But that in itself becomes problematic because you can only do so much until it becomes repetition. Even "doing new things" and "being spontaneous" is eventually going to turn into that boring cycle of despair. Also, it's impossible to live life following a misguided creed based on the lurid expectations of a 16-year old girl. Spontaneity can easily bleed into routine, or instability. That's not be trying to justify safety and a controlled pattern, it's the truth.
To live your life always doing "new" things and all that stuff that actually makes me cringe just reading, is only going to hurt you. Why? Because you'll always be trying to outdo yourself and top yourself and set the bar higher and higher and each time you can't top yourself, you're going to fall a million stories and be so hurt that- you get my point.
As such, you need a balance between stability and spontaneity. It should keep you on your toes for a while.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)