Archive for the ‘ Inspiration ’ Category

Hiatusical like a musical but not.

I have been busy. It’s the playoffs (playoff beard in this heat has been murder but I persevere); I’ve got all sorts of reasons for why I’ve been basically ignoring my blog.

None of them are really true though.

It’s mostly just that I don’t have all that much to say right now, and wasting space, even digital space, isn’t my style.

I’m sure that my blog will once again have daily posts, I’m just not going to promise that that day is today.

Soooooo, yeah.

Keep rocking hard.

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Exhilarate/Annihilate

Inhale.

Life flows through me; something awakens within, something ephemeral and barely tangible. It almost doesn’t register on my consciousness.

My heartbeat skips and flutters, something tickles my mind.

Exhale.

Synapses fire, my pulse is pounding in my mind like drumbeats.

Drums, drums in the deep.

Inhale.

I cannot find words. There are none. I sincerely cannot think.

Exhale.

For the first time in my life I realize that I don’t need to be able to describe something to know that it is real:

“I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that.”

-Brian Andreas

Inhale…

A Job of Work

Whatever happened to that phrase?

A job of work. As in, “I’ve got a job of work to do.”

I have held many jobs in my lifetime. I hold several right now. Some are paid with chits that are sanctioned as currency by one government or another. Others, the important ones I think, are paid in dividends beyond price: son, friend, brother, boyfriend, husband, lover.

These sorts of jobs define our human experience, they make our existence what it is, was and ever will be. Whether good or bad, these jobs will come to define us in ways we will never entirely comprehend.

I hold many jobs of both sorts at this exact moment, my favorite is rather obviously that of being a writer, or being a good brother. I get paid for both of them, one somewhat differently than the other . . . but I do like to keep busy.

At any rate light at the end of tunnel, there is a beach waiting like a blank sheet of paper, a new chapter waiting to written upon its crisp emptiness, a story unfolds.

Perspective makes everything change, skew slightly left or right. Distance makes things clear.

I’m enjoying saying my silent goodbyes on my drives to and from, silently wishing-well into unknowing eyes, during salutations and valedictions. It’s been much more sweet than bitter. But that’s from my perspective.

Today is…

“Today I will do what you won’t, so that tomorrow I can do what you can’t.”

Stars

Every time I look up into the night sky I realize that I was born a thousand years too early.

Clarifying

Insomnia.

When you have insomnia you’re never really asleep but you’re never really awake either.

I don’t sleep well, I never have. I don’t keep what one might call regular hours and I’ve learned to function productively on very little rest.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I can sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

I think that this post is going to be a bit more about the mundane parts of my life. I’ve got a headache and that’s not really conducive to exploring the things I generally like to discuss here.

I still feel compelled to write though, even when my thoughts are moving at the speed of cold sap. That’s actually weirdly encouraging.

My back hurts. I pulled a muscle in my lower back a week or so ago. Pretty much awful, I’ve never had back problems so rather naturally I was unprepared for just how limited your world becomes when you can’t tie your own shoes.

I’m stuck at the dividing line between the end of one novel and the beginning of the next. Foggy, gray area you have become my home.

My poor beaten up civic has been acting oddly all week, maybe it’s sympathy pangs, that car and I have been through a lot together. Side note on that: I have, since my first ride at sixteen, named my cars after early twentieth-century starlets.

Strange? Maybe.

That scene in the first matrix movie when Smith is having a bit of a breakdown interrogating Morpheus is close to the surface. I must escape this place and in this mind is a key, my key.

I am seriously going a little crazy since I can’t run. I need to run. It’s something that I don’t think I can really live without.

This annoying injury makes me feel old. I’m not a fan of that feeling in any way. I will say this though; still no gray. Not much leaves marks on me, yeah I’ve got some (fairly serious) scars but I’ve earned every single one of them.

I think that my blog has been far too serious and somewhat depressing for a while now. I hardly ever write down the things that make me happy, or any of those things that make me laugh. When there are days between posts you can be certain that I was smiling enough that I didn’t need to write through anything.

I think that I need to change that.

Here’s something. Sandwiches. I freakin love sandwiches. Probably my favorite food. I love bread, and cheese, do not get me started on cheese. Sandwiches have an endless variety in terms of fillers and condiments. One can never be bored with a sandwich if that sandwich has been properly made.

This is from a conversation I had today about cheese and sandwiches, it illustrates my views perfectly:

Cheese is the most important part of a sandwich – adding both flavor and texture and also getting another food group into your hand…that being said, I think it’s chief virtue is that it provides a stable platform for condiment deployment.

I tend take an engineers view on sandwich construction. Probably because my undergrad/grad roommate was an ME guy. And handy with a grill.

But I digress, I’m quite happy right now. I want to get back out of Ohio like no other, (why did I ever come back here again?) and I really really want to tie my shoes again but other than that life is quite good. I do like to explore some serious concepts here, but a large percentage of the time I’ve already worked through it by the time I finish a post. Sometimes I don’t even post them, unless it’s something I think might help someone else or provoke some discussion. I just delete them after I’m done because the act of writing it down solved whatever it was that I was dealing with and I no longer have a need to share it. For example there is a post sitting in my upload cue dated February twenty-eighth.

As for the concept I brought up in my last post, I’ll get to that after I’ve gotten some sleep. I will say this though, right at this exact moment my heart sleeps under a starlit sky, the beat of a desert night keeping its rhythm.

Quest-ions v2

A conclusion has been drawn and redrawn among the people that know best, and that conclusion is that I do not feel feelings.

This is more or less true at most times. For a large part of my life I had thought that feelings were a weakness (how very Sith of me, I know) but I’ve been learning, and relearning that there is a peculiar strength that lies in that weakness. Perhaps even intrinsically tied to it.

Therein lies the question.

How does being weak make one strong? This question excites the social-scientist in me. However, my socio-cultural research was almost always confined to the fringes of the societies I studied.

Deviance in all of its forms is qualitatively exciting, I always have questions for people that are considered ‘deviant’ by their culture. It is most likely a function of the ‘why?’ part of my personality.

At any rate, I am digressing and talking about myself instead of the question. I thought about it, ruminating furiously. I decided that this particular question is one of pure conjecture, perfectly subjective.

There exists no paradigm for testing it. Therefore it can be explored only with opinion…ugh philosophy…sure philosophy sounds good on paper but really? How useful is a philosopher in any crisis? Unless that crisis involves a poorly deduced fallacy or a badly designed Venn diagram…not much. Again, I digress.

So really, how does being weak lead to strength?

That’s not a rhetorical question. Input pleeeeeeease and thankya.

And I’ll tell you, in a post not-yet-as-written, what I’ve come up with.