Archive for December, 2011
Deleting numbers from my phone.
Easier said than done, you’re not just deleting a sequence of seven numbers, but a person, memories; a piece of the past that made the present possible. You’re admitting that the person is unsalvageable, or at least that the possibility of any kind of healthy relationship is.
It’s actually an incredibly sad experience. Or at least it should be.
Everything is disposable these days. Including, maybe especially, people.
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I am now writing a video game for my application to bioware. Apparently I actually don’t have enough on my plate.
But who could pass up a chance to work with the writers and artists that created mass effect and dragon age. I mean seriously: Casey Hudson and Drew Karpyshyn!
I also learned something new today, apparently my general intensity has a basis in my physiology, perhaps basis is too strong, but there’s a link:
I have merged heart and head lines, a simian crease. Combined with whorled fingerprints. Apparently these traits allow me to put my whole heart and mind into everything I do.
How did I get so lucky?
The rest of this post has been sitting in my upload cue, forgotten and forlorn, ignored and alone. The emotions and thoughts behind the words are long since flown but I’ll share it with you anyway.
I haven’t had much to say lately. A bit off my normal plot for sure.
Consistently, constantly busy is the mantra.
But I’ve been noticing an air of sick desperation on the locals. It’s bad everywhere right now, this is something new and while I’ve got suspicions, I’m not quite certain what to make of it.
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“In times of peace, sons bury their fathers. In times of war, fathers bury their sons.”
War never changes. The names, faces and places differ. The weapons and tactics evolve. But the reasons are ever the same.
Throughout human history, we have fought each other over seemingly important things.
I wonder if the violence is encoded in our very DNA, is it our only true heritage? Is it the way human beings have been forged by this planet, that we must ever fall upon force as the solution to so many of our problems?
There are many things worth fighting for, there are so many causes that are just. The ideals behind so many actions are pure. I just wish that peaceful solutions could be found for every situation. Not a unique thought I know but it’s something I often wonder about.
The problem with that is the simple fact that there are violent people on this planet, and sometimes those people have power, when they do they have the power to use other human brings as their weapons.
It’s a vicious cycle. Violence begets violence begets violence and so on and so forth. The view of the cycle I see so very clearly stretches backward and forward from the point at which i stand into infinity in either direction.
I know this because I am a product of this cycle. Exactly like everyone else who has ever been born human.
I am a child of this earth, and I have the power to heal or kill just like every other human who has ever left footprints on this rock.
As ever, the question is one of choice. What will I choose? What will you choose? What happens when people are forced into a choice?
The variables are staggering, the equation far too complex for my organic computer to calculate. There are no algorithms to predict the choices of individuals with perfect confidence.
The things that run through my mind sometimes freak me out. So much pressure I put on myself, would I ever be content with a normal life?
*This post has been sitting in my upload cue for well over a month, I’m not certain why I didn’t want to post it. It feels a little depressing and morbid but that’s never really stopped me before.
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I have been incredibly slack with regard to my running schedule…for months now.
This is unacceptable. I hate it when I do this to myself because it will take an equal amount of months to get back into shape.
I can rationalize all I want to about the many, many demands on my time. This is pure sophistry. Equivocation in its most elemental form.
I must make the time to run, yes it’s cold out, yes I’m usually dead tired every night, yes my weekends always feel too short.
I can sleep when I’m dead.
Back at it, with a vengeance.
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This year has been an odd mishmash. Everything seems to flow together into one long memory, not a lot of signposts to signify significance. Usually when I look back I can pick out important things, they pop up in the visual representation of my life’s timeline that I draw in my mind. Two-thousand-eleven is a different monster. There is smooth road for most of the memory, some rough patches of broken pavement, but not rough enough to raise a detour sign, there have been people and places that have barely registered on my sub-concious. I’ve closed roads myself, opened others thought closed but only a few – so few – have become real memories.
This is odd for me, I remember everything, detail to a point where I wish I couldn’t a lot of the time. I can recall, with perfect clarity, conversations I had in preschool. I remember things about my early life that I shouldn’t be physically able to recall. My father told me that at four hours old I was lying in my cradle touching the ends of my fingers together in a pattern. I have simian-creases on both my palms.
Look it up if you’re bored. It’s in no way normal.
My point is this, what was it about this year that made it so…horribly average that I don’t want to recall most of it?
There were many good things this year, I’m not denying that, but I don’t have enough memories to populate a years worth of living in my mind when I think of twenty-eleven. I’m not certain how to feel about that but my gut-instinct, knee-jerk-response says: I don’t like this.
I’m looking forward to the upcoming year, I’ve got a lot going on, a lot of work ahead and I’m genuinely excited about it. But I can’t quite escape this nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right with my lack of signposts from the last year.
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Where did my weekend go?
I need a vacation.
More blog to come, I’ve got a lot to do today.
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This is what I’m doing. Quasi-meditation-cum-intervention. My new(ish) skullcandy headphones to keep my distance and give me time to think. It’s nice when people give you some time to yourself. My headphones allow me to take that time when it’s not being offered.
I am so odd.
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On my first night in my new place, the stars were so bright, almost like fireflies, could I but reach forth my hand.
I’ve come so close to having a real impact on this world. Honestly, I’m not certain where I’m going with the preceding sentence. I’m still wickedly busy and the extraneous pollution of daily life that continually forces its way into my thoughts is, to put it mildly, inconvenient.
I need to find a way to access the parts of my brain that are considered inaccessible. There must be something useful in there.
I have, in my scant off-time, been contemplating something big:
There are moments in life, moments when you know you’ve crossed a bridge, that your old life is over.
These are interspersed with sometimes weeks of mind-numbing sameness; they run together and become a part of some sort of mercurial memory-soup. You can pick out some specifics but the rest is just an unappetizing and unrecognizable gruel.
I refuse to be content with this, but how does one manufacture time?
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This is, of course, unacceptable.
curro ergo sum 