I am very, very ... very Scared of that which may lie ahead.
Till it emerges once more.
2006/05/31
Ganked by an Immortal Fiend
Let it be said, yet again, that I am tired. Very tired. My eyes feel heavy and pained. Each second that they remain open is one of self-inflicted pain - one that I am all too familiar with, but have never voiced or expressed or understood to be pain that I do now. Until now, they were merely just heavy. There is yet so much more to feel and know of them, though.
Yet I am here once again because, more than anything else, I love the sound of my own voice, even if it is imagined within the confines of my mind. With such a potent fuel for the ego, how could I possibly say no. How, I ask you, with no desire to seek an answer. Pretty happy to be here writing and thus satisfying the requirements for a momentarily happy ego.
Today was a trial of sorts. Like friday, there were ... issues. Both self-propagated and ones that I was subject to. Things don't go as well in the hands of others, yet I couldn't really do it all by myself, so I must rely on their expertise and passion for perfection, which clearly was not entirely present. There is but one day to face of this before my temporary salvation, so to speak. Salvation from a point and place that has been very soul-shattering.
It was not anything in particular that created this weakened self, but more of a general break down. As if in the army and having a drill sergeant screaming down my throat, crumbling my core into a series of numbers, an expendable integer. No, not quite so bad, but I am weakened. What a boon for my enemies, wherever they may be hiding at this moment.
There is much worse in the world than what I faced during the course of the day. These reminders still do effectively little to alter my train of thought. The wallowing. The general fear that permeates ... there's things up in the air and I am no juggler. I am merely an observer of events, hoping somewhat idly that they may fall my way, perhaps allowing me a moment longer in the glorious spotlight of happiness.
An aftermath is due. Sooner than I would like. But as things flow, they must end. There must be a defining end of sorts. To a chapter, at least, if not the complete story. And it is to this chapter that an epilogue is being prepared, even before it can essentially be written and recorded for the rest of concerned history.
In more "positive" matters, I finally took it upon myself (with the help of a brave, select few), to complete the journey through the twisting pathways of "Resident Evil 4" and I can say that I clearly understand the accolades behind it. Up until this point, I have agreed with them on principle, based on early playthroughs and what was essentially a jaunt through to the halfway mark of the game. Yet, I missed out on the intricacies that can only be fully realized when mastery begins to sink in. A general comprehension of the mechanics and game. Becoming one with the system, visuals and sounds till you are Leon. Till you fire the weapon in your hands with unrivalled precision and stave off unrelenting hordes of foes. There is not one single thing that makes this game so unbelievably amazing - it is a combination of all the elements that make a game great - at least in their current evolutionary iteration. Until they become truly emergent experiences.
I should escape and sleep. The fear beckons me to hide in darkness once more. It ebbs and flows and high tide threatens to drown this weakened and pale-skinned soul.
Till next I forgo the shadows for a moment in the sun amongst the others that I seek.
Yet I am here once again because, more than anything else, I love the sound of my own voice, even if it is imagined within the confines of my mind. With such a potent fuel for the ego, how could I possibly say no. How, I ask you, with no desire to seek an answer. Pretty happy to be here writing and thus satisfying the requirements for a momentarily happy ego.
Today was a trial of sorts. Like friday, there were ... issues. Both self-propagated and ones that I was subject to. Things don't go as well in the hands of others, yet I couldn't really do it all by myself, so I must rely on their expertise and passion for perfection, which clearly was not entirely present. There is but one day to face of this before my temporary salvation, so to speak. Salvation from a point and place that has been very soul-shattering.
It was not anything in particular that created this weakened self, but more of a general break down. As if in the army and having a drill sergeant screaming down my throat, crumbling my core into a series of numbers, an expendable integer. No, not quite so bad, but I am weakened. What a boon for my enemies, wherever they may be hiding at this moment.
There is much worse in the world than what I faced during the course of the day. These reminders still do effectively little to alter my train of thought. The wallowing. The general fear that permeates ... there's things up in the air and I am no juggler. I am merely an observer of events, hoping somewhat idly that they may fall my way, perhaps allowing me a moment longer in the glorious spotlight of happiness.
An aftermath is due. Sooner than I would like. But as things flow, they must end. There must be a defining end of sorts. To a chapter, at least, if not the complete story. And it is to this chapter that an epilogue is being prepared, even before it can essentially be written and recorded for the rest of concerned history.
In more "positive" matters, I finally took it upon myself (with the help of a brave, select few), to complete the journey through the twisting pathways of "Resident Evil 4" and I can say that I clearly understand the accolades behind it. Up until this point, I have agreed with them on principle, based on early playthroughs and what was essentially a jaunt through to the halfway mark of the game. Yet, I missed out on the intricacies that can only be fully realized when mastery begins to sink in. A general comprehension of the mechanics and game. Becoming one with the system, visuals and sounds till you are Leon. Till you fire the weapon in your hands with unrivalled precision and stave off unrelenting hordes of foes. There is not one single thing that makes this game so unbelievably amazing - it is a combination of all the elements that make a game great - at least in their current evolutionary iteration. Until they become truly emergent experiences.
I should escape and sleep. The fear beckons me to hide in darkness once more. It ebbs and flows and high tide threatens to drown this weakened and pale-skinned soul.
Till next I forgo the shadows for a moment in the sun amongst the others that I seek.
2006/05/27
Termites in the Core
3 quarters of an hour past the midnight moment. I sit here, in darkness permeated by the glare of Cathode Ray tubes assaulting from from the left and in front. They launch their attacks upon me as I sit here, seemingly bound at their will, unable to move and escape. I can feel the one on the left burning through my brain, sending shockwaves, in slow and dreary motion across the sphere that is lodged within the skull and under the thick mat of hair.
Back to the problem at hand and that is of fear. That when it grabs one, in the weirdest ways, I react. Weirdly. Inappropriately. General doing something (or not, as the case may be) that I would rather not. Completely contrary to everything I believe in and with no purpose in eliminating the source of the fear.
Something that has been on my mind for a long time is Forrest Gump. For the past couple of months now, I reflect upon the character. I picture the character, the soul within, that fictional as the context was, did not give up. Pursued his every whim and wish. And yet, you could never call this man flippant. When he dedicated himself to a cause, he would give his all. And yet, throughout the course of the story (which I love), he holds true onto what's important. It's like that Kipling poem about being a man. I think that this would be a part of that, no matter how far it may seemingly deviate.
Ahead of me lies 3 days of potential freedom and excitement. I am so overjoyed at the possibilities. And what lies beyond - I cannot simply contain the joy that wishes to erupt within me. That joy that overpowers me and makes me do stranger things than fear could ever dream of. All in the name of something better than I ... or so the voices tell me. Or each other, in their near-constant bickering. They speak to one another, occasionally to me, as if I'm only a side-story in this existence.
But I am tired. In the middle of this mental blur, life is beautiful. Mixed in with a serving of hope, mixed into a fine paste and sprinkled with a user-defined portion of "will," this dish that I call the "Future" is waiting to be tasted.
I wonder if I'll be hungry after a bite.
Till next the possibilities take me somewhere I have never been.
Back to the problem at hand and that is of fear. That when it grabs one, in the weirdest ways, I react. Weirdly. Inappropriately. General doing something (or not, as the case may be) that I would rather not. Completely contrary to everything I believe in and with no purpose in eliminating the source of the fear.
Something that has been on my mind for a long time is Forrest Gump. For the past couple of months now, I reflect upon the character. I picture the character, the soul within, that fictional as the context was, did not give up. Pursued his every whim and wish. And yet, you could never call this man flippant. When he dedicated himself to a cause, he would give his all. And yet, throughout the course of the story (which I love), he holds true onto what's important. It's like that Kipling poem about being a man. I think that this would be a part of that, no matter how far it may seemingly deviate.
Ahead of me lies 3 days of potential freedom and excitement. I am so overjoyed at the possibilities. And what lies beyond - I cannot simply contain the joy that wishes to erupt within me. That joy that overpowers me and makes me do stranger things than fear could ever dream of. All in the name of something better than I ... or so the voices tell me. Or each other, in their near-constant bickering. They speak to one another, occasionally to me, as if I'm only a side-story in this existence.
But I am tired. In the middle of this mental blur, life is beautiful. Mixed in with a serving of hope, mixed into a fine paste and sprinkled with a user-defined portion of "will," this dish that I call the "Future" is waiting to be tasted.
I wonder if I'll be hungry after a bite.
Till next the possibilities take me somewhere I have never been.
2006/05/26
The unfathomable depths of frustration
I may not have faced death. I may not have been anywhere near its hallowed domain. I was probably closer to the realm of cuckoos and fairies rather than the eternal Never. Yet, during those fragile moments, I believed that my cards were played and the proud face of that unerring daemon stared at me through the hand. It was a full house that served to be more of a Dead Man's Hand. As far as I was concerned.
I suppose that was enough though. That is all that one needs to readjust. Perhaps not as dramatically as I may have hoped or wished. But there has been change. Enough to inspire action where there had been none before. Now, no matter what may be said or thought amongst the people of this world at large, I have my motives and they are not base. They are not crude or born of a material reality of shapes and forms. My concern is of the mental, ths spiritual - the spiral consciousness which I am honored to inhabit.
Wherefore is the point in saying what is said. It serves only to confuse. I would like to say mesmerize, but I doubt that anyone could be rendered such with such forced words. Even with this careful grace that I aim for, cohesion is necessary to affect a mind in such a manner. To twist it, confound it and redirect all possible trains of thought to the point that no original idea remains in the victim's mind. Like a master of magnetic powers, I seek to be a master of managing the magnetic qualities of thoughts and emotions. Manipulative, I suppose. But aren't we all? Perhaps not as overtly as such. But anyone who wishes to improve themselves and consequent "position" in this world must be so. This is the very basis of every self-help book ever written - How to manipulate the people around you to get what you want from life.
That's what the subtitle should be for everything.
Men Are From Mars, Women are From Venus: How to manipulate the opposite sex to get what you want.
How to Make Friends and Influence People: How to manipulate strangers to get what you want.
Seven Habits of Highly Successful People: How to manipulate strangers' perceptions again to get what you want.
I'm noticing a pattern here - yes, one that I have carved into the bedrock of self-help philosophy, but it remains valid. See for yourself. No, do not mistake me - I am not insulting these great tomes. I am merely breaking them down into the simplest component. I hold some of these books in the highest regard, for behind the manipulation lies a greater understanding of Human Nature. Of the spirit and its basic wants and needs. And how to use them to manipulate people into getting what you want ...
But I stray. From the original question - this fear of death that has inspired action. Unlike previous occasions where I faced a greater degree of death. Spinning in the middle of a dust cloud at over 80 miles an hour - when it ended, I moaned for a split second that it had ended so abruptly. In such an anti-climactic manner. The same thought, the same inspiration to act arose through my soul then. Yet nothing was done. Now, I wonder why. Why did I not immediately pursue what was revealed as most important in that instant? Why did I wait and waste so much more time?
Because I did not conquer that fear. I merely saw it. Encountered it. And watched while it drank tea and laughed in my face. Now, no, it is not conquered still. But I did not cower and hide while it watched me as a voyuer watches its forbidden prey. I leapt across the chasm that separated me from true consciousness and caught a glimpse of the ideal and the true.
I feel pure and joyous when I write. When words and sounds flow out like a babbling brook. Untethered, in spite of the banks. The potentially rocky shores that seem to contain its excitement and force a direction. The brook merely accepts the path and moves on, knowing that given the impetus, it would overwhelm the feeble restrictions that held it in place. These are the emotions that run through my words, driven by a passion at times. Perhaps I give them too much weight, instill them with an excess of pride. But to me they are important because they are my weapons. My poison arrows, sedative-darts or life-saving ninja-stars ... I lost the analogy on the last leg there, but the idea remains intact, at least to me.
When I write, there are no constraints any longer. Limited by speech - by the other that listens in a dialogue. By the tailoring to effectively entertain and communicate in a manner befiting the company, there is lost freedom. It oozes out as oil from a peanut. Now, the sandbox is mine to play in. To throw words, sentences, phrases coined from buckets of red and spades of blue. A castle of carefully constructed phrases of passion. I am passionate about what I say, even when it matters not in the least to me what consequences may prevail.
With these words though, I will depart now. Before they grow stale and the passion wanes completely, leaving me as the husk that I am.
Till next, I am grabbed by an idea and held hostage by the mental jugular.
I suppose that was enough though. That is all that one needs to readjust. Perhaps not as dramatically as I may have hoped or wished. But there has been change. Enough to inspire action where there had been none before. Now, no matter what may be said or thought amongst the people of this world at large, I have my motives and they are not base. They are not crude or born of a material reality of shapes and forms. My concern is of the mental, ths spiritual - the spiral consciousness which I am honored to inhabit.
Wherefore is the point in saying what is said. It serves only to confuse. I would like to say mesmerize, but I doubt that anyone could be rendered such with such forced words. Even with this careful grace that I aim for, cohesion is necessary to affect a mind in such a manner. To twist it, confound it and redirect all possible trains of thought to the point that no original idea remains in the victim's mind. Like a master of magnetic powers, I seek to be a master of managing the magnetic qualities of thoughts and emotions. Manipulative, I suppose. But aren't we all? Perhaps not as overtly as such. But anyone who wishes to improve themselves and consequent "position" in this world must be so. This is the very basis of every self-help book ever written - How to manipulate the people around you to get what you want from life.
That's what the subtitle should be for everything.
Men Are From Mars, Women are From Venus: How to manipulate the opposite sex to get what you want.
How to Make Friends and Influence People: How to manipulate strangers to get what you want.
Seven Habits of Highly Successful People: How to manipulate strangers' perceptions again to get what you want.
I'm noticing a pattern here - yes, one that I have carved into the bedrock of self-help philosophy, but it remains valid. See for yourself. No, do not mistake me - I am not insulting these great tomes. I am merely breaking them down into the simplest component. I hold some of these books in the highest regard, for behind the manipulation lies a greater understanding of Human Nature. Of the spirit and its basic wants and needs. And how to use them to manipulate people into getting what you want ...
But I stray. From the original question - this fear of death that has inspired action. Unlike previous occasions where I faced a greater degree of death. Spinning in the middle of a dust cloud at over 80 miles an hour - when it ended, I moaned for a split second that it had ended so abruptly. In such an anti-climactic manner. The same thought, the same inspiration to act arose through my soul then. Yet nothing was done. Now, I wonder why. Why did I not immediately pursue what was revealed as most important in that instant? Why did I wait and waste so much more time?
Because I did not conquer that fear. I merely saw it. Encountered it. And watched while it drank tea and laughed in my face. Now, no, it is not conquered still. But I did not cower and hide while it watched me as a voyuer watches its forbidden prey. I leapt across the chasm that separated me from true consciousness and caught a glimpse of the ideal and the true.
I feel pure and joyous when I write. When words and sounds flow out like a babbling brook. Untethered, in spite of the banks. The potentially rocky shores that seem to contain its excitement and force a direction. The brook merely accepts the path and moves on, knowing that given the impetus, it would overwhelm the feeble restrictions that held it in place. These are the emotions that run through my words, driven by a passion at times. Perhaps I give them too much weight, instill them with an excess of pride. But to me they are important because they are my weapons. My poison arrows, sedative-darts or life-saving ninja-stars ... I lost the analogy on the last leg there, but the idea remains intact, at least to me.
When I write, there are no constraints any longer. Limited by speech - by the other that listens in a dialogue. By the tailoring to effectively entertain and communicate in a manner befiting the company, there is lost freedom. It oozes out as oil from a peanut. Now, the sandbox is mine to play in. To throw words, sentences, phrases coined from buckets of red and spades of blue. A castle of carefully constructed phrases of passion. I am passionate about what I say, even when it matters not in the least to me what consequences may prevail.
With these words though, I will depart now. Before they grow stale and the passion wanes completely, leaving me as the husk that I am.
Till next, I am grabbed by an idea and held hostage by the mental jugular.
2006/05/25
See anything new?
There's some new additions to the sidebar - Now you can read that which I listen to. And, I believe, if you are foolhardy enough, you can even listen to a stream of what I am currently ... experiencing in terms of music through the link on either graphic.
Till next my whims craft something new and trite all at once.
Till next my whims craft something new and trite all at once.
2006/05/22
My mind is racing. This heart needs pacing.
So you have your barbeques. Only this wasn't ... let me start again.
I went to a non-barbeque on friday. Ate some good ol' delicious vegitarian food like made back home. Not that I'm a vegetarian (and something that I'm mildly proud of for varied reasons), but it was very enjoyable eating. Afterwards, my hosts, their guests and I played poker. Which was also enjoyable. I made 45 cents on the night where others lost the fortunes with which they began their card-playing evening. So I felt good on that level.
There were, of course, other factors. As there always are. And they made things ... difficult. Nothing apparent and nothing on the surface. But within, I was screaming because I hated it. I wanted to leave and be the smaller man. Hide back in a comfort zone where I wouldn't have to face what I would generally consider unnecessary shit. To be broken down so subtly into my most basic elements. To feel so ... unimportant. By people/things that I would not wish to be subjected to.
Perhaps it was not that bad. For everyone concerned, it was a pleasant and fun-filled evening. But let it be known to those who would know what the hell I'm talking about (and I do not mean to let this be known to anyone at any time) that inside I felt deconstructed and broken. Weakened in the face of something that cared less than I could hope to.
But back to reality. The present and the future and whatever lies between and beyond. I look forward to the future. the near future. Some exciting moments ahead for me. Ones that will shake me and tire me. Others that will rack my nerves and set them on a level of high alert and tension the likes of which I have not felt for a very long time. But that is only natural.
There is no reference that I wish to make. Nothing cryptic that I have lodged within my mind that I am looking to unload upon this page, to be decoded and deciphered by the most determined reader amongst us. At least I hope that there is nothing that will be understood. That my thoughts may indeed remain secret at this time. There is much that I wish to not speak of. And yet ...
I was treated to a viewing of the Da Vinci Code. I will say that I believe in its necessity as a means of questioning that which must be. If one truly believes in the sanctity and validity of their faith, even this most superficial of fictional questioning is necessary. If not, then perhaps the truth must be sought after. But then I'm not a subscriber to any of these religious schools at any rate and I hope that I shall not be.
Unquestionably so, at any rate, I am excited. Very.
Till next the cool air blows across swollen flesh and the mind recoils into darkness.
I went to a non-barbeque on friday. Ate some good ol' delicious vegitarian food like made back home. Not that I'm a vegetarian (and something that I'm mildly proud of for varied reasons), but it was very enjoyable eating. Afterwards, my hosts, their guests and I played poker. Which was also enjoyable. I made 45 cents on the night where others lost the fortunes with which they began their card-playing evening. So I felt good on that level.
There were, of course, other factors. As there always are. And they made things ... difficult. Nothing apparent and nothing on the surface. But within, I was screaming because I hated it. I wanted to leave and be the smaller man. Hide back in a comfort zone where I wouldn't have to face what I would generally consider unnecessary shit. To be broken down so subtly into my most basic elements. To feel so ... unimportant. By people/things that I would not wish to be subjected to.
Perhaps it was not that bad. For everyone concerned, it was a pleasant and fun-filled evening. But let it be known to those who would know what the hell I'm talking about (and I do not mean to let this be known to anyone at any time) that inside I felt deconstructed and broken. Weakened in the face of something that cared less than I could hope to.
But back to reality. The present and the future and whatever lies between and beyond. I look forward to the future. the near future. Some exciting moments ahead for me. Ones that will shake me and tire me. Others that will rack my nerves and set them on a level of high alert and tension the likes of which I have not felt for a very long time. But that is only natural.
There is no reference that I wish to make. Nothing cryptic that I have lodged within my mind that I am looking to unload upon this page, to be decoded and deciphered by the most determined reader amongst us. At least I hope that there is nothing that will be understood. That my thoughts may indeed remain secret at this time. There is much that I wish to not speak of. And yet ...
I was treated to a viewing of the Da Vinci Code. I will say that I believe in its necessity as a means of questioning that which must be. If one truly believes in the sanctity and validity of their faith, even this most superficial of fictional questioning is necessary. If not, then perhaps the truth must be sought after. But then I'm not a subscriber to any of these religious schools at any rate and I hope that I shall not be.
Unquestionably so, at any rate, I am excited. Very.
Till next the cool air blows across swollen flesh and the mind recoils into darkness.
2006/05/16
Inspired
That is what this moment is. Not of a grand scale. No - not something that's akin to the coming of the lord or his saviour or even his dog - Holy Fluff. More so ... I felt inspired to be here at this moment, typing these words. For necessity. For the id that wishes to be and not be referred to any other, more emotionally loaded name.
On Sunday, I awoke in the middle of a desert. In a glorious valley, surrounded by rock formations that reached the skies and stretched further still - so much so that the heavens had to give way to their solid majesty. I rose out of my tent like out of a cocoon. Stumbling out, the light too bright upon my half-asleep eyes. There was a moment of utter confusion as I took the world in, with a glance, a sniff and cautious ears scanning the world around me. And then I realized that all was well. I was alone. The world still slept. Calmly and peacefully, it did not emerge from its slumber as I had. Standing in the middle of the road, I watched and waited patiently as slowly did the rest of the world awake. As the caterpillars made their way from the collective shells they had crafted for themselves.
I had faced fear. Not at that moment, but before - and that feeling remained. I was empowered like never before. It shall hopefully live on in my mind - a constant reminder of complete satisfaction and an unwavering knowledge of my goals. I feel trepidation as the moment sinks further into the past - as I consider these goals. I fear the failure that may surely follow. Even though its success and failure is not entirely in my hands, I wonder and I stutter. But I will proceed. The wheels must be set in motion and I must face this as I did fear's other form. The id will have its way and will suffer the consequences that follow, for better or for worse.
I've said this before. In my head and in other speeches uttered since the event. Partly because I must remind myself of these thoughts. Partly because the revelation must be shared. No. It's because I must not forget. So that I remember and do not lose focus. Am I that scared? Perhaps I am.
Down in Tokyo, near Ginza, well in Ginza, I suppose, there was a movie theater located in a massive skyscraper - I think it was the 7th floor. The theater itself presented nothing spectacular to me. Nor was the building. Just that it was interesting. To get up to the cinema, one had to take a specific elevator within the myriad selection of conveyances to take one up towards the upper reaches of the structure. Failing that, the person wishing to make it to the cinema would have to follow a complicated and vertigo-inducing path of staircases and escalators leading up and down in seemingly equal measures, no matter the overall change in height. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.
I must depart. This delay in travelling to the dreaming will be regrettable when I wake tomorrow and plot the course of the day that follows. But I shall keep my goal in mind and continually move forward as I must. To evolve is the only way.
Till this strain of cupidity drowns me in its murky depths.
On Sunday, I awoke in the middle of a desert. In a glorious valley, surrounded by rock formations that reached the skies and stretched further still - so much so that the heavens had to give way to their solid majesty. I rose out of my tent like out of a cocoon. Stumbling out, the light too bright upon my half-asleep eyes. There was a moment of utter confusion as I took the world in, with a glance, a sniff and cautious ears scanning the world around me. And then I realized that all was well. I was alone. The world still slept. Calmly and peacefully, it did not emerge from its slumber as I had. Standing in the middle of the road, I watched and waited patiently as slowly did the rest of the world awake. As the caterpillars made their way from the collective shells they had crafted for themselves.
I had faced fear. Not at that moment, but before - and that feeling remained. I was empowered like never before. It shall hopefully live on in my mind - a constant reminder of complete satisfaction and an unwavering knowledge of my goals. I feel trepidation as the moment sinks further into the past - as I consider these goals. I fear the failure that may surely follow. Even though its success and failure is not entirely in my hands, I wonder and I stutter. But I will proceed. The wheels must be set in motion and I must face this as I did fear's other form. The id will have its way and will suffer the consequences that follow, for better or for worse.
I've said this before. In my head and in other speeches uttered since the event. Partly because I must remind myself of these thoughts. Partly because the revelation must be shared. No. It's because I must not forget. So that I remember and do not lose focus. Am I that scared? Perhaps I am.
Down in Tokyo, near Ginza, well in Ginza, I suppose, there was a movie theater located in a massive skyscraper - I think it was the 7th floor. The theater itself presented nothing spectacular to me. Nor was the building. Just that it was interesting. To get up to the cinema, one had to take a specific elevator within the myriad selection of conveyances to take one up towards the upper reaches of the structure. Failing that, the person wishing to make it to the cinema would have to follow a complicated and vertigo-inducing path of staircases and escalators leading up and down in seemingly equal measures, no matter the overall change in height. It was an interesting experience, to say the least.
I must depart. This delay in travelling to the dreaming will be regrettable when I wake tomorrow and plot the course of the day that follows. But I shall keep my goal in mind and continually move forward as I must. To evolve is the only way.
Till this strain of cupidity drowns me in its murky depths.
2006/05/12
Counter = 1
I am high. Above the clouds. Searching for answers. Thinking randomly – I am so tired. It sucks, you know, because I really want to accomplish something. I don’t want to be the weak link in this chain in this grand chance. I was “top dog” – I knew what I was doing and thinking. And right at this second, I really don’t feel like it. I feel weak and broken. Held together by force of necessity rather than will. I’m pissed off and disgusted. VERY much so.
No, I’m not wallowing. I’m venting. This may have been some time coming. But, as usual, it’s about me, me, me. Not progress. Regress. That should be a word. In and of itself. I’m so self-absorbed at this moment that even the sultry chaos of The Pot slips over me as cleansing waters over a black oily patina that covers the holy jewel of the Kingdoms of Heaven.
With a Gramophone in the picture, the psychedelic background settles into place. The swirling curves of red and yellow mix in with the blacks and the grays. For white is forbidden in this never-ending continuity. The collision of the forms gives birth to chaos. As the world spins around the central fulcrum that holds all in place, under the guidance of the pin that listens to the imperfections crafted into the space. I wish to be one with the something that envelopes me.
Right – I should put a counter up here somewhere. The number of times in a year, a month, a week, days, whatever – that I feel this exploding head syndrome desire. So if a counter is to be started – at this moment, let’s put it at 1. Remind me if I forget. It’s such a regular … fixture in the course of …
Going in a circle. On this gramophone.
Till a new word flushes its way into the conscious
I see something in the woods
Beyond the trees. Between the leaves.
Above the wanton blades of grass.
Below the leaden branches
That block out sunlight
Provide shelter to
Countless creatures
And more so still
There hasn't been particularly much to say that has spawned within my mind. This tiring week has taken its toll on me. Now I feel tired and ... really pretty down. I would rather not create a post that is going to be fairly self-deprecating, so I shall do my best to avoid so.
I'm luck y that it's been a quiet week. With the exception of monday, there has been little compulsion to accomplish any real goals. Though I now stand on the fulcrum point between an outcome that will either be simple and positive or messy and negative, that is not what wearies me. At least not to the extent that I feel right now.
It's more of ... is it a hopelessness? I wouldn't think so. The question raised in the previous post has contributed to it. I believe I have found an answer. It is one that pleases me in that I don't feel like a retard. That's not to say that it's the best possible solution. But I think that it's good. A good way to go.
Monetary concerns don't help. Insofar as achieving that immediate goal which is of the highest importance to me. No, I lie. There is something of higher importance than that - hence I find myself lacking. But it's complicated. It's not that this goal that I am "demoting" in terms of priority is any less valuable to me. I would not even dare to suggest it - even to myself. Yet there are still things which need to be done.
But - back to reality. Or an abstraction. Confined within this egg-shaped box - this self-imposed solitary confinement of thoughts and ideas grows tiring too. Keeping little and unimportant things within when there is the one persona within that screams for them to be unleashed, damn the consequences. But it's not like there are consequences to face. Just ... never mind. I am tired in terms of what my mind is even capable of sharing right now.
There is an opportunity to explore the unknown. To do so in the company of those whom I would not mind to be in the presence of. Yet I would rather remain in these "familiar" shadows. Resting these mental bruises. I will go to work tomorrow and I plan on doing nothing. Even more so than today. I plan to waste the time that I have been granted. To whittle it away with personal activities in spite of being granted the greatest gift in the world with this job. Why would I even consider doing so? Does this mean that I am not truly worth this chance? That I cannot appreciate the grandeur therein?
Perhaps it does. Perhaps not. That is not of major concern to me, contrary to what the previous paragraph might suggest. There are far more important matters that loop in my head. Keeping "broken" promises before I lose all hope of ever conveying value with my words. In this sustained unreality, words are all I have to share. It's like a vendor of a particular ware having his stock reduced to nothing. Bankrupt and broken, he must find a way to rebuild. Only there is nothing to replace these words with. These words are but my own and so shall every one that emerges from the spirit within.
Till the frog leaps over and away.
Above the wanton blades of grass.
Below the leaden branches
That block out sunlight
Provide shelter to
Countless creatures
And more so still
There hasn't been particularly much to say that has spawned within my mind. This tiring week has taken its toll on me. Now I feel tired and ... really pretty down. I would rather not create a post that is going to be fairly self-deprecating, so I shall do my best to avoid so.
I'm luck y that it's been a quiet week. With the exception of monday, there has been little compulsion to accomplish any real goals. Though I now stand on the fulcrum point between an outcome that will either be simple and positive or messy and negative, that is not what wearies me. At least not to the extent that I feel right now.
It's more of ... is it a hopelessness? I wouldn't think so. The question raised in the previous post has contributed to it. I believe I have found an answer. It is one that pleases me in that I don't feel like a retard. That's not to say that it's the best possible solution. But I think that it's good. A good way to go.
Monetary concerns don't help. Insofar as achieving that immediate goal which is of the highest importance to me. No, I lie. There is something of higher importance than that - hence I find myself lacking. But it's complicated. It's not that this goal that I am "demoting" in terms of priority is any less valuable to me. I would not even dare to suggest it - even to myself. Yet there are still things which need to be done.
But - back to reality. Or an abstraction. Confined within this egg-shaped box - this self-imposed solitary confinement of thoughts and ideas grows tiring too. Keeping little and unimportant things within when there is the one persona within that screams for them to be unleashed, damn the consequences. But it's not like there are consequences to face. Just ... never mind. I am tired in terms of what my mind is even capable of sharing right now.
There is an opportunity to explore the unknown. To do so in the company of those whom I would not mind to be in the presence of. Yet I would rather remain in these "familiar" shadows. Resting these mental bruises. I will go to work tomorrow and I plan on doing nothing. Even more so than today. I plan to waste the time that I have been granted. To whittle it away with personal activities in spite of being granted the greatest gift in the world with this job. Why would I even consider doing so? Does this mean that I am not truly worth this chance? That I cannot appreciate the grandeur therein?
Perhaps it does. Perhaps not. That is not of major concern to me, contrary to what the previous paragraph might suggest. There are far more important matters that loop in my head. Keeping "broken" promises before I lose all hope of ever conveying value with my words. In this sustained unreality, words are all I have to share. It's like a vendor of a particular ware having his stock reduced to nothing. Bankrupt and broken, he must find a way to rebuild. Only there is nothing to replace these words with. These words are but my own and so shall every one that emerges from the spirit within.
Till the frog leaps over and away.
2006/05/09
I have a question for you
When is it time to give up?
I don't know. I can't tell. When I pose the question to this reality, all I hear are the voices in my own head.
There was much eloquence to the idea of this post when I conceived of it earlier on. Most of it has been lost, but the idea remains and here is the question I attempt to ask. There are possibilities. There are hopes. And there are dreams. And then there is the ... reality that is in front of my eyes. How far must I walk down this path of thorns before I should just give up? Or should I never do so, engaging my will completely in the endless struggle to lay claim to that which I desire? Speak to me, silent masses and I will listen ...
Till I return with something less akin to a futile question.
I don't know. I can't tell. When I pose the question to this reality, all I hear are the voices in my own head.
There was much eloquence to the idea of this post when I conceived of it earlier on. Most of it has been lost, but the idea remains and here is the question I attempt to ask. There are possibilities. There are hopes. And there are dreams. And then there is the ... reality that is in front of my eyes. How far must I walk down this path of thorns before I should just give up? Or should I never do so, engaging my will completely in the endless struggle to lay claim to that which I desire? Speak to me, silent masses and I will listen ...
Till I return with something less akin to a futile question.
2006/05/07
Am I dreaming or ...?
And how are you today? Today was a nice saturday. Apart from a slight headache during mid-afternoon, it was a good day. Stuff has been accomplished. I completed Dreamfall: The Longest Journey. An odd ending ... that's the best way that I'd put it.
Also been making my way through to the Two Thrones as the Prince of Persia. There are some interesting storytelling styles and play mechanics to be had that make it such a stellar experience. I look at these games as examples of the story telling that is possible through games as opposed to books or film. Or even static art like paintings. No, for the most ... "technical" of gaming critics, they are not examples of the pinnacle of the art of gaming. But they use certain techniques that I find interesting. More so with PoP and the narration/conversations that continue during gameplay as they did during the Sands of Time. Only there's more now. It makes the world so much more alive. And these usually take place in "clear" platforming sections so you can listen to this as you glide through the world. But anyone who's played this iteration of the series would know exactly what I'm talking about.
At any rate, I was "forced" to venture out for the evening to meet and converse with some real people as opposed to the virtual reality into which I had immersed myself. And it was odd. To brush my hair after a long day of gaming. To perform an action with no immediate or grand consequence. To know that I would go somewhere and meet people without an urgent need. With real and simple, domino-effect possibilities. The scale of the needs and effects of actions differ so vastly between gaming and reality ... it was an interesting pill to swallow. One that I've taken before, but it's still odd all the same. Amusing.
But a good time was had during the excursion into reality. Not something that blew my mind or from which I can forsee grand repercussions, but a good time all the same. Good food. And some interesting analysis was to be had. In people's manners. In ... I'm very ... concerned with self-worth as mentioned or could be gathered. And this meeting with folks was good for me in that I could speak words of value. That had an effect upon their beings. Craft sentences that would inspire laughter. Even if in a person that seemed to laugh too much for their own good anyway. But it was still a good boost for the ego. And an interesting lesson to learn.
It feels extraordinary to make people laugh. To elicit a positive response. I'd be pleased/happy if I could go about my days and accomplish this on a near-constant basis. Of course, when I was trying to be entertaining, that is. Not when I'm writhing in pain after having my leg amputated by a crazed hobo. No, I wouldn't want to draw out peals of laughter from anyone at that point. ;D
And it seems like I am lucky enough to be granted a chance to watch an episode of Ghost in the Shell:SAC. Somehow always seem to miss it.
I've been listening to my fair share of music. Including bits of an upcoming album that's quite ambitious in terms of length and content. And there's this particular song that makes me smile. It made me smile when I first heard it ... and then the chorus spoke of smiling. An odd moment that returns every time I listen to it. Yet, a thought struck me, and now the smile is a bitter-sweet one. I enjoy the song for its beauty. And for who the song makes me think of. I suppose the entire album does that ... but this song in particular did. And reality plays its cruel tricks and I can but imagine where it would travel from this path.
I've done my share of ... existing in this space for the day. Again. It's time to return.
Till once more I question the bonds that hold me to this severed reality.
Also been making my way through to the Two Thrones as the Prince of Persia. There are some interesting storytelling styles and play mechanics to be had that make it such a stellar experience. I look at these games as examples of the story telling that is possible through games as opposed to books or film. Or even static art like paintings. No, for the most ... "technical" of gaming critics, they are not examples of the pinnacle of the art of gaming. But they use certain techniques that I find interesting. More so with PoP and the narration/conversations that continue during gameplay as they did during the Sands of Time. Only there's more now. It makes the world so much more alive. And these usually take place in "clear" platforming sections so you can listen to this as you glide through the world. But anyone who's played this iteration of the series would know exactly what I'm talking about.
At any rate, I was "forced" to venture out for the evening to meet and converse with some real people as opposed to the virtual reality into which I had immersed myself. And it was odd. To brush my hair after a long day of gaming. To perform an action with no immediate or grand consequence. To know that I would go somewhere and meet people without an urgent need. With real and simple, domino-effect possibilities. The scale of the needs and effects of actions differ so vastly between gaming and reality ... it was an interesting pill to swallow. One that I've taken before, but it's still odd all the same. Amusing.
But a good time was had during the excursion into reality. Not something that blew my mind or from which I can forsee grand repercussions, but a good time all the same. Good food. And some interesting analysis was to be had. In people's manners. In ... I'm very ... concerned with self-worth as mentioned or could be gathered. And this meeting with folks was good for me in that I could speak words of value. That had an effect upon their beings. Craft sentences that would inspire laughter. Even if in a person that seemed to laugh too much for their own good anyway. But it was still a good boost for the ego. And an interesting lesson to learn.
It feels extraordinary to make people laugh. To elicit a positive response. I'd be pleased/happy if I could go about my days and accomplish this on a near-constant basis. Of course, when I was trying to be entertaining, that is. Not when I'm writhing in pain after having my leg amputated by a crazed hobo. No, I wouldn't want to draw out peals of laughter from anyone at that point. ;D
And it seems like I am lucky enough to be granted a chance to watch an episode of Ghost in the Shell:SAC. Somehow always seem to miss it.
I've been listening to my fair share of music. Including bits of an upcoming album that's quite ambitious in terms of length and content. And there's this particular song that makes me smile. It made me smile when I first heard it ... and then the chorus spoke of smiling. An odd moment that returns every time I listen to it. Yet, a thought struck me, and now the smile is a bitter-sweet one. I enjoy the song for its beauty. And for who the song makes me think of. I suppose the entire album does that ... but this song in particular did. And reality plays its cruel tricks and I can but imagine where it would travel from this path.
I've done my share of ... existing in this space for the day. Again. It's time to return.
Till once more I question the bonds that hold me to this severed reality.
2006/05/06
Is it, really?
I ponder and wonder and seek to speak from under a mile high, under a darkened and stormy sky.
I've been meaning to return to this ... place for a while. More so because I've felt the desire to type. Not too sure what brought it up - perhaps the small bouts of typing during the course of the week and its work. But hey, at least I'm here now. Listening to Tool, of course. 10,000 days, of course as well. This year may not have as Many great releases as last year in terms of music, but it's more than made up for it with just this one album. And that's completely ignoring the fantastic work of Pearl Jam and what I've heard of the upcoming Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
The new RHCP does remind me of folk. Well, one in particular. Not the one you'd think, at any rate, but ... not sure who you'd be thinking, to be completely fair, but ... yes, it does. Like a - I'll skip the metaphor. It just reminds me of people, person. Whatever.
I've been fortunate to have a really good week at work. Thursday was just fucking magnificent. I told myself it would be and with utter determination, I made it work for myself and then everything just fit together in the most beautiful way. Today wasn't quite as spectacular, but it was still a great day. Stuff was accomplished. The weekend is upon me and I'm really happy. Not about anything in particular. When I reflect upon the things that I would ... look for to make me happy - I see not those things. They are distant and beyond any feasible reach. No ... I lie. It's within my reach if I were to once and for all actively pursue it. Not the consequence of happiness - just the possibility of reaching it.
It could be worse. This is what I tell myself, in case you were wondering why I would have the temerity to use such a trite and boring phrase. I don't quite believe that it "could" be worse, until I actually sit down and analyze it. And then it's clear that it could be far, far, worse - and that's only what I can imagine in a 5 second period of time.
There was a time in my life when I could listen to people. And listen. And listen some more. And then, at the end of it all, offer proper and perfect suggestions/advice. Words that they would not turn down because they were rooted in such compelling intelligence. I "lost" the "ability" years ago. I just remember it every now and again when the opportunity falls upon me to say something at these times. And the words that emerge are merely shadows of the former constructions of wisdom that flowed through my mind so naturally.
I try not to speak much when I can avoid it. Not being unsociable. I would rather attempt to listen than speak. Really hear these words that fly past my head with unclouded judgement. To take in and absorb every syllable contained within the thoughts expressed thus. But I suppose others don't wish to speak just to be heard as much as I would have thought. Guessed and surmised.
Wait.
Yes.
I'll wait some more.
I'd like to say as long as I have to. More like as long as I can before I give up.
That's the question - the question today - the question of my self-worth. It cropped up at some point and I realized that it was an interesting focal point. What is my self-worth? I'm not quite sure how it should be phrased as far as questions go, but it is a worthy one all the same. I have my problems with self-esteem. But self-worth. This feels like something else. How valuable am I to this world or aspects of it that I am associated with. I would like to know. More so, to know this value within the context of my own mind. To exert pressure to improve this worth at every turn. Alter the matrix as I see fit. ... No, not some megalomaniacal idea. More of a desire to improve, take the next step forward and ... achieve a higher degree of happiness. Find this thing that I am supposedly waiting for.
I loved Forrest Gump. Correction - I love Forrest Gump. It stands as one of my favorite films that I've ever seen.
But now i feel mildly tired. I'll continue to wait. But I will end this here. At the WTF note that we all love so dearly - wonder what may lie in the pot.
Till the beauty of the sound of this keyboard becomes an obsession once more.
I've been meaning to return to this ... place for a while. More so because I've felt the desire to type. Not too sure what brought it up - perhaps the small bouts of typing during the course of the week and its work. But hey, at least I'm here now. Listening to Tool, of course. 10,000 days, of course as well. This year may not have as Many great releases as last year in terms of music, but it's more than made up for it with just this one album. And that's completely ignoring the fantastic work of Pearl Jam and what I've heard of the upcoming Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
The new RHCP does remind me of folk. Well, one in particular. Not the one you'd think, at any rate, but ... not sure who you'd be thinking, to be completely fair, but ... yes, it does. Like a - I'll skip the metaphor. It just reminds me of people, person. Whatever.
I've been fortunate to have a really good week at work. Thursday was just fucking magnificent. I told myself it would be and with utter determination, I made it work for myself and then everything just fit together in the most beautiful way. Today wasn't quite as spectacular, but it was still a great day. Stuff was accomplished. The weekend is upon me and I'm really happy. Not about anything in particular. When I reflect upon the things that I would ... look for to make me happy - I see not those things. They are distant and beyond any feasible reach. No ... I lie. It's within my reach if I were to once and for all actively pursue it. Not the consequence of happiness - just the possibility of reaching it.
It could be worse. This is what I tell myself, in case you were wondering why I would have the temerity to use such a trite and boring phrase. I don't quite believe that it "could" be worse, until I actually sit down and analyze it. And then it's clear that it could be far, far, worse - and that's only what I can imagine in a 5 second period of time.
There was a time in my life when I could listen to people. And listen. And listen some more. And then, at the end of it all, offer proper and perfect suggestions/advice. Words that they would not turn down because they were rooted in such compelling intelligence. I "lost" the "ability" years ago. I just remember it every now and again when the opportunity falls upon me to say something at these times. And the words that emerge are merely shadows of the former constructions of wisdom that flowed through my mind so naturally.
I try not to speak much when I can avoid it. Not being unsociable. I would rather attempt to listen than speak. Really hear these words that fly past my head with unclouded judgement. To take in and absorb every syllable contained within the thoughts expressed thus. But I suppose others don't wish to speak just to be heard as much as I would have thought. Guessed and surmised.
Wait.
Yes.
I'll wait some more.
I'd like to say as long as I have to. More like as long as I can before I give up.
That's the question - the question today - the question of my self-worth. It cropped up at some point and I realized that it was an interesting focal point. What is my self-worth? I'm not quite sure how it should be phrased as far as questions go, but it is a worthy one all the same. I have my problems with self-esteem. But self-worth. This feels like something else. How valuable am I to this world or aspects of it that I am associated with. I would like to know. More so, to know this value within the context of my own mind. To exert pressure to improve this worth at every turn. Alter the matrix as I see fit. ... No, not some megalomaniacal idea. More of a desire to improve, take the next step forward and ... achieve a higher degree of happiness. Find this thing that I am supposedly waiting for.
I loved Forrest Gump. Correction - I love Forrest Gump. It stands as one of my favorite films that I've ever seen.
But now i feel mildly tired. I'll continue to wait. But I will end this here. At the WTF note that we all love so dearly - wonder what may lie in the pot.
Till the beauty of the sound of this keyboard becomes an obsession once more.
2006/05/04
2006/05/02
Fair and Flexible - Within New Confines
It's the color yellow placed in the middle of nowhere. With a blob of black that mars the purity of this crayola shade of the popular color. The black is etched in with perfect edges that mark the finest of lines across the expanse of the plain. A rush of black to the head and soon its all over. Before it began. Before it could conceive of it. Long before sound could arrive to represent the moment.
The idea was to speak out again. There are breaks and pauses in words. And between sentences. And, consequently, between the collections of sentences that comprise partially revealed thoughts. The only problem here is that, though the idea wishes to be spoken, heard and known, it's still going to be but another partially revealed idea and thought anyway. It's not like it's going to get any better. Any clearer. Any more honest with the world outside the bound of its creator.
Back in recent time, there was the unveiling. The grand moments. To revel in the luminous glow of enlightenment. Like the golden hue of the gloaming, the holy glow warms us. It is treasured and makes us feel important and special. That's why we wait. And hope for this possibility to come true and for us to bear witness.
But what comes after? After the flood that drowns our senses. After the wave that washes away ignorance - only to be replaced by a fresh batch of grains of this bliss. Like sand on a weathered shore. The waves come and go.
I am confused and lost in a square box. I don't know where to go even with barely a choice of which direction to turn my head. That's a beautiful image in my head more than the feeling of constriction that I feel. Nothing quite so dramatic inhabits my mind. And I'd be lying and/or pretentious if I said that I feel claustrophobic in any way now. I am confused by a lot that happens. Both in immediate consequence and fantastical notions. A lot of it is like being a deer in the headlights, even though they haven't been flicked on yet.
The other is the notion of blue in the face of black. It's there and you can see it if you really look. Really hard. With a bit of light. It's not the brightest of blues, but it's the blackest of blacks. And it gets blacker as the light fades. As its fading, the lines blur and differences matter not to the eye or to the mind that searches in vain for the slightest sensory perception of irregularity.
I'd like to use certain words that I shall refrain from doing. Because they appear often - too often to be justified in their intrusive appearances. More so the one, in the context of the others. And my brain knows not what it truly is or what it really entails to my person. But it is obsessed nevertheless and leads me on this wild goose chase through a maze of one path and one prize.
And yet I walk through the grass walls that impede any deviation from the prize-winning path. I walk through and see the alternate reality fill my field of vision. It acquires a permanence even denied to the fates. And snatches the heart and hope. Grips them in a steely grip of metal and sinew held together by unknown magicks.
I will speak another time but never with these words. Rejoice.
Till permanence is beautiful and mine.
The idea was to speak out again. There are breaks and pauses in words. And between sentences. And, consequently, between the collections of sentences that comprise partially revealed thoughts. The only problem here is that, though the idea wishes to be spoken, heard and known, it's still going to be but another partially revealed idea and thought anyway. It's not like it's going to get any better. Any clearer. Any more honest with the world outside the bound of its creator.
Back in recent time, there was the unveiling. The grand moments. To revel in the luminous glow of enlightenment. Like the golden hue of the gloaming, the holy glow warms us. It is treasured and makes us feel important and special. That's why we wait. And hope for this possibility to come true and for us to bear witness.
But what comes after? After the flood that drowns our senses. After the wave that washes away ignorance - only to be replaced by a fresh batch of grains of this bliss. Like sand on a weathered shore. The waves come and go.
I am confused and lost in a square box. I don't know where to go even with barely a choice of which direction to turn my head. That's a beautiful image in my head more than the feeling of constriction that I feel. Nothing quite so dramatic inhabits my mind. And I'd be lying and/or pretentious if I said that I feel claustrophobic in any way now. I am confused by a lot that happens. Both in immediate consequence and fantastical notions. A lot of it is like being a deer in the headlights, even though they haven't been flicked on yet.
The other is the notion of blue in the face of black. It's there and you can see it if you really look. Really hard. With a bit of light. It's not the brightest of blues, but it's the blackest of blacks. And it gets blacker as the light fades. As its fading, the lines blur and differences matter not to the eye or to the mind that searches in vain for the slightest sensory perception of irregularity.
I'd like to use certain words that I shall refrain from doing. Because they appear often - too often to be justified in their intrusive appearances. More so the one, in the context of the others. And my brain knows not what it truly is or what it really entails to my person. But it is obsessed nevertheless and leads me on this wild goose chase through a maze of one path and one prize.
And yet I walk through the grass walls that impede any deviation from the prize-winning path. I walk through and see the alternate reality fill my field of vision. It acquires a permanence even denied to the fates. And snatches the heart and hope. Grips them in a steely grip of metal and sinew held together by unknown magicks.
I will speak another time but never with these words. Rejoice.
Till permanence is beautiful and mine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
