Somehow becoming the art.

When I think of a story that I might be writing, especially one that is so radically different from reality, I wonder how much of myself I tend to imagine into the story.  I am sure there is probably some sort of detachment psychology that could describe my methods as I often see myself very separate from what is actually going on around me, and that I am somehow living out this disconnection I often feel in my methods for story writing.  It might even partially fulfill my dissociation through the mere imagination of such stories.  Yet, regardless of any personal implications, I think I often imagine myself in the shoes of whatever character I might be writing at the time.  Is there any other way to do it?

Perhaps this is how I can attempt to draw a human connection to things which may not ostensibly be of a human heritage.  This may be the only true link to any observer of the story in the first place.  If a reader can not find a link between themselves and any characters in the story I am sure it would be largely uninteresting as a whole.  Certainly the setting of life, in a world of some type or other, might be an adequate basis for generating that connection but I wonder if it can give enough grounding beyond the superficial?

Soon... I need to return to my writing endeavors.  I need to explore the space which has partially unfolded to my mind's eye.

The legendarily lengthy day.

Not that today totally fit that recipe for what one would dub "legendary" in fully unequivocating tones.  It merely had the consistency of time and purpose, which in itself holds its own regard of preeminence.  An eight-hour work shift immediately followed by a five-hour class.  I guess the math is pretty clear.

Beyond all that I have a great deal of work coming up in the next several days due to it being finals week and all.  If I am on task I can rise above it like a champ.  If I falter a little I can still survive it but the pains I would endure do not suit me one bit.  Time to hit the sack in preparation.

Not for lack of something.

But sometimes merely out of commitment.  And even though I have allotted myself very little time to actually write something here I am glad to be doing it at all.

Consistency is important.

The marriage of logic and creativity.

I wonder how much people naturally lean one direction or the other.  I tend to find myself riding right down the middle of both sides, dipping my limbs into both camps frequently and sometimes feverishly.  It seems like it will likely be a valuable quality as I continue to express it as I do.  Maybe not just for the broad range of experience but for the seemingly unique understand it can sometimes afford me.

It was noted by one of my professor's today that the programmer/coder type of people often have little in the way of visual creativity and artistry.  He complimented my work stating that I might be a valued addition to that side of the industry when he also complimented my own programmer/coding inclinations. This does not mean that I am actually good at that sort of thing but I tend to think it means that I very well could be if I decided to focus on it for a while... and that it might be good for my future employment opportunities.  Needless to say I very much look forward to the next interactive media class I get to take sometime in the future.

One century.

I think the numer 100 is still one of the cooler numbers around.  I actually remember as a young child that it seemed like a milestone for one's counting capabilities.  It seemed so big and cool... the first triple-digit number... the first one with two 0s, too.(whoah... 100 and too are quite visibly similar... never noticed that before)  100 also had it's own name: Century.  And even though the intricacies of the latin naming conventions took years to unfold many of their delicious mysteries unto my mind I have always been happy with Century. A cent is 1/100th part of a dollar, also likely a short form of percent. A centurion was the leader of 100 men. It gains its bigness in the typical reference to 100 years of time.  Which is a ripe old age that I myself would like to see in the flesh(robot, cryo-freezing, seance-induced, twinkie-saturation excluded.)  I would not mind even being named 100.  Sure, why not?  It is certainly easy to remember and spell!

Diminishing struggle.

Which is generally the preferable course of progression.  I am so unfamiliar with physical illness that I suppose I should probably be taking more notes about it than complaining that it isn't gone yet.  So... what have I learned from this so far?

1. Despite my immense displeasure for vomiting I do recognize its place in the healing process.  I have also come to realize there actually IS something about vomiting that I do like: you ALWAYS know that you will be vomiting soon.  At least the very few times that I can remember doing it I have always known.  If I am sleeping I wake up knowing it so I can go to the proper receptacle, even(whether or not I always get there in time is a different story.)

2. Sleeping all day, while very non-productive, is sometimes a very pleasant way to forget life a little.  I generally don't really consider it an option(which is likely why I feel so stressed out much of the time I am awake) but realizing my emphatically declined capability for actually doing anything important I settle into my blankets with a fairly clear conscience.  A most excellent feeling.

3. Being sick does not always mean I will be in pain the whole time.  I never felt very much pain before or after vomiting other than my abs-of-steel exercise feeling because of the actual vomiting itself.  Beyond that the only things I have actually felt are dizziness, exhaustion, and a degree of nausea.  They have been unfriendly to me all on their own but none has caused me much pain to speak of.  I certainly won't complain about that.

4. People are very friendly to sick people.

I am sure there are many people who get sick on a more regular basis that probably already know all of this stuff but it is basically new to me so I thought I'd share my personal revelations on the topic anyway.  Now... I must be off to get my healing sleep again.

Quivering vomitous mass.

It is such a rare occurrence for me but I generally detest it so intensely that I can not let it pass without a spiteful remark.  Super ugh!  My body is, of course, reeling from the effects but it has made a mess of my head as well.  I am sure my writing congruency is somewhat lacking.

I know there is much to be learned through the course of physical afflictions.  It is certainly a good reminder of one's humanity and general fragility.  It is an excellent reminder of the many blessings I enjoy otherwise.  My health may not typically be stellar but it certainly does get me around quite well.  I am also reminded of my friends concern for my well-being.  This is so easily forgotten in the mundane motions of life.

Reinvigorating light.

I am always glad for the simple reminders of a hopeful future.  I am highly grateful for the friends and others who reintroduced me to them.

A peace of prose in a pinch.

In the sometimes-alliterative approach
To fill the digital gander
Oft display the cast intent
Though today's unsettled part
Mired words in thoughts unheard
A spindly thread connected chase
Redeeming darkened corner's glance
In exposed efficiency
Resounding thoughts hyperbole
From whence to where indeed?

A fetching glance to deep within
Recovered skull recants its chamber
Truth in life to deaths aspire
Yet ever somber in between

I, and we, and she, and them
Us, and they, and her again
You, and he, and brazen pride
All, and those, and out inside

The tasty thinking is hard to contain.

Often, when I have a really neat idea rolling around in my head, I am somewhat indisposed by life's general happenings and I neglect to lay hold of the idea with any sort of useful grip.  It is not usually a very painful exodus... they go rather silently, inexplicably... but I certainly think I could benefit from more efficient recollection of said ideas.  I am quite fond of dissecting neat ideas.

I have been doing a lot of complex logic thinking for my homework over the last week or so.  It has been enjoyable flexing my brain muscle as much as it has but I have to say it can start to hurt sometimes.  Not just my consciousness but also my pride takes a hit.  I would like to think I am a pretty smart fellow and that I can conquer this stuff with ease, and I know there are plenty of people who would spin circles around me with this stuff, but my extremely slow progress is often overly dissatisfying.  Glad I just keep on going, though, since I am still making progress.  Even with the fuzzy brain effect kicking in from time to time.

The practice of interesting.

I have to say it is not usually easy to produce interesting material.  What would make it interesting, after all?  I think there is some level of familiarity that needs to be applied but I think the need for the unexpected is slightly more prevalent.  Therefore, each time I write I try to write what is a part of me at that particular moment.  And while it is certainly better to find the ideas on the fly, as they have a slightly more organic and realistic feeling to them, I do occasionally need to do a little digging into the forced efforts of my art.  Such is the way of life in general I would say.  Time waits for no man.

So, in a way this is me attempting to share not only my desire to create, entertain, and express but also my ability to commit.  I know this may seem a small thing to many but I hope, and tend to believe, that commitment must start with something small at first.  From there it builds gradually, line upon line, over an extended period of time.  Time, after all, is a critical ingredient in creating anything successful.

It is somewhat sad that I am definitely no pretended master of my time.  I am certainly a meager practitioner, occasionally successful in my management efficiency, that has a long way to go before truly attaining any sort of mastery therein.  Just look at the time of this post and that will be painfully obvious.

All holed up for the day.

There is certainly something to be said for the correlation between the immensity of snowfall and the desire to leave the house for just about any reason.  I went out into the weather to see if I could get any sweet shots early in the morning but that was not very fruitful and sort of took the gas out of my motivation to try again later in the day.

Not a total loss, however, as I was quite productive in other ways.  Using inertia to my advantage has never been one of my stronger features... but doing it today seemed to up the skill level a little bit.  I really do enjoy the work I do.  Even when that work includes sitting still most of the time.

Snowblast to the face!

I am quite ambivalent about the snowy weather we are experiencing lately.  It is a beautiful, peaceful sort of weather that causes an entirely new sort of daily spin, each basically unique by the mere nature of its infrequency.  I also enjoy the unusual chaos it incurs.  I have always been a big fan of chaos.  This, however, also brings a comment of displeasure.  I really do not like having to miss work because of this immutable force of nature and its influence on my ability to do my job.  Some jobs are not really affected by this stuff at all.  Mine, in a very real sense, could potentially become a matter of life and death.

So, I guess it only pays to be a driver's ed instructor when it is not snowing so much.

And people say that the weather is small talk.

But when the weather is actually snow it becomes far more than small talk.  It has an actual impact on many different areas of life.  It always seems to have an effect on people's moods as the general tenor of most people I interact with becomes enlightened and positive.  Everybody who is not for it, however, really seems to be against it.  There is not very many who do not care much either way.

It also has a financial impact on many people, myself included.  Those who deal in transportation as a part of their labor functions are certainly affected, many in a negative way specifically.  And what about the electricity company?  I am sure they are happy to see everybody using their heaters more just to stay warm enough.

I think it also effects many casual expense/luxury sorts of businesses.  People are so less inclined to actually get out and about.  Some of this would come from the slight increase of danger in travelling by vehicle.  Which in itself would likely increase the business/frequency of need for health care provisions.

Oh well...  It means I get to sleep in with a slightly lighter conscience about it.  Time to lay me down to sleep big time!

Digital deafness.

There are many ways the analog world and the digital world don't really intersect or coexist.  Probably the first one that comes to mind is the reality of emotions and feelings.  Certainly we can express our emotions and feelings by describing them digitally but there is not a digital form of human emotions which actually exists as far as I know.  The human heart seems incomprehensible to the digital medium.  I suppose I am glad for that.  We gotta have something of our own.

I think the more I open my mouth(whether in the material or digital world) the more I would hope people really come to understand me better... but I have doubts this is really the case, lately.  It seems that people just become more comfortable categorizing me than really trying to understand me.  I suppose this is probably more true of how people really are with most people in general but I have not paid a whole lot of attention to be honest.  It is something worth examining I would say.  I am not really a fan of it, either way, and I think I need to figure out a way to use it to my advantage more than complain about it.  Ha.

A break from the rhetoric.

I feel like the work it takes me to get through the part I am at in the story is worth putting off at the moment to let my brain heal a bit.  Maybe a little prose or poetry would be nice.

Thinking of the times back when
A life of fire and wonderment
Did fill the mind's naivety
Unfettered spirit's future spent

Reflecting on a past I love
The thing which made the undeserved
A conduit of laughter's gleam
The faith in self, unflinching nerve

Send me back into the blind
Into the place I'm satisfied
When each new day reflects a glow
Of songs unsung, unvilified

But now my line is to forgive
The self more lost to unbelief
To fear, to lust, idle pursuits
To my forlorn, unfelt relief

Take the deepest breathing draw
Focus on enlightened call
Leaning to my Savior's reach
He, pulling me I can not fall
Until the day he wants it all
Becoming something afterall

That is all I have for tonight.  It is nowhere near the lofty goal I would like but it is not walking backwards either.  Maybe a piece of prose is in order next time.  Always loved that stuff.

I guess I meant to say night.

I should have realized how difficult it was going to be to get up this morning.  It is always difficult even if I get the typically proper amount of sleep after a night of essentially none.  Either way I felt okay today but I did not get to my writing like I had hoped.

So... Here is the continuance of whatever bizarre thoughts I was having last night.  Take 2:

As it gets closer it notices a glint of light flickering from the surface of the line.  Soon the flicker evolved into more of a shimmer.  It seemed a puzzling sort of thing as this was definitely something unlike everything else he had seen.

Its curiosities were further increased as it finally drew close to the line.  The surface appeared to be a soft, harmless sort of substance.  Reaching down to touch it revealed its highly unusual nature.  It seemed to briefly wrap itself around the finger that touched it, immediately causing his mind to briefly flood with images of a different place.  Before it could get a grasp on what it was experiencing the sensation of its own backside hitting the ground jolted its back to its present situation.

- Break -

I must admit I have been trudging through these last couple paragraphs at the speed of nearly frozen molasses.  I have been sitting at the computer for hours, with a lot of decent opportunity to make some good progress on this, but have really found these ideas difficult to express with any normal sort of fluidity.  Just describing my challenges here have been leaps and bounds easier than the actual writing.

So, because this is really way past the reasonable hour, I must retreat to bed.  I am a bit perturbed by my inability to meet my quota as of late.  Perhaps I should have made a smaller, more accessible quota to begin with.  I can not let it affect my whole life as it has seemed to be doing, though, and regular life(whatever that means) is definitely preferable to the intense pursuit of general mediocrity.  I can not say my writing is all bad since I know the practice can be quite valuable but I know it is not the cream of my creative endeavors either.  No worries either way.

I suppose I am roughly 2,000 words behind schedule now.  I think if I budget my time properly I might make a little traction toward reclaiming my position.  I guess only time will tell what will happen next.

Dropping the bomb on myself.

That is a little bit how it feels when you abuse the opportunity to get some quality hours of sleep.  I stumbled through the following day wincing at life as if it is actually stinging my soul somehow.  The pain mostly originates from the soul in the first place so it is definitely one of those annoying actions of self-loathing more than anything actually perceived... as so much of life's pains already are to begin with.  Exacerbation station!

So... one of the de facto issues of said imbecility would be the stunning lack of day-capping editorial content.  I did not partake in any of the three regularly scheduled indulgences/commitments and have thusly fallen somewhat behind in my writing goals.  I am not sure whether attempting to make it all up in one night is wise, overtly painful, or somewhere in between but I guess I can play it by ear when I am getting further along in tonight's endeavors.  I am operating on an obviously different level than is optimal(exceptionally fatigued) and would like to slide nicely into the pocket of my bed post haste.

I think running the gauntlet with the sparkiest thoughts should be the most apt prescription for success.  Much of that is a bit on the "rambling" side of things, as a general default gesture of mine, but I expect a stab at furthering the other night's labors would be a fine place to dally as well.  Maybe I will mix and mingle the two together a little.  That could be good or bad.  Ha.

Despite the growing quantity of evidence hinting that other forms of intelligence could be there the creature simply sees each new and unusual construct as if it were an entirely unique, presently disconnected to the environment surrounding it.  It notes the unusual shapes but more startling are the uniformity and symmetry they seem to gain as it takes each wandering step further toward its unknown destination.  Indeed, the creature seems to be walking more and more purposefully than before.

It sees in the distance, undeviating from its expected path, a broad, straight line extending from the distance beyond from the left perfectly straight across to an equal effect bearing right.  The line seems nothing more than visible for much of the next several minutes as it trudges toward this immense oddity with a great deal of curiosity.

Ugh... Sleep is starting to crush me.  I guess I will try again in the morning.

Something of a story.

I don't actually review much of what I write here but mentally I look back on what I think I am writing and it mostly seems like a bunch of nonsense.  So, to whoever reads all the way through this stuff, I would hope that a nugget or two of quality might be found for their labors.  Today I think I'll stab in a little bit of a different direction.

I have several stories that I have been gradually concocting over the years, that have not been finished in any sense of the word, and I would like to start moving along in that direction to explore my storytelling creativity.  I am not exactly sure why but they are all in different formats as well; one children's book, one handwritten novel, and one movie script to list the main one's of interest.  There are a few other dangling ones that would probably benefit from a little work as well.

I think I would like to start with the children's book tonight.  What little I have written down I think will have to just find its way to the archive now since I think I would like to get a fresh start on these.  Some of the work I plan to do here will be general brainstorming, character development, and general passage writing.  Since I have never taken any specific writing classes I am sure my methods probably appear a bit odd to some but I am sure some of it is pretty logical for the most part.  I do what I do.

I don't have a name for this story yet.  I am not sure if it should have a cool sounding phrase or a unique, quirky character name sort of title.  In a way it would be nice to utilize the name to inspire a bit of curiosity about the story... which I am sure is the basic point of a title anyway.  Perhaps I will get a bit of direction on the title as I am working on this stuff.

The lengthy synopsis is this:  A very non-descript creature wakes alone in the middle of a very large, open area of land.  The only form of sensory perception it possesses are its two, ordinary eyes near the top of its head.  It doesn't know anything about itself or its past.  It looks around the area in search of any clues but can only see a jagged mountain range far off in the distance in two opposite directions.  The sky is black even though it is light out.  It sets off in one of the two directions not directly facing a mountain range in the hopes of finding something.

As it goes along it begins to see evidence that it is not the only one there.  Not evidence of any specific living things, rather evidence that intelligence once reigned in completely vacant areas that it now trod alone.

It knew that it "knew" some of what it surveyed in its halted, meandering pace.  Occasionally an object would grab its attention, causing it to pause, as the gears of recollection were sparked into motion.  A shape, a color, a pattern would usually be the cause of these occasional, pensive moments.

Feeling it was somehow making progress in its somewhat beleaguered quest it did not take any time to stop for a break.  The light gradually fell into total darkness before it realized, after stumbling over and into a several different objects, that it needed to take a break.  It could not see anything at all so it decided to stop walking and wait to see if any more light would be coming back.

It stood there in the silence of the dark wondering what to do.  It decided to close its eyes.  It began dreaming which startled it into opening its eyes again.  Once it realized the dreaming was not an effect of the outside world it closed its eyes again.

It began to dream again this time embracing the strange and beautiful scene which unfolded around it.  It was seeing new colors, shapes, and patterns it had not see previously.  It also saw things which appeared to move independently of its own intended motions... other life forms of some type, it deduced!  Some of them seemed inclined to interact with each other every now and then, though never directly with the dreaming observer.  Many of them would gradually changed shape and size showing the continuance of progression throughout.  Then, inexplicably, they all came toward it and surrounded it in a very large group.  They each had different features on their faces and bodies.  They allowed it to inspect them as they stood there inspecting it in return.  Then, in a gradual succession, they began to turn and walk away from it.  Many of them would gradually fade into the distance while some of them would not get particularly distant before kneeling down and laying on their faces.

Light began to peer into the eyes of the creature, snapping it from its dream abruptly.  It looks around, surprised to see all the unusual things surrounding it that it was not able to see as the light was fading.  Some of the objects remind it of the dream it was having.  It decides to continue on in the same direction it was heading prior.

I suppose this would be more of a first chapter synopsis than anything else since there is still so much of the story left to describe.  Maybe I'll try to write a second chapter like it tomorrow.

The newer way of doing the same old things.

I have had many of those moments when you remember something that used to be a common occurrence which is either no longer common or completely non-existent now.  Much of this will naturally come with age as more and more of the past becomes obsolete.  Some of it will just happen due to our natural changes in life preferences as we become different people.  One of the basic examples that comes to mind is the vast differences in general telephone communication over the years.  And what about all the different elements of the internet experience.  Even it has made many changes of it's own since its widespread expansion took root in the daily lives of almost everyone.  Society is something quite different these days. Change is the inevitable constant driving it all.

Getting more specific about the telephone communication I was thinking how strange life used to be when everything was done on landlines.  Heck, the term landline did not even really exist since there was nothing to differentiate a "land" line from.  Not only that but telephone companies competed for who had the best clarity which reflected in their advertising more prominently than price did... and one of the marketed proofs of clarity was the ability to hear a pin dropping to the floor in the room of the person on the other end of the line.  When was the last time you saw/heard a cell carrier make reference to their line clarity?  Has it even ever happened?  They were much more concerned with coverage for most of the first decade and now it seems to be more about data transfer and pricing now that coverage is relatively uniform across the board.

Not everybody had answering machines so that made it somewhat of a challenge to even get the person you were looking for on the phone.  They literally had to be at the location you were calling(their house) at the very time you were calling.  And, before "call waiting" existed, you had to hope that nobody at their house was already using the phone.  You just had to call back later since they would not even know if you had tried to call them in the first place.  If you got through to somebody at the house that was not your intended person of choice you had to hope the person you talked to would actually somehow connect to the person you wanted, whether that was physically going to get them or just write down a message for them if they were not available at the time.  What a headache!  It is amazing we were even able to get a hold of people ever... but somehow it happened all the time.  Do you remember the last time you took a call that was for somebody other than yourself?  I don't.  I'm sure it has only happened a few times since I started using cell phones, which in itself is fairly odd anyway.

Remember what life was like before personal computers?  What about the internet?  People had to go to the library, a bookstore, a magazine rack, or school to get new things to read.  The encyclopedia was the biggest compilation of facts(useless and otherwise) that we had access to.  There was more fascination with trivia game shows, I would say.  People got outside to do things more often.  Things like jump ropes, bicycles(no bicycle helmets), frisbees, baseballs, sticks, and rocks were considered fun.  Kids ran around on the streets and in between houses, played in ditches and any nearby forested areas, had fun in their yards doing just about anything, and would stay out until their parents had to call them back in the house. I know many of these things still happen but I am not sure where... I don't remember seeing any children, teenagers, or adults playing anywhere except in or near a school playground once in a while.  Sure, video games sort of prepped society for the transition into computer-fed inertia, and have been widely available for as long as I can remember(sometime in the early '80s.)  But the people who only played video games actually seemed out of the ordinary.  Addiction to digital media took quite a while to lose its obvious visibility and recognition.

The younger generations had a lot more respect for the older ones.  They seemed to "know" things in ways the younger folk would have to wait for through the life experience required to get them to the same place.  Sure, the know-it-all kid existed, but was somewhat of an anomaly and not taken very seriously anyway.  Now, the younger generation seems quite a bit more arrogant and high-minded taking their relative position in society into account.  The leap into the technologically saturated way of life was a little too fast for many of the older generation who now often leans on the younger generation for support in navigating the whole mess.  This minor role-reversal has built a different attitude into the up an coming generation.  Their sense of entitlement and superiority seems disproportionate to their capabilities and understanding.

I don't remember people being as obsessed with the public figures of the day as they are today.  The role-models and heroes are now placed on such a high pedestal that the cracks and human frailties become incredibly magnified... to the point of creating a pulse and swing of drama, highly edible to the escape artists people are becoming.  Given the greater power of a person's voice, through mass and social media outlets, the number of talking heads seems to be far greater, and the messages they send more extreme.  Actors, politicians(is there a difference?), and marketers all share the same platform for conveyance of their agendas to those willing to consume.  The lines have become more and more foggy.

This all has been a bit more aimless than I intended but, as it has been my personal challenge, I should not complain about my methods of execution, especially when the fatigue I have been attacked by has been yielded to by my own poor semblance of priorities.  I guess tomorrow should be something entirely different altogether.

Learning from your friends.

I am grateful for the opportunity to interact with such delightful and inspiring people.  Today was filled with lots of aha moments, whether during class, socializing, eating food, playing games, or watching television.  It may sound like I soaked in a books worth of excellent information today, which in a literal sense might be true, but it was really more like a decent-sized informational pamphlet worth of stuff.  Maybe I can share a bit of the good stuff today.

Will, and desire, and commitment, and action are all very similar concepts, if even synonymous in some ways.  It is interesting to recognize the idea that we do the things we desire the most, regardless of the external influences we are faced by.  I know all of this sounds very obvious but the deeper meanings of it are rooted in the exactness and consistency of the statement.  How do I put this to good use?

It might be a good idea for me to give some plasma for money tomorrow.  I have never done it before but it seems pretty legitimate.  Getting rid of my car for a decent little sum of money will be difficult enough.

I am sometimes quite inept at verbally describing the more complex thoughts in my head, especially when they are not fully solidified into sentences in my head prior to attempting to describe those thoughts.  Even describing it in my writing here is somewhat difficult, even if a bit more forgiving than the spoken word, and I am not even describing the more complex thoughts at the moment... just the complex challenges of expressing them.

My physical attraction to women is sometimes very difficult to see past.  It makes me wonder what sort of value it has in the process of trying to find a wife?  I often feel it gets in the way of things more than inspires any positive progress therein.  Though, and not really the same sort of issue, I tend to let age become more of an issue than anything else lately.  Maybe it's my pride, or some sort of twisted fear, but I have so much less attraction to the girls closer to my age that it can be a little depressing sometimes.  They all seem to be looking for something more than I appear to be.  Too many complexities for me to handle most of the time.

In a related topic, I think I must be attractive to girls in ways that I am not intending, or am even really aware of.  In different ways I tend to think that I am somewhat intimidating to many women.  I think some of it just naturally comes from the fact that I have a semi-intellectual, fairly strong personality, which is not a bad thing in actuality.  I think it just makes me people feel like they can not relate to me very well, or that I am attracted to/looking for that sort of person myself.  Admittedly, it is an attractive thing but certainly not required by any means.  I am attracted to many different types of personalities.

I really like mandarin orange jello salad.

Sometimes the silence of a classrooms seeming non-participation is really just a sign of respect and thoughtfulness.  I often find it to be an excellent time for ponder and meditation.

Much of this is not actually new but more of a good refresher on a few of the basic, semi-important things of life.  I am already way past my efficiency of recollection for the day so I know there are a lot of things that I am totally missing.  Probably a few fairly poignant, thought-provoking things even.  But I guess the time for that is presently gone so I think I will delve into something else at the moment.  I have a bit of writing that needs doing still, so here is a little free-writing.  Not the most creative, clever, or even useful sort of writing to read but I think it benefits what I might create in the future.

5 Minutes Countdown(blank minded):

There are few things left in the life of an insect when it comes a'crashin' into the windshield of a car and if I am to give it a specific thought to describe it I might call it somewhat bland.  If there are a few things that need doing at the end of the day I think I might now be the one to do them.  I like making somewhat important sounding statements that don't actually have any audio quality to them.  If a basketball and a soccer ball are friends what sorts of games do they play?  I need to be more focused on typing forward and less focused on backspacing or correcting my typing when it comes to replacement of whole words.  The weather is a fierce foe when the winter seems to wander in.  I really enjoy doing things that are difficult, in spite of the lacking quality or variation of my writing when I do.  I have a lot of lacking energy at the moment.  In a world where green apples and yellow saucers have a place in the heavens of a highly organized numbering system the threads of disharmony melt and the milk of human kindness rains... yes, like drop falling from a cloud.

209 words later...

That actually went by much quicker than I expected it to.  I know the feeling of time gets distorted when the mind is in rapid-fire mode but this felt exceptionally out of time for me.  I guess I will look forward to the challenge of doing it again in the future.  Plus, I will see if I can produce greater quantity next time.

The sadness of a lost foe.

I have to say, in spite of all the commotion I incurred because of my face-off with the little fellows pulling their own version of "occupy" on me, I never wanted it to end the way it has.  Certainly co-habitation was not really an option but to end things with the literal death of the opposition actually makes me quite sad.  I never advocate the death of anything I can otherwise avoid.  I know it is a simple fact of life, the unavoidable end of all things mortal... but that does not really make it any easier to handle when it happens.  The poor little guy hardly stood a chance.  Now he returns to his maker, a solitary casualty to man's need for sanitary living.  It almost seems silly.

On to other things...

I realized sometime over the last couple or so days that this particular forum of my creative writing endeavors would be a fairly ideal place to write parts of the stories I am working on, for the various projects I have set out to do.  One of them is a script for a movie I would like to make and there are a couple stories for novels I would like to continue working on as well.  This would also be a good place to develop some storyline ideas as well.  I suppose, since it's in a public forum that I should probably be a bit weary about the possibility of theft of my ideas... but, really, I don't see people bothering with my stuff anyway.  Oh ya... and poetry and prose and that sort of thing, too.  Gotta fill the gaps in somehow.

I am so incredibly tired... I only got about three or so hours of sleep last night.  Certainly nobody's fault but my own.  Tomorrow will be a rough one.

So what is the plan for this coming year?  I haven't given it much thought, strangely.  I usually have a few things in particular that I am looking forward to at least somewhere in the prospectus.  I wonder if my near-sighted thinking as of late could be somewhat attributed to the nature of my ideas about improving my self-mastery.  The concept of living in the now has been a fairly prominent thought on my mind.  The importance of letting go of the past as well as the future... at least letting go of the tension that seems to come of focusing too much on either.

I was thinking about the concept of time the other day.  Watching the first episode of DS9 opened my mind about the concepts of time, perception, and eternal beings.  A big point of focus in the show related to the way people sometimes find themselves living in the past.  It often happens when something that happens in the past is perceived with greater importance than the rest of life following it even up to the present time.  In the case of the main character of the episode He was unable to move forward beyond his life in the moment when his wife passed away in a conflict.  He would have rather died with her in that moment than move forward into a life without her.  It was a sad but touching realization of possibilities lost.

Anyway... I do not feel like I need to give a review on the episode as much as relate some of my thoughts which were inspired by it.  It makes me think of the gift of time to man from God.  As eternal creatures we could not understand what time is before coming to our mortal probation here on earth.  We simply had no reference to the concept of finality or ultimate consequence.  Its seems we were only able to become so much due to the nature of that state of being.  Our ability to progress was stifled by our lack of understanding.  There was no opposition to our eternal existence.

I think the part of this all that has struck the most resonance with me is the idea of our mortal perception of time.  To know that time is a gift from God what does that mean He actually gives us?  We are already eternally existent, and as such it would more likely have something to do with our ability to perceive and manage time.  The perception part of that idea might mean he has given us the ability to localize our focus on one specific moment in time, recognizing it as separate yet connected to all other moments of time that we have had and will yet experience.  The gift is simply understanding what now is and if we are smart about it we can learn how to guide what we will become because of that understanding.  As Einstein, and I am sure many others, once stated that time is an illusion, I begin to think he was more correct than people may really believe.  Sure, calling it an illusion certainly falls short of describing the entire complexity of the matter, but in our own finite, human way it makes sense enough.

All of this is quite interesting to think about when the mood is right and the brain is firing on most of its cylinders.  I am certainly functioning sub-par at the moment but feel I have made an adequate expression of my thoughts on the topic tonight.  Perhaps I'll hit it with greater clarity at some point in the future... not unlike the past?  Ha.

I think the next topic I will tackle has something to do with my personally projected disparity between myself and others.  It is something I should really learn to put behind me.  Until then, however, I will make due with my general eccentricities in full commotion.

R.I.P. Mouse #2... I think I'll call him Vernon.

Me vs. Mouse: Day 2

This day began in much the same way yesterday did... snapped out of my sleep earlier than planned by the sound of scurrilous tomfoolery afoot somewhere in the darkened corners of my room.  But how, you might ask?  Isn't the mouse still stuck in the confines of the parental automobile?  Don't you think you are just paranoid in your sleep?  Well... the answer might be yes to one or more of those questions, but that is apparently irrelevant to the fact that there is, in fact, a second mouse involved in the game now.  I know this because I recently(roughly ten minutes ago) caught him snooping around on my snow pants and chased him into the corner of my room.  I'll get to that part of the story later, though, as it all begins in quite a different way.

After my early arising I could not really decide what to do about the mouse in my room and I already needed to take care of the preceding combatant first, especially as it had taken residence in a place not really my usual stewardship.  I figured I could deal with M2 at some point later in the day so I moved on with morning life in general fashion.

I headed out to do some extraction work on my old, now-deceased, car and decided to lay the trap in my parents car in order to increase the time of exposure(ha... that makes it sound like the mouse trap primarily functions by giving the mouse cancer)in the hopes of offing the little guy before I had to head into work.

I surveyed the scene with little surprise other than the fact that not all of the remaining cookie bits were yet taken.  I guess I did not really correctly attribute his relative hunger level thinking that I would have certainly gone for the cookie by now, merely lacking the willpower to resist eating it.  Though this would be a ludicrous thought since my actual stomach organ is probably multiple times the size of the entire mouse body.  It is probably gorged to the brim from the last cookie bit it took last night.  I quickly set the trap and got to my car duties at hand.

By the time I headed into work I was a little disappointed, but not entirely surprised, that the trap had not yet fulfilled the measure of its creation.  I surmised he was probably sleeping since I think mice are nocturnal creatures by nature and was, therefore, not likely to be seeking for any wooden, brassy breakfast anytime soon.  So score one for the mouse on that point I guess.  Exposure mitigated.

During the break on my shift I hopped back in the car to make a 4-taco run at J-Box(I almost made a Jumbaco run instead) and noticed that the bulk of the remaining cookie pieces were now gone.  Of course the trap had not made any progress of its own but I can't blame if for trying.  How could it compare to duplex?  It simply could not.  A mere difference in its construction and purpose certainly affected its rodential appeal.

In a way I sort of threw in the towel after work.  I realized the tremendously inefficient gas consumption of the car was sinking my attempts to stay financially afloat and decided to see if my parents would graciously trade me for their slightly more efficient truck after work.  The trap had yet to see fruition before I finally parted ways with it but I am quite certain my parents have taken their own stab(hint hint) at this sort of issue before.  It was all in good hands.

Shortly after arriving home I headed upstairs to turn the heater on in my room and when I came back downstairs my roommate told me I could have another trap for the new mouse in town.  I went back up to place the trap and what to my eyes would appear but a somewhat startled mini-monster scurrying up my snow pants.  I immediately leapt forward to trap him in the plastic cd tower cover I had in my right hand.  He receded into the electric drill case in attempt to evade my efforts otherwise.  As I was nearly done zipping the case shut he flew from the remaining open gap in the zipper straight into one of my football cleats sitting on the ground three to four feet away!  Dang those little dudes have got some serious hops!  He spun around in confusion inside the shoe as I was pouncing with the tower case to cover up the opening in the top.  I was too slow, however, and he zig-zagged through the jungle of my old mail and electric wiring into the corner of the room under the dresser.  I could not see anywhere for him to go so I blocked off all the visible exits of escape.  I bolstered my resources by grabbing a flashlight and an extra cd tower cover from downstairs.  This was probably a mistake, however, as it seemed he had escaped by the time I was able to properly survey the probable area of his confinement.  Alas... He was probably laughing at me under his breath in his squeaky little voice somewhere nearby.  But who will have the last laugh?

Me, of course.  Mice do not live nearly as long as humans do.  Lest we forget, I also have automated assistance in the form of a Victor mouse trap.  I put the wooden, little moussassin in a likely path of travel and suppose Day 3 will shortly come and go.  I suppose my report should be brief and unentertaining.  Ha... just listen to all the human pride... erringly ambitious to the end.

Me vs. Mouse: Day 1

I was pretty wasted last night due to my extended hours trying to keep up with my writing goal.  So I am sure you can imagine my frustration to be awakened almost an hour and a half earlier than planned by the sound of a tiny little criminal lurking around in my room somewhat loudly.  I could basically tell which direction it was coming from so I tried to quietly sit up and stealthily detect his(her?) location.  I decided to close the storage container sitting closest to the estimated sound making area, thinking it highly possible that the little mess maker was wandering around inside it still.  Luckily for me, and I am sure much to the slobbish little rodent's chagrin, my hunch proved correct and I had finally had him in my Sterilite™ clutches!

The proper disposal of this generally annoying micro-fiend was now my unwitting pleasure.  I decided to let him stew in his shrewd little cell for a bit while I took a break to eat some breakfast and do the morning rounds online.  Probably not too unlike the punishment of a small child for his rebellious insolence at the site of vegetables... for which I am not very experienced, to be fair.  Anyway, I was not sure exactly what I was going to do so I needed a moment to brew up some ideas.

Bright idea #1 never actually surfaced, but semi-lit idea #1 got me out the door and to the car with the whole, big ol' box in hand and ready to head out to the wilderness for our amicable parting.

I started by circling around in the nearby neighborhoods scoping for shady, clandestine-seeming locales which encouraged the simple transaction of release that I had dreamed up in my mind.  It seemed all sorts of easy and uncomplicated.  I thought my trip would be brief and generally satisfactory.  The naivety of that thinking would soon be well fixed in my mind, however, as the disappointing tale of my idiocy unfolded before me.

Flashbacks of the grassy fields and tall coniferous forest nearby prompted me to head a little way off down the street in a nearly eastward direction.  My memory of said area was fairly spot on and soon I reached one of many excellent spots for my little rendezvous with destiny.  A mousely emancipation of sorts.

Things seemed simple enough.  I pulled the box out the passenger door, setting it on the ground next  to the car, and slightly obscured by a large tree immediately adjacent to the car.  I opened the top lid flaps and peered around into the box to see what our little mouse friend was up to, and if he was interested in vacating the premises.  With amazingly spry leaping capability he hopped right up to the top of the box. Almost as quickly he apparently decided that the car of his captor was a preferable alternative to the perfectly innocuous ball field/residential environs I had so lavishly appropriated for him, and he quickly vanished into one of the numerous mouse-sized cracks found in the car's interior.  The little fur-covered missile moved so quickly into obscurity that the gaping mouth I had intended to make was simply bypassed by the semi-furious fluster-face I was apparently storing up for just such an occasion.

Since I was driving my parents car this seemed like a tremendous nuisance to deal with if I was not free of this mini-plague shortly.  Leaving it in my car was just not an option.  I can only imagine what sorts of havoc would be wrought at the expense of either, or both, of my parents in whatever various ways a mouse can create disharmony.  I tried to coax it out with kind words, a little stiff banging on various areas of the dash board and inner walls of the car, and patience... to no avail.  I might have put 20 minutes or more into the case at hand but realized, as I had homework that needed doing with some personal urgency, that I would be better off making a later attempt when the time to do so was not as much an issue.  I decided to move on with life.

Enter concluding mouse scene of the day: returning home from school late at night.  It was obviously very dark inside as I was driving home and I suddenly felt the miniature villain climbing on my left pant leg up to my knee(luckily not inside the pants.)  He went back down after a few seconds and went in like manner up my right leg.  I was a bit alarmed, as one would expect, but kept my calm and pulled off the freeway to see if I might finally see this little cheeser on his way.  Another 20 or so minutes were wasted in a parking lot trying to coax him on to grayer pastures before getting back on my way home.

Coming down to the last mile or so before arriving back at home I decided to give it one more shot.  This time I decided to pull out all the stops and actually offer it my last duplex cookie as incentive.  I started by breaking it in half and laying one piece in between the partially opened passenger door and the main access crack I spotted him the most frequently.  After several minutes I broke that piece down further into more easily ingestible pieces and pushed them up to the very opening of the crack as if to offer my virgin cookie sacrifice.

Slowly a tiny, greedy little paw drew one of the pieces away into the darkness.  It was taking a while so I decided to play my current word-game fix on the iPod while I waited for the right opportunity to strike.  He took a while to claim the second offering and things were not particularly inspiring since I didn't see much more than a few mouse fingers throughout the process.

Then, as my head was buried in my game, a car pulled up along side mine to ask me what was going on.  It wasn't a cop, which took me a few seconds to actually notice, but a concerned local citizen who seemed a bit disturbed by my presence as he also noted in his questioning that I had "been there for quite a while."  I did not want to express my sentiments concerning the mousy invader and simply dodged the truth to avoid upsetting the status quo any further.  It seemed time to call it a night, I concluded at this point, and finally made my way back home to fight again another day.

My roommate handed me a mousetrap shortly after I sat down here tonight.  The events of day 2 should be well implied by the statement that patience will not be necessary, I am sure.  Or perhaps that is yet another dose of naivety speaking a bit too soon.

This time I'm thinking of the birds.

There is an interesting thing that I have seen on my way to/from work over the last couple or so years that I honestly find quite amazing.  I am sure my descriptions of it here can never fully express the magnitude of the spectacle but I do feel inclined to make an attempt anyway... it's really just that awesome... and Alfred Hitchcock would probably agree.

Birds.

Not the movie but an actual flock of birds.  I think they might be crows(which would technically make it a murder, making it even cooler) but it's hard to tell.  There are SO many that it's hard to even visually separate them from one from other.  They are black birds in any case.

Giving my serious estimate of the numbers puts the figure in the 20,000+ range easily.  A couple years ago I thought maybe even in the 100,000+ range seemed likely.  The number is so staggeringly enormous, with birds perched on every visible branch, that the birds themselves have difficulty even finding a place to land... anywhere!

I would like to somehow climb into the middle of their mega-party just to be among them.  Just sit down in the middle and video tape/photograph in every direction.  And if they start to attack me I just start spinning with my fists out and running and jumping and kicking in every direction.  Just when I start to burn out of energy I start screaming and grabbing individual birds and start biting them back and throwing the carcasses I have amassed at the other ones like feather covered rocks of fury!  It's a pretty visceral scene in the landscape of my thoughts.  Far more bloody than I really am.  More of a crazy scene in a movie I haven't yet made, I suppose.

I wonder where they all come from and where they are headed to?  I am sure it just happens to be along a major migratory route and they seem to find it a good place to rest.  I wonder what they do when they get to their destination.  Do they subdivide back into their normal sized flocks and cordially part ways?  Do the flocks get all mixed up when this happens?  Are their flock leaders that communicate flock intentions to each other?  Do they even notice if their friends are missing or left behind?  Do they eat the weak if there is not enough natural food to be found in the environments of their resting places?(I'm not sure if they're even omnivorous)  Is there a king?  If so, who made him king?

Among a few of these thoughts I was thinking it would be fun to make a short story about the scene written from the perspective of one of the birds in the flock(I really would like to properly call it a 'murder' except I can not say with any authority that they are in fact crows.)  Just something to humanize the experience of their travails in such great numbers and over such great distances.

I was thinking of it a little from the perspective of a family road-trip mixed with a few elements of the early pioneers of American history.  Adding a bit of a social or political commentary might not be much of a stretch considering the dynamic.  Plus, in spite of the typically child-focused direction animal writing aims, I would like to put this more in the interest realm of a late teenager/young adult/adult... probably since that is what I am at the moment.

I kind of catch my mind up in the idea of actually being one of them searching for a place to land, wondering where my flying buddy has been for the last hour or so.  I'm not too worried about it at first since Caruthers has been a pretty tough egg for as long as I can remember him.  After finding an adequate perch I decide to take a short nap and do a little rummaging for some food particles of one kind or another.  The other birds seem largely uninterested in idle chatter for the most part, something a little on the unusual side to be honest.  The clouds are dark and brooding, casting a fairly broad shadow across the valley, but I can't smell any rain on the way anytime soon.  The nap is a nicely reinvigorating power-nap.

A few of the camp leaders can be heard congregating a little way off as they call for the "roundtable" gathering.  King Edison will be flying in soon and they usually like to have a good schematic of the next leg of our trip somewhat deep in the planning phase by the time he shows up to give his peck of approval.  I sure am glad it is more of a group effort nowadays.  Ever since King Edison got all tangled up in some sort of poisonous berries up north last winter, he has not been the sharpest beak in the bunch.  He still gets my nod, however, for his immense personal love of the flock as a whole.  There isn't another bird flapping who puts more time in, gives more of himself to the cause than good ol' King Edison.

After I come to I am vaguely aware of King Edison's arrival.  He is a bit out of earshot but things seem to be a little stirred up relatively speaking.  I finally get a bit of the dark feeling I probably should have gotten from the clouds hours ago.  The uneasy feeling deepens beneath my feathers and I think I heard somebody mention Caruthers' name.  I hop over closer to the commotion to gather more information but nobody seems to have a focused idea about what the King has told them.  I decided to ask him myself only to be met with a most unfortunate revelation.  Caruthers was among the short list of one's who were caught by the dog beast from the north... it was unlikely he or any of the others had survived the ordeal.

It was all for the purpose of saving the King.  He emphatically praised and thanked all who added their part to that horrific tale and, turning to me, waived me over to share a word in private with him.  It was then I further realized the immensity of Caruthers' and the others sacrifice... the King had found the secret to the flocks survival... it was a priceless knowledge that only he could properly disseminate due to the nature of his role.

Well... that really fizzled out.  I am sure it is directly tied to my own increasing exhaustion level as I have been writing this.  Better luck next time I guess.

Recognition of the challenge.

I haven't actually reviewed yesterday's post today but thinking back on it in general it was quite a deviation from whatever sort of style I have accumulated in my writing over the years.  Much of this deviation was likely a direct translation related to the challenge of self-imposed creative writing.  I can't say this is actually a bad thing, despite the immediate product lacking the quality I would like, but it is almost painful to realize I have left a relatively crumby representation of my writing endeavors sitting out in the "harsh, digital cold" so to speak.  Alas, I do recognize it's value, however, for every good thing was built upon it's lesser predecessors realizations.  I'm sure it could be a bit of a humbling form of dedication as well.  Who else wants to put their mediocre foot forward?

Today I think I will do something closer to my usual form.  More of a mental exploration of the fuzzy thoughts than the episodic delineation mixing fiction with reality.  And I think I should try to use less "big" words as well.  I am sometimes lacking in my handling of the simple and beautiful ways.

Something important in this whole process is timing.  Life is full of timing challenges in general and this one is a prime example of the direct effects of such.  In example, realizing that my brain is not really firing on all cylinders at this late hour of the night means that the products of my thinking will definitely suffer to some extent.  There are potentially positive side-effects as the lack of proper reasoning start to break down exposing what could be enlightening, quirky, humorous, or otherwise positive pieces of mental gibberish. And I suppose I don't mind having a form of that exposure present to whatever degree from time to time.  There certainly is not really a substitute for the properly rested, physically satiated, stress and worry free mind.

And who am I to pretend that I ever really experience a state of adequate rest?  I really like to take a nice nap during the day from time to time but only to make a meager attempt to reclaim anything I may have lost earlier that day/night.  Always running to catch up to something I could be running to prevent in the future.

The topic of self-control is likely a very prevalent one on the mind of those people seeking to improve their own level of conformity to it.  I often think of how different my life COULD be if I had somehow made so many better decisions in life long ago.  It is a difficult thing to recognize the effects of potential when they seem so apparently lacking in one's own life.  Sometimes I realize I have actually made many correct decisions about things which, my then limited perspective, tended to think otherwise.  But I, like the entire rest of the human experience, can never actually change the past in a specific meaningful way.  I do like to think that any changes I am able to make about my future BECAUSE of my past are those ways I do affect the past.  Especially in review of a person's life story... isn't it pleasant to hear that "because of this negative event in his/her life, he/she went on to become/do something better" or something to that effect?

What is creativity?  Sometimes I think I am merely twisting things I already know in a certain way, into something I simply have not experienced in the past.  I wonder if it actually can be any other way?  Do we have to build new things out of things we already know?  Can we create wholesale from a palette formerly unknown?

What seek we among the ashes of the past?  When does the future's will become replaced by now's progress?

Now for a piece of a letter to the future:

I was sitting in school the other day and I thought of all the things it might lead to... so hey, what has transpired in the interim?  Did it all have the importance it was supposed to have?

I'm not so good at writing letters I have to admit.  Though I do recognize the value of a well placed, well timed letter.  This can be the personal thoughts I have at this moment in my time intended for you at your moment in your time.  In a way I would like to reach into your life as my fingers push each keystroke in its somewhat erratic rhythm.  I would like you to realize the love I have for you in spite of the possibility I may not even know you personally.  I do this because it is part of the way I live.  Without it I truly am nothing.

So, what might you be interested in saying back to me?  In a way the only way you actually can respond is by "paying it forward."  You can send the pieces of yourself toward me if you like but, better yet, you can send them toward the people of your own affections... the people who will be most affected by your own influence.  Those are the people who are most deserving of your own exposition.

I have to admit I am quite the flawed individual.  I am sure most of this is quite obvious to any who know me well and, honestly I hope to many who are even casually acquainted with me, I hope to be nothing more than an example of actual humanity, nothing heroic or praiseworthy.  Sure, attention is nice when it comes from those whose attention I seek.  But flattery and hollow praise are nothing but a wasted effort.  Simply allowing a positive change to take root is in fact the highest compliment.

Well it's my time to call it a wrap tonight.  I hope you are well and seeking better.  The days and nights are numbered and you wouldn't want to lose count without a good reason.

Until next time,

Aaron Michael

Escaping into the periphery.

I think I might start free-forming short stories and other creative writing exploits here just to see what comes of my brain after all this effort is accrued.  So... here goes...

His name was Alfred but he preferred to be called Alfie nowadays.  It made him feel a bit younger than his mottled, somewhat haggard exterior suggested.  It was a little reminder to the days of his youth when he remembered the feeling of being important.

Now, as he wandered down the side of the barren city street, he shrugged aside the bitter winds in an almost casual way.  His body was hungry, as he had not eaten anything substantial for several days, but he made no mental note of his condition... his purposes, it seemed to him, were outside the needs the physical realm.  He needed the metaphysical, the immeasurable, the mesmerizing.  He needed music that was calling his name.

It seemed to come into him from all sides of his being, yet always from one specific direction before him which guided his gently persistent pace.  He was not sure the source from whence it came, it's manner of origin, or even the purveyors of this fine music's identity.  He merely knew he must find himself among it all, at once.  He needed to breath it in.  He needed to smell it, and feel it on his skin with his eyes closed.  He needed to draw the pulse of the rhythms in tandem with his own heartbeat.  He needed to sense the music's vivid colors, and shapes, as they danced all over the walls all around him... for, to him, this was truly living.

What he could never actually realize was how truly distant the music was.  Deep down, Alfie knew he could never actually reach his seemingly attainable goal.  His efforts would ultimately go in vain despite his truly unconquerable spirit to the otherwise.  The music was far too aloof, far too unknowable for any one man to arrive at its step unaided.

He would follow the rules of life on occasion.  When it came to family and friends he always held fast to the higher and better places.  And, sure, he might occasionally turn a blind eye on the sometimes unfriendly circumstances he faced... but who didn't?  He had places to go and people to meet when he got there.

Here is where it all eluded him.  He was chasing a piece of something beyond this life.  He could never realize that he had actually left himself behind in this pursuit of something so ethereal.  The city was not barren for it's lack of internal consequence, the wind was not lacking cold for his callous acclimation to it, the hunger was not heeded for it's actual presence in his stomach...  he truly had passed beyond the veil of this life while sitting on the city block street corner several major intersections ago.  He was now in a sort of limbo between the living world and it's eternal after effects.  He was now doing the thing he always wanted to do while actually living.  He was chasing the untouchable dream of the perfect song.

The look on his frozen corpse's face easily validated the joy of his post-mortal efforts.  Alfie really did find what he was looking for.

The end.

And... that's a wrap.  Where the heck was I going with that?  I had a mental picture in my head of the scene at play but I apparently had quite a bit of difficulty in properly, or even eloquently, describing it.  To be fair to myself, I am a bit on the exhausted side of things, but I certainly lacked a clear focus as I attempted to unfold this little scene in a pleasant and meaningful way.  The bigger goals were certainly somewhat vacant.

It's nice to give a personal critique to my own work right now... I am not sure I have done this kind of thing in the past, outside of the mental reflections in review of whatever work I had created, but taking the time to put it down in words right away are actually somewhat useful and instructive to me I think.  It could be a useful form of self-editing that I could use in the process of my future writing endeavors.

Fun!

All the learning in the world.

And it still doesn't mean anything if you don't know how to put it to good use.  I generally enjoy every profound, clever, pithy, insightful, thought-provoking statement of truth but they almost always seem to fall on deaf ears when I don't implement any sort of action, make any sort of change in my life.  Inspiration is certainly an important key to have in the process of becoming, but opening the door and walking through it is equally important.

So... why all this ranting about such a mundane topic?  It is probably just a personal backlash having recognized my shortcomings in said area.  Plus, as I have likely stated at some point in the past, the act of expressing is a terrific form of catharsis and generally exposes further truths I can then enjoy and likely still ignore in the future.  Ha.

I have been wondering about what motivates people in their communication methods lately.  Some of it comes from my *assumed* failures in the dating game(which I hate even calling it a game in the first place.)  I say *assumed* because every relationship, no matter the level of commitment, is always a work in progress.  The failure part is merely the inability to create the meaningful bond of a committed relationship with a significant other yet another time.

So... back to the communication break-down that I mentioned... what gives?  It seems to me, and I know I am certainly not a very typical person in many, many ways, that when somebody wants to communicate with you that you would in turn want to respond appropriately with a clear, meaningful reply.  Doing this not only fosters mutual respect between both people involved, but it also protects the integrity of the responding person.  Integrity is one of the few things in life that a person can, and should, be very careful to establish and protect... it makes me sad that anyone would want to give it away doing something so trivial as avoiding the opportunity to respond to another's communication toward them.  I am sure a person doing such generally does not see it this way, and they are often fraught with other personal challenges enhancing their ambiguity, but it is never something I am very happy to be the sad recipient of... all I want is the truth, no matter how much it may not suit my personal situation.

To quote a good friend of mine: "Sometimes guys just wanna know the truth even if it hurts."  I am one of these guys.  Truth is a foundation on which to build and learn.

Well... so ends this weeks rant on the things which vex me sorely.  I expect good things to come and bad things to linger, but always to find myself in a place of learning and possibility.

Taking care of business,

Aaron