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.
Friday, January 6, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
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
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
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
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!
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!
Sunday, January 1, 2012
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
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
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Holiday Greetings 2011
Hey there family, folks, and far away friends!
It is customary to start my holiday letter saying something like “It’s that time of the year again”, or some other generally overused phrase, so I decided to point out the fact that I didn’t really want to do that... the problem is that I sort of indirectly just did it anyway... so here’s my update on life. Perhaps I’ll break it down into categories(appearing in no particular order): School, Work, Fun, General. Ya... that seems good for now.
School has been quite the splendiforous experience! I am now halfway through my 7th term which makes me about 7/16ths of the way done with my whole program... wow, it goes by in a blink! Which is way too fast for me but at the same time not fast enough. Ha. I have been thoroughly enjoying almost every single class, which probably sounds like there’s something wrong with me, but I guess it could just mean that I am in the right program too.
Work has been generally excellent with a few bumps and snags along the way. I quite enjoy the opportunity to teach, and find my work to be a most rewarding endeavor. Border’s Books went out of business midway through the year so that was pretty sad. I was only seasonal for the most part but I still enjoyed the work and really enjoyed the crew I worked with. I also got my business license and starting doing some work on my own again. I did some video editing work during the summer and am planning to start doing website work as my skills improve to meet my standards and the standards of the business world in general. It should be a nice way to fill the financial gaps as well as good experience to couple with my schooling.
Fun has been a valued commodity this year since I have been so tied up in my work and schooling. I got to do some awesome hikes during the summer, play some basketball here and there, catch a few good television series with some friends, have a couple cheese parties(next year will we will do a grilled cheese party), catch up with several old friends, make a fun trip down to Huntington Beach, do a few musical performances at church, have “art night” at my place several times, and I am sure several more cool things that I can’t quite think of at the moment. This may sound like an excessive amount of fun but, when you consider the time span of time it took to actually do all this stuff, the fun density level is not really all that high... outside of work and school, I mean(which happens to have a lot of fun built in already.)
I have to give my sincerest thanks to everyone who has helped me make it through the year in any possible way! I know I have not shown enough gratitude to many of you for your exceptional kindness and general life enhancing awesomeness, but I am very grateful for everything everyone has done for me. This may sound like some sort of acceptance speech for an award... but being alive is award enough to warrant this, I’d say.
So, here’s to another year of possibilities come and gone with the next one on the horizon! I hope everything is a big ol’ ball of good times for y’all!
Love and laughter,
Aaron Castillo
p.s. I will be posting my old blog entries here in order to transition to a more legitimate blogging experience. I might start blogging again on a semi-regular basis, and this is where that will happen if anybody happens to be interested. I always enjoy the grand feedback of good friends!
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