Imagitivity..

Hyperturtle...

The nature of time and space is a tricky thing. But I saw a swimming turtle yesterday that was remarkably fast. In the water, the turtle moved adeptly and unpredictably. It moved at a curious speed; it was the previously undefined Murphy Velocity.
Murphy Velocity is an almost infinitely variable number, with the principle characteristic of it being the wrong velocity for what you want to do. This particular example was designed to frustrate my picture taking ambitions. My cell phone camera is amazingly slow, with several button presses and a long pause before it decides almost randomly when to take a picture. The turtle mischievously defined his Murphy Velocity to my camera specs, leaving me with many blurry pictures and zero satisfaction.
Mother Nature is one perverse individual.

}:)

P.S. Dolphins sometimes swim over when you whistle... That could be crucial to my plans to take over the world!

Shmancification...

Layers of complexity abound, all designed to make things simpler. Well, maybe not simpler as a goal, but definitely smoother, faster, efficienter. But what to do, what to do..
Ideas abound, all designed to create and improve. Creation in itself is all fire and flow, but the fire can fade and the flow can be stilled, stagnant. Addiction to Creation is a harsh taskmistress. Improvement is less glamorous, a subtler high that captivates less. But resultants can last, stretching to legacy status. Improvement processes are like substinance meals, as exciting as a bran muffin. But what to do, what to do..
My progress is like standing in the eye of a kung-fu hurricane. A block here, a punch there, a grunt and kick over thataways. Tired becomes more than a word, it becomes an integral facet of being, a soul etching attack we bring upon ourselves. The urge to escape mounts, ever seductive. A shiny beach, or a lengthy roadtrip, or an attentive partner, or even a quiet aloneness. And hanging up the kung-fu grip. But what to do, what to do..

:)

P.S. Optimism is like smiling and waiting for that right hook...

Recogitization...

Flux is the word of the day, with change rearing it's ugly head with disturbing regularity. Things we think are sure and certain as bedrock transform with startling speed. Solidity becomes a vague memory as we enter a realm where commitment is illusion and uncertainty is like gravity.
When the worm turns and tries to scratch your eyes out, clinging to the past is a fool's sanctuary. So what do we do? How do we rise above the fog and find some purchase in the maelstrom?
Reality can be coerced, if only we believe it can be.

J

P.S. "Stealing is wrong.. but not today."

Superlativism...

Sometimes, when I ponder the importance of hard-won knowledge and skills, I am appalled by the vastness of what is left. Even given the inevitable exclusionary choices that reduce our knowledge goals from an amorphous mass to a defined path, progress seems achingly slow. Time is an accelerating commodity, and unfortunately our perceptions and information intake rates are not. That's when goalsetting and plans become ever more vital. But even more vital is the introduction of the 'Now' element. When are you going to start, when are you going to learn the next thing, when are you going to get moving? There is one opportune time. And that's Now.

;)

P.S. Knowledge is power. But not as powerful as a good laser gun.

Teaseblivion...

So gross today. I'm eagerly awaiting being laid off; I just can't freaking wait. So today, all of our phones died at once. I really thought for a few seconds that we had finally made it. But then they came back online.. {insert sad smiley face}

On the other hand, I was actually awake at a reasonable time this morning and was (gasp) early to work. Guess it was the alcohol before and at the Super Bowl party. Notes on the experience:

1. Getting drunk on clear malted beverages is not easy.
2. Obnoxiousness never hides itself.
3. Officials with quick flags can ruin a good game.
4. Commercials are an absurd waste of money, particularly for things you can't even buy.
5. Lesbian divorces are hard.
6. Small dogs are cute.
7. Begging dogs are annoying.
8. Male boob-grabbing is never an appropriate action.
9. It's strange being in a house that looks like actual adults live there.
10. If you order onions on pizza, they really don't kid around.
11. 3D glasses just give me a headache.
12. GI Joe looked kickass.
13. Pizza and a slight buzz is a love I'd forgotten about.
14. For some unknown reason, professionals failing to do their job properly is strangely infuriating.

Whew..


P.S. The new roommate's bigger TV has ruined my retro-gaming experience. Freaking PS1 game looks like SNES!

Murpholding...

Our battle with time is like a Tug-o-War against an invincible opponent who is toying with you. The rope of your personal time can be easy to hold, moving only slowly. Or it can speed through your hands, disappearing forever in fits and starts, burning your palms as it goes.
Physicists say that time began with the Big Bang. The phrase 'before the Big Bang' has no meaning in their universe. In our conventional world of cause and effect, their argument seems nonsensical. How could there be nothingness, no time, no space, and then there is a massive energy event that creates the universe. This seems like a head-splitting conundrum until you stop and think about who is making this argument. People. Then it all becomes clear. the reason not to let the inconsistency of logic vs physics bother you is that people, pretty universally, are almost always wrong. The ones spouting these theories today were preceded by those who were certain that something completely different was true. If anything, the problem is the way in which people espouse Certainty itself, when our perceptions of reality are so limited. To be certain then becomes suspect, and that realization is what makes the difference.


P.S. I'm certain that I don't like mushrooms. I guess it works for the small stuff... ;)

Triflip..

I've decided to start using this again. Probably no one looking, but I find it really doesn't matter. What is important is to write, and write often. Using language, even for banal details of my life is something that can only help.
The past several months have flown by in a haze of desperate labor and solitude. The labor, while purposeful, is now revealed to be a distraction. Keeping busy allows me to stay relatively sane, to keep myself from moving away, even to just keep my brain active. The solitude is a function of misery, primarily self-inflicted, that helps keep the stain of it from infecting those around me.
So what's the endgame? How can I push out of the morass into the light? Work is either - a. as mind-numbing as a narcotic without any of the addictive paraphenlia, or - b. a flavorful mix of dashed hopes and fruitless dreams. School is now seen as a means, not as an end, which I guess is fine. But it takes the shine off of it when the focus shifts to being able to reach milestones more easily, rather than acquiring knowledge.
So what do we do? How can we fix the emptiness?

I guess that's what I'm here to find out.


P.S. Is it a bad sign when you lose 50/50 poker situations at a rate of 75%?

Ancientalize...

The machinery, so long dormant, finds a path to the light. Or is it the light that finds the machinery? No matter... the result is the same. Gears creak into motion, the detritus of eons in the dark crunching between the teeth and then falling to the depths like ebony snowfall...
The machinery stutters and stalls, banging and wailing against it's bonds, while the dark chuckles and tries to find a way to beat back the light. And the dark wins.
But the light comes back, again and again, a little stronger now, a little more now... The dark wins again, but now there is no grim laughter.
But the light comes back again, and this time it will not fail, it will not stop, it will not be denied its prize. The machinery pulls itself slowly out of the clutching hands of the mire, basking in the light, feeling the raw power flow once more through the girders and pipes of it's frame.
But so much has been lost... precious time not least of all... Tools gone forever, an infinity of newness lost to the darkness. The machinery almost falls back, the enormity of desolation staggers it...

Almost.


P.S. Here's to the next Infinity... }:)

Enchantricity...

Does she know?
The power she has
with one toss of her hair

or the sound of her laughter
full-throated or mild

or the touch of her hand
soft and then firm
needful yet teasing

or the flow of her words
how excited then sad
dreamy but so driven

or a look from those eyes
so fear-filled and wise

Does she know?
How helpless it makes me...

Joygreed...

Alright, a long time since I posted last, and a lot has happened.

Let's see, I completed my degree requirements, got a shiny new job, had to start renting a room from a family member (as I was down to my last $20 before the job kicked in), found an exciting mission in a startup nonprofit, came up with a great business idea that could ensure my financial future, started getting in shape, and acquired a splendid new girlfriend.
In all this hubbub and ballyhoo, my writing has really fallen by the wayside. I wrote one story this summer, and am stalled waiting for time to write and really get into it. My ideas molder on the shelf, and then dust falls on the mold. Time to clean some off, and get them pounded out and down. With everything going better, and my world bending to will, that would be the cherry on top.

}:)

P.S. I've been seriously toying with idea of becoming a househusband....

Bewitchery...

A 'Thing Unlooked For' may have occurred.

In other news... I can feel the clutches of Solis, Demon of Loneliness starting to penetrate my armor. Maybe it's the glimmer of the TUF raising its fetching head. Maybe it's the roommates (very) occasionally having a life, or maybe it's the inevitable emergence from the darkened tunnel. How to fend off the Demon, and whether I can, and whether I should, these all become issues of concern.

Forget it! I will smite the Demon with my Sword of Withdrawal, and use my Shield of Banality to thwart his clawstrokes!!!

Well...maybe I will...

}:(

P.S. I was the only person to get an 'A' in my Drawing class! See how well a total lack of natural talent can help you follow directions?

Schedudreaming...

Outside a time
a cry and a thrash
crimson wave curling
bloody sand sticks
handprints become stone
a plate of blue fruit
beckons so yummy
helpless to poison
nibbling me through
a tiny nightmare
in the day.

Delightsicle...

I had a shocking moment in my Drawing (for Dummies) class today. Now, my artistic skills have been likened to your average kindergartener, with extensive use of stick figures predominating and a complete lack of any kind of actual straight lines, so the elementary Drawing class has still seemed to be far too advanced for me. But today, I drew something that was actually recognizable as the thing that I was looking at! The instructor was like, "Exactly! You were sitting on the floor against this wall, looking down the hall." I think my mouth must have literally been hanging open in shock. I guess you can teach an old dog, and all that...

}:Þ

P.S. If I'm that good, maybe I should go get some marble and start chiselling...

Eurekavision...

My mind lost a day today.
It was a subtle thing, this losing of a day. There was no fanfare, or sudden musical sting, or even a shocked gasp. I just awoke, totally convinced that it was Friday instead of Thursday. What can alter my perception like that? Granted, my grasp on reality and time has often been a fingertipish one, but you'd think I'd at least know what day it was. Now the plans to get ready for bowling league night have to be discarded, or at least shelved another orbit. Instead, I sit with absolutely nothing to do. I could play the latest videogame that's sponging up my neurons, or re-watch some stored banality and eat compulsively. I could head to the gym and blow out my knee, ensuring a lengthy hospital stay where at least there'd be jello.
Time to get projectish, maybe?

}:|

P.S. I've been toying with the abstract concept of becoming a professional bowler. If I was at least an average pro, I might make as much as 4 or 5 thousand a year!!!

Whoretender...

I meet some strange people in the course of a day.
A girl in my class babbled non-stop for 45 minutes about some RPG she used to play a couple of years ago. Do we really need the details of how her Mage got killed?
A guy in the same class has made the most horrendous attempt at an assignment I've ever seen and the teacher is too nice to set him straight. I mean, it looks like he actually drew on the screen with a crayon. Badly.
A girl in the library is typing in an instant message and repeating it into her cellphone. Not verbally. Texting.
A guy across from me is wearing badly applied nail polish. It's not the nail polish, but at least have some pride, ya know?
A girl in the cafeteria was offering fellatio for a cigarette. The guy she offered it to got angry about it for some reason.
My class was cancelled 5 minutes before it was supposed to start. One of my classmates looked positively murderous.
A pedophile/serial killer-looking guy came in to the library, sat down, and started reading an Astronomy magazine. He finished, then just got up and left.
A girl was standing outside smoking. She was so cold that her shivering was making the cigarette tip dance the Cha-Cha. Either that, or she was sending some kind of smoke hieroglyphics.
A guy I've met a few times just came into the student lounge-type area, curled up on the couch and fell asleep. I think I'll go over with a marker and practice some drawing.

}:)

P.S. I've already come up with three meanings for this title, as in Supplier, Currency, and specific type of liar...

Fibtastic...

'For the first time in the tiny island's history, not one, but two of Ralia's youths had been Called. The resulting firestorm of celebration, debauchery, and rumor-mongering had basically ground the economy to a complete standstill. The Elders didn't press the issue. It doesn't help your authority to tell people to get back to work and have them laugh in your face. But not everyone was happy about the two new Lords Emergent.'
'The envious contented themselves with inventing puerile Domains for the new Lordlings, like the Lord of Outhouses or the Lord of Eyebrows. The fearful, on the other hand, whispered in dark corners about those Lords whose Domains were wholly dreadful. There were even some whisperings about the tyranny of Kioran, the Mad Lord who enslaved nearly half of the world when the Elders were young. But none of their concerns compared to those of the mother whose twin sons were the ones Called.'

The Lords quadrilogy is an idea I had the other day in a dream, and I decided to not let it sit like I usually do. From time to time, I'll flesh out different parts of the world on here to help me keep it fresh. The saga of the twin Lordlings will send them out into the world to discover their destiny, but of course their fate is a relatively small issue. Like all good sagas, the fate of the world/society/mankind is all wrapped up together. Each Lord has their own Domain, which can be a facet of the natural world, an attribute of some kind, or even an abstract concept. I can't wait to unearth it all...

}:)

P.S. I'm writing this post in my evening Database Design class. You really notice two people not showing up when there's only a five person enrollment...

Upheaving...

Ah, how much can change betwixt posts...

For those I haven't spoken to, the horrific MRI I described found absolutely nothing wrong with my knee. So why does it hurt? It seems its just a muscle/tendon/ligament/something imbalance that just creates inflammation and tenderness. The way to fix something like this is physical therapy sessions ad infinitum, which predictably, I have failed to schedule. Instead, I have elected to punish myself at the gym with ridiculous scheduled workouts including an inordinate amount of time on the treadmill. The twisted concept in my brain is that my problem will clear up if I lose weight. The validity of this theory? Doubtful...but it least it keeps me out of the Doctor's office.

The living situation has become a farce at this point. Negotiations to buy a condo fell apart, and the strikingly perfect apartment I found was snatched away by my spotty credit history. So, you may find me at my hotel room most days, with discarded takeout wrappers and garbage bags filled with laundry surrounding me. I feel like I'm throwing money away, but when I consider that the room includes heat/hot water/electricity/phone/cable/high-speed internet/maid service, it doesn't seem half bad. And the food bill is not too bad because I'm down to one meal a day mostly.

And...I was fired from the car dealership! It was a very odd firing, mainly consisting of a "We don't want you to work here anymore" speech. Everyone asks me what the reason was, but there doesn't really seem to be any. Anyway, it felt awesome, like a donkeyload of bricks evaporating off of my shoulders. Freedom! My money situation is pretty decent, so I'm probably not gonna look for anything new until after classes end in December. I've got like 6 leads of places to go, so I'm not worried. And if I wanted to stay in the car business, you could make that half the dealerships in CT.

The free time is going to take a little bit of getting used to. My schedule has adjusted to a largely nocturnal emphasis, with a dawn bedtime and a noon wake-up. And I've been watching way too much television. There are several insipid show characters I'd cheerfully throttle if I had the opportunity. Time to get a hobby, maybe. Shrunken heads, anyone?!

}:)

P.S. Now if I could just make a living by being shady. I mean, outside of being a car guy...

Torturising....

I had to go in for an MRI for the bum knee today, and I must say that it was a truly excrutiating experience. To be forced to be absolutely still for 5-6 minutes at a time doesn't seem so hard. Until you're lying there with an maddening itch on your shin, or an astoundingly loud sneeze forcing its way out, or your back yodeling because you're lying on an extremely firm table, or even your fingers falling asleep because your hand is lying the wrong way. Add in the perpetually chipper operator's voice drifting in, the blasting 'adult light favorites' dreckola that's the only radio station they can receive in there, and of course the deep-throated grumble of the empty stomach you foolishly went there with, and you may start to get the picture.

}:(

P.S. What I wouldn't have given for a very sharp sword that I could hack and slash my way out of there with...

Oglizing...

A long gap between entries, eh? I just haven't had much to talk about, with a life, heart, mind, and soul stuck in the quagmire of mediocrity. The basic tenet dominating my mindscape is disgust. My job, my body, my personal life, my relations to my family, my lack of writing, my video game obsession, my living conditions, my prospects, etc... All pretty much disgusting. But is there light in the middle of the tunnel?

The answer, of course is definitely, positively, a resounding and emphatic... maybe.

Stay tuned.

}:)

P.S. I have a co-worker who looks exactly like Shrek. Must be part of the O.A.A.A.

Adoratio...

I think I actually managed to do less than a half-hour's work today. I feel so accomplished!

After showing up approximately 20 minutes late, (thereby missing the god-awful Monday Morning Meeting) I then proceeded to waste an entire day, helped along by eating breakfast for about an hour or so and then leaving for lunch/errands for an hour and 40 minutes. I talked to one customer for around 20 minutes, and I honestly couldn't tell you anything she said about herself (and she's most likely going to buy a car from me anyway). }:)

I went to look at an Extremely Affordable Condo, or EAC for short. It was in a beautiful neighborhood, with good highway, store and park access. The building was gorgeous, in a kind of funky old-time style. The cars in the parking lot (always a good indicator of economic prejudice) were nice, but not overly so, with nary a hooptie in the bunch. The only snag is the sign over the door that says 'Retirement Community'. Grrr...

}:(

P.S. I told her I wouldn't mind having neighbors who all went to bed by 8:00 PM, but she still won't let me buy it...

Flippanthetical...

I can't understand why the people in my extremely crappy apartment complex feel the need to spend their leisure time in our extremely nasty, garbage strewn, glass shard infested, demolition-derby-esque parking lot. And let their kids run around between the flying beer bottles and the speeding low-riders with the major bass distortion.

In my head I tend to gloss over the psychological impact of how I live. But sometimes I feel just plain disgusted when I look around at how I spend my days and my environment. I'm looking at buying a condo, but I've started to think that it's just another escape. How will I feel when I'm prompted to run and leave my name on a mortgage? I even looked up property in San Diego as well (surprisingly affordable). Is this the totality of my time on this mudball?

}:(

P.S. If time flies, and shadows fall, does shadow time fly or fall?

Intuidiction....

I had an interesting moment last week. In one of my stories (still languishing in need of a re-write) there is a character named, creatively enough, The Old Security Guard. I didn't really feel the need to come up with a name for him because it just wasn't important to the story, ya know? But at the Writer's Conference I was kind of zoning out during one of the presentations thinking about characters and how they seem to have a life of their own at times. And I thought about that guy and whether he would be upset to know he didn't have a name. But then, I realized he did.
Pete. Pete Driscoll. It was like once I thought about it, it just popped out.

What secrets is this brain thingy hiding from me?!?!

}:Þ

P.S. Translating from Brainguage to English can be rough. Stinky yak cheese muffin tendrils!!!

Grumptastic...

My Systems Analysis class has really driven me to the point of hypochondria. Sitting there listening to the droning, I keep developing itchy eyes, splitting headaches, and whatever else my brain can invent. I try to tell it that this is necessary. I just need a few more classes to finally get that freaking degree, and this happens to be one of them. But it won't listen. It doesn't like the situation and is doing everything short of aneurysm to drive me out of the class. I did get a good grade on the exam, though. Well, pretty good, seeing as I only went to about 40% of the class thus far. It doesn't help being on the 2 hour sleep cycle again.

}:(

P.S. Sniffle... isn't anyone going to give me a tissue for all my crying?!?!

Enigmopening...

Being tired is getting to be a constant companion now. I had to go into work today(my only day off) to finalize a couple deals from which I made very little money. Certainly not enough to buy the shack on the San Diego beach I've got my eye on. But maybe enough for a change of clothes and a tankfull of gas. Is it worth it? Should I have done it? Where will it end? Who can say? Who the hell am I talking to?

All good questions for me to ponder as I sit here on my recon mission. Time to stop sniffing around and take a bite, maybe. I'm sure the taste is excellent, but that doesn't mean I'll get to try it. (The current paragraph may seem extraordinarily cryptic. So sue me!)

The copier next to me is making the most outstandingly annoying sound as it cycles through the endless series of reproductions it's being tortured into cranking out. At least it sound like torture. I can't listen anymore! Just tell them where the secret plans are, Xerox!

I was listening to a conversation in Polish a few minutes ago. Granted, I don't speak the language, but it's easy to tell what's going on. It was a pretty inane gabfest about the weekend and getting laid most likely.

Without discipline, the writer can be trapped into spouting out whatever inanities spring to mind. Good thing I'm so under control, huh?

}:)

P.S. Tonight's entry was brought to you by a lack of sleep/lack of caffeine combo. Stop the unsanity!

Flusterization...

Susan raises an interesting point over at Spinning about the audience reaction and writing. If an audience doesn't 'get' or 'see' what you were trying to show them, is it the writing's fault? Well, to me anyway, its yes. And no.
An image or idea can fail to transmit for any number of reasons. Improper presentation. Foreign references. Over(or under)-profundity than was expected. Lazy reading. Lazy writing. Distractions. Resistance. Stupidity. Left-handedness. Whatever...

Now, the people who know me might think that my caring about this issue would be the same as I would give to a rat's ass, but that's not really the case. I've cracked many a joke that only got me a blank stare or a vague smile, and it drives me bonkers when it happens. But those missteps are almost more important. How can you refine technique in a constant stream of applause and praise?

}:)

P.S. A favorite author of mine wrote a series of satirical fantasy novels where he not only embraced the cliches, but actually made them the Laws. Every barbarian had to wear a loincloth, and all beautiful women had to be half-naked and in danger. When the critics reviewed the first book, do you know what they said? "His world is just like everybody else's..." Amazing, isn't it?

Murphictionary...

I've been pondering the nature of control. What is it in our nature that makes us want to grab the reins, to take the wheel, to utter the cliche? And when it comes to writing, is control something you actually want?

In a workshop of a story I wrote recently, there were a lot of questions and suggestions of how to alter and mold it. But the way I wrote it wasn't about control. I thought of the character, and what he said was just what he said, ya know? But then I thought about it a little more, looking past my innate distrust of the revision process. While I still can't even consider trying to control what happens, I think I can work on taking my simple scribbling on to another level. The equivalent of taking a pencil sketch and turning it into a full-color oil painting or of changing position and orientation so as to get a better view of something. We'll see what happens. Hopefully he won't throttle me for making him repeat himself!

}:)

P.S. Otto? WTFF?!?!

P.P.S. For a non-inside joke, I just found a coupon book I got for Burger King. I only have 2 days to eat 47 discounted sandwiches!

Mythocation...

Loafer

Constant chatter swirling sadly
Diving dreamer plunges madly
Biting babies softly nursing
Pulsing currents to and fro-ing
Monkeys shooting pinching furies
Ancients roaming pointless journeys
Lordlings churn releasing might
Yet whales vanish without a fight.

}:)

P.S. I know, I know. What the fuck, right?

Revelationizing....

Coma over...

I emerge from my cocoon and blink new-eyed at the world, my mental transformation in place. The new thoughtways are rough and raw with newness. The old dark channels long for my consciousness. I can't predict what's gonna come of this attempted evolution. But now, I have one thing to go with my quiver of ideas, my sarcasmic armor, my strong sword arm.

I have some hope.

}:)

P.S. Armor piercing smiles are a bitch, ain't they?

Futilistic...

My sword arm is tired. I stand on the slope of a hill with blood streaming from a dozen wounds or more. But I don't feel the pain of my torn skin and shredded flesh. I don't feel the sting of sweat dripping into my eyes, or the sullen resentful gurgles floating up from my empty belly, or even the dull throbbing from my partially crushed foot. Just the arm. A score of warriors at least have fallen before my wrath this day, with a group of nearly as many poised to fall on me at any moment. If I could lift the other arm I would use it instead. Ahh...I hear them just around that bend. Looks like I may get to rest after all.

At least a few more will know the wrath of the samurai.


P.S. I have never in my life flown a kite. I must be some kind of freak, huh? }:)

Oddiction...

In reviewing several online multimedia/poetry/crap pieces for New Media class, I was struck by how prevalent the desire to be strange is, in the forefront of innovation. These pieces were filled with rapid graphic transitions (you know, the kind that inspire migraines), and truly incomprehensible dialogue. You get the feeling looking at these works that the creator actually was faced with choices, and actively chose to be weird over imparting/inspiring any genuine feeling or emotion. Not that I find anything wrong with a skewed perspective, but I don't think that's enough by itself.

How does this relate to me? Its just another thing to keep in mind, that's all. I feel the urge when I'm in my creative process to 'do something different', or to 'surprise' the reader/watcher/player. And that's all well and good, but I need to remember that difference/strangeness/shock value, can accomplish nothing in a vacuum.

Jason
}:)

P.S. What exactly would a woodchuck want to chuck wood for?

Quadrangelliptical...

My mind has been on hiatus for the last few months. It's pretty much been work, computer, sleep, work, computer, sleep. Most of the thoughts that I did have are now forever lost to me. I had dozens of story, game, and movie ideas that I failed to write down for one dumbass reason or another. The ideas I have pending are moldering away for lack of attention. I looked through my idea book yesterday, and one of the entries is a complete mystery to me. I remember having the idea, and I remember it being a damn good one, but the actual gist of it is lost. When I wrote it down I must have thought the name alone would help me recall it. Damnitall.
Time to get to work clearing out the wreckage strewn across my mind-library excavation site. Time to brush up on my translation and transpositional skillsets. Time to put the metaphorical boot to my backside and get fucking intense about something, for shit's sake. And maybe time to stop being broken and start being fixing for a while.

Jason }:0

P.S. BTW, the title of the lost idea was 'The Shape of Space'. Other than remembering it as a sci-fi thingy, there are no real details coming to mind. Anyone who wants it can have it, I guess...

Resetaholic...

I've always been obsessed with hitting the reset button on things. It seems like such a magical power, to be able to clear away the clutter and wreckage of our mistakes and missteps with the push of a button. Beep! And its all gone to black. Time to start over and watch those pitfalls on the way through this time. But this should be the last time. I'll be able to do it right now. No more having to scratch it all out again.
Oops, looks like a mistake...where'd that button go? Ahh, there you are, my love!

Jason

P.S. I just found out the other day that its possible to be so tired that you get all the way to whimsical...

Meganifty...

I got ahold of some older games the other day, and it was interesting how compelling they still are. People always say that older games were better, but I kind of just shrughed it off as a cliche and as 'Good-Old-Days-itis' . But I'm starting to believe it myself.
I was playing 'Danger Dave', an astonishingly primitive game that could have probably played on the Apple IIC I had when I was like 10, and having a damn good time doing it. This game has no story, no advanced graphics, the sounds it makes are like various pieces of silverware being rubbed against each other and after finishing, my eyes felt like they had retinal burn because of the harsh colors. But I couldn't stop playing, and I was swearing profusely at the trickier moments just like I do with the new cool games.
I'm still can't wait for the Playstation 3 to come out. What a sucker...

Jason }:)

P.S. I think I figured out a way to deduct the cost of constructing a home arcade machine off of my taxes. Ain't America great?

Wackadoodlicious....

I see a land far away. A land where dreams flow in streams, and thoughts breed like locusts. Creation grows swiftly, rising tall to the sun of inspiration. Spirits of fire walk this land, smiting the unwary traveler, driving flames into the flesh. Predators stalk and prey flee, joyfully, for in this dance is life, and all it holds in its grasp. The air glimmers ceaselessly with the sparks of potential, making each breath a fountain of color and light.
Yes... a truly wondrous place. And there is a hole. The hole shouldn't be. The land should heal itself, as it has always done in the past. Yet still it gapes. And grows, if that is the right word for an increasing abscess. Its almost like something gnaws from beneath, hungry, ever hungry. Lean closer, if you would see what lies within...


}:)

Ironicish...

Things have been going a little wonky recently. Examples?

1. I moved into my shiny new apartment, el cheapo w/ heat and hot water and annoying neighbors included. And the for last two days the hot water was turned off.

2. The guy came to hook up the Internet(mucho importante!), the cable, and the phone (which I barely use). And the genius forgot to hook up the phone. Now, I have to wait like a week and a half for a new appointment and I lost the phone number I gave to everyone.

3. My nephew and stepbrother graduated Eighth grade and had a party together. I showed up approximately 24 hours late, having got the dates mixed up.

4. My main job is suddenly going out of its way to screw everyone. They already rewrote our overtime rules, and last I heard they were trying to get out of paying us holiday pay for working the 4th.

All in all, it adds up to one thing. I must sacrifice a chicken tonight for this curse to be lifted!

Jason }:)

P.S. Just kidding about the chicken thing....ignore the large knife in my hand....

Immortaches...

Without being too too blunt, I feel like a complete dumbass. I waste time like I've got a bottomless satchel of it on my hip. What exactly have I accomplished in this life? People say I need more ties to this world, but I feel like this is the only way to see the truth. When another's world touches mine, even if only for an instant, I get off track, off the pace. I'm moving this week, to a spectacularly ordinary apartment in a rathole of a neighborhood. But I was actually this close (holds fingers very close together) to just packing my shit and skedaddling. How strange is that, that I could just leave in a day without a second thought about it?

So what's the secret? Guess I've got to put the ol skull to the grindstone to find out (not my skull, just one I... uh... found the other day. That's it, found. )

Jason }:|

P.S. Immortality must be sweet for the investment portfolio...

Profundology...

Crikey! Its been so long that my fingers are crackling with rust spots breaking up. I knew there was something that was suffering besides my sleep patterns that was suffering because of my Extreme Working regimen. :)

In my travels around the net the last few days, I've taken a hard look at blogs. And I've got to say that in the hundreds (twenty maybe?) of blogs I looked at, there was a disturbing pattern emerging. The blogs seem to be dividing themselves into two distinct and opposite camps.
The first camp is what I like to call the Activity Log camp. These are based almost wholly around what's been done that day, who it was done with (or to }:Þ), and all the observations surrounding these events. There's usually no delving into feelings or motivations, except the re-recitation of the public lies people carry so close to their heart.
The second camp is what I like to call the All Analysis camp. Many of these blogs take obfuscation to the level of an actual art form. Some through artspeak and cogitation, and others through bizarre, twisted logic (such as the person I read who uses posts to dismantle every event in her relationship looking for hidden clues as to how its going).

So now I guess I have a decision to make. Do I join the ranks of one of these camps? Do I want to share the details of my bathroom regimen or talk about the noises my car makes? Do I want to wax philosophical on the societal impact of romance novels, or analyze movies for Satan's hidden influence on Hollywood? All of these are real blogs by the way.

Grrr... I can't decide. But I can't just do it my own way, right? Once these camps arm up and go to war, its us little folks in the middle who'll get squashed first. So I have to decide on Boring Banality or Perplexing Profundity.... Hmmm...

Jason }:)

P.S. -- insert something witty -- My fingers hurt too much now to do it...

Brokology...

I was thinking about my life the other day, and I had an(other) epiphany. I'm atoning for something. The only question now is what it is I'm atoning for. I haven't been that bad of a guy. I've never beaten a woman, never robbed, raped, or pillaged, never (purposefully) hurt someone I cared about, never done anything wholly unethical on the job, never taken any illegal drugs nor any legal ones for fun. I drive pretty responsibly, I help others when they need it, I make people laugh sometimes with my witticisms, my cheerful manner seems to be appreciated at my jobs....
So what is it? Well, I guess I haven't been the best boyfriend/husband when I've been with someone. I do tend to emotionally withdraw if things get rocky, and I know for sure that I broke the heart of the best woman I've ever met (so far). I did a fair amount of whoring myself out, and I'm sure some of those women were expecting that their bodies would win my heart. I have misled people to get stuff sold, especially when I was in the car business. But nothing materially misleaing, no lemons sold as dreamcars, no 16 percent mortgages that the buyer didn't want, no barbecue grills that I knew would explode.
Now I realize that its the sum total of these experiences that has done me in. Its the overall level of shadiness. And my perverse pride in being such an operator. Look at my username everywhere, the 'Shaistyone', and my half-joking insistence on calling myself evil and shady whenever I get a chance.

So now the question is how to atone and how long will be necessary for my subconscious to feel punished enough to let me go. That's the tricky one.

Jason }:(

P.S. I've heard that money can't buy happiness...but I think I'll withhold my judgment until I've tried it out...

Scriptodemonology #3...

3. Enviros

Description:
An insidious corrupter, Enviros uses the things all around us to block our efforts. A demon of distractions, it uses the people around us, the noises, the pangs of our bellies, the other interesting clickables on our computer screens, jobs, bills, bank accounts, Yankees/Red Sox matchups, the diabolically inspired summer movie schedule, and a billion other tools including its most powerful, the television. Remember this villain as your eyes glaze at the pixel parade, or your ears fill with inane conversations, or whatever distractions keep you from the page.

Powers:
Devastating effects. Can draw distractions and mini-crises from the air to curse you with. Intuitive knowledge of when its curses will be most effective. Hides itself as circumstance.

Vulnerabilities:
Not many. Feng Shui? Power outages? Cabin in the woods?

Instructions for killing:
Apply 30 cc. of deadlines and brutal task lists (suppression only).

Jason

P.S. Didn't you just know that Reality TV had a Demoniacal agenda? }:)

Blogshaustion...

Its been a long time betwixt posts, due mainly to the 70-hour work weeks I've been clocking, but also because my computer suffered a total, irreversible, catastrophic, class IV meltdown. So...it took me a couple days to fix it. }:)

What have I been thinking about? Well, a lot of things. The futility of the current political system. The nature of ennui and atonement. The impending chest-puffing ass-shaking spring hormone festival. Destiny's plan: permanent or dry-erase marker? The Writer's Sorrow. Responsibility's effect on self-perception. Inner talents and the ability to learn new ones. My strong desire to find a local baseball team I could play for over the summer. My body's weird trials and tribulations as I approach the 30-year threshold. My debt level, and how freaking scary it is. The stunningly thick summer movie schedule....

Damn, I better get cracking on this stuff. Or I could just go play some Playstation...

Jason

P.S. If there had been no food on Gilligan's Island, who do you think they would have eaten first? My vote is for Mary-Ann. Yummmmmy!!! }:)

Scriptodemonology #2...

2. Sloth

Description:
A mighty demon indeed, Sloth takes a much longer view than most. It knows that as puny mortals, we only have a very short time before death or dementia takes us. And either will end the writer's travails. A thousand masterpieces may wait buried within us all and as every one passes that we now won't have time to write before the end, Sloth chuckles and gloats. How many hours spent in front of the television, how much time spent in banal conversations, how many eons spent enmeshed in the arms of sweet Somnus? If I end up going to Hell, (and the oddsmakers would most likely classify it as a sure thing) this would be the last demon I'd want to have meet me at the gates.

Powers:
Unlimited. Can make air around one thick and immovable, couches ridiculously comfortable, and eyelids impossibly weighty. Distorts time sense to hide its effects.

Vulnerabilities:
Ruthless ambition, deadlines, caffeine.

Instructions for killing:
Unknown.


Jason

P.S. Actually, I've been to Hell. They're gonna gave me a suite!!! }:)

Scriptodemonology #1...

What are the writer's demons? What are the things that stalk us, leeching our potential and dropping stumbling blocks in the path of our destiny?

1. Unconfidence

Description:
The chief destroyer. The one upon which many other demons depend for sustenance. Unconfidence in your work, in your vision, in your potential, in your talent. This is the basis for comments like, 'I can't write', 'Its just a little story', 'I could never show anyone my work', 'It just needs a little more work', and an infinity more. When the first cave painter (using male caveman arbitrarily) made his first drawings on the wall after a nice solid mammoth luncheon, it was born. It whispered in his ear, "ugh uggghus ghhfuu", or to paraphrase, "No one will like it. The chief will hit you with a stick. The women will reject you despite your strong odor. Hide it, destroy it." Maybe he listened. Maybe the first one to show anyone was the second or the hundredth. We'll never know now.

Powers:
Has the ability to sap energy and life directly. Enhances fear emotions to prevent action.

Vulnerabilities:
None, really.

Instructions for killing:
Impossible, only possible to suppress.


Jason

P.S. Stay tuned for further installments...

Siridiots...

You know, its actually quite amazing how much time is spent in writing (as in life) getting to know people. Our whole world is centered around them, in fact. You may consider them divine creations, or big-brained apes, or even alien experiments, but they're still the most important thing. Writer, retailer, police officer, serial killer, even a hermit (though they're primarily concerned with avoiding people). Everyone. Which is remarkable because most people are spectacularly uninteresting, and often pretty damned slow. It really is kind of a paradox. I love paradoxes. }:)

Here's an example of a couple of these points. I was downloading random movie quotes today, and found one from the incredibly, unutterably, ridiculously bad movie Piranha 2. If no one else remembers this screen gem, this was the one where the giant mutated piranha not only ruled the suburban lake, but also sprouted wings and flew around gnawing on people. The quote (in a .wav sound clip) was "C'mon now, people eat fish, fish don't eat people." Seriously. Isn't this just about the worst thing a person could say in this situation? I mean, doesn't this guy realize that the name of this movie is freaking Piranha 2!?!? Did he think he could get away with saying something like that? Idiot...

Jason }:)

P.S. Have you ever tried to step down a video game level? The other day I went from playing Tony Hawk 4 on the PS2 directly to playing Tony Hawk 3 for the PS1. Holy polygons, Batman!

Plongitudes...

My lack of interest in Programming is starting to become obvious to me. I never thought industrial-level programming was going to be my cup of tea, but I was hoping one of the classes I've taken was going to jump out and grab me by the armpit hairs. But it seems like I was a samurai trying to learn blacksmithery to make my own swords or something. Didn't happen.
So what to do? How to proceed, and where to go? I've always been more of the idea man, and there is a place for that in the computer gaming world, but how to get to that point is the question. I mean, no one's going to come looking for a Chief Creative Emperor or what-have-you anytime soon. Professor Steve said in his contacts that they're always looking for people to write on videogame projects. But can a job writing plot and dialogue for a game really lead anywhere? Maybe, but to the Czar-hood that I would really need to explore my own ideas? I don't know...
A large influx of cash would really help me out on that. I think I could get the ball rolling with a couple of hundred thousand dollars, but how can I get my hands on it? Lottery doesn't work, seeing as I don't have money to waste on it. My wealthy relatives are out, seeing as they don't exist, and my robbery skills are seriously underdeveloped. At 29 I'm probably too old to enter that field as a newbie...

Jason

P.S. I was just kidding about the robbery thing. Not gonna rob anybody. Really. Seriously. I'm almost 100% positive about that. }:)

Toolboxical...

Have you ever thought about what tools you actually need in your toolbox? I think about that a lot when I'm on my computer at home. I have a ridiculously large assortment of advanced tools, nifty gadgets, and neat little widgets that do various tasks. I have a program that can join video files together so you can view them in one sitting. I have another doodad that can rename multiple files in the blink of an eye. One can pull files from damaged floppy disks and another tells you exactly what type of video compression your movie uses.
You get the picture, I could go on for days. But how much of this stuff do I need? I have used all the ones I mentioned, but what about the one that makes gradient colored toolbars? Or the one which can alter and adjust the little white shortcut arrows on file pointers? Whenever you have a toolbox, I think its important to evaluate for usefulness. How many household toolboxes have crap in them that has no real purpose? My father's has a half-inch diameter Allen wrench. What exactly is that gonna do for him? Our conversational toolboxes are often overflowing with little widgets that have no real purpose. Like my little anecdote that brings home the point of why I don't like orange juice, or my constant tendency to say words with an 'fl' sound. And I know there are some things in my sexual toolbox from my wilder days that would probably get me slapped now. But I so hate to throw things away...

Jason

P.S. There's so much dust in my sexual toolbox that it kind of reminds me of one of the grimmer, more frightening deserts. But I guess I've had my share of rain, so no complaints. Well, almost no complaints. }:)

Predictisms...

I wasn't going to comment on the 'Great Nipple Controversy', but I just felt the need to. The conservatives are outraged that someone would dare expose a nipple on national television where impressionable young kiddies could see it. The liberals are outraged that the conservatives are making such a big deal about what is simply a natural part of the human body. Well, except for the obvious plastic surgery. I didn't understand the fuss until I downloaded a blown up still image of the moment. Then I realized what it was all about.
All this time I thought our laws were set up to prevent young, fragile eyes from seeing nipples (which obviously must be the only part of the breast which matters, as no one has any problem showing every other square inch). Our founding fathers must have foreseen the potential for exposed nipple, and realized that such a nipple might even be (gasp) an unattractive nipple. Now it all makes sense! An ugly nipple could definitely be psychologically damaging. I felt a little warpage in my own head when I looked, repeatedly, at the image. It was like a car accident in its compelling nature.
So, in conclusion, I think the outrage is perfectly justified, but needs to be clarified. Maybe the law could be changed to only apply to unappealing nipples. We'll call it the 'Revised Nipple Exposure Amendment', only allowing exposure of nipples with a Hertz/Nippleman rating of over 7.5. I'm sure it would pass very quickly. Of course, then we'll need to form a 'Nipple Attractiveness Review Committee' to check and rate the nipples. Although it might be a huge sacrifice of time and effort, I'd like to volunteer now. I'm just the type of patriotic American who would be willing to take on this awesome responsibility. }:)

Jason

P.S. Exactly how many additional record sales were generated by that little stunt? Mistake, my ass! I'd like to shake the hand of the marketing guy/girl who thought that one up!

Dramatictator...

Drama is an interesting phenomenon. Why do some dramatic elements move us and others don't? I was watching the Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 6 finale the other day, and it is ridiculously emotionally wrenching to me. The evil blossoming from the goodest of the do-gooders, the unexpected twists and the blindsiding turns, and of course, the large amounts of ocular saline flowing. But then I watch the Angel season 3 finale, which is a direct contemporary, done by the same production team, and intertwined thoroughly with Buffy. And the emotional content is way, way, way down for me. I mean, it tries, but it just doesn't get there you know? And there is a nauseating symbolic sequence right at the end, showing how the two main characters, who have been getting closer and closer over the episodes, are wrenched apart farther than anyone could imagine, he to the depths of the ocean and she to an angelic higher plane of reality. Ugh.

But my question is, why does one work and the other fail? What is the secret ingredient to make a compelling drama souffle? And how can we prevent the dramatic webs we spin from getting blown away by the pitiless wind of apathy?

Jason

P.S. Why would a woodchuck want to chuck wood exactly? And why is everyone obsessed with measuring its chucking capacity? }:)

Cobweboscopy...

I got a piece of mail the other day which drove away a good percentage of my depression spiders. It was my first professional rejection letter! Now those of you who know me may think I have ample experience with rejection already, but this was entirely different. It marked a transition, a really important milestone in my glorious destiny. No longer am I just a neophyte writer with delusional dreams of achieving adequacy. Now I join the ranks of the Rejected, and nothing feels the same. Now its just a matter of hand-cramping labor, chutzpah, and ridiculous amounts of postage before the next step into the Published (and maybe Paid) category.

My submitted story was the Mighty Wingman story.
Here is the rejection letter.

In terms of the rest of life, I restarted classes on Saturday. My dire financial picture only allowed me to take three classes this semester, but so far they look like really good ones. I'm pretty excited about Photography, even if it has nothing to do with my future plans, and my advanced programming classes are starting at a nice brisk pace that will hopefully keep my interest. I got a job slinging insurance that starts on the 16th that pays decently, so my money woes may go the way of the dodo soon.

All in all, things are looking peachy(ish). Isn't this when the rain of fire is supposed to hit me?

Jason

P.S. Stages of writing (in my mind at least): Unwriting --> Writing --> Rejected --> Published/Paid --> Career --> Famous --> Household Name --> Puissant --> God-like.
See, just a logical progression! }:)

Funkalactical...

Remember all of that mess I typed about getting back to work? Well, you can scrap that idea! I've been doing everything in my power to actually avoid doing any kind of work on my writing. Been feeling pretty down in the dumps, and it just makes me want to do things of a mind-numbing nature. I'm almost all caught up on my downloaded TV shows, I've actually spent some time playing video games, I went on a few job interviews, etc. etc...
I was even ignoring ideas for stories when they came! But I'm afraid my brain decided to crack the whip on me. I had a veritable mindquake in the shower today. Several ideas all forced their way into my mind, hacking and slashing each other in the quest to gain my attention. Totally different concepts started to bleed and blend into each other, a vortex of imagination thundering against the walls of my skull. The result was an unrecognizable mishmash, a mutant abomination containing dozens of components in a dysergistic babble.

It took me quite a while (along with prudent mental use of a crowbar, blowtorch, and jack hammer combo) to clean it all up. I won't make the mistake of forgetting who's in charge here again. Hopefully.

Jason

P.S. I had this idea for a video game series a few weeks back, only to find out that someone is coming out with it in a few months. Cursed mindreaders!!! }:)

Hyperthinking...

In all the hubbub and depth of our lives, it's important to not take ourselves too seriously. It's too easy to assign our goals 'Golden Fleece' level importance. We're not Argonauts, we're just sifting through our scribblings for nuggets. Not necessarily gold or silver, but we're definitely looking for something other than slag or stone. Sometimes, the dream can be all-consuming and fill our thoughts with the fires of creation. But a holy quest?
This is a central point for me to keep in my head. Too often, I categorize, schedule, analyze, prioritize, evaluate, and otherwise hold my thoughts down on the ground and pummel them into submission. Where is the room in all that for the purity of the thought? In my travels around the web I see literature, which of course runs the gamut from the divine to the dreadful. Then I see analysis of literature, which has a similar range, if tilted a lot farther towards the circular file end of the spectrum. But the other day, I saw an analysis of previous analyses of a piece of literature! What ever happened to reading for enjoyment? I mean, immortal fame concerns aside, isn't entertaining what we want our work to be? And by entertaining I mean any of the hundred types of entertainment. Fun, shocking, hilarious, sad, disgusting, horrible, amusing, disturbing, tearjerking, exciting, provoking, thrilling, scaring... Any of these or their brethren, or any combination thereof will work for me.

Jason

P.S. "Let the Force flow..." SDG. (Some Dead Guy)

Agendalizing...

Time to get back to work. The unholiday has come and gone, and wreaked minimal havoc in its passing. My mighty efforts proved sufficient to blunt its terrible force.

I've got a story ready to go, called 'Busts'. I've just got to write the rest of it, but it seems readily available to my consciousness. I've got several dozen things of an administrative nature to take care of as well, and we know how irritating those are. My financial situation has kind of descended from dire to catastrophic somehow, and its really bugging me. Time to pull those last irons out of the fire. Too bad they're not very big irons.

My life needs some distilling again. I was opening up some of the dusty cobwebbed vaults of my soul, and the results were unsatisfactory. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Slam those doors closed and throw some stronger chains on them, that's the ticket!

A friend of my sister's brought her kids over today. Children. Disturbingly fragile, but oddly indestructible at the same time. This kid is a trip. He has perfect memory recall of the times his mother drops the f-bomb, but can't seem to hear the simplest requests, no matter how loudly she shouts them at him. And the weirdest? He rips Oreos open and scrapes the cream out! (I know, but its weird to me... lol)

I feel the need to type something deep and meaningful, something that will stand for the ages. I can feel my titanic creative reserves shaping into a tidal wave of profundity. My mind swells with the incredible energy and I look down on the lesser mortals around me with scorn. Puny insects, crawling beneath me about the business of their inane, useless lives. My might will allow no challenges, the universe will quake at the uttering of my Words... Ah, screw it, I'm going to the store.

Jason

P.S. If I was a god, would my 'God Complex' be a 'Me Complex'?

Humbugology...

Another year is gone, and the global pestilence that is Christmas is upon us. It was once a solemn religious celebration of the birth of a religious leader worshipped by a large percentage of the world's population. Since then, its been corrupted into a shrine to the twin golden calves of capitalism and a man in a red suit. And what's with this Santa person? He's supposedly a fat old man who sneaks into people's houses and offers presents to children if they'll 'Be Good'. Does this sound scary to anyone else?
I find my love of Christmas travels in direct proportion to the amount of relationshippy happiness I have. When I'm with someone I love and am happy, I feel like kicking out the jams and letting the fun swell like a tide that can carry us all away. But now, given my long withdrawal from female companionship, Christmas feels like a dip in a burning lake of fire without marshmallows. And also without the nice pleasant warmth. And everyone is so absurdly happy it makes me want to pepper them with entry wounds. Then lets see how Christmassy they think the pool of their red and green blood is.

Bah humbug, and have a happy new year!

Jason

P.S. Do you think if Santa was accused of molestation, he'd have as many supporters as Michael Jackson?

Donkey Hotay-isms (not my creation, and phonetic to boot, but it fits)

I had one of those monumentally earth-shattering personal insights that make you look at yourself and your life, and consider things in a new way. I always pride myself on my ideas, on my ability to see things in a new, better light. My Making may not be up to my Dreaming, but that's more a path than a goal. But what if my ideas are an accident rather than a gift?

When I was young, after my mother died, I began to have severe sleeping problems. Always a voracious reader, I'd stay up until the wee hours chewing through volume after volume. But somewhere along the line, a strange thing started to happen. My vision would blur, and the voices would start shouting in my head. A thousand dark, angry, evil voices screaming into my mind's ears. I could never quite make out what they were berating me about, or even if it had anything to do with me. I tried so hard to decipher it all and was scared stiff of finding the answers. The tide of the voices would press against me, blocking out sight and sound and feeling, driving me out into the darkness. In those moments, years would pass for me in the void, deaf and dumb and blind. I never told anyone about it, as a child not knowing it wasn't normal and not wanting to be a bother. We found out later that I had petit mal epilepsy (the blank staring kind, not the twitching flopping kind). Drugs helped control it, and puberty basically killed it. I haven't been back to the void in almost 9 years.

I knew that when I went away, I came back changed some, my spirit altered from the way it was molded. What if that was the stories going in? I feel them all there, thousands of them waiting to come out, pleading for me to Dream them, crying for me to Make them. What if that's what put them in there, some accident of aberrant brain biochemistry? Not a comforting thought...

Jason

P.S. "Solving a riddle is only an excuse to torture someone else with it." Um... Me?

Connectorcism...

Ahhh, I feel slightly spring-like. Its interesting how a connection with someone can totally switch on parts of yourself that you thought long buried, repressed, and better off gone. New subject, not gonna jinx it.

My hell week is just about done, and I am so looking forward to relaxing. Yeah, right. As if I wouldn't take my unstructured free time and add a task list, projects to work on, and an insane drive to crush my spirit. Hmmm, so what project to choose? There's the video game synopsis to finish, but that's such a long term deal that it seems kind of pointless now. Maybe another of the 4 or 5 dozen stories floating around up there in my noggin. Or the dictionary of my own made up words. I've only got about 150, does that seem like enough? I don't know... maybe.

I finally got my Wingman revision done. Here it is - Wingman Revision
I've got a couple places to send it out. Guess we'll see what the big bad world has for me. I have about 100 places to send it to if those don't work out, and a set of folders to store rejection slips. Ready, set...let those rejections fly!

Jason

P.S. Do you think its possible for sex muscles to atrophy? }:)

Squeezure...

Its pedal to the metal time, and it feels damned good. Those who saw my bitching about my classes before deserve an update. I was slacking off badly, and now have to make a heroic last-ditch effort to get everything done. It makes me feel alive to have a full plate for once.
I had to reschedule some exams around the upcoming Virginia trip. I'm hoping to do all the things (in two days) that I was too busy or jaded to do while I was living there.

Along with getting prepared for the trip, and all the schoolwork, I've been having an ideavalanche. In the past week I've gone from 70 ideas pending/working up to 85! I've started doing a refresh sweep through my idea book to make sure I still remember what my notes mean. Some of them from like #12 were getting a little hazy. The other thought I had was how screwed I would be if I lost the book. I know some of my favorite ideas would be lost forever, and that would be cataclysmic to my motivation.

I've got to go get some more work done. Talk at you when I get back.

Jason

P.S. If too many cooks spoil the soup, and a stitch in time saves nine, would a stich in nine cooks spoil time? }:)

Technipeeking...

The answer to most problems in life is to just go with your gut. Do what feels right. Go with your first answer. Feel the force flow.

In 'Writing Down the Bones', an extremely flowery and scattered treatise on writing, the author definitely espouses this philosophy. She even talks about running a poetry booth at a country fair. People came in, gave her a subject and a dollar, and she wrote them a poem on the spot. That was all it consisted of, just handing it to them and gone, never to be seen again. It seems an exhilarating and terrifying idea. But she said that it opens the mind up so much, not worrying about it and just letting your hand guide you.

In various discussions (private, and in Creative Writing class), there are suggestions flying around about how to change your work. Now, given the law of averages, a good percentage of these suggestions will be unproductive, cancel each other out, or simply be bad. The remainder consist of comments, observations, and tangents.
The comments are often vague, especially with family or close friends. 'That was nice.' is the worst example. How about, 'It needs...something.'? What is that supposed to mean?
Observations range from nitpicking to severe continuity problems. 'That comma shouldn't be there.' and 'Didn't that lady speaking now just get beheaded?' are the respective examples.

And then the tangents. These are advice on taking the story in a whole new direction. Very dangerous. Some suggestions can help uncover more of the story than you were exposing before. While others can make you push your story in unnatural directions, destroying a lot of the original inspiration.
The decision of what tangents to use is fraught with peril. We've discussed before the different types of creative processes. I believe that the stories are complete as soon as you have the idea. The writer just has to discover it. Others believe that the story is like a living component of your mind, growing and evolving constantly. But the main thought I have on tangents applies to both styles. When someone makes the suggestion, think about it, and then ask yourself, "Is that what happens?" You'll be surprised at how much this clears up.

Jason

P.S. From the hall of unmentionable metaphor, "His car smelled like a hot sack of skunks."

Frenzitronic...

Time flies no matter what you're having. Fun, boredom, excrutiating agony, it's all the same. At least that's my feeling. There must be some alien force that sucks at our time reserves and then (just for amusement's sake) crams 800 things in for us to do at once. I got involved in a political discussion in the cafeteria today, which those of you who have been in the Tunxis cafeteria know are as rare as a poor Republican. We were talking for maybe 15-20 minutes tops, and then I looked up and an hour hour and a half had gone by. Who is responsible for this time destruction?! We must find this person, being, what have you, and make them suffer for their impertinence in thinking they can interfere with our lives! {shaking his fist} I'll get you!!!

}:)

Murphaswitchism...

My mind has turned to the mysteries of the universe today. Not the big stuff, meaning of life dreckola and the like, but the real nitty-gritty everyday enigmas. Life is filled with them. I notice them everywhere.
An example? How about light switches? I've seen so many ridiculous contradictions and paradoxes surrounding light switches its, well...ridiculous. In the house I grew up in, (a circa 1910-1920 big old monstrosity) the paranoid amateur farmer who lived there before us had rigged lights up everywhere around the house. If you turned them all on at night, it looked like a Presidential compound under super Secret Service probation. Not to mention the gruntin and groanin that must have been coming from the fuse box. Pretty much every square foot of our 3/4 of an acre was lit up so the farmer could catch people stealing his fruits and vegetables at night. Which means switches. Inside that house, there had to be 50 freakin switches. On one wall, there was a switch for the hall light, a switch to turn on the electric outlet underneath it, and two banks of switches with at least a dozen on each.
And still there were more! Sometimes in my wanderings, I'd find a previously unknown one just lurking behind a seldom closed door, or in a shady corner. I once was nearly electrocuted when I decided to flip one of my new discoveries. My fingers were black with soot, and I had a monster bruise on one ass cheek from when I was thrown across the room by the discharge. I guess that was why that electrical tape was covering it...

The quest for the solution of a mystery can be a tricky thing. And in my case, it can even result in a mild charbroiling. What would I have missed if that happened?
I wouldn't have broken all the bones that I have.
I wouldn't have nearly drunk myself to death in college (the first time, not my current community college days).
I wouldn't have had the actual bone structure of my foot change from all the marching in my ill-fitting Army boots.
I wouldn't have broken 3 fingers of an anonymous drunk in Alabama during a bar fight that I (stupidly) started.
I wouldn't have gotten to see two crank-called delivery men arrive at my friend's neighbor's house at the same time.
I wouldn't have learned to drive at 15 by taking my Grandmother's car out every night that summer.
I wouldn't have become a slut, then got married, then relapsed to sluthood, then had two pseudo-marriages in a row (one emotional, one not), and then entered into this long hermitage.
I wouldn't have climbed on top of my elementary school, or realized what racism is, or explored my yuckaphobia, or learned how to shoot a rifle, or helped defraud the banking industry (loan officer, car salesman, etc.), or gone pool-hopping at 3 in the morning at 12 years old, or broken a heart, or been the bad guy, or been the good guy, or learned how to drive a stick, or finally hit a wiffleball over the roof at Enzo's, or any of a thousand memories that fill my thoughts.
So was it worth it? I don't know. We'll see what comes next.

Jason

P.S. This may be dating my comic book reading a little, but here goes: 'Until George W. and Hillary Clinton get caught doing the hibbity-jibbity, Make Mine Marvel!'

A new beginning...

I decided on Thursday to start this new journal. My Blurty one worked for a while, but without the ability to put links up and so forth, it just doesn't keep up. So I made a much niftier blogspot one, as evidenced by you reading it.

I have quite a bit to talk about, but after doing the set-up, tweaking it to my taste, and reading the other blogs around, my fingers are a little typed out. So, I'll try again tomorrow.

Jason