Musings and Mullings

2010-10-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

Somewhere over the last couple of months, I lost myself. I don't know how it happened, or why. All I know is that at one point I was on cloud nine, and then somehow I wasn't.

I was sick.

I stopped writing. I stopped drawing. I stopped making music. I stopped being me and became a shell, detached and void, just going through the motions.

It happens, I guess, but the point of it is to overcome and find yourself. So that's what I'm doing. Slowly, steadily, and surely.

2010-08-03T14:38:00.000-07:00

Wish you could see,
the happiness that now resides in me.

Wish you could be,
pouring out your emptiness into me,

Wish you could see,
that I see everything is now a part of me.

Wish you could be.

Wish you could be.

But everything is shallowness in spite of me.

Wish you could see,
that everything is all of us, why can't you be?

The emptiness that hollows us, why can't you see?

The happiness that's all in us, why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Wish you could see...

----
Thinking about adding some music to this one, even though I'm not sure I am quite satisfied with how it turned out--a complex idea, put simply, but perhaps a bit too subtle. I dunno, my brain hurts. I'm not going to ramble anymore at this time. Gimme your thoughts...
-AiG

For no one, everyone, and the Mother.

2010-07-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

Fervored dreams fall apart for missed connections,
thoughtful thinking turns from favors amoungst rejections,
Strangers enter and walk away with messages hidden,
Forgotten friends that failed at listening when words were spoken,
Bellows beyond the billion begotten friendships
sold short by subtracting potential additions.

Sleeved Heart.

2010-07-23T10:52:00.000-07:00

I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, so exposed--wounds at the slightest provocations.
My hurt would ache and burst, damage for damages' sake.
It bled to death and dried up.
I took it in my fists and crumbled it to dust to scatter in the winds
where the gusts carried it across the world and to everything within,
and my heart found new life in life and death.
Breathed anew, my love abounds in all things, and my heart is everywhere, but on my sleeve.
-Fin

So, I don't know how I feel about this one. I think it kind of gets the idea across, but I am unsure of whether to make it poetry or prose and I think the writing structure and flow suffers from my uncertainty. Either way, I'm posting it as is, and if I ever get around to editing it, then I will edit it.

What do you guys think of this one, any suggestions for me?

-AiG

The Room

2010-07-12T15:10:00.001-07:00

There was a stillness in the room. It was the same kind of stillness noticed when a pin is dropped and echoing too loudly; or the same kind of stillness when a gentle breeze feels like a tornado.

Everyone was staring at the man with the red mustache even though they did not want to. His screams were vibrations attracting the eyes, his movements flickers of threats. No one could take their eyes off him, even though he kept shouting for everyone to look away.

It was the gun in his hand that made them all nervous, the fact that he was clearly not right shouting obscenities and waving.

"Don't look at me! Stop it! STOP. Close your fucking eyes."

A woman, in a green dress, cowering in the corner thought he must have been on drugs the way he was trembling so. The clerk behind the counter thought he might inch closer and be a hero, up until the gun was pointed at him and then he stopped cold in his tracks.

The room was so still. Everyone was frozen in their places, unable to look away as the red headed man, who was clearly not well, demanded their attention while cursing them for giving it to them.

The room was so still. No one knew who was going to die first, up until the shots rang out.

The room was so still. The first officer on the scene used his best judgement and fired two shots at the man the moment he had a clear shot. The first bullet struck the man high up in his right thigh. The second pierced his abdomen and lodged itself in his spine.

The red haired man's blood stained the tile floor. When the paramedics arrived they pronounced him dead and everyone was relieved it hadn't been them.

A young boy that had watched the whole thing cried and wished he could have helped. To his five year old eyes the poor man had clearly not been well.

Angels and Demons

2010-06-26T21:14:00.000-07:00

Maddison was only fifteen when she lost her virginity to Tommy Porter. Tommy Porter swore his innocence even up until they found him in his cell with seven inches of plastic jutting from his neck. Maddison carried the guilt of his deed with her for the rest of her life. She carried his child too.

She even tried to love the boy, but as he grew older he looked more and more like Tommy and the monster she remembered in her nightmares. Eventually she grew detached and started shooting smack to keep her mind away.

The boy grew up and enlisted in the army where he received a congressional Medal of Honor. He never told his mother.

I used to be detached. I would sit in my room thinking that it should have been me to slide that shiv beneath Tommy Porter's chin. I felt robbed and disgusted at the atrocities mankind was capable of committing against one another. I thought I empathized with Maddison, but in truth, I felt nothing. Only hatred.

It's amazing what sociopaths do to fake it in this world.

Purging Poison

2010-06-23T01:42:00.001-07:00

Handed poison I took it in,
I drank the poison deep within,
Let it sink and let it fester,
lost my sight for love much faster,
forgotten, food, that I was after.

I Shed my blood for poison's sake,
convinced that I was drowning in its crimson, poisoned wake.
Lost myself and felt alone,
refused the signs that were my own...

Failed to weep and failed to sleep,
Failed a promise I had yet to keep...
I cursed my poison and sealed it in,
Blinded eyes to my death within,

Let the poison fill me down.
Until my saving blood could then be found,
with humble tears and humilities,
only option to sink to my knees,
and lift my head.

Say a prayer for poison and all that's dead.

Well the poison's purged,
I have been redeemed,
turns out easier
then it ever seemed,

Well the poison's purged,
my blood's been shied,
my hands are open,
my tears have dried.

Well the poison's purged
and sent on it's way,
the world keeps turning,
into a more beautiful day.

A Guiding Light

2010-06-22T22:23:00.000-07:00

"Bed darkness for understanding and in the morning it will be transformed to light..." -AiGe

Apply the following to all walks of life:

Do not jump at shadows, instead watch them for better understanding.

Enjoy all food. Eat whatever you want, but only when you're hungry, and stop when you are full.

Always help where you can.

Get rid of all trash properly.

Seek to make art daily.

Exercise daily.

Reach out to a different person daily so that you might know them better, but first tear down your own wall so that others can reach out to you.

Always be honest, respectful, and kind to the world around us.

Always forgive yourself your vices, but strive to make one small step every day towards overcoming them.

Apologize as needed, but apologize for nothing heedlessly.

Ask questions and observe carefully as answers are presented in mysterious, and various, ways.

Always listen, and decide for yourself what the best course will be.

Accept the things you do not understand and live with them peaceably.

Love your body and treat it well.

Love the things you have and treat them well.

Treat all things well.

Love life.

Love for the simple fact of loving.

Be proud of everything you decide to do.

Violet

2010-06-20T04:25:00.000-07:00

Sea foam crashes against shores beneath violent tinted skies, and lightning breaks the moon dancing violet, jagged lines against the horizon. Spectators marvel at the sight; the world so round and intricate, a giant sphere of life singing and sloshing and twisting and turning. Colors bound to face so gray. Smeared and vibrant. The world hums and buzzes, a breath of fresh air. Rain drops patter gently through canopy leaves as wind sways the strong, and beneath, the thirsty drink behind their smiles.

Knowing When to Give Up

2010-06-16T08:49:00.001-07:00

Communication fails. Thoughts turn inward upon themselves, devour words. Questions fall from swollen tongues, unasked. Who needs the trouble? Take the magic dots. Let reality alter itself. Let go of everything. Say nothing. Say nothing, say nothing...

Tearing Up

2010-06-10T08:27:00.000-07:00

We weren't kicked out of Eden, we've been living in it this whole time, but through our greed and our hate we have fallen. Our eyes have turned and become blind. People drive cars across streets black, dotted-yellow, and red. Stained by the blood of creatures we have made prematurely dead. While crude oil spills into our sea unheeded, because we thought these machines were sorely needed. Trees felled, cut, and eyes swelled shut.
Oh, the tears, our world is crying. Oh, the tears we left in dying.

Burned Out.

2010-06-06T06:29:00.000-07:00

It's taking forever. This candle burns, but there is no light from the flame. Only intensity. Cupped hands recoil, flex as wax sears intricate rivulet patterns through fingers. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Passion burns and fizzles out while new ideas and new hopes give way to reason. Lost souls turn to lost minds as hands are forced into the fire, desperately seeking to feel the warmth, they wrap arms around and graciously accept the blistering pain, convinced there is no difference. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Intensity turns you away from gazing at the sun, its presence felt, but too much to bear. Like this burning candle that screams and sears and melts its trace through your fingers, into darkness, and leaves you, wishing you could have held it.

The Siren Sung

2010-06-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

Shut in, shut out, shut off,
Those lonely hearts with hands outstretched that call for help.
Watch them dragging others in with their descent.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Shut in, shut down, shut up,
Those lovely voices scream nothing far too loud.
Watch them giving in.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Picked up, picked apart, put down,
Those puzzled pieces left no one can ever fit.
Watch them drowning in the red.
Sweet Siren's song makes sailors' bitter end.

Pieces scattered, chewed apart,
gasping on the blood-stained rocks,
Watch them drowning in the red.
The Siren sung--the sailor's dead.

6/2/10

Ice Cold Thaw

2010-05-24T05:11:00.000-07:00

It was January and the world outside was dead. Patches of sludgy snow still remained in spots along the streets, where the plows had come through. Trees were naked and bowing in the wind, above the muddy, brown grasses. That day, someone had removed the pure white, blanket by simply increasing the temperature.

"I don't think it really matters anymore," she said, holding the door aloft and staring through him with her ice blue eyes that refused to thaw. The bitterness of the wind outside ripped into the house and stole away the warmth. Her tone was flat and guarded.

He envisioned the dam breaking, and in his mind words rushed forward to quell the tide that was drowning the two of them. Not just any words, but the right ones, the ones that said "yes, of course it matters," and proceeded to explain exactly why. The words that could pick up all the pieces between them and make a beautiful fit.

Of course, a lump formed in his throat, and all he could think was despite the frosty, gusting winds and frigid temperatures, outside the snow still melted where it met the sun.

But there was no sun here, and she continued to stare with her frozen gaze that would not be bent. She stared long after, even, his heart had melted and formed thick, oily puddles in the snow-sludged lawn.

For a moment, he was a tree, naked, bemused, and sturdy against the wind, but hers was a gaze that refused to thaw, even after he was gone and she sealed the doors behind him.

Why to Question Everything

2010-05-22T16:28:00.000-07:00

If only communication were simpler, more stars might then align,
and if the tools we used weren't emptier, mankind may not be so maligned,
and breaths might flow much easier, between words dying to be read,
and life could be much wealthier, between the healthier and dead,

but first you'd have to translate what the speaker has just said.

Coffee Torn, and Tears

2010-05-07T08:39:00.000-07:00

Coffee tears at my heart,
as strings pulled lead us away,
and tides swell.
The world turns as tears fell,
but few stop to see the rain,
and behind it the sun.

Black grains at the bottoms of empty cups,
ones longing to be drunk,
and somewhere something dies,
but life continues to survive,
where the tears and love resides.

Torn heart-things, and mangled feet,
with something always just beneath,
cherished tears from underneath,
Life is all, and bitter-sweet.

Before the river floats you down.

2010-04-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

Oh, I guess I should have seen it was over, by the fire that was in the skies, and I probably really should have been sober, but it was the quickest way to eat the lies. So I laugh as I choke and am bleeding, as the knife twists in my side. It’s just the words and their speakers that are fleeting, and memories they all subside. I guess I should have seen it was over, but the coins had already covered my eyes.

Aim, at the Water's Surface

2010-04-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

Thoughts have turned to rocks and fallen into pockets. Held beneath the surface, drowned within the weighted absence. They may still be right here, but without semblance to their former selves.

Cut into high, just another burden bleeding out. Weight misplaced. Let it burden something else.

The water likes to run, as pockets filled, pulled pebbles into sand-like-mud. And everything's relapsed, as thoughts have turned to sand and within they have collapsed.

Cut into high, some one come and cut this burden out. Weightless place. Let it burden something else.

Stones skip the surface of a pond where counting seven ripples observes that despite their majestic arcs gliding across the water; rocks, like thoughts, still fall and sink to the bottom where they become nothing and meaningless

and then become food for something else.

Beautiful Reconstruction

2010-03-12T09:02:00.000-08:00

You see,

Nothing is consistent, not even being beautifully destroyed;

Our fate was cast, it had already been chosen, and everything we ever did all amounted up yet gover'n', so we stood our ground and claimed "We've been deceived!", and this how the answer put us on our knees:

'cause the time had come, but we refused to see, we still all thought we each were better than he. So the skies stayed empty, the world stayed closed, and each cried murder, to all of those.

Well ,the skies opened up, and the clouds dropped in, the heavens cried out and tears washed in; just another mourning for those living within; "just another morning for us, let us beg for our sin."

'cause the time had come, one we should have conceived, but we handed over everything and pissed it through our knees. It was time to pay the maker now she said "You have been deceased."

And all we could think to do was stare up and say "Please?"

Well the skies opened up but the gates were closed, "all them mother fuckers looking down their nose," all of which were just trying to see "which one of I, am I better than… These?"

'Cause the time had come we had been diseased. We have raped, plundered, and beaten everything down 'till it bleeds; we've been raped and plundered beaten, even down to our knees, but the time is well past to confess our woe...

It’s time to head forward; it’s time to go.

So the skies opened up and the floods rushed in, and the world started burning from a fire within; everything it has to perish before it can be cleansed.

That’s the beauty of a story of inconsistencies and strife,
the beauty of the dying and in death, there’s after, life.

...you see our fate was cast it had already been chosen.

Rest and Relaxation

2010-02-16T20:48:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be left alone. Other times I can't wait to be rid of these people. I guess it all depends on the contents of the day.

Like what they served for breakfast.
"Man, that orange sausage again?" Someone would say.
"Yeah, and yesterday's eggs."
"Ah well, at least the banana is fresh."
"Yeah, but you better give it to Betsy, she likes bananas."

Short one banana later, I'd pick at the eggs for our allotted thirty minutes and throw the meal away. They didn't like it when I didn't eat my meals, but they didn't like a lot of things.

I really couldn't stand any of them. They made my skin crawl, and I couldn't bare the thought to be without them. The nurse who stabbed me in the arm in the middle of each night. The tech and how she watches, making me stand there, before her, as I swallow the rainbow assortment of pills she gives me. The smelly kid that sits alone and only plays puzzles. The girl with the scars that looked like mine.

I came to rely on all of them. They had become a part of my daily life, my routine. They had become a part of me. All of them, whether I wanted them to or not.

I hated that part of me. I hated everything about it. I hated myself, naturally everything that made me what I was. It was why I wanted to be left alone. It made me need them even more, driving me to hate myself further.

It was one giant interrelated circle of self loathing and negativity, and it was the only thing keeping me alive. I couldn't be self destructive because they were always watching, always there, a burning lifeline of insanity.

And then they kicked me out.

Tribute to MLK Jr.

2010-01-21T20:59:00.000-08:00

I wrote this weeks in advance with the intentions of posting it on January 15th, because January 15 happens to be a very important day. Of course, I misplaced the notebook and only found it today, but late is better than never. Here are some words I wrote in commemoration of the late Martin Luther King Jr. who happened to be born on the same day as myself.

I believe that my beliefs don't matter. I believe that everyone should be allowed to be themselves, and I believe that the natural progression of life will eventually sort it's way out.

Until that time comes, I believe it is our responsibility as humans to be honest, respectful, and to own up to our actions. I believe it is our duty, as human beings, living upon Earth, to take responsibility, to stand up, and to become stronger, kinder, people.

I believe that we must help our neighbors, be them friends or enemies, selflessly. I believe that if we are to survive we must learn tolerance. Tolerance of all things, not just color or sexual preference. Tolerance of life.

I believe that we have all forgotten of what it means to be tolerant of life. Throw away your debit and credits, step outside. Take off those expensive sneakers and step out onto the ground. Walk barefoot down the driveway to an empty mailbox, or is it one filled with empty bills, because we all know real mail stopped coming long ago.

It hurts. That's life. Feel the stones beneath your feet. Feel your feet strengthen beneath the weight of your body. That's life too. Get out and get in it and live.

I believe we have been living dead in this life for far too long and now it is time to grow.

-That's my thoughts.
AiG

"Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow." -Anonymous

World Aflame

2010-01-19T20:07:00.000-08:00

"They have to go and save themselves," said Charlemagne Ulrick, a dentist in Port-au-Prince in the aftermath of Haiti's devastating quake. "I don't know when they're coming back." He was referring to his children, after he sent them off to a different part of the country, in hopes of survival.

His words should weigh heavily upon all our hearts. After all, isn't it true that we all have to go and save ourselves? Can we really sit around and expect someone else to come our way and solve our problems? Of course not.

Sure, some people can help, but in the end, whether we succeed or fail all depends on one thing and one thing only--ourselves. We are all guilty of carrying this mentality. It is exactly why we are all so self-centered and the world is as bad as it is today.

We've all been burned so many times by everyone around us, or we've been brainwashed into that not-good-enough attitude that we've grown up being bombarded with by the media and the government. We have been taught, or convinced, that no one in the world can help us except ourselves.

Why else is there so much violence and rioting in the wake of any natural disaster? Disasters are just that--disastrous--and they come in all shapes and sizes. When they strike people suffer, and when people suffer they are at their worst. It is that single idea that no one can help me but me that drives us all to madness.

It's really damn sad. What happened to mankind as a whole that we've ceased to see the entire world around us and started seeing the world as a simple extension of ourselves? Why can't we get passed our egotistical way of thinking? Or has it always been in our nature to center life upon ourselves?

I have no answers, but kudos to those that are lifting their hands to help, even if they are turning blind eyes to all the suffering going on around us every day. Kudos to those that give back to the world where and what they can. Never mind that what one person can give may completely dwarf someone else's lesser contribution. Let's all look to Haiti right now, because, obviously their problems are a lot worse then everyone else's and it is easier to lend a hand to someone that is not your neighbor.

Broken

2010-01-11T08:57:00.001-08:00

Is it true we're all just damaged goods? Pushed aside and swept away. Show me your scars and I'll tell you all about mine. Laughing hysterically at the pain. Thinking god, just delete, just delete this. Delete everything. Erase, backspace, try again. Start over. There is no starting over. Broken and bound and determined to exist when all there is to gain is failure. Where has my mind gone? I don't even know. My focus has gone to shit. I think the infection has set into my brain. The poison spreads unchecked and everything it all decays.

Bringing in the New Year: How to fail at life with Facebook and other Cosmic Ironies

2010-01-07T15:14:00.001-08:00

My brain's a little fuzzy, so I'll try hard to keep this sensible and brief. So I've been getting a lot of questions as to why I deleted my Facebook profile lately. The answer to that is simple.

I'm an idiot. As such, I sometimes do really stupid things. Deleting Facebook wouldn't have been one of them, had I understood Facebook's crazy Terms of Service before attempting to do so.

No, it was what I did before deleting Facebook that was stupid, and for that I'm sorry. It's why November was erased, for all the good of doing it, and if you don't know what I'm talking about it is better off that way.

So I thought I could delete Facebook and start another profile that would be more relevant to my writing company, but apparently, that's not how things work with Facebook. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how things do work for that government run site, but I'm not trying too terribly hard, because Facebook, as personal as it was, was turning me into an obsessive, crazy person.

So as it stands, no Facebook. Maybe later. Maybe not.

Now with that out of the way, let me tell you about how I was fully prepared to start this New Year off right, and how it got twisted all around.

For the last several days before the year ended, I was really trying hard to get back to my roots. I had taken to walking barefoot just about every where I went, including a four hour hike around downtown Fort Lauderdale, just because I could.

Yes, it sounds stupid, but believe it or not, my feet felt great. I started walking over gravel and glass. I started using a trashcan as target practice and taught myself how to throw rocks and macadamia nuts by holding them between my toes. My aim was getting pretty good. I was gearing myself up for 4 mile daily runs.

On January 1st my cat ran away and got himself thoroughly stuck in a palm tree, wedged between the fronds. With some help of a neighbor and his ladder, I climbed up and saved him. He clawed me up and ran away again. I guess there should have been a lesson in that somewhere.

A couple days later, I had shoes on and was walking to the store less than a block from my house. I stepped off the sidewalk to give a bicycler more room and was instantly mugged by twelve inches of angry wood chip.

I never even saw it coming. The damn thing stabbed right into my foot right above my shoe and punctured through to bone. So much for bare feet and running. I can no longer put any weight on my right heel. According to the hospital I'm at "severely high risk" of getting a bone infection. Well, I can still walk on my toes, and I have a cane.

There's probably a lot of lessons that could be pulled out of this story. Like, don't try to save a cat because he will just maul you, and remember bicyclers should be on the street so make them yield to pedestrians. Maybe we could simplify that. Don't do anything for anyone, because it's just going to get you fucked up.

No, I don't actually mean that, but there is some beautiful irony in the whole situation. I think what really should be learned from this is that we should pay attention to our surroundings, and stop acting like we are the only people alive on this planet.

I guess all I'm saying is things don't go according to plan and life is full of setbacks. Well, I for one aim to be back wandering downtown barefoot and flinging rocks just as soon as I am able. Oh, and I'll be running too. Unless maybe, I lose my foot...

Keep ya posted.
AiGe

You can delete November, but you can't delete the program.

2010-01-03T16:49:00.000-08:00

I was having a rare conversation once with a good friend. It was the kind of rare conversation that only comes around a couple times more often than Hailey's comet. I was actually talking about myself.

We were talking about how when I was young I used to be a clown, always ready to say what I thought and more energy than I knew what to do with. While on the subject my friend asked what happened that made me change from being that boy.

I answered her succinctly. "I was brainwashed."

I like telling that story, because the irony of it is what's so damn funny these days. Especially for a meat package like myself. Just one more walking meal among another hundred million, or however the hell many of us there are these days.

You see, all us Synthetics have it rough like that. We've all been brainwashed. We've been brainwashed since day one of our creation into thinking we're real. The growing and cultivating process is just added layers of brainwashing. We're told all the little things we do matter, as our friends get eaten around us.

We are brainwashed into thinking life still exists, but it doesnt. The program is there, in the back of our sentience for anyone with the consciousness to look. We're all just food for the flesh eaters. Synthetically grown as a last ditch effort to keep the zombies occupied while life attempted to exist.

It didn't. There's a subsidized file where the last living human saved his good bye to the universe and died. It was dated with a date now rendered irrelevant with the passing of society. You see nothing mattered. The machines will always just keep making more of us machines and the living dead will keep on being dead. Being dead and eating us. Time doesn't hold any relevance in a society of nothing but robots and the dead.

So maybe now you understand the irony when I tell you I changed because I was brainwashed. We've all been brainwashed for such a long time. We're really just complex functions within even more complex functions playing out in an endless loop, all trying to distract us from the fact that we are nothing but food.

Science: proving that forgetting is healthy.

2009-12-26T19:27:00.001-08:00

I read a very interesting article over on Beach Front News written by Boomer.

"...That tendency to go blank about who-I-said-what-to might actually be evidence of a healthy memory at work. There’s evidence that when we reset a password or memorize a new phone number for a friend, the brain actively suppresses the out-of-date information. Because the old digits are competing with the new ones for memory space, the memory ‘deletes’ the potentially conflicting info. And retold stories aren’t always socially embarrassing or redundant. Repeated often enough, they become ritual, and, over time, oral history, Dr. Gobie says. It is also interesting to note that people with the most to gain – or lose – in terms of whom hears what (lobbyists, attorneys, salespeople) will often use the name of the person they are speaking with as a reminder: “Did I mention, Tom, the free emergency roadside assistance package?” While it could be could considered flattery, it could also be a means of tracking where information is going..." Beach Front News "Why We Forget What We say and to Whom"

The article brought up a lot of questions for me.

It almost sounded like "science" is now saying they think that forgetting is healthy. Or are they brainwashing us to tell us to do more drugs? Or am I just paranoid?

I don't know about the rest of that, but I do think if brains that habitually forget their short term memory are considered healthy, we must now be saying the brains that remember those details are unhealthy?

I wonder if they considered photographic memories in their studies? Perhaps, people that do not reset their memories, the way this article describes, forget other details that most everyone else remembers?

Is that where the idea of eccentricity comes from?
Einstein couldn't remember to tie his shoes. I can't remember my own Mother's Birthday. Maybe those are signs of an unhealthy brain?

Either, way, I'd love to see more research by the "professionals" on this one. I know I personally could really stand a memory wipe.

Whine, Peace, and Commiserating: Another Holiday Tale

2009-12-26T16:49:00.000-08:00

So, it's been a year of change, adaptation, and growing. I figured I better end it fittingly and set the stage for the direction in which I want to grow. I've been doing that, awkwardly, and struggling, I assure you, but results are still results, even when you can't recognize them from what you had planned. Everyone knows nothing ever works out how you want it too. How could it, possibly? Yet there's still beauty in it. Sometime you just have to get dirty to see it.

Christmas was amazing. Thanks to everyone who was a part of it. We'll do it again in the near future and my condolences to those that couldn't make it, another time mayhaps.

For now, I'm taking off and enjoying the rest of the holidays as I've discovered computers make me crazy. Be back later.

AiG

This

2009-12-23T21:09:00.000-08:00

How the fuck did it come to this? Words misspoken, feelings only slightly kissed. Just another one of life's connections missed. Float about. Breaking down. Try real hard. Hit the ground. Go and go and go and stop. It's the way of life, the cards we've dropped. A couple feels beneath the gun, go and stop and stop and run.

Quick News

2009-12-23T09:19:00.000-08:00

So, I after investigating how to delete Facebook, I realized it's a difficult process and decided I'd keep it around and just make another more relevant Facebook Business page. After attempting to do so, I now know that Facebook does not allow anyone to have multiple accounts. So... the first one is being deleted again. It's a two week process. So, my new page won't be available until the New Year after the old one has been deleted and I have started fresh. Stay tuned for more info.

Oh, the things we do upon ourselves...

2009-12-21T18:08:00.001-08:00

I've said too much. It's not enough. I guess I won't say anything at all. It's just the things we do upon ourselves--the climb, the inevitable fall. Where do we go from here?

Die Slow.

2009-12-20T22:37:00.001-08:00

Going back to the quote that's been with me for so long now "Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow." The music video "Die Slow by Health" is exceptionally appealing. It seems to fit the entire theme I've been running with for so long...

So, I was going to erase my Facebook and Myspace accounts, and reinvent them with an exciting new, business orientated personality. Then, I realized how difficult it actually is to erase a Facebook profile. So I decided, fuck it. I'm just going to keep them around as a little more personal of webspaces. I'm just not going to be using it much anymore.

In the meantime expect the the alter egos to be making appearances soon. I can guarantee it'll be a good time for at least one of us.

Getting ready for a new year.

2009-12-20T16:55:00.000-08:00

So... I've been making some changes over here. Maybe you've noticed? I'm not entirely sure what I'm changing into yet. I am, however, blessed enough to be able to recognize this period of growth for what it is. Hopefully you'll all forgive me my inconsistencies while I figure it out and grow. In the meantime here's some great art.

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

2009-12-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

As another grueling weekend of investigative journalism comes to a close, I have compiled a short list of some of the things that I've learned from it.

1) Life is very, very weird.

2) When dealing with Life nothing ever works out the way you want it to.

3) Life has, by far, the best sneak attack out of everyone I know.

Cheers to that Life.

I'll keep working on that hook.

See ya later in the week.

Oh yeah, and 4) Deadmau5 is pretty awesome.

Procrastinating Today

2009-12-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

So I took this interesting, little test just now and since I'm bored and procrastinating, I figured I'd post the results. If anyone else wants to take and share your results with me please do.

Your result for The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test...

6 - the Questioner

Thanks for taking the test !

you chose CY - your Enneagram type is SIX (aka "The Loyalist").

"I am affectionate and skeptical"

Questioners are responsible, trustworthy, and value loyalty to family, friends, groups, and causes. Their personalities range broadly from reserved and timid to outspoken and confrontative.

How to Get Along with Me

• Be direct and clear.

• Listen to me carefully.

• Don't judge me for my anxiety.

• Work things through with me.

• Reassure me that everything is OK between us.

• Laugh and make jokes with me.

• Gently push me toward new experiences.

• Try not to overreact to my overreacting.

What I Like About Being a SIX

• being committed and faithful to family and friends

• being responsible and hardworking

• being compassionate toward others

• having intellect and wit

• being a nonconformist

• confronting danger bravely

• being direct and assertive

What's Hard About Being a SIX

• the constant push and pull involved in trying to make up my mind

• procrastinating because of fear of failure; having little confidence in myself

• fearing being abandoned or taken advantage of

• exhausting myself by worrying and scanning for danger

• wishing I had a rule book at work so I could do everything right

• being too critical of myself when I haven't lived up to my expectations

SIXes as Children Often

• are friendly, likable, and dependable, and/or sarcastic, bossy, and stubborn

• are anxious and hypervigilant; anticipate danger

• form a team of "us against them" with a best friend or parent

• look to groups or authorities to protect them and/or question authority and rebel

• are neglected or abused, come from unpredictable or alcoholic families, and/or take on the fearfulness of an overly anxious parent

SIXes as Parents

• are often loving, nurturing, and have a strong sense of duty

• are sometimes reluctant to give their children independence

• worry more than most that their children will get hurt

• sometimes have trouble saying no and setting boundaries

Renee Baron & Elizabeth Wagele, The Enneagram Made Easy. Discover the 9 Types of People.

Harper: San Francisco, 1994, 161 pages

You liked the test? so S P R E A D I T ! tell everyone!!!

(copypaste the HTML-code from below to your profile or blog!)

please, leave a comment HERE

you wanna know MORE? so check out, what Wikipedia says about your type... ...even more you'll find in Google

_____________________

You are not completely happy with the result?!

You chose CY. Use the BACK-button on your browser see the other options!

Take The Quick & Painless ENNEAGRAM Test at OkCupid

A Message for the Stars

2009-12-07T18:42:00.000-08:00

I might have failed at everything, but at least I know I tried. I've only ever known how to be myself and staring at you shining in the midnight sky with all that space around you reminds me of how insignificant I really am. Is it any wonder that the harder I reached for you the dimmer your glow became? Was it a passing cloud? Was it because your light had actually gone out years ago, but only now is it reaching me-in my time, in this place? I have reached as far as I possibly could, but still never came close to closing this distance between us. I would leave my arm extended for all eternity if it were possible, but such idealistic thinking is pointless. I have stood still and stretched and you have looked back at me and faded. It is a bittersweet conclusion, but as I turn away I know in my heart that it is you who has really lost. Stars are dead before they are even seen.

Searching for Pluto (part 2)

2009-12-07T18:14:00.000-08:00

So, this is the second installation in the untitled story I started back on Nov. 4th, that some of you expressed interest in continuing to read. I have to apologize, because, I had written up a lot more than this shortly after that date, but due to a freak computer accident lost a whole lot of pages of writing.

I'm tentatively changing the name from Untitled to Searching for Pluto so that it's easier to search if you want to go back and read part one. I'm also posting this draft as is on the first write up and completely unedited, because, well, I'm lazy and don't feel like editing. Er, rather, I'm going to do all my edits when the stories finished.
-----

Nothing in life ever works out the way you want it to. Not even a fucking bus ride. It was every bit as terrible as I expected it to be, even if it was a helluva lot shorter than what I paid for.
Things would have been okay had they let me smoke, but apparently us cigarette addicts don’t have any rights. Never mind that the cigarette would have helped quell the nausea from the way the bus sloshed my brain back and forth.
So I sat in my seat sipping on my handle feeling outrageously sick for the beginning of the ride. It didn’t take too long before the bus’s bouncing made me vomit. Pity, that I was half asleep in my seat when it happened.
I stumbled my way to the little bathroom in the rear of the bus emptying the contents of my stomach the entire time. Inside, I tried my best to clean myself up, but it was pretty difficult considering the bus obviously wasn’t going to stop bouncing me around.
I think at some point I must have decided to sit down, because the next thing I remember is the bus driving kicking me and telling me we were at a rest stop and I had to get off. Cigarette. I breathed a sigh of relief at the realization and made my way to my feet, muttering my thanks.
Outside the air was frigid, but I didn’t care, I fumbled in my pockets till I found the two items I was seeking and plopped down onto the nearest bench. I put the cigarettes to my lips and struck the flame, breathing in. Thank god tobacco tastes better than vomit.
I drank the last few swigs from my handle and promptly blacked out. When I came to, the first thing I noticed was that someone had placed my guitar beside me on the bench. My first instinct was to check it, even though I knew I was the only one with the lock. It wasn’t until after I had the case open and assured myself it was still there that I realized my bus was nowhere to be seen.
I could go on and tell you about the hours I wasted on the phone bitching to the bus company, or the security guard that kept trying to chase me off, but it I won’t bore you. Let’s just say it sucked. Apparently the fact the bus left without me was entirely my own fault and there was nothing they would do for me. No refund, no other bus. I was stranded in some freezing, bumble-fuck country out in the middle of nowhere.
I pulled my sweatshirt tighter around me, shouldered my guitar, and left the watchful gaze of the security guard behind as I trudged my way out from the rest stop area and onto the highway.
The wind was bitter, and I realized then that I had just traded my entire life for a handle of booze and a carton of cigarettes and I didn’t even know where the hell I was. I sighed, and tried not to think about how cold my feet felt.
Fortunately, I still knew where I had to go. I still knew where she went even if it was starting to look further and further away then Pluto. Even if I didn’t know how I was going to get there, I still knew that I was going. At least it wouldn’t be so cold.

Motivationally Speaking

2009-12-03T20:24:00.000-08:00

This is my call out to all the world's positive people: Where are you? Come out. I want to surround myself amongst every single one of you and let your leaves intermingle mine. I want to become the branches that support you. I want your flesh to be at one within me, to transform our joined skin into the bark, so that we can all become the trunk that supports us. I want to direct my energies to lifting you up and in turn be lifted in kind to higher levels of being. I am sick of the weight of carrying the burden, of always trying to push those up that always want to hold me down. So positive people step forward, and turn your leaves towards the sun. The time for self hate and cowering blind is over. Step into the light and embrace. Embrace me. Embrace yourselves. Let us all carry the weight together with our tap roots sunk firm and deep beneath the earth so that when the wind blows, we all sway.
-fin

Ladies and Gentlemen, I do believe that this now officially concludes our brief experiment with Raw: an ongoing work of ...art? Yes, I know, shocking. Especially because in the end Raw failed entirely to be anything resembling what I had intended.

Raw wasn't a complete failure, it gave me two very different and solid ideas for short stories I may or may not work on at some point. It also gave me countless ideas for poetry and lyrics, that again, maybe someday I'll go back to.

Truth be told after a week of nonstop writing, and the last two days spent simply combing over the pages and pages of abstract thought, I finally was able to make sense of some things. Not everything. I've still got a million questions, many of which make me lose sleep at night, but a small gain is still a gain.

For now, I think this piece is a perfect and fitting conclusion for this experiment, and I hope you all find it the same. I'm going to leave you all with this very beautiful quote I was lucky enough to be shown, because it fits:
"Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow."
-Unknown Source

Saul Williams Quote.

2009-12-03T07:42:00.001-08:00

"...And it is my compassion for all who suffer, whether under suppressive rule or the silent rule of tradition and militant sheepishness, those who feel powerless in the face of change, who wish things would be different but have no idea how to go at it alone; those who feel alone, who feel compelled to “think different” beyond the trademark of their times, who only need a single spark to be the light that outshines history, those who dare not be shrouded by religious mystery; it is because of my belief in the power of art to act like a B vitamin: flush the system and dislodge the fat and disease from the tissue surrounding the heart and brain; because I want my shot at the virus, and because I think apathy is a plague and want to rid the slow of progress from it’s time-consuming glitches…."

Read the whole thing on Saul William's myspace. http://bulletins.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=bulletin.read&authorID=13395348&messageID=6603923180

Concluding Raw

2009-12-03T05:55:00.000-08:00

So there is definitely more than enough brainstormed material in the last several days work. I promised a part 2 to brainstorming, but it isn't coming. I had planned to conclude the brainstorming on Dec 1st but instead I took the day off to try and live a healthier life. By Dec 2, I had already moved on from the brainstorming.

The good news is is that I was able to sift through all of the raw thought fragments and I came up with two different story ideas from all the chaos and an indeterminable number of potential songs and/or poems.

So here's the new plan, I'm going to focus on one of the story ideas, but I'm not sure which yet. I'm going to spend the next several days working up intros for both, then I'll post them, and then maybe you can tell me which one you want me to write, we can all vote on it or something, and maybe I'll listen.

Raw: An ongoing work of... art? Brainstorming Part 1

2009-11-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

Just for the record I've gone ahead and added some of my own notes as I did my nightly transcribing from the notebook to the screen, so when you see something like [this] [know that it is just me adding commentary. At the end I do a little wrap up called... Wrap Up: Trying to make sense of it all... yeah, good luck with that one.]

11/30 approx. 3am
Once again I can’t sleep, I have to get up in five hours and run for at least a mile to prove to myself I can, then I have to more work; guess I’m on borrowed time right now.
Did I ever tell you about my pirate-ninja dream? It was pretty epic. That’s the weird things about dreams; most people claim they can’t remember them, until come the ones they really can, then someone gets hung out to dry.
Too many thoughts, can’t slow them down enough to grasp a single one.
[Here things are finally starting to come together and I can begin to glimpse a cohesive whole, so I’ve snipped some things that are simply not ready to be revealed. Author’s rights of course. ;-P]
11/30 approx 11am
So I ran a mile one point five, maybe, tops. It was less then I wanted but exactly what I expected. I could have gone harder, but what was the reason I wanted to?
Now I’ll enjoy the day while waiting to get out on the water
…just filter up through all the bullshit till it’s like oh yeah? This is what I have forgot.
…everyone’s got their own demons trying hard to eat them up… if winter never ends will you ever see my spring?
If this is all we have is there nothing left to bring?
…everybody’s dreaming we’re all just in different states of waking up… Tell “Kirk” to bring us cigarettes please, and tell him I’ll reimburse; it’s just one more barter/trade example spun in different verse…and why is it you always have something with you; you don’t need and why is it you never bring it with you when you do?
[snip snip]
… just want to throw myself outside the window and let myself feel left alive; anything must be better than the dead I feel inside… So I’ll run and I’ll smoke, I’ll quit and I’ll choke, live this life of self destruction long enough to… to…
I spent the better half of the day barefoot, trying to get back to my roots… because the world’s so misaligned that we spend all our time staring back at space, and never seeing much
[snippity. Here’s a tease, structure and form for… FnLinLO]
…and finally after a chaotic morning I’m on the boat again still just trying to figure out from where the water it all began…
…you’re exactly what I’ve always wanted, but never really got; the point just keeps repeating—the world and it’s whole entire lot is ground beef mixed up, jumbled, scrambled and forgot.
[snip, some notes on how I would restructure and begin to edit this process tonight that you don’t need to see.]
…I can destroy my feet I can destroy my knees; I can destroy my legs all the way through to my hip; but it’ll never prove because it is the one connection that we missed; and I realize it’s just life’s wavelengths struggling to coexist
A Writer’s Daily Checklist
-hats are sacred, never lose a fucking hat
-sunglasses are always good
-a plethora of cigarettes to always have on hand for you to smoke.
-water, water, water
-run two miles at 6.a.m.
-kayak, live, and
-WRITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
P.S. And somewhere along the way… die.

…and I take a toast for ocean sorrowing, morose I whisper, ever succinctly spoken regret; ‘Yeah, Ocean… here’s to that’ and quickly flick my cigarette over starboard to the ocean now begat. Forgive me ocean, I want to whisper, please forgive me that… and I realize it’s just the artist’s dilemma universally begot / he arrives before his time arrives and is just as quick, as he is, as is, forgot.
11/30 approx. 4pm Good bye to November
…it is going to be rough working with me tonight.
-and I found myself in water lounging making time come stand and be forgot
-it’s the entire ninja-pirate complex that is so quickly all forgot we all are either, either neither are, they all are or they are not?

[WRAP UP: Trying to make sense of it all: whew… that’s not even the half of everything I got written today, I think it’s suffice to say that I almost have enough brainstormed material to start coming up with something a little more cohesive. Which, even though it has only just begun, would mean the end of Raw: an ongoing work of… art? Well, at least it is bound to at a certain point eventually, become less Raw and will have moved up to whatever it is that comes next, Almost Prepared maybe? (I could use a catchy jingle here wordsmiths, if you are reading ;-P), Anyway, I’m not going to devote anymore time to brainstorming ideas tonight, because, truth be told, we could spend our entire lifetimes brainstorming and never get anywhere but a whole bunch of good ideas. It’s easy to get caught up and overwhelmed. I have some ideas for how I’d like to transform what you’ve been following over the last couple days into a story, I’m going to be letting those ideas percolate over the next couple of days, in the meantime we’ll ride out the brainstorm process a bit more and let you linger over just how extremely grotesque it is in the beginning of the arts. See you tomorrow for Raw: An ongoing work of... art? Brainstorming, part 2... oh did someone mention audio clips? ;-P]

Leave me something.

-AiG.

Introducing Raw: An ungoing work of. . . art?

2009-11-29T21:11:00.000-08:00

Yes, ladies and gentlemen you heard that right, tonight on AiGtv we are introducing Raw: an ungoing work of. . . art? "What is this titillating and tantalizing tale," you ask? Or rather, roll your eyes and try to forget my horrible usage of grammar.

Ahem,

What I mean to say is, I thought my grace period was over, but apparently it had ideas all it's own of becoming something so much more. It came to me as the lamenting died: three day's grace is just not enough. No, this was destined for something more. This was rallied to be a muse. And as long as this muse is alive I feel compelled to ride it out.

I know whoever still bothers to read this is probably thinking "okay, okay, enough of this angsty-emo shit already!" To that I say... loud and clear, I HEAR YOU!

But a muse is a muse and when it speaks an artist moves. It takes you through trees and takes you through climbs, it speaks through your limbs, your brain becomes vines...

It's pretty scary some of the things it tells me to do, but like all jobs, we just gotta suck it up and do what we're told. My apologies to all those out there that don't want to hear it.

Raw: An ungoing work of. . . art?
11/29

...So you'll swallow me up / you'll eat me whole / cuz it's the whole damn world that's spiraling violently out of control / you'll break me apart and see right under my skin, you'll stitch me up, put me right under your chin, just to let me drop and do it over again... and all of this is just me screaming through the throng, that I really need a family, or just some place I can belong...

...I am nothing, without meaning, I am something, I am something lack'd / just how much self loathing must I sift through to find that hidden latch?

This is my final cry... there isn't anything that I can do just holler away at nothing wishing that I can come home to you...
This is my final cry the last few things that I have to do / before I fall away from this world with you...
This is my final cry the very last thing I'll say before...

And that's okay maybe I'll just get mislabeled more and ride this wave until it's collapse, where earth and sky meet water to gently lapse her shore.

This is my final cry the very last thing that I'll say before I lie / just get me outta here there's too much room in this head, there's so much living going on around me I just might as well be dead...

You told me not to hide / so I'll just keep on stupid screaming hoping they say I never lied... at least until this spark has died...
But I gotta keep on writing as long as this muse is still alive / I'm gonna look obsessive, but thats a label I have to ride / either that or crawl back under the rock where first I lied.

...Throwing all our money out the window just to be pissed off we're here...

...black obsidian the world's most negative force...

...and I realize I have become my cat; or is it he has become me? when all he's doing is stupid screaming for having been left behind; I needed a muse and I found it in you... and you, and you andyouandyouandyou... and me.

-to be concluded-

Now, if I still have you after all that, all of you are really to be commended. So what is Raw? Okay, here's my idea: Raw is all this mindless drivel my brain has been concocting over the last several days. Raw will be whatever mindless drivel my brain concocts over the course of well, however long it decides to concoct.

You see that's the beauty of it, all this angsty emo crap I've got on here is the rawest ingredients for a work of... art? I don't know, maybe I could call it art. Certainly it is set with the aspirations of art, but that all remains yet to be seen.

The whole point, I'm making is that with Raw, I'm going to be showing you the readers exactly how someone takes his angsty, emo, and abstract drivel and turns it into something more.

I'll show you my progress as I sift and restructure this crap to make a song, or a story, or a poem, or anything. I don't even know what it is yet, let alone have any idea what it could be. I first have to know what it is...

And when I do figure out exactly what [this] is you can all be damn sure you'll hear it here first on Raw: An ungoing work of. . . art?

Fear and Loathing near Los Olas...

2009-11-29T06:52:00.000-08:00

Admittedly things have been a little moody and brooding over here the last several days. Well, The three day grace period is over so I can't keep wallowing for myself. I do however, humbly, ask that you deal with it for one more day as I post the drivel my mind cooked up yesterday. I'm leaving everything unedited again, raw and rough around the edges, because well... I'm feeling a little raw and rough around the edges myself.

The Last One Month
So the last month to you, you were sitting and blue, you were stuck in the ground, you didn’t know your way around, and the last month to you It was all that we knew you were stuck and confused, and the last month to me wasn’t quite sweet(quite that way sweet but it was) it was great, it wasn’t beat, the last month to you was all that we knew, with everyone shelved up with regret and confused, and I’m sorry to say it came to be this way, I’m sorry to say, I never knew you, anyway.
And the last month to you was just a drowned out scream, the last month to me was a short lived, fleeting dream, I just want to say, sorry that it went down this way.
So the last month to you was hollow and used and everything showed up eventually.
The last month to you was hollow and blue
the last month to me I held hallow’d and new,
and the last month to you haunts in your memory
like a drowning scream
and the last month to me I held too closely
like trying to grasp the waking dream
While the last month to me,
was a good month to be,
by your side.
While the last month to you,
after the bullshit problems and struggles
everything died.

...and I see another cycle like in the way that things began; to the that they are ending / ending in our hands; and words they seem so fleeting; so easily forgot; upside down and all around; a mixed up jumbled lot; said and said and just as easily dismissed; the words and feelings just keep running, run the entire gamut.

...you have to grow, to spread your leaves and fly; otherwise you will be stunted and poignantly maligned; you'll find yourself ne'er growing, and to be predestinely-declined, those friendships ever going; are so delicate entwined; that those things are ever fleeting and fade before the mind / can ever make sense of the truth...

"I know what she means... but I don't know what I said..."

...too many thoughts are still a reeling and the glories they all fade; a distant safe word never spoken and the habitually inlaid; why is it my mind is only spoken when my thoughts of sense cannot be made? I guess it's a product of devolving... or forever growing?

Fort Liquorhell... dreamily going from the last best thing to the next worse thing waiting for that real thing that doesn't really live. People just keep going giving, given, take, get, and 'gin. No one really knows just what they're doing not until the end; when everything in life was realized and the next phase can begin.
-fin-

Maybe someday, I'll be able to make sense of all this myself.

Black Friday

2009-11-28T05:48:00.000-08:00

Another sleepless time last night, words scrolled past my tongue, but every time I tossed and turned I failed to catch a single one. The morning comes so slow and cold, the memories and words once spoken I am trying hard now not to hold, but the thought that keeps on circling is that everything's gone wrong. If I could first correct the world, perhaps then I could write this song, but I can't even find my own meaning, I am stumblingly behind. I guess I cannot really fault you, only hope one day you'll change your mind...

---

I don't know what's up with all the rhyming lately, I keep trying to break away from it with my writing and keep finding myself only capable of communicating in this flowing rhyme and meter style. It's been a bit aggravating. Anyone else ever find themselves getting stuck in a certain style even after it feels long played out?

Thanksgiving Grace

2009-11-26T22:57:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Grace: An accountable tale of one nothing’s Thanksgiving. Pre-edit.
[The following text was written at various points throughout the course of the day of 11/26/09 They appear before you unabridged and unedited as transcribed directly from the block of wood upon which they had been painstakingly carved]
Dear (G/(g))od,
I am the scum beneath the earth/ the world beneath your feet/ the mysterious stranger in the night, that you wish you could meet/ I am the sun, the sea/ the sky and clouds/ I am the evil underneath/ I am the feeling, I am the pain/ I am the cold November light/ I am your heart’s desire, but your mind’s already took flight/ I am everything and nothing, I am nothing, not at all/ the only reason I’m still going is that I continue still to fall./ I am standing here and screaming you are waiting for me to disappear/ I am everything and nothing/ I am nothing if not here. And I’ll just keep on falling/ falling till the world will clear…
….And now I’m watching the rain come in/ drowned, out wasted/ where did time begin?/ Buzzards circle something dead again/ and the voices blur into the background/ and I find myself alone in my own head/ again, it’s empty ,wasted, drowned dead/ Found myself self loathing and hating all I’ve done/ Such is life it bears repeating/ before they end cycles must first have been begun…
…And someone talks my ear off/ and I connect it’s just life’s cycle epitome’d again/ and everything worth loving is fleeting/ and the bad things never end/ and my thoughts and focus just go reeling/ and I remember things begin/ and everything will end.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Thanks for the tough year.

P.S.
And we will always haunt each other/haunt and not come back/ because human mechanics won’t allow our universe to work just quite like that…
…Lot’s more talking and I hear… what? What… do… I… hear?
……………..turned out to be a pool pump…
P.S.S
And an unexpected blessing from you makes me think I won’t be sharing this at all/ who wants to hear a nothing screams before he falls?...
…and simplest connections are laid when I realize it is not my lighter that I’ve been hording, nor is it my friend I made.

We were founded on a nation of slackers is it any wonder we all seek only to destroy ourselves? And we are heading for a war.
…And it’s freebird I relate to on the water once again and it’s just another dying cycle/ things have ended/ things begin.
…Silly City gal and City-Country Guy, always looking ahead or looking behind, but to what’s around us we are blind.
…Dude what are you doing over there with that knife?/ I’m trying to sharpen a pencil… in the dark… with a knife… so I can write… in the dark… with a pencil.
…And as I pass you by, U2 starts playing “With or Without You” So I crane my neck to catch a glimpse, or perhaps to even say “hi”/ instead my eyes see nothing and my lips whisper a soft goodbye
…So I spent the day at long, lost pondering, my heart’s thoughts a mess when I come home late at last/ to realize I should be thankful, thankful stones were even cast.

If Adam were a Serpent

2009-11-24T08:03:00.001-08:00

I guess I'll just go away and fade back into my place beneath the rocks. Where coldness and loneliness combine with warmth and happiness to make a picture perfect, empty hollow gray and turns blind eyes away from the light of day where they cannot see it is their own venom upon which they feed. Poison for poison's sake to drown that throbbing, aching need. I guess I'll just slither back and fade away, leave you alone, fall back to when we both thought we were okay, a time when things were simpler didn't worry about the way... With problems numbed behind our empty cups and the world a distant haze, the voices they don't scream so loud, they blur amongst the days, the loneliness is so much easier with an empty, hollow head and everything is so much simpler when your drowned out, gone, or dead.

Untitled

2009-11-08T12:37:00.000-08:00

It is the resolve to want to be together, despite the fear of contact with another, a desire to push through the ambiguous loneliness, and be something more. A willingness to hurt and be hurt, to love and be loved, and all the joys and sorrows that come along with it. It is the want to feel alive; to peek out from under our rocks and find out that maybe, maybe sometime's life just isn't as complicated as we all make it out to be. Maybe some things good really do just come our way when we least expect it. The key is to see it before it passes by, and knowing when to hold on.

Searching for Pluto (part 1)

2009-11-04T11:22:00.001-08:00

Nothing in life ever works out the way you want it to. In fact, wanting something to work out is a sure-fire way to ensure that something doesn’t happen. I knew this because every time I wanted something prior to this I had watched it fall apart. I guess a lifetime of failing to get what you want can make you cynical. I don’t know.
I did know, however, that it wasn’t going to work out for me this time, just as much as it never worked out for me before. I knew it even before I committed myself to see it through, but I didn’t care. Well, that’s wrong. I did care. I just couldn’t stop myself.
So I packed my bags. I sold my car for a lot less than it was worth. It wasn’t worth a whole lot, but definitely a lot more than I got it for it. It didn’t matter. It got me the bus ticket I needed, and all that really mattered was that I had to follow her.
I didn’t even know if she wanted me to, but I knew that I had to, because things were just so damned complicated and life was just so damned messy that if I didn’t, if I didn’t go, I’d always wonder, and I’d think, and I’d hate myself more than I already did with my wondering.
So I sold everything I owned for a measly three hundred-fifty dollars and bought myself a handle of whiskey, a carton of cigarettes, and a bus ticket to a city thirty hours away. It may as well have been half the world, or the whole world, or two worlds. It could have been Pluto.
It felt so far away as I waited half the day at the bus station. I had kept one of my guitars, but I ended up drinking a third of the handle and chain smoking so playing was the last thing on my mind. Actually I couldn’t think of anything other than the fact that I had no idea how she was going to take seeing me again. She’d be surprised, I was sure. I was also sure I’d been a complete fucking idiot. Did I really just sell everything for a bus ticket and a good solid day of drunkenness?
I was definitely a fucking idiot. People don’t fall in love anymore, love died right beside kindness around the same time greed and selfishness took over. We lived in a world where love is a toy to be played with and everyone was so damned self-centered no one bothered to see it anymore when it looked them in the eye.
That’s why she moved half the world away, and that’s why I was bound and determined to go after her. Someone had to prove the world wrong.

What is this being?

2009-11-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it can be hard to take too much in at once, overwhelming really. Or perhaps the truth is always just too hard to see? And what of the thoughts that can’t be put to words and pictures and feelings and what of, what of--just being? What of that fear of being cut too deep? What of the things that are on the tip of your tongue bursting to be free? The things that you just want to scream so clearly you can taste them floating in your mouth and yet you can’t find the words. What of being so elated your heart could just stop beating? What of putting thoughts to words and words to thoughts. What of letting go of thought and only feeling. What is this world? What is this—just being?

Beneath the Sky

2009-11-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

I haven't forgotten the blog, or abandoned you. I've just been very, very busy. I could keep you entertained with a list of excuses, but really, I don't feel like writing them, so why should anyone want to read it. Instead here's something I wrote today that will just have to suffice until I can put the time and thought into blogging once again.

There was a wind and the water made waves
lapping on our legs as we discarded clothes,
and our voices sang in laughter
drowning in the stars above
and for just that moment we were alone in the world.
Salt-sprayed lips,
unspoken words,
sealed with a kiss,
dancing amid the waves naked and alone.
And the stars themselves they mirrored us,
tiny and alone to our eyes,
blanketed by space and city glow
bouncing their light just to say hello
as we played beneath the sky
in the waves and the wind,
looking back like stars and wondering,
'where did we begin?'

Things to Learn Over 1,200 Miles: Part 1

2009-09-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

So recently, as some of you undoubtedly know, I had to take a little trip back to my home town. To do this I decided to drive. As things worked out, I made the twelve hundred-mile-plus trip alone. Why did I decide to do it with as few stops as possible? The only answer I can come up with is “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I did it. It was very much like a religious experience. In fact I think of it being much akin with a Muslim Hajj to Mecca. Like a Hajj, I think it was something most likely only to be experienced once.

I did however have quite a few epiphanies along the way. I learned a couple things about life and, well, about driving long distances. Let’s say, driving twelve hundred miles over the period of slightly more than twenty hours, kind of long distances. Stop only to get gas and relieve my biological function. Preferably at the same time, hey, I won’t even begin to talk about some of the country gas stations I saw along the way. You can thank me for that, and I’ll thank you for not asking me to elaborate further.

Anyway, here are some of the things I learned that I do wish to elaborate on:

1) Cruising along at 70 mph (the legal speed limit where I was I might add), any sudden changes to course trajectory can and will easily lead to a compact car being up on two wheels. Allow me to explain. Prior to embarking on my trip, I slept the entire day--quite literally, actually. I finally woke up around 11pm and was out on the road at midnight.

Over tiredness was not an issue, because, as it was I was quite refreshed. The issue was however, that it was dark and the road was not perfectly flat rendering it physically impossible for me to have seen the thing in the road that was about to make me panic, beforehand.

So, I haven’t been living in Florida for very much time in the scheme of things and to me, it feels like it has not been long at all. I keep telling myself the reason I haven’t met many friends down here is because I haven’t been here long, and not because I spend all my time sitting alone at home writing something, but I digress… Anyway, as an avid appreciator of all wildlife, and having known for some time that the South Florida climate was their home habitat, I have always wanted to see an armadillo.

I never wanted to see one like this, however--large and gray like a giant boulder, suddenly looming up before me in the middle of the road, mere feet ahead of my car. With no chance to break in time I hit them anyway and swerved my vehicle. That was a mistake, and leads me to,

2) If a poor dumb animal, creature, obstruction , or human ever suddenly appears out in front of your car while cruising at 70mph and with no time to break—HIT THE POOR DUMB BASTARD! I can’t stress that last part enough. And I meant it when I said I love wildlife. It always pains me to see dead animals, humans… meh.

But anyway, I swerved, and suddenly, my life was no longer in my control, my car was up on two wheels, I could tell by the way the road suddenly slanted in the view of my windshield, and I was driving towards the side of the highway, where fortunately a lot of trees were close at hand waiting to catch me.

Instinct, or panic, or some other mighty influence guided my hand as I cut the wheel the other way. Fortunately, I was already breaking, and I heard a loud thump below me as the road righted itself in my field of vision, but now, I was heading towards the big solid, median between the separate lanes of the highway.

I cut the wheel back again and the car straightened in the lane, albeit it was the complete opposite lane of where I had started, but it was straight and the view from my windshield was clear from any obstructions. I continued on my way, with the lesson well learned. Should something ever step out in front of my car again at 70mph, with no chance of breaking to save it, I will hit the poor dumb bastard head on. It’s either that, or risk serious injury.

I continued on my way, carefully finding my way back to 70mph. It was now 2am and I had only been driving for two hours. With over eighteen more to go, I realized I was off for a great start.
(To be continued…)

Has anyone else ever had a really interesting experience while on a road trip? How do you feel about road trips in general? Are they something that should always be avoided, or do you love them when the circumstances are correct? Would you be willing to spend twenty hours in a car alone?

Give me your thoughts so I can devour them like candy and respond as necessary. Does anyone else feel Halloween approaching or is it just me?

Hi.

2009-09-23T16:33:00.000-07:00

Hello, I'm Andrew's slacker friend/"domainatrix," Svetlana. He wrote a blog post a while ago and asked if I could provide you guys with a "special treat" to accompany it.

This has resulted in said post collecting digital dust in my inbox while waiting to be published. Andrew has been very patient but is understandably worried about disappointing followers due to lack of updates. So, followers, please do not be disappointed in him. Rather, prepare thyselves for impending epic surprises within the week.

P.S. You should also tell him how awesome you think "Svetlana Vladislavovna Doubova" is for my pen name.

FYI

2009-09-17T06:08:00.001-07:00

I started a book review blog for anyone that's interested you can find it here A Cynic's Reading. Feel free to come by and start a discussion. Or just hurl words at me, whichever floats your fancy.

That's just one of the treats in store this season. The other one is still on its way. I think. ;-P

Early Halloween?

2009-09-04T14:17:00.000-07:00

I have not been blogging. I think by now if my absence from this digital world hasn’t driven away all of my friends and readers, well that statement is pretty obvious. Instead of blogging I’ve been busy behind the scenes working on various other projects. I’ve also been spending a good amount of time thinking about how to spice things up around here and I came up with an awesome idea!

Let’s face it. I am not the world’s most web-savvy person. One thing I’ve always disliked about blogging was every time I wanted to do something specific it took a lot of time to figure out how. What I mean is, every time I wanted to put a link in one of my posts it took me upwards of fifteen minutes just to get the link in correctly. I was spending way too much time blogging and it was detracting from the other things I needed to be doing. You know, like actually writing.

With that said, let’s use our imaginations a little. Let’s say that the task of actually posting a blog update for me has become a whip. I dunno why a whip, maybe because it stings more than just a little, but anyway, for all intents and purposes, it’s a whip. Well I’ve decided to hand that whip over to a certain young web-mistress that I have known for awhile now.

So for a trial basis, to see how things go I’ll write and she’ll crack the whip--over my back if necessary. I know! The idea gives me goose bumps too. Wait, what are we talking about again? …right so what this means for the blog is now that I’m only responsible for content I’m going to free up a lot more time for those other things I need to be doing, you know, the actual writing stuff that I like to do. More goose bumps.

Also, my new web-mistress has a special treat in store for everyone concerning the blog also that I just can’t spoil, but you’ll find out for yourselves soon so stay tuned. I promise she won’t whip you… unless you want her to.

Finally, and I am so overdo in this, mass apologies go out all around. My blog was nominated for two rewards! It happened before I took a month’s vacation from blogging, and even if my absence may have made them question their decisions to reward me, I still think of it as way awesome and wholeheartedly thank Alissa Grosso of Books I Liked Loved or Hated and Slightly More than Dirt fame and Carrie Eckles who has been blogging at Promt Romp and Cogito Ergo Scribit. Both Carrie and Alissa have multiple blogs that are unique and offer refreshing perspectives that are well worth a read.

Here are the rules for the award:
1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.
5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

So, seven thing people might find interesting about me, okay, let’s see.

1. I absolutely cannot close my right eye by itself. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t work. I can wink my left eye just fine, but when I try to wink with the right… nothing. I can however close them both together, or if my left eye is already closed, then I can close the right eye independently.

2. I happen to be a big fan of well planned and designed tattoos. Not the trashy crap you see a lot of these days, but something artistic and clearly well thought out. Currently my tattoos are limited to only a tree of life split between my forearms and a personal symbol over my heart that has to do with my family and heritage, but I want oh, so many more.

3. I play guitar and I try to sing. I even record my own songs and I like to torture some of my dear friends by making them listen to my recordings. They say they aren’t too bad, but I think they lie. I made a musician’s myspace page to put up some of my own recordings and have yet to do so. Maybe someday I will, maybe not. Good or not it’s a better hobby for me than a lot of the other options out there.

4. I have some really weird dreams. Just ask Carrie.

5. I am the owner of an inbred (there’s no proof, but I suspect) polydactyl (meaning extra toes) cat. He is special, and I mean that in the most politically correct term possible. He is a very large cat not fat, but in length. I’m talking he stands up off the ground and his mutant paws come to my armpits and I’m 6’. But he’s sweet… most of the time. He likes to climb all over me all the time, and purr, and bite me when I pet him. And purr. I call him Stiffy a bit of an acronym from S.T.F.F--Seven Toed Feline Freak.

6. I like dragons. I like dragons a lot. I wish I was one.

7. I’m having trouble thinking of a seventh interesting factor. That may happen to be the case that I am probably my own harshest critic. I don’t know why, but sometimes I can’t help but give myself a lot of shit.

And now, in no particular order, the nominees!
1. B.J. Anderson of BJ Anderson
2. Roberto Scarlato of Tales and Troubled Times of a Hungry Writer
3. Eden Tyler of An Aspiring Author’s Journey
4. Rich Leighton of Florida Nature Photography
5.Cathryn Grant of Cathryn G-rant
6. Uninvoked of A Noveling Blog
7. Becky Joie of Rather Be Writing

Thanks everyone, and don’t forget to come back soon, they’ll be more treats to hand out.

Twenty-one

2009-08-26T08:44:00.000-07:00

Whew. Hold on, I'm still catching my breath. Whew. Alright, twenty-one days since my last post, and, despite some setbacks, I have finally returned.

I've got quite a lot of interesting things to relate about my getaway, and even more interesting things I need to catch up on that I've missed in my absence. I'll be doing most of the catch up first, and spreading my stories out over the next several days.

Suffice to say, the trip was certainly interesting, and was a success in that my batteries now have more juice in them then they did when I left, though they might not be powering what I had hoped, more juice is still a win in my book.

I'd just like to say thanks to everyone for your kind comments in my absence and not abandoning me. A special thanks goes out to Alissa and Carrie for nominating me for blog rewards, I'll be following up on those just as soon as I get a little more settled in.

Also a quick note, anyone in the South Florida area with computer troubles should definitely check out AnyTech here! If not for them I wouldn't be online right now.

Without further ado, it's time to get to it and start the catch up. More from me soon.

Apologies

2009-08-05T15:43:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the disappearance, I lost my internet connection for a few days, and decided while away that maybe a break from blogging isn't such a bad idea. As much as I love it, it is very time consuming, and time I spend blogging is time not spent on my WIP, not to mention I have another trip coming up in the next couple of days and won't have much writing time during that period at all. So I'm going to be making my presence here a little scarce. I'll still do original work updates and be around, just not as frequently for some time while I get things in order.

Something to check

2009-07-30T10:47:00.000-07:00

Anyone with even a slight interest in English grammar or wordplay should definitely head over to BeckyJoie's blog Rather be writing and read "Dr. Word Wielder's Wordsmithing Woes" it's very entertaining and insightful. Here's the link: Rather Be Writing

Original Work Update--Untitled Short

2009-07-30T09:39:00.000-07:00

I'm totally switching the tone from Tuesday's "The Thistle and the Daisies" here. (I did say, I didn't write anything of that nature very often, didn't I? There really isn't much to be said about it, but I guess I could give you all a warning, it's a bit gloomy.

Today, the room was more still than usual. Jonathon was no exception. His eyes were open and he could see the neon-flourescant glow of the bright bulb above him clearly. The light would have been enough to make an average human blink and look away, but Jonathon could not. His eyes were fixated forward as was his head, unable to move.

He could hear the rythmic hum of the apparatus beside him. It was comforting to him. It reminded him he was still alive and filled him with hope. Every artificial breath told him that perhaps one day, he might be able to move again. The thought to try would come to his still active mind, now and again, and he would have tried, if he could remember how. The nerves were dead. Severed and destroyed when the car had hit him.

He remembered pieces of the accident. He rememebered the helplessness of seeing the SUV barrel through the light. He remembered being unable to get out of it's berserk flight. His car rolled several times and stopped top down in a ditch. He remembered feeling the coldness of something wet pressing against him, filling his nose and his mouth. He remembered being trapped. It was the last thing he ever felt.

It was nothing compared to this. He could hear, and he could think, but he could not move. He could not communicate. He was fed intravenously through a tube he could not feel that pumped the life giving substance into his body. Another tube, sucked away his waste. The only evidence ever coming to his attention of this were the slurping sounds that he sometimes heard, and the nurse that came frequently and stood around him doing things he could not see.

It did not take him long to begin to look forward to her visits, he could hear her footsteps from down the hallway, panging and echoing from the empty walls as she would make her way to his room. He called her Samantha, and she was the most pleasent person in his mind, always asking how he was and telling him about her family.

In reality, never a word was spoken. Today, he was listening to the stillness of the room. The occasional slurp of a machine doing it's job, and over that, the constant steady in and out of the one that gave him breath. He was wondering where Samantha was. He heard two sets of footsteps begin making their way down the hall. They were both heavier than Sam's, he knew instantly. The stopped outside his door and he could hear a male's voice whispering, but he could not make out the words. The door swung open and the two footsteps entered.
Fsssh, foooh. Fsssh foooh. Jonathon still found comfort in the sounds that brought him life.
"Poor, bastard." Said a man's voice standing at the door of the room. "No friends. No family."
Jonathon could hear him move beside his bed.
"It's almost a shame." The other man said.
Fssh, foooh. Fsssh foooh.
"Almost." The man moved and a switch clicked beside Jonathon's head.
"Call the coroner. Time of death... eh, I'll give him five minutes."
"Let's say 11:38."
The footsteps left the room, the door swung silently shut.
Jonathon listened to them in horror as the footsteps faded down the hallway. There were no more sounds. There was nothing.

Original Work Update---The Thistle and the Daisies

2009-07-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

I wrote this on a whim for a friend once, via an internet conversation, because they had asked for a story, and sometimes, I oblige. After reading a lot of things today about challenges and hardships, I thought it kind of fit, so here it is.

The Thistle and the Daisies
So once upon a time in a very distant land there grew a great field of daisies. Now this field was a special field, in it that all of the other daisies were just as happy as daisies could be. Which is to say, they were outstandingly happy. After all a single daisy only had to look in any direction to see that it was surrounded by the brightest and best of it's kind, exactly like its self, and the daisies were all very much in love with themselves and the soil beneath their roots and the tenderly, loving bees and butterflies that would tickle their petals and spread their love from one flower to the next.

In fact, there was no happier place anywhere to be found. All the flowers were very much in love with life and everything their simple existance contained. In hindsight they needed so little; sun, rain, insects for pollination. Not a complaint could ever be heard coming from anywhere in this field of daisies. That is, at least from the petals of the daisies.

You see, In this field of yellow and white that stretched as far as the eye could see was a single, purple thistle. Much to the thistle's dismay, he grew up tall and proud, (in thistle comparison anyway) but somehow always seemed to find himself as the ridicule of the daisies' attention.

Now, it wasn't as if the daisies made fun of this poor, lonely thistle, mind you. In fact, there was no ill will at all. The daisies were far too concerned with their own existance to ever pay attention to the single purple blight amoungst them, which was, hence, the root of the thistle's problem. No matter how tall and proud he grew he could never rise his head above the daisies and find a place for himself. Instead the thistle felt very much insecure and unwanted. After all, everywhere he looked were the bright yellow colors of all the daisies. His own purple hue was so ridiculously out of place.

So one day, after the season's heaviest rains had fallen and given all the flowers the life giving water they so desperately needed, and when the sun had just begun to peak out from behind the clouds and pleasantly warm the air; the thistle came to a very important decision.

He had decided he had enough. The thistle, with all his pride, pulled himself from the moist earth freeing all of his roots and gazed up and over all of the daisies. He waved farewell, and listened as the daisies too made their lazy good-byes and returned to basking in the sun. With his mind made up he set off across the field walking along his roots until the field of daisies was long behind him.

He was just beginning to question his motives, as he crested a very big--and tiring!--hill, but lo and behold--on the other side of the hill was a very happy and beautiful field with millions and millions of purple thistles just like him singing and praising the sun. His petals glistened with a sense of belonging and happiness he had never felt as he quickly rushed down and made his place amoungst the other thistles.

And so just when things had gotten the worst for the thistle he left, and found his kind, and unbounded happiness, just over a hill.
-The End-

Take from that what you will. If you haven't already be sure to read yesterday's guest blog and head over to Brittany's page www.rhapsodizingmoments.blogspot.com where you can read all the other great things she has to say and see the guest blog that I wrote posted there. As always, feel free to leave a comment, reading them is often more fun than posting.

Guest Blog-Brittany Hart from Rhapsodizing Moments!

2009-07-27T08:53:00.000-07:00

Hey, folks. As I hinted at on Friday, I might have a surprise treat in store for you all, and as it happens I do. SURPRISE! As you probably gathered from the title, Brittany Hart from the blog Rhapsodizing Moments and I just exchanged guest blogs for one another.

Brittany has been studying creative nonfiction and has posted some really wonderful pieces on her site. This exchange is particularly of note, because, without having read some of her things, and being inspired by her style, I never would have wrote my own nonfiction account of the weather like I did that you can now find on her blog.

Below is an example of her work. Brittany has a lot of great things to say so be sure to go and check out the rest of her stuff at Rhapsodizing Moments.

Fresh powder drifts lightly to the ground as I wait for the bus, staring at my feet. The flakes look so innocent and fragile, lightly attaching to the sidewalk without melting. But I know better—they aren’t innocent, and soon they won’t be fragile. They’ll melt just in time to freeze overnight, becoming the slick magicians that make my feet disappear into thin air, the traitorous sidekicks of gravity that bruise my backside.

I step on a small, untouched patch of snow in front of me to examine the intricate pattern of my footprint, but the snow turns brown and melts before I can fully appreciate my stamp on the world. I pat my foot again, this time dragging it back and forth, painting the sidewalk with lines of the nasty brown muck that seems so much more appropriate for today’s temperature.

I lift my head momentarily to examine the other people at the bus stop. Some look very serious, foreheads furrowed and mouths straight as they concentrate on some very important business that consumes their lives. Some look bored, and understandably so—patience is not a natural virtue. One girl speaks loudly into her cell phone while making large, animated gestures with her left hand as if the person on the other end of the line can see her. Two boys discuss how gross their roommate is for watching horse porn. Yeah...the world is an interesting place.

The bus arrives and I watch. The serious people make their way to the bus doors with haste, as if they fear there are only two seats left and someone pissed on one of those seats. The bored people follow at a leisurely pace, avoiding the loud, animated girl on her cell phone like oil avoids water. The two boys discussing their gross roommate must not be waiting for the bus at all, because they remain behind. I get on last, because that’s what I do sometimes.

The bus is warm, a comforting fact since I only wore two coats, a hat, a scarf, and gloves today. Regardless of the reviving heat, I still feel awkward on the bus. I’m never quite sure where to look once I sit down. Do I look ahead at the person across the aisle from me, or should I pretend that I’m texting someone so that I don’t have to meet anyone’s eyes? I settle for reading the ads above the seats, the ones I’ve practically memorized.

Getting off the bus is a scary prospect for me. Going down the steps can be treacherous, and stepping onto an ice-covered sidewalk is an entirely different ordeal. I grab the railing and count the steps. One, two, three steps and...sidewalk. My shoes stick to the pavement, solid and unmoving, and I let out a deep sigh of relief, watching my breath dance with the air in front of me.

Walks in the winter are definitely not my favorite thing in the world. It seems to take longer to get home when it’s cold outside. The worst part of walking home is the stoplights, because I have to just stand there and wait while the snow piles on my shoulders and wiggles its way into my bones. Today I cross the street as if on stilts—slow, steady, and deliberate, monitoring the each sabotaging step—and I notice that some drivers are taking a keen interest in me. One driver needs to turn right, but I’m in his way, which he makes obvious by riding my heels. He might as well roll down his window and shout, “Get out of my way, stupid girl.” I can understand why he doesn’t do this though—it’s far too cold to roll down the window. Another man turning left lets me know that I’m in his way, too. I’m just so glad that my presence is enhancing people’s lives today.

I finally get into my apartment and shed—coats, hat, scarf, gloves, shoes, and backpack. Everything wet comes off, excluding my pants. I plop on the couch and sit still, eyes closed for a few minutes. I try to relax, but it is hard. I have so much to do, and I am not at all in the mood to do it. My hands ache from the storm. I don’t have arthritis or anything, I just pop my knuckles.

My roommate Megan comes through the door a few minutes later, snowflakes covering her hair and jacket like lacework. I’m amazed at her ability to wear winter as a jeweled accessory. “Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just thawing.”

“Yeah, it’s cold out there,” she replies with a big grin on her face. The grin isn’t for the snow, it’s for me. She doesn’t like snow. “I’m gonna take a nap before work, okay?”

I smile back at her and nod. I wish winter would treat me as well as it did her. Neither of us like the cold, but winter definitely has favorites. My winter leaves me with crappy brown muck. Her winter adorns her with stars of pearl.

Relatively Random Tidbits

2009-07-24T17:30:00.000-07:00

Wow, Florida has some amazing weather. I just wrote a nonfiction piece about an experience I literally just had with that same said weather. I can't wait to share it with all of you, but I think that I may have a special surprise for you all in the near future about it. So stay tuned, and I'll clue you in soon. Yes, I know, I'm a tease, but this is worth waiting a few days for. At least for me. :-P

And the other tidbit I felt like sharing this Friday night is, the other day I responded to a comment and for some reason as I was responding I got to thinking about Joyce Carol Oates' short story "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been". And in the comment I gave a link to where you could find it on her official page and read it, because if you haven't you definitely should. Since I'm probably the only person in the world that keeps track of all the comments I get on my page I thought it bared repeating so...

If you have never read "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" Go and do so. Oates' use of symbology is absolutely mind blowingly good. Here's the link: Link!

Original Work Update---Poems

2009-07-23T19:36:00.001-07:00

I almost missed this one. I didn't though. I made it with, as of this writing, an hour and twenty-three minutes to spare. I'm sorry for cutting it so close, but sometimes life happens. I hope no one finds it as lackluster as an update as I do.

Here's a couple different poems I wrote about different things at different periods of my life. I'd love to hear your thoughts on them so go ahead and leave me your comments.

Ouroboros Ends

Ouroboros at it's end,
devoured tail,
devoured body,
devoured head.
All the flesh that's left is dead.

She screams and she
screams and she
screams why don't you hear,
world, these are my dying cries
and he sighs and he sighs,
curls on himself
bites down, and dies.

Ouroboros at it's end,
all that's left are,
pieces of head.
Mind devoured by the substance
jammed down it's throat.

She cries and she cries,
and her lips spill forth lies.
And he holds out his hand
and she turns eyes blind,
puts blame to the land,
forgets that death
was hers to be had.

Ouroboros at it's end.
It's own body crammed
false values into future generations.
It's stomach filled on pieces of itself.
The degeneration masked by
world class socialization.

Ouroboros at it's end
devoured body,
soul and head.
And everything real
was suddenly dead.
Passed right over
the cultures head.
-fin

And one more, to make up for being so late...(please?) :-P

Killing Absolute

Tired lips that try
the words to songs
all wrong.
Trying through the tired
ways to get the thoughts
at all.
Slipping from the single
view that sends the head now
spinning
spinning
spinning.

A single moment's
lifetime wasted
nothing gained
and nothing tasted
new.
Just a moment of absolute
that came and never
grew.

Fallen to the spiral
painted feathers,
blacked,
loss of all the
feeling down the spine not
winning
winning
winning.
Just an aboslution killed
For everything that
lacked.
-fin

Ah, hell, one more just because.

Time

I think about it all the time,
tragically losing what I thought divine,
but love is a shadow of secrets and crimes,
and everyone will do their time.
Building up,
playing 'round,
acting out,
breaking down.
Missteps for misbegotten,
Hands held and lips met
all now forgotten.
Tragically losing what we hold in our mind,
our lovers and lives pour lies in unison,
our lovers and lies poor lives in comparison.
Building up,
playing 'round,
acting out,
breaking down.
Shadows and secrets and crimes.
Waiting and wasting
and doing our time.

Original Work Update---A Dismal Place

2009-07-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to say much about this next piece first except that it is fairly old and never became anything more than a first draft. I had written it years ago with the intention of making it quite a bit longer story of a story. I really wanted to make sure the analogy, I was trying to make got hammered home, but it was a project that just didn't ever seem worth finishing. Interestingly enough, looking back at it now I think, despite a bit of an abrupt ending, it might have worked at showing what I was trying to accomplish, but it is hard to judge that for one's self.

I awoke to find myself no longer surrounded by the comforts of pillow and down but upon a bed of leaves and sand so dry and course it scratched my skin. Looking up wearily, a gloomy sky dressed in shades of black and gray loomed above me. I heard a tremble in the air, and in the distance there was a bright, white flash, but it was quickly gone even before I might blink. Sweat dripped from my hair and ran down my shirtless back. The air was painful to breathe, each breath came thick and raspy. The heat and humidity was unbearable.
Rain began to fall, slowly at first, but soon became a downpour. The drops felt unnaturally warm and brought no comfort as they beat upon me savagely. Weariness was quickly washed away and I looked around wide eyed, slowly.
The sights I took in made me jerk my ahead away and cover my eyes, but eventually I forced myself to look. I saw a beach, discolored and polluted. The sands were black and gray, thick, and rough. The waters were even darker still. Life, in various stages of death washed, or crawled, upon the shores in a vain attempt to escape the black waters. The pungent stench of oil wafted into my nostrils and I tried desperately to cover my nose.
There was no sun, no moon. No stars in the sky, but everything was cast in a grayish light like the color of fog. It was then that I noticed the wings, feathery and black, that were attached to my back, and I regarded them with no more attention then I would give my arms. Just as easily as I might have walked I flew, small and obsolete, in an infinite world of black and gray. I left the decaying beach behind me and flew over the waters. However, I could not escape the smell or the sight of the dying creatures that had embedded themselves into my eyes no matter how far I left that land behind.
The only thing above me was the constant rain and the dark, cloudless sky. Below, the waters churned and swirled, threatening to devour me. I flew higher straight up, allowing the rain to pelt my face, and further awaken my senses. My eyes stretched from horizon to horizon, and drowned in the heavy sky above and the deadly oil below. I wondered when and how I had come to such a dismal place as this and tried to remember where I went astray. I could recall nothing. My face turned up to the sky, eyes wide open, welcoming the painful drops to wash away my tears,
I tried to convince myself that I had not always been here. That it was not by any cruel fate, but by my own accord that I was confined in such a state. I could not believe it. I saw no way in and no way out. The thick, black waters continued to bubble and froth below me. There I could see my way out. It would be simple to let myself drop, I realized. To allow myself to be swallowed by the dark water. Yet, even as I contemplated that final plummet, the rains slowed, and finally stopped. Above me stretched from behind its blanket the warmth of the sun. Just a glimpse, peering out and sharing its rays, but it was enough. My vision was drawn suddenly, to a great white heron, its wings spread, and slicing through the air, speeding away from me.
Immediately, I set off in pursuit of that white heron. The sun's rays warming to my flesh I followed as quickly as I could, but it's majestic wings far outreached mine of borrowed feathers and wax and soon it was a white speck in the murky distance. I flew in that direction for as long as I could, out over the open waters that were below me. It was sometime, before I realized that looking down in the waters below, I saw reflected above me, the blinding beauty of the sun in all it's glory, and bright blue skies above. Even the pungent waters below that had before been death, now seemed clear and still.
I was hot, and my body was weary, but still I flew after the bird that had brought me hope. As my wings began to falter I saw an island, lush with life and trees. Untouched by anything that would destroy such beauty, and I was awed. I collapsed there on it's white sand beach to catch my breath. The wings that had once held me so distant above the ground blew gently from my back, in a passing breeze. And for the first time in what I thought an eternity I fell asleep.
There is no way of knowing how long I had slept, but when at last the warmth of the sun aroused me from my slumber, I sat up slowly, and stretched my body, feeling alive as if for the first time. I blinked and took a deep breath, enjoying the air passing through my lungs for no other reason but that I wanted to enjoy. A
blanket had been lifted from my eyes and looking around I saw now the same landscape that had once been bleak, cold, and dreary. What had changed? What had changed in such a short period of time that what was before death was now too pristine for words? What had happened to cause this change?
I stood upon the beach peering into the forest, thinking of my white heron and contemplating this. At length I realized my sadness, even here amongst so much beauty. Sad, because the heron had slipped from me. I could not push aside it's majestic beauty piercing my darkness and offering me hope, when I had none and so it's purity drove me. I set forth further into this paradise, with a single goal: to find this heron and learn from it. To become it, if I may, or to become as close a creature to it as I possibly could.
For hours I searched but to no prevail. I swam around shimmering rocks with water dancing over them as I searched one pool after another, or behind one tree and than another. There was nothing, but still I could not get the sight of my heron away from my eyes.
I searched the entire island to find myself back where I had landed and then I searched the island again.
Now, despair had set upon me and the same beauty in this paradise that had sparked in me awe, now only reminded me of how lonely I was. I did not realize that I was beginning to lose sight of the beauty around, only for the beauty in my mind. I collapsed upon a rock that sat in the midst of a stream that ran through this place.
The waters turned black and thick and swirled around me, but I never saw them change. One second things were beautiful, and the next the fog returned and everything had gone back to gray. I could hear thunder roaming in the sky above.
It was than in my despair and loneliness that a fairy appeared before me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, it was keen to me, for reasons I knew not why, and it promised me wealth and riches and happiness if I would only come along with it.
It calmed the black waters around me and made them blue again and promised that it could stave off the rain. My heart was heavy, but the world the fairy offered was far better than the black. Reluctantly, I agreed to go with it. I had forgotten my white heron.
-fin

So I ask, what do you think? Is this too subtle, or does it suffer from being way too painfully obvious? Or something else entirely? Or would you like to discuss todays weather? As always, all comments are welcome.

Friday Fundamentals

2009-07-17T08:56:00.000-07:00

I just read this over on Rebecca Emrich's Blog Living a Life of Writing http://www.rebeccasbook.blogspot.com/. Apparently, someone had sent her an email regarding her thoughts on what makes a writer able to call themselves a writer. The email disturbed me enough to write a rebuttal that I feel deserves it's own spot on my blog that I would like to open up for conversation.

"To suggest to such a degree that writers are anyone who writes is absurd. The only possible way to prove oneself as a writer is to make enough money to be self sustaining. Otherwise, there is no hope for the "writing career" of said writer. Only jokers are willing to sacrifice themselves for a dream. To many people fancy themselves writers and spend time poking at a computer. They don;t have a job to refer to, other than their dream. I say again it is a dream... no money they are not a writer, they are a dreamer. Dreamers need to come down from their clouds and get a real job. I suspect that writers who don't make money have someone who backs their delusions up.... I repeat again all writers without money are dreamers."

So unless I missed the jist here, the emailer is trying to say that the only way you can call yourself, and expect to be recognized, as a writer, is by the amount of money you make? I disagree, for numerous reasons.

There are plenty of writers that do so only for the pure joy and love of writing. They have other financial means of sustaining themselves. The author of the email was quick to say that they believe someone else often supports them. This may be true in some cases, but it is also equally likely they support themselves with another, or even, multiple jobs and should also be acknowledged.

Personally, I know more than one writer that I would classify as a writing hobbyist, as they are not writing for means of an income but means of personal entertainment. Alot of times they may submit their work to magazines that do not pay or use it for other purposes. The simple fact alone that they are not making money with their writing, does not invalidate it by any means, and such a statement, I must say, is absurd.

I could go on and on about the many publishers in existance that do not pay when they publish submitted work. Yet they have no trouble getting submissions. Obviously publishing in itself is a form of recognition for any writer.

I could also write a small novel talking about the snowball effect that Rebecca mentioned, but I'll just say, everyone has to start somewhere.

It is sad for me to read this person's comment and see that some people have such a narrow point of view. Sadder still, is that they feel so strongly about it they must write discouraging and harsh words to portray their feelings. But the real issue here is the fact that the emailer, who is certainly entitled to his/her opinion, is a bit ignorant on the topic and should have educated themselves on it before portraying personal opinion as fact.

As I wrote before in my guest blog for Rebecca, back in June, if you are writing just for money you and your work alike will both show for it. And more likely than not the work will be terrible.

Above all else the main reason authors succeed is because of their passion to write and not their desire to become rich. Look at some statistics, unless you are a select few writers as a majority are not wealthy.

So I ask you, if you aren't writing for money alone, how is it logical that money can be the only measure to which you can mark your success?

If you aren't familiar with Rebecca Emrich's work or her blog, go check it out. Here's a link: Living a Life of Writing

I'm Back!

2009-07-14T15:55:00.000-07:00

Finally, home from what turned out to be an extended trip to the harsh, bitter cold north (to be fair, I may be exaggerating the coldness a bit), I feel like I really need to touch base here.

Sorry folks, no original work update today. I am behind, behind, behind on everything that I could possibly be behind in. More pressing, however, I am very much in need of a nice long nap. I'll get around to catching up on things I've missed over the next couple of days. You'll be hearing more from me soon, but for now--Good night.

Thought of the Moment

2009-07-01T08:18:00.000-07:00

Since tomorrow I will be leaving for a week and can't guarantee I'll have much blogging time if any at all; I thought today would be a good time to share with you something that has been weighing heavily on my mind for several days now.

Though I haven't been sharing any of this particular project, I have been hard at work on a fantasy novel for some time now. If pressed to express my feelings on this novel, I would say it is my love child. While working on it there has been numerous ups and downs. There have been times where I just could not put my thoughts and ideas into words, and there have been times when the story wrote itself and felt like I was not creating, but merely dictating someone else's actions. I'm not sure if that's common for all writers, but it is certainly part of the writing experience for me. Rough waters or smooth sailing, I'm dedicated to finishing this novel.

Now, as some of you may know, Carrie Eckles very recently gave me a spot on her blog Prompt Romp where I gave some of my thoughts on writing prompts and shared a small scene of a science-fiction story that I had come up with after reading one of Carrie's prompts.

That prompt, and the small scene I wrote opened the door to an entire universe of story ideas I had never considered before. In fact, since writing that scene, I've come up with several different short story ideas for what could very well be an ongoing series with these characters and in this world.

I've been working on it everyday, and it's been a very enjoyable experience. However, I haven't spent one moment sitting down and actually writing my other novel. I feel like I am betraying myself and betraying my story.

Like an adulterer every time I sit down and work on this other series, no matter how smoothly it flows and natural it feels, I feel guilty. Which brings me to my questions:

How do we as writer's balance multiple projects? Am I really betraying one project for another? Is this guilt and self-loathing justified?

I want to finish both projects as soon as possible. I can divide brain power and spend time thinking about both stories, but unless I mutate and suddenly grow two brains and another pair of arms, however, I know it is physically impossible for me to work on both projects at once. Are my feelings of betrayal natural?

I don't have any answers of my own, but I'm really curious how other authors handle working on multiple projects. Am I alone in feeling like this? Do you just pick one project and dedicate yourself to it until completed, or do you flip from one project to the next as the muse strikes?

Original Work Update---Serious Attachment part 2

2009-06-30T06:43:00.000-07:00

Hello, everyone, thanks for coming by. As always, call me nosey, but I really want to hear what everyone is thinking. So if you feel inclined please leave me some comments at the bottom of the posts.

Before I post the conclusion to "Serious Attachment" I just wanted to request that, if you haven't done so already, please read yesterdays blog. I had a small announcment there as well as a really great guest blogger sharing her opinions on character creation. Now, I've got some projects calling my name this morning so I won't waste anytime.

ORIGINAL WORK UPDATE

“. . .I’m telling you, Steve. It was really bizarre.” Rachael was laughing with one of her co-workers in the backroom of their store. “I mean I never even talked to this guy when we had class together, it’s really strange.”
Steve chuckled along with her. “What a dope. Still though, that’s kinda weird finding all those cigarette butts on your step like that.”
“Nah, not really. I’m unlisted, so it’s not like he looked up my address or anything. My neighbor’s a drunk, he does that kinda thing all the time, did I ever tell you about the time I found him asleep on my lawn one morning?”

The next day she had off of work so she slept in late. She had turned her phone off before going to bed and when she was ready casually began to check her messages.
“You have seventeen new messages.”
She raised an eyebrow as she sat on her couch listening.
“First message: *click*. Second message. *click*”
It went on and she just began to delete them, then a voice held her finger from the key.
“Hey, Rachael, it’s me, Josh. Not nice of you to turn your phone off on your boyfriend.” Laughter. “I’ll see you later, darling. Hugs ‘n’ kisses. *click*.”
“Message erased.”
She suppressed a shudder just as a knock on her door startled her to jump. Hastily she moved the curtain aside and glanced out the window. An unfamiliar car was parked in the street in front of her house.
She moved to the doorway and glanced through the peephole. Suddenly her blood ran cold. Goose bumps raised on her arms and legs. She nearly gasped. Standing in front of the door was none other than Josh, smiling. His dark hair, mottled and unwashed, was sticking about wildly. He pushed at his black framed glasses with a finger as he stood facing the door.
Rachael backed away slowly and crouched on her knees, hoping to be out of sight, her breath caught in her lungs. Just then her cell phone began to ring. Splitting the quiet, stillness of the air. She wanted to run for it to shut it up, but instead crept as quietly and as quickly towards it as she could. She silenced the ringer and hesitantly put it to her ear.
“Hello?” She whispered.
“Hey, love.” Came the familiar, pleasant sounding voice that sent a shiver down her spine. “Are you home, I was hoping to hang out today.”
She hesitated. She could feel her heart pumping in her chest,. She could hear it’s beats loudly and imagined them echoing through the walls. She wanted to silence it. Cowering in the corner behind the couch she found her voice, but only whispered.. “Uh, no. . . I’m not.” Her mind was racing. “A friend of mine came and picked me up.”
“Oh that’s too bad. I really wanted to see you today, feels like I haven’t seen my girlfriend in days.”
“Josh, I’m not your girlfriend. I’ve been seeing someone for awhile now. I don’t know what gave you this idea, but you seriously need to stop. It’s creeping me out. Don’t call me anymore, okay?”
He laughed off her words without missing a beat. “Don’t be silly. When do you think you’ll be home?”
“I am not being silly, damn-it!” She said still trying to remain quiet. You seriously need to stop. Good bye!” She hung up the phone and quickly shut off the ringer.
A shadow of a figure crept in front of her window, blanketed out by the curtains. She leaned further back into the corner, holding her breath. She touched the button to call her work.
“Ritger’s Hardware, this is Steve. How may I help you?”
“Steve, it’s Rachael.” She whispered.
“Heeeeeeeeey! What’s up girl?”
“Shh, not so loud. Steve, I need your help, that guy is lurking outside my house.”
He laughed. “What guy,” then remembered, “oh, are you serious?”
Another shadow crept along behind another window of the room.
“It’s not funny. I told him I wasn’t home, and now he’s outside, I dunno what he’s doing, walking around my house or something. Please, can you get here?”
“Nah, Rach, sorry, It’s just me and Jim right now, no way he’s letting me out. You better call the police or something. I gotta get back on the floor, we’re busy. I’ll come by when I get off. Things will be alright. Bye.”
Silence.
She waited a minute and then dialed three numbers.
“Hello. . . Police. . . Yes this is an emergency.”

They told her there was not any units available immediately, but to stay inside and they would send one within an hour. She sat for an hour and a half not daring to move. Cringing at the sounds of hands rustling at her windows, or tugging at her door. She prayed that all were locked. The shadow continued to dart from window to window and then it disappeared. She thought she heard the sound of a car driving away but she could not be certain over the sounds of her own breathing. Her knees were aching from where she had been crouched and her palms were sweaty as she tried to phone the police once more.
The unit was on it’s way. She sighed and waited a few more minutes. She had not seen or heard anything for awhile. Her legs were aching so badly. She choked down her fear, and gritting her teeth, stretched out her legs. She felt better knowing that the police were on their way and risked a quick glance out the front window. The car she had seen was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the curtain away to get a better look around. A hand stretched from the side of the window and slammed into the pane, making her jump back with a gasp. The phone fell from her hand.
“Hey, Rachael! Let me in! I wanna talk to you.” He began to beat on the window frantically. He moved to her doorway and began to beat on it repeatedly. She froze on the other side, afraid that he might break in. “Hey, come on!”
A car approached, she heard the brief flick of a siren.
Bwoop-Bwoop.
The beating stopped. She looked out the peephole, he was moving away from the door. She waited a moment and opened it slowly. He was approaching the officer his hands clasped behind his back.
“Young man, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave.” The officer was saying.
Rachael thought she caught a glimpse of something flash in Josh’s hand, she opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
He spoke, but she could not hear what was said.
The officer’s response however, was loud and clear. “Then I’ll have to lead you out in cuffs, come along now.”
Josh turned around and smiled so brightly at Rachael that she froze.
“I love you.” He said, and turned upon the policeman.
A knife was in his hand, she saw it now. She tried to scream out a warning to tell him to stop, but everything formed on her tongue and died at once. All she could do was gasp and watch as the officer reacted quickly.
Two explosive sounds deafened her senses. Josh fell backwards with his glasses flying away from the twisted smile frozen upon his face. Rachael slumped to her knees. The two explosive sounds reverberated through her ears.
BAM!
BAM!
She stared ahead fixedly, but could barely see. The officer was down beside the body, doing something. He was speaking into the radio at his side, but the words were lost on her. She pressed her palms into her face harshly and pulled them away. There was wetness on her palms. Was she crying? She couldn’t tell. Her knees were knocking together so violently she thought she might fall. There were voices speaking, but all she could see was that twisted smile frozen behind the tears and obscuring her vision.

Personally, I think the conclusion isn't all that well written or exciting, but I learned a long time ago that I am usually pretty self-deprecating when it comes to my own writings so I've tried to turn that negative voices volume down. What did you think of the ending?

Carrie Eckles from Prompt Romp Guest Blog!!!!

2009-06-29T07:59:00.000-07:00

Ah, another Monday. Where did this month go? Well, I’ve got a mix of good news and bad news for everyone today so we’ll start with the bad news.

I’ll be going away for a week this Thursday and it is likely, that I will not be doing much blogging until I return on July 9th. So, it’s probably not that terrible of news I just wanted to give you a heads up; I’m not going to be around much after Wednesday. And now here’s the good news:

Carrie Eckles of Prompt Romp and I have exchanged guest blogs for one another. For those of you that don’t know Carrie, much like myself, has just started up a new blog. Though I must admit, hers is much cooler a premise than mine.

What she has been doing for almost two months now is updating her blog regularly with writing prompts to help kick-start a writer’s brain and get away from that wicked devil we call writer’s block.

I just recently used one of her prompts to start a short story series that I can see myself working on for a long time to come. Be sure to head over to her blog Prompt Romp to check it out and read my thoughts on writing prompts.

Carrie is also the author of the delightfully amusing blog Artful Procrastination I hope everyone takes some time to check out her blogs and enjoys them even half as much as I do.

Below are Carries thoughts on character creation:

Character creation is one of the most frustrating aspects of fiction writing; it’s also one of the most fun and most rewarding. To some people, creating vivid and memorable characters comes naturally. To others, it’s a chore that they just want to get done so they can write their amazingly cool and totally awesome plot.

Creating characters doesn’t have to be a chore. When you understand what makes a good character, creating one is as simple as writing your own name.

Character Conception
Character conception is, obviously, the first phase of creating a character. The idea for the character might just randomly pop into your head one day and the character might be so compelling that they necessitate the need for a good plot and story; on the other hand, you might have a really good story to tell and need to create a character to drive it. Whatever the reason, you conceive your character idea.

During the conception phase, you should know a few basics about your character. You don’t necessarily have to know their name, but you do have to know their function in the story. What role do they play to help the story progress? Knowing the answer to that is the key for continuing to develop your character.

Once you have the basic function of the character mapped out, it’s time for the really fun stuff.

Naming a Character
To me, naming the character is one of the most exciting parts of the process. More often than not, I scour etymology websites until I find a name that suits my character. That may seem like a lack of creativity, but really, I believe a name is one of the most important things about a character.

Basically, your character has to have a memorable sounding name. If they don’t, your readers will never remember it. Think of the most famous names in literature: Dorian Gray, Albus Dumbledore, Frodo Baggins, and Elizabeth Bennett. What do all of these names have in common? A) They fit their characters and B) they fit the world their characters live in.

Take Dorian Gray, for example. His world is meant to portray that excess of aestheticism; therefore, he must have a name that has the flourish of the aesthetic movement. It’s commonly accepted that Oscar Wilde took the name from the Dorians, who were a tribe of ancient Greece. The surname Gray could be seen as a hint, alluding to the moral grayness of excess: how much is too much? And when does it all become ridiculous?

A name that fits the character, and compliments them, is very important for crafting a name that’s memorable and important.

Character Relevance
One of the most important things to ask yourself is this: Is my character relevant to the story? Examine that question and understand what it truly means before you answer that. Basically, what I’m telling you to ask yourself is: Does my character matter? Do they add to the story? Is there a reason readers should care about them?

If you’ve answered yes to all of those questions, you’re well on your way to crafting a memorable character. That is, you are only if you answered truthfully. This is the part of the character creation process where you have to be honest with yourself. By being honest, you can see your characters the way your readers (and publishers) most likely will.

If you answered no to any of those questions, revise your character (or your story) until they go hand in hand and complement each other. In the end, you may have to make a choice: save your character or save your story. Personally, I’d go for the former. Good story ideas fall down like rain; good characters come once in a blue moon.

Thank you very much Carrie; that was very well said and insightful! I particularly liked your thoughts on naming, for me personally naming a character was always the hardest part. Often I just throw letters together and hope it sounds okay, I’m a little embarrassed to admit.

I’m curious what are some ways that everyone else fleshes out their characters?

Be sure to check back in here tomorrow for the conclusion to my "Serious Attachment" story.

Original Work Update---Serious Attachment part 1

2009-06-26T17:41:00.000-07:00

Today for the original work update, I'm switching gears a little bit. The following is the first half of a short story that I have written. I'll be following this up with the second half next Tuesday. Thanks to all the newcomers for stopping by, I hope you enjoy the blog and please feel free to leave your comments, I really enjoy reading and responding to them all.

Rachael was staring at the puddle of blood and white chalk outline at the foot of her driveway. Her hands were open at her sides and shaking so violently she was forced to wring them together and clasp the folds of her skirt tightly between her fingers. Her eyes were wide open raining down silent tears. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but not a sound escaped her lips. She heard the sounds of the men moving at the edge of her vision. Her eyes widened as her attention turned upon them and she heard the sound of the body bag being zippered closed. The men pushed their load into the back of the ambulance and slowly headed away on quietly weeping tires.
Rachael’s eyes stared fixedly at the dark red puddle thinking of how empty she felt inside. There was a voice addressing her, but she did not respond. Her eyes were fixed within her skull, fixed upon the puddle at the bottom of her driveway, on the life spilled upon the curb.
“I’m truly sorry Ma’am.”
The voice finally succeeded in pulling her attention away and slowly she turned her head and her wide, dark eyes to the man in front of her.
“I am sorry, but we’ll need to get a statement from you as soon as possible.”
Rachael opened her mouth to speak and coughed, the words catching in her throat. She was no longer able to hold the officer’s gaze and she dropped her head down to tare at her feet.
Seeing her disposition the man hurriedly continued to speak calmly and softly. “Perhaps you should sit down, miss. Take your time.” He put his hand gently on her shoulder and tried to guide her to the bench on her lawn, but she made no response.
His hand went to the radio at his side, but as he went to retrieve it she looked up, drew a deep breath and with her shaking hands wiped at her face. “No.” She said firmly as the color slowly came back to her complexion. “I’m fine. I’m ready. What should I tell you?”
“Tell me how it started.” The man replied readying his clipboard and pencil.
How did it start? She tried to remember. It started with a phone call. No, that was not right. It started before that. “Well, I guess it started a couple weeks back.” She said quietly. “No, several actually. It was the beginning of the month. I was at the mall with my aunt. We were doing some shopping when I ran into him.” Her eyes were distant, vacant and glazed.
“Slow damn, ma’am.” The officer said calmly. “I need you to go back to the beginning. Please, tell me who he is.”

Her phone was ringing. It had been ringing, she realized slowly, as it pulled her from her sleep. Then it silenced. Rolling over she shut her eyes and pulled the covers back over her head. It rang again. Sighing she rolled out of bed and groped around in the darkness for several minutes before she grasped the phone, flung it open, and squinted her eyes away from it’s light. She sat down on the edge of her bead.
“Hullo?” She spoke into the receiver, the words grating in her throat.
“Hey Rachael, how are ya? It was really nice running into you today at the mall.” The voice was loud and chipper on the other end and she pulled the phone away from her ear frowning.
She took a moment to process the information. “. . . Josh?”
“Of course, who else?”
“Josh, I dunno, how you got my number but--”
“You gave it to me, silly.” He laughed. “You must be sleepy, sorry if I woke you.”
“BUT,” She interceded. “It’s. . .” She glanced at her clock. “It’s three in the morning, Josh. And I didn’t give you my number!”
“Of course you did.” He said with a hint of playful laughter behind his voice.
Sighing, she fell onto her back and fluffed the pillows around her.
“Whatever.” She snipped. “What the hell do you want?”
“I was just missing you, that’s all. I wanted to call and tell you how glad I was to see you today, I mean, I haven’t seen you since classes got out for the winter.”
She sighed again, very loudly, into the phone. “That’s sweet, Josh. Thanks. I really appreciate you waking me up at three a.m. to tell me so. Look, I gotta get up for work in a few hours and--”
“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning then, good night.” He quickly hung up the phone and she was left listening to the sound of the dial tone buzzing in her ear.
“What the hell?” She muttered and dropped the phone from the side of her bed. Tossing and turning it was long moments before she returned to sleep.

That morning the strange phone call was long forgotten by the time Rachael had readied herself for work. She grabbed her purse and opened the door, locking it closed behind her. She froze in mid-step, her eyes drawn to the pavement. There, on her front step, lay in a neat, little pile easily a dozen stubbed out cigarette butts and tiny pieces of burnt paper. She stared at them for a minute before looking around. Seeing nothing, she kicked the butts into the shrubs and hurriedly got into her car.

Guest Blog!

2009-06-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

As the headline states today’s update is my much talked about Guest Blog. Rebecca Emrich, the mastermind behind the great blog Living a Life of Writing, and I recently exchanged posts for one another’s blogs.
As some of you may have seen she has been doing several different inspirational series and currently she has been tackling the topic of Writing Retreats and Mentoring. Be sure to head over there and check out her stuff, personally, I’ve found the things she has to say to be really inspirational. It was such a good experience for me to contribute to her blog, and I am really quite thankful that she took the time to contribute to mine as well.
For those that have been following, I have not been keeping any set structure to this blog, so when Rebecca asked what I wanted her to talk about my answer was simple: anything.
Imagine my surprise when she picked a topic that I myself am very guilty of more often than I want to admit. Procrastination
So without further ado I present Rebecca Emrich:

What's challenging when you write?

That's the question I've always had to ask myself, how does one person get about 3,000 words done in a day and I'm happy if I get 750? It wasn't until recently that I looked over my answer. Because I'm happy?? no, no I'm not! but that doesn't make me want to write more.

For me it's the art of procrastination, the fine art, which I'm sure everyone has. You can plan and plan and dream out what you’re going to do. Really all this means is that you're thinking. While thinking and planning are good, and I do this often, the commitment part is harder. It's not as if we can't, but we make excuses. One of my friends, over an evening of discussing writing, (This is a guy thing... so the effect didn't work as well on me) said to drop the "pro" "ination" add a couple of letters and you get: Castrate.

Every guy in the room looked sick. The point is that when you're happy with "just" you are doing exactly that. I think it's because we want to do better that we get angry at the ones who won't let anything get in their way. Yes, I know, you have kids, you only have twenty-four hours in a day, you need to work, you need... Do you need to write?

Gotcha. See, many of us find a million excuses not to write, or edit or do something we all dislike. But we in the end lose; it's not easy to think of what we can do, when we're finding things not to do. I love writing, and it comes first, well second, I have two girls under the age of five. I still find time to work around this. Coffee is great. So is not going to the latest movie, or reading the new bestseller. I have work to do. Each day I'll work about 6 hours on my book. It's in the second edit. Still it should be done soon. My editor also thinks like a reader, and thank goodness for that.

Writing can be challenging, but it's also fun. There are ups and downs, but if you're committed to being a writer, this will be the most important thing you can do for yourself. Commit to write.

I'll need to say thanks to Andrew for allowing me to guest blog here. I hope to see you on my blog. Enjoy Andrew's as well.
-----
Thank you, Rebecca, for such a thought provoking post! There is just no easy way around it, no matter how you want to excuse not writing; by procrastinating we all are really castrating our work. I know when I take too long away from a project it can be very difficult to get back into it, to get back into my characters heads and remember the way it is that they think.
How many projects have we all set aside unfinished? Personally, I can’t even answer that question there has been so many, but as Rebecca said the key is to stay committed.
Please take a moment to share your thoughts on this topic. Although we have been discussing writing specifically it really applies to everyone, even people outside of the artistic fields. How often do we find it a lot easier to set aside what we really want to accomplish for a simple and short lived distraction?

Original Work Update---Jaccen's Story part 3

2009-06-23T08:05:00.000-07:00

So it's Tuesday, and as promised for the original work update I'm continuing with the next scene in the installment I have been sharing. If you missed the first two parts and want to catch up check my blog archive and you'll find them under the name Jaccen's Story. This might be the last one of this story I post for a little while, I'd love to know what you guys think. So as always, please leave comments.

On a different note, something that may be old news to some of you, but is totally worth another mention for me tomorrow morning I will be posting up a guest blog by Rebecca Emrich from the blog Living a Life of Writing. www.rebeccasbook.blogspot.com Be sure to check out her blog when you have the time she has alot of great things to say.

And now for the (drum roll please) ORIGINAL WORK UPDATE!

It was only sometime later, after the room had been more or less abandoned, that Jaccen felt like he could move again. He had listened to the heavy footfalls of the giant returning and his loud snores overpowering the woman’s soft breaths beside him long enough. He forced his eyes open.
“How do you feel?” Kathraan purred beside him.
He looked down at his stomach and watched as the last traces of his wounds disappeared before his eyes. Even the black substance marring his pants began to vanish.
“Lost.” He said at length. He fumbled in his pants and found the pack of cigarettes that he had been carrying. Taking one he put it to his lips and searched for the lighter. “And I’m getting really damn sick of passing out.” he added.
“The transition is hard.” She said, and placed her finger to the end of the cigarette as he was bringing the lighter from his pocket. He froze as the end suddenly flared beneath her finger. “It gets easier though. It really does.”
“I wish I knew what the hell you were talking about.” He said, turning his wide blue eyes to stare at her. He coughed as he breathed in the toxic fumes.
“Don’t worry about it.” She said. “You’ll get your answers.” She stood up, leaned over him, and kissed him hard upon his lips. He felt his hand reaching to her side, but she pulled away just as his fingers met the thin fabric of her shirt. “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.” With that, she began to walk away. “Hey,” she said stopping and looking back, “I don’t know what to call you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He muttered.
She shrugged and disappeared into the hallway.
Jaccen sat back and turned to his left where the giant was snoring loudly on the other couch. He sighed, dropped the cigarette on the floor and crushed it beneath his bare foot without thinking. Grimacing he reached for his socks and shoes with the idea of leaving clearly in his mind and every intention to do so. It was when he moved, however, that he realized just how tired his body was. He stretched out and lay back on the couch. His body crumbled, his eyes closed, and his mind became more restless than the rain beating upon the roof.

“WAKE UP!” The sense of urgency behind the male’s voice snapped Jaccen to attention.
I’m awake. He thought, then, I’ve been awake. He realized that he had not gotten even a moment of sleep, since his body collapsed his mind was traveling the rainy streets of the night, tirelessly.
“Get everybody in here. NOW!”
Jaccen’s eyes shot open. The woman was gliding down the hallway quickly. Her eyes locked with his briefly, and he watched as she dropped her gaze and shook her head with a slight sigh. He wondered what that look was for.
“What’s going on?” Kathraan asked.
“Dunno, yet.” Grim was standing by the wall next to the window. His hand grasped the heavy, black curtain and he pulled it slightly to the side. Bright light flooded into Jaccen’s eyes and he blinked to adjust them while standing up. “Summin’s goin’ on out dere. Thas fir shir.” He dropped the curtain.
Jaccen decided now would be a good time to don his clothing. As he did so, he noticed Fritz’s eyes intensely upon him.
Hedrick appeared in the room and Rithain came out from down the hallway, straightening his black hair with a hand. “The Rabanaur’s?” He asked. “Looking for some vengeance, perhaps?”
“I doubt that.” Hedrick said. “What can you see, Grim?”
“Bloody-damned-nuffin’s wud Uh see, boss.”
Everyone turned and looked at Hedrick, Jaccen felt himself included. Just then a piercing note split the air persistently like the highest note of an organ whose musician fell asleep with his finger to the key.
“What did I tell you?!” Fritz snapped facing Hedrick. “It’s them!”
“Be quiet.” Hedrick said quickly. “We have no choice but to vanish.”
“And I was starting to get acquainted with this dump too.” Rithain said.
Hedrick ignored him. “Grim, can you provide a distraction and not get carried away?”
“Shir thing, boss.”
The next few seconds flashed so quickly Jaccen had a hard time following. At the same moment he heard Kathraan’s voice speaking, “Alright, people, we’re goin’ underground.” Grim vanished and the front door was sent flying into a thousand splinters of wood. His eyes were drawn outside the vacant opening to the three figures standing in a perfect triangle on the lawn. They were tall, humanoid figures, as tall as Grim, and their faces were lost in the light that seemed to radiate from them. In each of their hands they clasped a flame that flickered and danced and came to a point as sharp as a sword. He noticed the pure white, wings protruding from each of the three’s backs, like shards of glass. It seemed that in the very instant the door had shattered Grim was attacking the nearest one as the other two swarmed around him. Everyone was shouting in a mad sea of voices.
“Those are Thrones!”
“This is his fault! He brought them on us!”
“Grim, get outta there!”
“Look at how many there are!”
“He’s going down.”
“They’re gonna kill him.”
“Forget it, just run!”
Everyone was out the door as the three figures converged upon Grim bearing their weapons of flame. As Jaccen found himself on the lawn he could see at least a dozen nondescript shapes of light circling around them. The giant that wanted to kill him the night before was in a fight for his life against three figures that seemed to have no intention of losing. He could not fathom why he cared and before he knew what he was doing, Jaccen stepped into the fray to try and drive the winged creatures back.
Driven on instinct alone he dashed forward, struck one in the back with his knee, and leapt over its flailing wings to kick it into one of the others. Grim was face down in the grass. A flame came towards his legs, without a thought he kicked at it and was surprised to see, from the corner of his eye, it sail through the air, and dissipate into nothing. He noticed Kathraan was getting Grim to his feet as another figure attacked from behind; he spun, grabbed its arms and, ignoring a searing pain that shot through his hands, tossed it away. The things were relentless. Two more were beside him and he kicked, swiped and danced, just to keep them away. Somehow he managed to notice that Hedrick, Fritz, and Rithain were doing something to keep some circular balls of light at bay at the edge of the lawn. He felt like he was dreaming. Kathraan and Grim were reaching them. Then he heard her voice shouting towards him.
“C’MON!”
Something pierced his sides and he found one of the creatures had dug both of his hands into him. Shaking violently he broke free and tossed it into one of the others, then, as quickly as he could manage, which was actually much faster than he could imagine, he joined the others and together the six ran behind the house and through an alley.
They jumped walls and twisted through back streets never once bothering to look behind them at the bright figures in constant pursuit.
“Fritz, get us underground. We need a portal now.” Hedrick hissed as they continued to run.
“I’ve been trying, but I can’t here.” He said never breaking step. “Just keep running.”
Jaccen felt as if he would collapse at any moment. His sides were gasping in pain. Determination kept him just behind Grim and Kathraan who, helping each other, were a just little faster than he could manage. It was obvious, though, even in their flight, that Grim was having a hard time. Just then Fritz stopped suddenly drawing Jaccen to a panting halt. Fritz, leaning over to one side, spread his arms as wide as he could and between his open hands sprouted a thick dark substance impenetrable by any light. It look like an oil spill floating in the air.
“Everybody in.” Fritz shouted. Hedrick and Rithain ran straight into it and disappeared without ever slowing. Grim and Kathraan followed. Jaccen took a step forward naturally.
“Forget it, kid,” He said his face set in a hard scowl. He straightened himself and pulled the pitch-black, ovular mass behind him. “But this is as far as you go.” Without waiting for a response he stepped into it and instantly both he and the portal vanished leaving Jaccen alone in the alley with the flaming-white creatures closing in.

------

I guess my big question is, as readers do you feel like you relate enough to Jaccen in that short period to be concerned about the cliffhanger he was left at? Or is more development needed prior to that? Of course if you want to comment about something else entirely, that's always good too. See you all tomorrow!

The Picture is back!

2009-06-22T15:39:00.000-07:00

All is right with the world... so, let me try again now that everything seems to be working... Does anyone like this picture as much as I do?

Now I'm in a pickle...

2009-06-22T14:59:00.001-07:00

For some reason commenting doesn't seem to be working on my blog. Evidentally my really awesome background that I was extremely happy with broke my blog. Or I broke my blog. Or something. But I don't know anything about this sort of thing and am not even certain what was broken yet alone how to fix it. So uh... help?

Until this gets squared away if you need to get in touch with me about anything please use my email addy aa5029@gmail.com.

Updates!

2009-06-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally figured out how to get a decent background for this blog. I could do without all that red garbage at the very top, but since I don't know anything about html and I am using a free premade background I suppose I have to live with it for the time being. I am absolutely in love with this picture though!

So this will be a pretty busy week for the blog so I hope everyone stops back in again later. As you can undoubtedly see today was dedicated to appearance. Some of you may have seen my announcment earlier that Tuesdays and Fridays are now officially....... ORIGINAL CONTENT UPDATE days. What that means is every Tuesday and Friday I'll be putting onto the blog a piece of my own writing for everyone to view, dissect, or praise as you see fit.

Since Rebecca Emerich of Living a Life of Writing. has already let the cat out of the bag, I guess it is okay for me to make a mention of this. She and I have agreed to do guest blogs for each other. Over the last week she has been working on a really great series on Writing Retreats and Mentoring. If you haven't yet seen the ideas that she has had you owe it to yourself to go check it out.

In the past month I have been acquainted with her, Rebecca continually manages to inspire and amaze me. So yeah, I'm a little excited to see what she is going to contribute over here on my corner. I am aiming to have her guest blog up here on Wednesday of this week. You should be able to find my thoughts on mentoring on her blog tomorrow. I'm not too proud to grovel and say please, go check it out and be sure to read her back posts while you are there. I can't stress how great a job she is doing over there.

So I thought I had more to say, but all of a sudden my mind is drawing a blank. I could rattle on about nothing, but instead, I'll just leave you be with a simple question: What do you think of the new background?

There's always something...

2009-06-20T08:25:00.000-07:00

Ahh, Saturday in South Florida... the sky is a beautiful, pristine blue. The clouds like wisps of fresh cotton caught in the wind. Birds are chirping outside my window, and I just watched a young squirrel chewing on a macadamia nut not six feet away from my face.

So why am I so miserable?

It seems like lately I've been adding more and more to my to do list without really crossing anything off. Hopefully, you'll forgive my griping while I gather my thoughts.

So, over the last couple days I've been thinking. This blog really hasn't had any structure, I just checked it every day and posted when I felt like it. Well, I've decided that is going to change.
Starting Monday I'll be keeping a schedule. Tuesdays and Fridays will be original piece updates where I'll be posting up something new of my own work. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are going to be reserved for random news and rants and anything else not related to my writing work. I may not post something every single Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but I will promise regular updates on Tuesdays and Fridays.

I'm pretty new to this whole blogging community and I must say... wow. There are so many great blogs out there a lot more deserving than mine. I really am thrilled to be a part of this world and wonder how I went so long without knowing about it. I'd really like to start doing more with other bloggers.

This coming week I'll be having an extra special guest blogger and I'm really excited about the idea and opportunity. I guess this is my call for all the other bloggers out there. If anyone else would be interested in exchanging guest blogs or collaborating on something in the future please do not hesitate to let me know. I'm really all about the idea or working with other writers.

On another note, I'm going to try to stop being so web-dumb and look into spicing up the layout of this blog a bit in the future. More on that later.

Before I go, and completely unrelated to everything previously mentioned, I thought I'd leave you all with a little bit of an artistic challenge. This is pretty much only for all those gamers out there (I admit it, I'm guilty!) I recently purchased the Sims 3. Which is where my challenge comes in for all you writers out there. If you play the Sims, take one of your favorite characters from something you've written and recreate them in the digital Sims world. Try to only allow behaviours and activities that would be completely in character for her/him. I've been doing this with my self-proclaimed most complicated character ever, and thus far the game has really impressed me with it's ability to portray all the intricacies of her character.

Okay that's enough outta me. I have to pry myself away and go accomplish something. What are your plans for writing this weekend?

Jaccen's story part 2

2009-06-16T07:56:00.001-07:00

Continuing from the excerpt of the novel I posted on June 9th, here's the second scene of the story. As always, all comments are welcome.

When Jaccen awoke the first thing he noticed was he was no longer outside. He could hear the steady fall of rain beating against the roof above him. He could also hear the sounds of several voices speaking. He decided he was in no hurry to open his eyes and kept them closed for a moment, listening to the conversation and trying not to stir.
“So he don‘t ‘member nuffin, eh?” A gruff voice was saying.
“It is not that uncommon.” The unmistakable whisper of the voice Jaccen had heard earlier replied. “He has only been here for a matter of hours.”
“An’ you’ve ‘urd nuffin ‘bout ‘im?” The gruff voice continued his questions.
“No. You cannot expect them to give me tabs on everyone that comes our way.”
“I thoughts HE was sendin’ us summin’ good.” The gruff voice mumbled quieter.
“Yeah.” Came a female’s voice. “He’s naught but a little fenling, I bet. Doesn’t remember anything at all? He probably couldn’t make it back home, so they kicked him out just as soon as he got there.”
“Are we even sure he’s one of us?” Another male voice inquired.
“Well he’s awake,” said a fourth man. “Why don’t we ask him?”
“Good idear.” The gruff voice said. Jaccen could hear the sound of movement as someone stood and the heavy pad of feet coming his way. “Ay, you!” He crossed over to where Jaccen was lying on the couch. “Git up.”
Large hands grasped the still wet folds of his coat and hoisted him to his feet easily. His eyes popped open, but he quickly blinked them as his feet gave out underneath his body. The same large hands kept him standing.
“Wut ya got to say for yerrself, eh?”
Jaccen did not know what to say, so he kept quiet.
“Ya onna us or wut?”
“He doesn’t know what you’re goin’ on about, Grim.” The woman said. “He won’t answer you.” She sighed.
“Uh, yeah.” Jaccen stared back at the lumpy, round face of the giant man holding him. He had a moment to look behind this brute and glimpse the faces of the other voices he had heard.
In a soft recliner farthest from him sat the strange man he had met earlier. To the left an attractive man and woman sat together on another couch. To Jaccen’s right sat another man staring at him. The stranger’s eyes were narrow and shining. The man’s dark black hair shimmered with an iridescent hue in the dim light of the room. Jaccen found himself drawn into the man’s eyes and could not look away. Then the man spoke.
“Let‘s see your back.”
“Wha--?” He had no time to ponder this statement as, the giant called Grim took the initiative by ripping his wet hooded sweatshirt and equally wet shirt clean from his shoulders. The rough hands grabbed his flesh and spun him around.
“Well uh’ll be gud-damned.” He muttered staring at the two large scars that ran parallel along his spine starting at his shoulder blades. They were recent, and as his captor jabbed a hard finger into the one on his left side, Jaccen winced and bit his lip, but could not pull away from the man’s strong grasp. “Ya’ll see dese? Ez onna dem.”
“Maybe.” said the man sitting alone on the couch. “Show us his feet.”
Grim obliged by shoving Jaccen down into the couch and fumblingly removed his shoes and socks. He studied his feet for a moment, and Jaccen sank back in the couch clenching his fists.
“Yeehap. Dey’re marked ulright.” He said. Then after a moment he let go of Jaccen’s feet and moved away. The giant turned and looked back at the man on the recliner eyes open wide and his mouth twisted in a frown. “Wut’s dat mean?”
“Hmph.” The man on the couch scoffed, stood up, and walked out of the room disappearing down the hall.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Grim.” The woman said. “Relax.”
He looked back at Jaccen, who was staring at the empty coffee table between them all blankly, wondering what was happening. The man’s large face twisted.
“Nah, we can’t take no chances. We needs to toast ‘im now!” He said bashing his large fists together. Jaccen could not help but jump.
The man beside the lady laughed.
“Sit down, Grim.” The whisper came from the recliner and silenced the entire room. Grim did as he was told, sitting on the empty couch, but not before casting Jaccen a scathing glance.
“Still, the ol’ lugs got a point there, Hedrick.” Spoke the man beside the woman. “We aren’t exactly at a point where we can afford to take chances. Not right now.”
Hedrick leaned forward and continued in his soft whisper so strongly Jaccen could feel his entire body tense.
“Do not forget I bear similar marks upon my own back.” He turned around to glance at the other man who had just come back into the room and was now standing in the archway from the hall. Then he turned his burning eyes to Jaccen. “And all of you know where it is that I came from!”
“True,” said the man from the hall, “but you remember.”
“Uh still thinks we oughtta waste ‘im ‘ere and now.”
“Relax, Grim.” The woman purred. “The boss knows what he’s doing. If he says he’s one of us, he’s one of us.” She cast a glance at Hedrick who noticed it and nodded.
“He is one of us.”
She smiled then and crossed the room with a cat-like grace. She sat down beside Jaccen so closely that he could feel the warmth that radiated from her skin even between the dampness of the pants he still wore.
“You gonna say anything, kid?” The man still sitting on the couch asked.
Jaccen narrowed his bright blue eyes and looked directly at him for a long moment before responding.
“I feel like I’m the brunt of a really bad joke.” He said at length.
Jaccen noticed Hedrick and the other man exchange raised eyebrows, even as the man in the hall immediately began to laugh. “You’ve hit the nail on the head with that, fenling. You’ve hit the nail on the head.”
Jaccen threw his hands in the air and sighed. “Does someone wanna tell me what’s going on?”
The man in the hall made a sound from his throat and disappeared back down it once again. The big man called Grim shifted where he sat and the entire couch protested beneath him. The other two were silent and Jaccen cast his eyes upon the whispering Hedrick. The man met his gaze without blinking.
“You are welcome to stay here with us, of course.” Hedrick ignored his question and leaned forward in his seat, stretched his hand, and rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “In fact I’d recommend it.”
Jaccen stared back with his face set in stone so hard his thoughts were made clearer than if he had used words.
“Where would you go, love?” The woman purred beside him and placed her hand on his bare shoulder. “What would you do?”
His expression faltered and he cast his gaze to the ground.
“She’s got a point, kid.” said the man on the couch. “If you were to go out there as you are now, you wouldn’t last a day. They’d destroy you before you could even wonder why.”
“Bes’ fir us.” Grim muttered.
Without lifting his head Jaccen let his eyes flutter to each of the four with him in the room, he stood up slowly and stared directly at Hedrick his normally bright blue eyes flashed as silver slits beneath his narrowed lids. “No.” He said slowly. His voice came out in a harsh whisper that matched the others. “You bring me here, strip me, and appraise me like someone’s property. All I want to know is what in the hell is going on?”
“Well yuh aint in hell no more, ya moron, so git ovit” Grim said, stretching out on the couch and facing him.
Jaccen stared at him intensely. “What the FUCK are you talking about?!”.
Before anyone else could answer there was a voice from behind him that spun Jaccen around.
“So, the fenling has indeed grown claws, has he?” There in the shadows of the corner stood the same man that had disappeared down the hallway with a sneering grin plastered upon his face. Jaccen was certain he had not walked back through the room, but he had gotten behind him and in the fleeting seconds that passed between them, he briefly wondered why this was.
Then their eyes met for the second time--his piercing silver, to the stranger’s deep and black. Each glared at the other with ferocity. Then the man became a black mist falling to the floor like a shadow. The shadow shot forward quicker than the eye could follow and just as quickly the man appeared in Jaccen’s face striking towards him with a clawed hand.
Jaccen was instantly outside himself, a slave to an instinct he knew nothing about. Without moving he was behind his attacker and between the couch and the wall. His hand had grasped tightly around the man’s neck and with little effort he pulled him off his feet, over the couch, and pinned him against the wall with his hand still wrapped around his throat.
Then he came back to himself. For a moment, the pairs’ eyes remained locked. “That’s another thing.” Jaccen said still whispering, he let the man go and turned around to look at the others in the room. “Just what the fuck is a fenling?”
With his attention turned, the man lurched forward and Jaccen felt something pierce his abdomen. Looking down at his bare flesh he a saw a thick, black substance pouring freely from finger-sized holes in his stomach. His hand clasped over it as he felt his knees beginning to buckle. Looking up at the man, expecting to see that twisted grin, he was surprised instead to see him chewing his lip. He slumped backwards but the woman had caught him. He gazed up at her slender face and saw the scowl that she gave the man before she turned and helped Jaccen slump back to the couch.
“He’ll be fine.” The man said quietly still chewing his lip.

Back upon the couch time ceased to hold a value to him. Jaccen’s head slumped backwards into the pillows without any effort of his own. He found that try as he might he could not open his eyes, but realized at once that he was aware of everything within the room. So acutely aware he was of every movement that in his semi-conscious state Jaccen imagined he was a sixth body perched upon the ceiling and clearly watching everything below.
“He had bested you, Fritz.” The woman was saying.
“Awffly fass, he was, thas fir sure.”
“They are right, Hedrick.” The one man was saying. “No mere fenling, moves that quickly. Not without having some memories or sense of purpose. When they have that kind of control, they know why they‘re here.”
“I’m not even convinced he is one of us.” Fritz, the one who had attacked him, said. “How convenient is itfor one off them to get to us just by playing ignorant well?”
“Xactly! E’s gonna bring da ’ole damned Powers and Thrones downed on us. Real quick. Juss yuh wait.”
“And you’re buying into the whole damned thing.” Spoke Fritz.
“Look,” Hedrick hissed, commanding their silence. “All I know is he showed up exactly where and exactly when they told me he would. We have all been at this long enough to know that when we’re told we have a new recruit we have a new recruit.” He shifted in his chair and stared his fiery gaze directly at Fritz, his whisper rose in tone ever so slightly. “The idea of him being a spy for their side is preposterous. Deception? That is not their style. It never has been and never will be. No, they will blow their bloody trumpets and ring their bloody bells and make-bloody-damn-sure we know they are killing us all the while staring us in the face! It has always been that way with them.”
Fritz kicked the table with his foot.“ The game’s changed, Hedrick. Things aren’t played the way they used to be. I’m wondering if you haven’t been here fighting this damned thing for far too long to see it.”
Hedrick scooted to the edge of his recliner and leaned his elbows on the glass table his eyes never leaving Fritz. “Some things do not change, imp.” He spoke softly. “You would be best to remember that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Besides, I never said I thought he was one of them it’s possible one of the others got to your source and planted him. Everyone knows the balance of power has been shifting too much back home.”
“Got to MY source? I doubt that, very much.”
“I know you do, and that’s the problem. It IS possible.”
“Uhlright fella’s, hate to innerup, but, uh can’t listen no more. Git me when youse done so uh cin git some sleep. Uh’m wit’ ya boss, but juss know uh think yous makin’ a mistake dis time.” With that the giant stood up and thundered out of the room.
“Noted.” Hedrick said as Grim made his way out. “And you, Kathraan?”
“The game’s changed, boss.” The woman answered. “That much is true, but we don’t know in what way and we’ve always come out on top in the past.” She turned her head to look at the unmoving Jaccen and stroked his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Besides he’s here now, and we are better off keeping him were we can see him.”
“Or we could just kill him.” Fritz offered.
“Could we?” She challenged, quirking her eyebrow at him.
“I might venture a guess as to why you’d prefer not to. He is quite the looker.” Fritz snapped.
Hedrick interrupted quickly addressing the last man still sitting alone on the couch. “And what of you Rithain? What do you think of this matter?”
“Since when did our opinions matter?” Rithain said standing up. “I didn’t realize we’ve become a democracy.”
“By The Serpent, we have existed here too long.” Hedrick said, his harsh whisper softening.
“I want to go home.” Kathraan mused.
“Or have them get their shit together there so we could make this our home.” Fritz added.
“Well, comrades, I’m off to sleep.” Rithain laughed. “You coming, Kat?”
“Not just yet.”
“Suit yourself.” He answered brusquely and quickly walked away. Fritz followed and the two disappeared down the hallway.
Hedrick waited a few moments, watching Kathraan and Jaccen together on the couch then, within the blink of an eye; he disappeared leaving the recliner rocking with his absence.

-------

So what do you think so far?

A dialogue with myself...

2009-06-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

I am human, imperfect and fallible.
I set goals for myself well beyond my grasp,
I reach upward, grasp air, and fail.
I am human and prone to stumble.
I stand, adjust, evaluate, and build,
steps that reach my goal,
and then I climb them,
because I am human,
determined and capable.
-6/10/09-

So why do I need to have this conversation with myself? There are several reasons, in truth. The most immediate of which I would say is because I had recently picked June 1st as my cigarette cut off date. I've been a heavy smoker for well over the past ten years of my life. I know, I know, trust me I know; it stinks, it's unhealthy, and it's a waste of money, yet for some reason I love it. Despite that, I am determined to kick this habit. I could easily get side tracked here, so let me try really hard to stay on subject.

I couldn't go twenty-four hours on June 1st without smoking. I broke down and bought a pack and as I sat there and gave into my addiction I thought about how I could make it happen, yes I stumbled trying to reach for my goal. I even did alot of self-deprecation feeling miserable and angry and weak for giving in.

It's easy to hate yourself when you fail. It is not easy to get up and rationalize about why you failed, how you failed, and what you can do about it so that you can reach your goal without failing again. It is not easy at all. Alot of people might give up after they fall, and stay lying in the dirt so to speak, but if you are really determined you won't.

So I got up off the dirt and kept my goal of quitting smoking, but decided a plan on how to do that. It worked for almost a week. I stuck to the plan very well and then yesterday, or the day before, I'm not even sure anymore, I fell again.

Sometime's life is just like that. You keep trying hard to do something and you keep feeling like you are only failing. It is alot easier to be angry with yourself and angry with life for being so damned hard sometimes than it is for you to see that you are improving. It is also very easy to lose sight of your goals and write them off as impossible. Well if you'll excuse an old cliche nothing is impossible.

I spent some time beating myself up for failing to reach my goal in the span of ten days and what I overlooked is that in ten days I have gone from smoking roughly two packs a day to roughly two cigarettes a day. It has been difficult, but now, I realize I'm very close to my goal. The steps might be getting steeper, but I sure can climb 'em if I just keep going.

So I wrote this blog as a reminder to myself and as I was writing it, I realized that even though it was written in the context of smoking, well it really falls into my writing as well. I've been putting off working on my novel for a little while now.

At first I had some really good excuses. At least I convinced myself I did. Then, I just started putting it off and the excuses got as flimsy as wet toilet paper. Now, I don't even remember why I'm putting it off. So as soon as I finish this I'm going to jump back in it head first, because I realize now that I had lost sight of my goal.

So before I go, I just want to say for anyone that is trying to accomplish something for themselves, be it getting cigarettes out of your life, writing a book, or anything else under the sun, don't beat yourself up when you stumble. It's all part of the process. More importantly, don't lose sight of your goal.

Care to share your thoughts?

Jaccen's Story

2009-06-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

The following entry is the opening scene in an untitled novel I started sometime back and have since set aside unfinished to return to later. I don't want to say too much about it right off the start, prefering you to get a glimpse at it yourselves, but I will at least preface it by saying it's a work of fantasy/science-fiction. Sort of. I don't know, I'm terrible with classifications. It's strange. There's a bit more I can post of it later if anyone is interested let me know. Of course, as always I welcome all questions and comments. Till next time, enjoy.

A solitary lightning bolt split the dark, cloudy sky driving back the torrential rain. The bolt crashed to the ground below. Tall buildings nearby shuddered from the onslaught as the lightning’s fury was released upon a mighty oak tree. It split raggedly in two smoldering sections that fell in opposite directions upon the rain-beaten grass of a small city park. Below the tree and out of harm’s way of the fallen trunk lay the body of a young man who just now was beginning to stir.
Awakening, the man sat up slowly. His blue eyes blinked repeatedly as he looked around. He raised his arms in front of his face and stared at his hands. One by one his fingers began to move. He stretched them, and with his left hand felt his face.
It was a thin face with a hard jaw line sunken back within his cheeks. He traced his jaw with the tips of his fingers and felt the thin stubble of facial hair. His hand continued back behind his head to feel the thick, matted hair running down along the back of his neck. Then his hand touched something else. He grabbed and pulled at it and felt something constrict around his chest. Looking down he noticed that he was covered in a heavy, gray cotton jacket. He looked down at his pants and stretched his legs as the rain continued to pummel him.
It was then that he noticed in front of his outstretched legs, a few feet away, placed in the ground was a crude wooden signboard. Standing up shakily, he slowly made his way towards it. Attached to the sign was tacked a sheet of paper. Upon it words were scrawled in a delicate hand. He stared at them for several long moments before, blinking his eyes, he realized he could read them. They read:
"Come, weary traveler, to the rust awning on Sixth and Lily where you shall be received and set upon your path."
The paper was signed:
"Hedrick--Fate of The Serpent"
He began to reread them, but almost immediately was interrupted as the falling rain saturated the paper and the ink began to smear. The paper dissolved beneath the touch of his finger. The remaining scraps fell from the wood and pooled within the grass. He stared down at them between his feet until all traces became one with the earth.
As he stood there, staring at the wooden post, he thrust his hands into the front pockets of his jacket. His fingers brushed a piece a crumpled piece of paper. Unfolding it he read the single word written upon it in red ink.
"Jaccen?" At the sound of his voice he glanced up and looked behind him. Seeing nothing he read it aloud again. "Jaccen." He turned the name over in his mind hoping for recognition, but there was none. The name meant nothing, it may as well be him.
A sudden gust of wind sent the rain to pelt him in his face and ripped the piece of paper from his hand. He watched as it tumbled away from him and disappeared. A quick search of his other pockets revealed only a full pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter. He stared at them demanding the objects to provide him with answers. Even these meant nothing. He knew what they were, that was obvious as he put a cigarette to his lips and began the struggle of lighting it in the rain. He did not, however, know where they came from or why he had them.
After a moment of failing to light the cigarette he thrust them back within his pockets. With a sigh he turned back to the wooden sign in front of him. Staring at the blank wood he reread the words in his mind as he had read them. They too meant nothing. He lashed out with his hand and struck the side of the small piece of wood. It tore out of the ground and fell to the muddy grass with a muffled splash. His palm rang with a sharp pain that he ignored.
The coldness of the rain beating upon his head was uncomfortable, he realized, and he reached behind him and covered himself with his hood. Leaving the grass of the park he stepped upon a paved sidewalk. He looked around and saw nothing but darkened buildings and puddles and deserted streets. Any direction was as good as any, he supposed. Without knowing where he was going he began to walk, twisting the lighter about in his pocket.
At length Jaccen stopped and leaned against a metal post jutting from the pavement. His legs shook beneath him and he grasped the cold wet metal with his hand to steady himself. He looked up at the side of the building across the street where someone had sprayed in garish colors letters that seemed to him unreadable.
"So, what now?" He said aloud to himself, his voice raw and grating within his throat. He stepped away and looked up at what had supported him. At the top of the post were two rectangular green signs facing different directions. Street signs he realized. He stepped a little to the side.
He was standing on the corner of "2nd" and "Lily." Lily. The words he had read earlier instantly came to mind. He looked down the street in the direction indicated. It was as deserted as every other he had been on. The entire city seemed devoid of life. With a sigh he began to walk while bringing a cigarette to his lips.
The rain was falling steadily upon Jaccen as he walked the empty street. He spit the ruined cigarette from his lips and followed it quickly with his eyes, watching it disintegrate within a puddle even as he stepped over it. He pulled the hood of his jacket tighter around his head and suppressed a shiver.
The sound of the rain drowned out those of his own soggy footsteps and as he walked he found it hard to focus on anything but the cold, chafing of his clothes. The fog that snaked around the deserted streets seemed to part before him as he made his way onward. Soon, he could make out the hazy outline of the rust colored awning he had been looking for. As he neared it, his eyes scanned the building of which it was attached. His lips curled slightly in a frown that twisted his thin face inwards.
Stepping underneath the awning, he at once felt at home within the deep shadows below it. He faced the street and tried to dry his hands upon his clothes. After a thorough attempt he settled for shaking them and wringing them together. Deftly, he pulled a cigarette from his mouth and placed it to his lips. He touched the end with the tip of his finger, before dropping his hand to his pocket and finding that small piece of plastic and metal that seemed so vital. He sparked the flame and stared at it intensely, with empty blue eyes, before bringing it to meet his cigarette. A deep breath of the stuff seared his lungs, and he swallowed hard to keep from coughing."A disgusting habit." Came the soft, whisper of a voice from the shadows behind him. "According to some."Jaccen stared ahead at the waterfall pouring over the edge of the awning. His eyes steady. He did not move except to draw another breath from the tobacco burning in his fingers."Does it always rain in this damned place?" He asked.The voice said nothing, but Jaccen could hear the body that belonged to it slither from against the wall. He was aware of it hovering behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his body shivered slightly."Damned place, eh?" It continued to whisper behind the hood that covered Jaccen's ears. He was sure it was a male's voice. "How much do you remember?"Jaccen spit. "Nothing!""Indeed?" The voice was silent for a long moment and Jaccen felt a sensation he could not recognize within himself. He took another drag and this time could not control the desire to cough."You will get used to it." The voice said."Get used to what? Smoking?" He asked gritting his teeth."Living." The hissing continued. "The rain. Smoking. Take your pick. You get used to it."The man came to stand beside him and Jaccen withdrew his hood to appraise him with the corner of his eye. He seemed normal enough though small, perhaps. His physique was hidden beneath a brown trench coat, but he gave the impression of being thin and wiry. His eyes sparkled like a jewel, crafty and keen.. The fire within them seemed familiar to him, but try as he might he could not place it."You're not fond of this world are you?" The man asked in his hissing tone."What? What kind of question is that? Should I be? Who the hell are you?" Jaccen spat back in his own grating voice.The figure beside him laughed a harsh sound, that caused Jaccen to recoil."Should you be?" It mused. "Perhaps. You are here now, are you not? Stick around long enough and you might find something to be fond of.""As if I had a choice. . ." Jaccen turned to face the stranger but all he saw was a brief glimpse of blackness disappearing back into the shadows along the wall.
"You coming?" The bodiless voice drifted from the wall.
Jaccen lurched around expecting to see him in the shadows, but there was nothing. Suddenly he wavered upon his feet. He caught himself and pressed his hands against his head. He tried to focus his eyes, but everything was blurry. He took a step forward and collapsed upon the pavement with the dim sounds of laughter and rain meeting his ears before all went black.

Thought for the day

2009-06-07T17:54:00.000-07:00

Ah, Sunday. I've recently decided that Sundays are days for doing absolutely nothing. Well nothing constructive anyway. If I could spend all the Sundays of the rest of my life doing nothing but simply relaxing and totally vegging out in front of any random activity that did not involve work or thought well... I would say I would be a happy man, but that isn't necessarily the case,

The point of my rambling is, whether you are religious or not, I strongly believe that Sundays should just be "time-out" days. Days where you can set aside your cares and your responsibilities and just do anything. Or nothing. Especially if it's nothing. As I described it to a friend of mine, Sundays are the perfect fuck-off days.

Which anyone who knows me would be happy to vouch that I have no problem with punctuating my verbal sentences with curses. Although, that is not to say that I do not know how to sensor myself and always run off at the lips, because that is certainly not the case.

So then what is my point of this particuliar blog you might ask? To that I would answer, my point is simple. It's Sunday, my brain has turned into egg whites and poured out my ears and I am no longer capable of rational thought and there is absolutely no other way I would rather to have spent my day.

With that said if you'll excuse me, there's three more hours left for me to continue enjoying my fuck off Sunday. Hope everyone had a great weekend!

New Song

2009-06-05T15:37:00.001-07:00

So I felt a little creative and came up with a new song. I plan to be upgrading my recording equipment soon so that I can get these songs online for your listening pleasure, but right now I'll just have to give you the lyrics.

I got a little black book
and it's all that she took,
I got a laundry list of
complaints, let's see.
I got a little secret and
it's so hard to keep it,
I got a laundry list of
things to be.

And it's all understood,
but I don't think you could,
though I always knew you
where going some where
and it's a little secret,
I don't think you could keep it
so tell me how's the view from out there?
so tell me how's the view from out there?

You got my little black book,
and it's all that you took,
but I got your laundry list of
complaints somewhere.
And it's a little secret,
but it's so hard to keep it,
so tell me how you fake it from there
so tell me how you fake it from there.
-6/5/09-

I'm thinking of titling this "Laundry List" but I haven't decided. Sometimes titles come easily and other times they don't. I'm not so sure what's stemming all the angst to be found in my work lately. Maybe I'm going through a quarter-life-crisis or something. Maybe it's the trying not to smoke thing. Who knows? At least it's something, I can work with angst, and certainly it's better than a dry spell. What are your thoughts?

Excuse

2009-06-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

So I've been pretty bad about updating this week. Okay, I admit, I haven't updated at all. I picked June 1st to finally kick my cigarette habit, it's a poor excuse, but I went from two packs a day to nothing and I've just been absolutely miserable all week. Please bare with me. I'll be healthier and happier shortly and I can promise this Blog will show for it soon.

Thunderstorms and Greed

2009-05-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

Ah Saturday. Here is a haiku I just wrote. Well, two, actually, if you want to be technical, but I don't, because Haiku rules are broken all the time and for all intents and purposes this is one piece meant to be taken together. It pretty much sums up my entire week in as few words as possible.

Sky alternates blue
and gray as thunder clouds clap
and bolts light the sky.

And I'm disgusted.
by greedy society.
Clear sky, I go home.
-written 5/30/09-

Your thoughts?

Zombies and mayhem.

2009-05-27T20:08:00.000-07:00

I had a busy day and am a bit brain fried, and am not ashamed to admit I feel a bit like a zombie, please just don't shotty me to the head. I'm not hungering away for brains or anything... really... So before I get carried away this next poem I wrote not too long ago is aptly titled "Zombies in the Nation" Because you know, who doesn't like a good zombie poem?

BRAINS!

Screams as they claw for warm flesh,
slavering to satisfy their simple greeds
the mindless society craves something fresh,
regardless and blind to all of it's needs.

BRAINS!

Thinking about them and craving we had,
hungering for the life of the clan,
they'll block out the truth and all of the bad,
yet as they feast they answer the man.

BRAINS!

Cries for the freedom and life as it seems
empty and hollow and greedy hearts blacked,
Zombies in the Nation perverting our dreams,
forgot all our standards and forgot how to act.

BRAINS!

Better get out or grow some fast,
when cannibals prosper
mankind won't last.

Zombies in the nation overtook society,
grab your ammunition and forget propriety.

Things have gotten outta hand,
here zombies feast and have run of our land.

Feast on the dollar of your hard working brother,
either him or the hard worked dollar of another.

BRAINS!

Screams as they claw for warm flesh,
ripping from all what they can't from the rest,
take a step back and try to refresh,
lose the taste of meat and go back to the breast.

Refill the liquid to the cup,
and start waking the fuck up.
-written 3/24/09-

Your thoughts?

Lyrical thought...

2009-05-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

I cradled your head in my arms,
and we said, spoke of some things
and some dreams that we did,
of lives that we lost and of times
that we tried, but we couldn't
get out of this place we now lied.

We lied here
and died here,
we cried here
and fight here,
and everyone
came to reside
inside
my head.

I cradled your head in my arms.
and we lay, quiet and worthless
behind dreams that we hid
and lies of our lusts and the
things that we did, but we couldn't
get out of this place so we lied.

We couldn't get out of this place so we lied.
We couldn't get out of this place and love died.
-written 5/26/09-

A little bit gloomy of a post, I admit. Maybe it's all the rain we've been having in my area lately affecting my mood? I was just outside trying not to get drenched when a melody popped into my head and as it did I started grasping for words to sing along to it and by the time I got to my computer I was already singing the first stanza. It seemed to have wrote itself, so I added the rest to try and make something sensible. I'll let you know when I get some music to this piece.

Your thoughts?

Meg's Tale

2009-05-26T13:00:00.001-07:00

The following is an excerpt from an untitled short story I wrote sometime ago for a class. The assignment was to write something that evoked a mood. I'll leave it to you to tell me if it worked or not.

The three of them sat in a lavishly decorated room. A large living room, it’s walls were filled with shelves and books and lights of different shapes and sizes. An old grandfather clock stood alone pushed into a corner. Under normal conditions the room was warm and bright. Now it was cold and bitter, dark and silent. The only light that was on came from the chandelier hanging high in the center of the room, above the soft, blue corner couch that had been placed there strategically. The couch now sat two bodies at opposite ends. A cold wind blew in from the open window, tossing the curtains about and sending shivers up and down the bodies of everyone in the room. No one stood to shut it. No one even spoke. The only sound was that of the clock steadily ticking away the seconds from behind the recliner on which Megan was sitting.
Even though it was to her back, Meg could see the clock clearly in her eye. She saw the mahogany wood, darkened from the years that had passed it by, and it’s tainted brass pendulum swaying to and fro. At one time Meg had found the constant ticking soothing to her. Now she ground her teeth and clenched her jaw, thinking that the clock was much like her--alone and pushed into a corner. She looked up slowly from where she had been staring at her feet and glanced at her friends. "They are too ashamed to speak to me," she thought miserably to herself. "I can’t blame them."
Jason was sitting on the couch opposite her, staring at the ground and scowling. He balled his right hand tightly into a fist and smashed it into the palm of his left hand repeatedly. The slapping sound of flesh upon flesh caused Meg to wince and turn her eyes to Rachael. She was sitting as far from Jason as the couch allowed. Her face was contorted and her eyes far away. Rachael had noticed Megan’s movement and looked over at her.
"Meg…," came her soft, sympathetic voice, nearly choking as she tried to speak.
"No!" Meg blurted, breaking the tension that had been enveloping them. "Shut up!" she scolded, jumping to her feet so violently the chair that had seated her toppled over backwards. "Shut up! I know what you’d say! I know what you’d say." She was frantic and shaking, carrying on more like a child of eight than a young woman of twenty.
"That’s it," Jason suddenly interrupted his voice was cold. He began to stand up. "I’m going to kill him." His eyes caught the pleading look cast at him by Rachael and he stopped.
Meg had turned around and was staring bitterly at the clock in front of her. Her own eye caught her reflection in the glass and she frowned in disgust. Leaning forward she brushed a dark brown lock of hair away from her eye and stared at the ugly, blue and black bruise over her brow. She thought it suited her. She pouted her lip and turned her head to see better the bloody gash that had formed, split upon her teeth when she had been struck. She studied it intensely as the pendulum swayed and her friends exchanged glances.
"You have to tell someone, Meg." Jason reasoned softly. "You have to."
"Shut-UP!" Meg punctuated her word with a sudden, violent hand that smashed through the glass front of the clock with a deafening shatter. She seized the pendulum and ripped it free of its suspension. Turning around she held it out to her friends triumphantly with a smile beaming on her battered face. "See," she said as tears began to run freely down her cheeks like the blood trickling from the fresh cuts on her hand and arm. "It just needed to be broken. Like me. Now it’s better. It’s all better. Who can love it now?"
She laughed even as sobs began to rake her body, a horrible sound escaping from her lips. Her friends rushed to her side. She fell upon the floor and buried her face in her hands allowing the blood and tears to mingle freely. Who could love her now?
-end-

Your thoughts?

Just got on twitter.

2009-05-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

You can find me at http://twitter.com/amberinglass feel free to say hello.

The Bubble's Song

2009-05-25T21:58:00.000-07:00

A myriad of colors are we,
created upon the hand and lips of Thee,
sifting through the air heedlessly,
unconcerned with hands that grasp,
and prove our fragile, floating frailty.

A cleanly smell we carry
on our shimmering,transparent bodies.
Traveling upon the winds and breath,
that push us to the limit of our depths.

Without a care,
Without a cause,
We travel till the time
we're gone.

With laughter or tears
that fill the void,where round and clear
we finally dropped,
leaving behind our own sticky tears.

And lo the laughing voices mock us,
and in our short existence stop us.
And how the crying faces understand us,
as your painful existence imitates us.

Yet no one bothers to ask us,
as we float around and pop.
SO CARELESS!

-written 10/23/06-

Your thoughts are welcome...

A new blog

2009-05-25T21:19:00.000-07:00

Hello, and thanks for dropping in. As the title clearly suggests this is a new blog, yes one amoung thousands. So let's not waste time with lengthy introductions. Instead, let me invite you into my corner of the written and, now, publicly accessible word. To give you a little about myself and what to expect from this blog as briefly as possible: I am an artist, struggling maybe, but an artist nonetheless.

You see, for as long as I can remember I was writing something in some way or another. Take playing with action figures as a toddler, for instance. Hell, maybe even younger, but anyway, as I remember, my earliest years were spent playing with toys. Now the interesting thing is, as I played I would develop epic and tragic and beautiful stories just to explain why I had to force plastic Luke Skywalker to chop off poor, plastic Han Solo's arm. You see, maybe it was because I liked the Luke and the Han figures more, maybe I was just a sadistic little kid, I dunno, but anyway, Luke Skywalker had to chop off Han Solo's arm, complete with the literal breaking off of plastic Solo's arm (because that is how things were done when you are less than four years old, mind you) and anyway before Luke, or I as the case may be, did any literal dismembering of said Han Solo I sure was going to know why. So then I started to answer why, and to do that I had to use more figures. You see, Princess Leia had to fly in from the other side of the couch cushions, to tell Luke that Darth Vader had converted Han Solo to the Dark Side of the Force and voila. Han was bad--off come his arm.

So as you see I am an artist. Okay, okay, so the above example was not one of me actually writing, but it was an example of storytelling; which if you follow my logic is a form of writing and if you follow my logic, still further, is exactly the point I was trying to prove. Anyway, my point being is, that for a very long time I've been recording thoughts and scribbling and ideas all over the place, in my life, and in my head. Yes, I'm even guilty of writing that one, single sentence, that fit so perfectly, in the song I hadn't yet begun writing--on a napkin. In my car... pulled over on the interstate highway. Yes, that really does happen, rather frequently.

Knowing all that, my point is to you, I have finally come to the point in my life where I am happy with who I am, and am not ashamed of the ideas and the writings and the scribbles and the songs that I've written over the years. Thus this blog. I've decided to share them.

I will be using this blog to publicate much of my past written works, in no particuliar order, for the rest of the world to read, critique, critizice, comment, flame, praise, ignore, dismass, enjoy, what have you. I will also be continusously updating this blog with new pieces of my work and any other random thought that happens to take space in my head and scream "WRITE!".

And yes, I apologize. Turns out my short introduction wasn't so short after all, but at least now we can get right to the heart of the matter. I'm going to leave you now with another blog. The next is a poem I wrote several years ago for a class I had where we were given a bottle of soapy bubble mix and were instructed to blow some bubbles, to watch and record our thoughts. The end result was a poem aptly titled "The Bubble's Song". It's a great introductory piece as I really feel like I put alot of myself into the words and it provides a good insight as to how I view the world.

I welcome your thoughts...