Archive for September, 2011

Randomy Random Randomness

Spending another Friday night writing.

Strangely enough, I’m pretty psyched about that.

In other news it is fcuking cold in Vancouver right now. (Yes, I meant to misspell the f-bomb. I’ve been trying to take the swearing out of my vocabulary, we’ll see how that goes.)


Yep, wearing a ten-year old DC Shoes beanie. I’ve never seen anyone with this particular beanie, which aside from it’s remarkable comfortableness is why I love this hat.

What you can’t see in this snapshot is that my laptop is on my lap…keeping said lap extra-toasty.

Hopefully while most of my timezone is out getting schwasty-faced I’ll get four or five chapters at least outlined and even more hopefully, partially written.

Sidenote: I’m slightly jealous of everyone that’s out having a good time tonight.

Being an adult is sometimes not as much fun as I’d always imagined it would be.

Honestly, I find it rather Marxian at times. The choice to choose is usually just a multiple choice exam filled with things that you’d rather not do.

The choice you don’t get is the one I’d most like: the choice not to choose.

That said, it’s not all bad. I’ve always thought that life is what you make of what you’ve got.

From that perspective it’s very safe to say:

I freakin love my life.



I considered writing this post in business letter format. Then I decided that I’m far too lazy for that level of pretension today.

At any rate, life seems to have begun to hit the right groove.

Writing is going swimmingly, it’s not going to cost me nearly as much as I’d thought to start my company and there’s a pretty amazing copilot for my journey.

Can’t complain today; not even my usual existential angst can gain a foothold lately.

Manifest Destiny

I’m of two minds on the idea of fate; that oh-so-prickly concept of destiny.

I like it.

And I don’t.

I hate the idea that I’m not the one in control of my life.

I love the idea that locked away in some maximum-security vault is a master plan, that could I but get a glimpse of, would allow my entire life to make perfect sense.

Everytime I think about fate or destiny I always end up thinking about the idea of soulmates. I absolutely love the concept that out there in the wide, wide world there is person that is a perfect match for each and every one of us.

I mean just think about that for a second. If you really think about the fact that human perception is based on dualities it makes perfect sense.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Newton was on to something there…

I also really love using physics to make tenuous connections to ephemeralities.

And while you’re pondering the perfection of the concept of soulmates, think about how statistically amazing it is when they find each other….billions of people on this ball of rock and water and somehow, someway, two people that fit together as though they were made from the same mold find each other in this hot mess that we inhabit?

Fate…Destiny…blind luck starts to look a little less appealing when I put it like that doesn’t it?

Just sayin.


All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible.

Dream big. What is a sky if not something to reach for?


Listening to Dub FX and reading over my blog entries from the last year or so.

…you can love me or not but either way I’ve got to wake up to face another day tomorrow morning, you can love me or not but either way I’ve got the sunrise looking in my eyes…tomorrow morning, what will the world bring, what will it bring to me…

What a journey, in my ears and my mind.

I’ve read words that literally give me goosebumps; startlingly prescient things I’ve said that only make sense from where I now stand.

It really makes one wonder where inspiration comes from. Is it a direct link to something/someplace else? Can creative people tap into that theoretical collective unconscious that seems to get dusted off at some point in every anthro class I’ve ever taken?

Maybe it’s just a function of my general vagueness.

Any way that I look at it, it’s still kinda, for lack of a better adjective, well, trippy.

I’m incredibly happy right now. I’ve got amazing people populating my life and I’ve got such an overwhelming sense of optimism for the future that it’s almost palpable.

I’m almost surprised that it’s not visible, flowing from me in waves, making me look like a mirage; wobbling through the streets like a tornado wrapped in Sahara heat-shimmer.

You get the idea.

I always want to say so much more. But I’m also enjoying the deliberate mystery. I occasionally mention that deliberate mystery is work. It is, but it’s fun work.

I also know that a few people read my blog, as in regularly, on purpose. And there are always some randoms that stop by now and then: so the vague discourse that defines my monologues will continue until further notice.

I’m sticking my tongue out right now. Of course you can’t see it, but just imagine it for a second; I’d do it for you.

In other news:

My rather battered face is healing quite well (yet another surgery, strange how one moment can add so much pain to a man’s life). I may have to have another surgery in the spring but that’s months away and so is not much of an issue right now.

There’s an app for that

I’m vastly enjoying the updated iPhone app for wordpress.

I can finally stop writing out the HTML tags, longhand as it were.

In other news it’s going to rain, and I’m going to run in it because running in the rain is all sorts of awesome.

I’m also quite amused that my phone is an order of magnitudes more powerful than my first computer ever was.

Life is wide open. Get some.


I feel like a shooting star.

This is not so much a reference to flying as it is one to falling.

I am, a bit more every second of each day.


Being a good fiction writer essentially means you’re schizophrenic.

I just give the voices names and faces; histories and then I let them tell their stories on paper.

About a girl

So yeah.

About that:

You ever have a moment when everything makes sense? By which I mean everything clicks and you realize that you’ve been living half a life up to that second.

I’m struggling to find words, I’ve written about girls, about feelings, almost exclusively for most of my career.

But I don’t think I ever really understood what it really was that I was trying to say.

I’ve thought that I knew what I was talking about, and maybe after a fashion I did.

But only up to a point. I’d only experienced enough to believe the illusion when it was presented.

Like someone raised watching television and never going out into the world, you just don’t know what’s real.

Until real smacks you in the face, wakes you up, amps you up…so much better than the illusion.

Cautiously optimistic, but with a strange surety in the background.

Oddly enough

It’s a listening to pennywise drinking straight espresso kind of Sunday.

And as soon as I typed that my shuffle left pennywise and went to the subways.

Hence the straight espresso.

And it’s now about fourteen hours after I started this post. I’ve got a wicked cold-allergy thing going on, so I’ve spent most of the last couple of days in bed being useless.

Which is nice, just not when I’m crazy stressed about a deadline.

Annnnd twelve more hours:

Although it’s not as bad as all that, my creativity has returned with a vengeance, making up for lost time.

Being a writer is an odd thing in my estimation.

I rather like it though.