all the thoughts flitting through my head.

On Good Books and Wordsmiths

2008-08-03T02:26:00.004-04:00

"I imagine that you wrote this in your mind with your eyes shut. Revising until complete, only to leap out of bed, transcribe it to your blog, then crumple in to bed and sleep with the satisfaction of accomplishment." - Anonymous

Upon checking my blog for the first time after several months of neglect, I found this comment sitting, alone, lonely, just waiting to be moderated.

I really like it. It seems to me a little strange to write a post about a comment on another post--of my own--and there will in fact be more to this than that--but it really struck me.

It was probably the word crumble that got me.

And it's oddly on target. The poem that 'anonymous' was commenting on just sort of bubbled up inside me. It seeped into my thinking time, while I was waiting for the warm embrace of sleep at night. It engaged my mind at work, on the few days I managed to be surrounded by plants, alone, and outdoors. I wrote and rewrote lines in my head and finally it came out, bit by bit, the masterpiece I had always dreamed of writing!

Well, a beginning anyway.

Now on a bit of a 45 degree angle from that topic:

One of my favourite authors has this excellent blog I like to read from time to time. Brandon Sanderson's his name. I had just finished reading a couple of his books, and until a new one appeared, I needed to find another good quality fantasy/sci-fi book to read--so I looked there. And I found what I was looking for! A book by Patrick Rothfuss, called The Name of the Wind.

Now when I find an excellent fiction, I'm always very excited. With extraordinarily excellent books, I'll often get so wound up in the story that I'll begin to speak like the characters--usually subconsciously, and I usually catch myself at the beginning of the thought, before the words even escape my mouth. Or I'll start to curse like they might in whichever book I'm reading, and again, usually catch myself. I know for a fact that I'm not the only one who gets so utterly absorbed in the worlds I read about.

So I have two things to say after reading this book.

First, I have never before read a book that has managed to make me believe so completely that this was more than just a story. There was life in this book. Maybe it was to do with the story-within-a-story format, maybe it was the magic, and maybe it was just that it was the story of a man, in his own words. After reading it, I am almost convinced that it's not a story, but rather a history of a time in another world, Kvothe's world. And I can't wait to see what's next.

Second, then, is something a bit broader in scope. Especially after reading The Name of the Wind, I began thinking about what it is that many of my favourite fantasy books have in common. Between Elantris and Mistborn, The Name of the Wind, The Wheel of Time Series, The Redemption of Althalus, most Tamora Pierce novels, The Fionavar Tapestry, and I'm sure many I've missed, there is one thing that always catches my attention.

Mythology.

I suppose religion is about the same thing here, but I don't think it quite encompasses what I would want it to. All of the authors of these books use mythology to create a sense of realism. Cursing, in particular, I really enjoy, since it comes from the mythology almost every time, just like it does in real life. The Wheel of Time is especially good for this, and curse words there are very creative--ha! I just have to smirk when I say that, thinking of Mat Cauthon.

They say that when you tell a story, you should start from the beginning. Ok, I think I will. The very beginning. My next project--how did everything begin?

Ha, or even, did everything begin?

It's my beginning, or at least, a beginning of my choice, so I really can't answer that quite yet.

----------

I wonder if there's a word limit to this post? Ha!

----------

Do you know the feeling you sometimes get after reading a good book? A feeling of inspiration, and motivation, and of wonder, and curiosity about everything?

Maybe it's just me.

But it's where I am right now. And hopefully it lasts!

----------

When I was younger, not all that long ago, I would hate getting diaries as presents--because I never used them, and would end up with a stack a foot high of useless notebooks. Why write in a diary, though? I guess it seems sort of silly to me to write down all sorts of secret thoughts and feelings (at all) in a book that no one will ever read. What's the point of writing something that no one will ever read, or hear, or that won't affect someone sometime? Obviously not everyone will agree.

I write poetry so that I can share it with people. Some of it I put to music, so that I can share a small piece of my soul with people. I write stories for people to enjoy, because of my own love of stories, and knowing how much reading other people's stories thrills me and fills me with joy.

Keeping all my words to myself seems almost selfish of me.

I want encouragement, I want criticism, I want to improve! And someday, perhaps, I'll be able to share my words with the world.

I May Be Here Forever

2008-05-26T12:42:00.003-04:00

If I lay here till slumber's fingers curl around my mind,
Entice me to the land of dreams to float outside of time,
I may be here forever, jumping fences with the sheep
Since counting them has so far failed to lull me into sleep.

I think the sandman's lost his sand, or else he's lost his sight--
The magic dust he spreads across our eyelids every night
Has missed me altogether--while I rest here wide awake
And wonder how much more of this alertness I can take.

Boredom

2008-05-01T10:51:00.002-04:00

This is something I wrote the other day for my writer's craft class. It's rough, as I haven't edited any of it, but I though I'd leave this one the way it is.

--------------------------------------

A world awash with white or gray,
Where nothing changes
And life is but a stagnant reflection of itself.

I watch the world on a screen
From the safety of my room.
Doors shut tight and windows sealed,
I'll stay here and my heart will heal
Alone.

Life was exciting,
Once.
The green, the trees, the vibrancy,
All curled together happily
Until

You happened
Along, a song in your step.
Rainbows danced around your head
While people in the world forget
The secret to true happiness
And I am here and hale and yet

I've forgotten too.

And all because of you.

Backwards, bored and gone away--
The symptoms of our path astray
From life I saw the other day
Softly floating by.

But I didn't think to try.

The End

2008-05-01T03:49:00.004-04:00

It was suddenly very dark.
Every muscle in my small body seized as a shiver rolled down my back, calling the coarse hair there to attention. The leftover sound of birds which had been singing their summer songs hung stale in the air, emphasizing the abrupt silence so that it seemed almost ear-shattering. Nothing moved. Wind which was normally so playful and insistent suddenly couldn't be bothered to let out even the barest sigh.
Great, tall trees rimmed the clearing I had only moments before decided to dash across, the alarming stillness stranding me in the centre. Except for the tall grass, I was completely out in the open, an easy meal for anything with good night eyes, and my nerves were not very happy about it. I needed a place to hide and take stock of the situation, and searching my memory the perfect place came to mind; there was a dying tree near the one edge of the clearing, covered in mosses and mushrooms, the roots of which had grown up and around the now-decayed stump of another tree, leaving a mouse-sized cubby-hole that was just meant for strategizing. Half of me marvelled at the idea that I might find this tree in the pitch blackness as I let the rest take in what was happening all around me.
Everything was stuck. It was like life was on hiatus while the world came to some final decision about it. Seemed to me that something important was in the works here, and I just knew it wasn't good. I have a sixth sense about these things—that's how I've survived so long out here in the wild—and this was giving me the same feeling I would get telling me I needed to hightail it outta there, like when one of those vicious, hard-eyed devil-birds tries to scoop me up straight into its stomach. Only this was bigger. Much bigger. So big I didn't know if I'd escape this time.
The soft lilt of voices stilled my thoughts. I could feel the light vibrations of footsteps coming up through the earth, and soon I could hear them too. My mind wanted desperately to make a run for the moss-covered tree, that salvation that was just out of reach, but my body would not budge.
“Oh, it's all useless,” I heard a man's voice sigh out. While most of my mind was frantically and fruitlessly fighting to free my body from its self-imposed stasis, some small piece still registered the hopelessness in his voice. “It was always useless. Right from the very beginning.”
Pure white light seemed to chase away the darkness as the footsteps glided into the clearing. At this point I had completely given up trying to get out of there—I don't know what he thought was useless, but my feeble attempts at running were certainly proving to be. Perhaps he wouldn't see me if I didn't move.
Another sigh escaped his body, and at the edge of my vision I could see his shoulders slump with defeat as he followed them to the ground, sitting in a glum pile against my tree. The light that lit the clearing like a full moon was unmistakably coming from him, making his features and feelings difficult to make out aside from his obvious depression.
Groaning softly he lowered his head into his hands, muttering. “Why didn't I see it coming? I could have. I should have, really.”
A woman's amused voice smoothly cut into his self-pitying. “No kidding, Chief! And they say you're omniscient, too.” Derisive laughter rang in the air. “Huh, what a joke. Doesn't even know what his own creations are up to!” Her voice was coming from somewhere up in the trees, where the light didn't penetrate. I didn't know how they knew each other, but the moment she began to speak, the man tensed up—from annoyance or anger, I couldn't tell.
“So this is it, huh? The end of it all. Y'know, I always thought it'd be a bit flashier; maybe a few fireworks, a few planets smashing into each other. Throw in a supernova or two for good measure—that'd be entertainment for you.” She hummed as if in the middle of fond imaginings. “Seems kinda tame, this fading out thing you have going on, don't you think?”
“What does it matter? The end is the end. It's not as if anyone will remember it afterwards—there won't even be anyone to remember.” His voice was tired; he clearly wasn't in the mood for conversation.
“There'll be you and me,” she spoke softly, a serious note entering her voice for just a moment, until she burst out in happy tones, “I'm sure you realize, O Omniscient One, what this means.” You could hear the smile curling around her lips as she spoke.
Head still in his hands, he groaned out a single word, humouring her for the moment and probably hoping she'd shut up soon. “What?”
“I win!” There must have been a grin on her face now, but it was too dark to see. “What is it that's got you so down in the dumps, Chief? Whatever it is, I need to thank 'em! I mean, I barely even had to put up a fight.”
The light emanating from the man was beginning to grow brighter. Maybe it was feeding off his annoyance.
She sighed theatrically. “Bout time I got a vacation anyhow! Just the other day, y'know, I broke a nail when I was trying to reopen that damned girl's box. Thought there might be something left in there for me to play with. Maybe you know her? Pan-something, I think. Or maybe it was Dory...?”
Slowly raising his head to lean back on the deteriorating tree, a look of horror twisting his face, he whispered, “Pandora?”
“Right! That one. I remember her, y'know. She was nice, for a human, but more than a bit of a pushover. Gave in too easily. Really wasn't much fun to toy with.”
He was ignoring her at this point. From somewhere up above me I heard a huff as she went on. “But, that's beside the point. Just why exactly do I get to skip to the end of the game? Not that I'm complaining,” she added hurriedly.
As he took a moment to consider her question, I watched as the man took a deep, steadying breath, visibly reigning in his annoyance before he responded.
“Because I've failed. This world I created has been utterly bastardized—and by my own creations, no less! Whoever invented free will should be shot,” he spat. “Oh, but wait, that was me too!” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like honey swimming with thorns.
Laughter floating down from the darkness of the treetops stopped him from continuing. “I never thought I'd see the day!” She had to stop talking as giggles assaulted her. “You're pretty much hope personified, and it's you that's lost all hope,” she broke off as laughter overtook her once more. Leaves were shaking their way out of the trees she was laughing so hard. I was hoping some would fall in my direction, cover me up just a little. “How's that for irony, eh Chief?”
But he just continued on as if the interruption had never happened. “Absolutely no excuse for it, either. Can't even say I didn't know. Because I did—I was just too confident that I was right to believe anything could go wrong. Hm. That's irony if anything is. I suppose I really did create humanity in my image—they make about as many mistakes as I do.” A reckless but determined look crossed his face. “Not for much longer, though.” He tilted his head back further to glance up at the treetops, vaguely facing the woman, waiting.
It seemed like she was carefully considering her next words. “I'm curious, y'know, if humanity is so prone to mistakes as you say it is, Chief, why don't you just wait it out? Really, you might as well just let them exterminate themselves. If they're all that bad, it probably won't take long.” She muttered something bitterly under her breath. I don't think she liked what came out of her mouth next. “You'll like this, too. You let them be, and there's always that small chance—a little hope, if you will—that they'll come out alive at the end of it all. Maybe manage to start anew. Like that tree you're moping against.” He sat up at this, and turned to examine his temporary backrest.
“It's already risen up out of the ashes once, hasn't it? What's to say there's not a chance it will again?”
Sitting there, staring intently at the decaying tree, he contemplated in silence for what seemed to be hours, with the darkness and the soundlessness and stillness stretching the moment indefinitely. Finally he turned around, and his internal light had dimmed to the point where I could see a slight smile flicker across his lips.
“And if I let the world run its course? What do you get out of it? It's not in your nature to help me,” he spoke wryly into the dark world outside his small sanctuary of light.
Shuffling sounds carried down to my ears, and a moment later I faintly heard the woman land on the leaf-covered ground a few feet in front of me. I could only see the back of her as she approached the shining man, a dark silhouette which fractured his illuminating presence. Her height seemed to rival that of the trees which watched the entire scene with held breaths.
Mischief lined her silky voice as she bent down to his level to answer. “What do I get out of it, Chief? Well, I couldn't let you do my job for me, now could I? And besides—humans are entertaining. Even you would be bored without them, I'd bet.”
She straightened and I watched as she promptly faded into the darkness, as if she was a part of it all along. The man's light now lit up the entire clearing as from under my few protective leaves I saw him ruefully shake his head, then stand. He stood there a moment just looking at my tree, so completely covered in fungus and dying as it was, then a moment later, he, too, was gone, and noise erupted all around me.
Life continued, never even stumbling over its momentary obstacle. The leaves tumbled off my back in the soft afternoon breeze, and as my body finally thought to obey my mind, I raced for the shelter of my tree, scurrying in between its healthy roots which supported a towering trunk. It proudly displayed its leaves, and showed not even a hint of the fungus that had so recently plagued its existence.
I guess I did escape this time. Resting one small paw on a protruding root, I thought back to the shining man. Death would not take hold this time; and I would live to face it again and again. Everyone would.

A Small Part of the Big Picture

2008-04-29T20:35:00.002-04:00

I can remember being told as a child that during my lifetime, though perhaps not during my parents', the world would change. I think they meant technologically, like the world would become something out of a science fiction novel; but right now I'm only nineteen and I feel like the world is already poised at the edge of that big cliff of change. And not necessarily change for the better--it's a long drop down to the base of that cliff. Watching the world today, it scares me to see how similar reality is becoming to a dystopian novel.

While the States are at war, again, and the price of gas is rising, and people are earning just enough money to get their houses forclosed upon, and the world economy is aimed for a fall and heading there pretty steadily, and global warming is failing to kick our collective asses into gear (or it's at least kicking us in the wrong direction), a worldwide food shortage just falls into our lap. Out of nowhere. Right?

Hardly. Admittedly I am not incredibly informed on the subject, but I have a few ideas about how this happened. First off is Globalization. The world, now, is like your street block. You can go next door to borrow that cup of sugar, just like a country can import food. And it only makes sense that you would give them that cup of sugar, since you have extra sugar anyway. But it goes wrong as soon as profit is entered into the mix. When the government, hypothetically, subsidizes barley crops, because they can make more money exporting barley, well, why shouldn't every farmer switch their crop to barley and make a bit more money off it? It's not as if farming is a particularly lucrative business in the first place. And as barley crops start popping up, other crops start to dwindle in number, and the people who those crops used to feed are suddenly stuck with high prices because there is both more demand for less supply, and a higher cost to import crops that had previously been locally grown.

Less hypothetically, corn crops, I believe, actually are being subsidized for their use as an alternative fuel. Biofuels made from corn are being touted as a potentially viable alternative to the oil we currently rely so heavily on. But that's just silly! Even before this world food shortage came so much to our attention, or even started affecting us at all (rice rationing and such), there were still millions of people in the world, many in third world countries, without anywhere near enough food to sustain them. Famines were certainly not unheard of. People died, thousands of people, hundreds of thousands, because food was so scarce. Is so scarce, I should say. None of that ever stopped. So why are legitimate sources of food now being used to fuel our cars, and not our bodies?

Other reasons abound, I'm sure. It's not a happy picture, and the picture of the future that's beginning to form is not an uplifting one. What I thought was indomitable optimism has failed me today--the world's just a bit too grim for me.

There's always hope.

But I wonder whether it will do us any good.

Laughter is the best medicine.

2008-04-27T22:05:00.002-04:00

My mind has been off somewhere strange lately. I think it started a few days ago when I was thinking about time travel. It occurred to me that if time travel was possible, then everything, ever, must already have happened--because how can you go to a time that does not exist? And if everything, ever, has already happened (where I'm just living out my moment within it all) then one of two things (it seems to me) must be true: either time must end, since everything has already happened, or time must go in a loop, and come back to the beginning again every so often (like the 'wheel of time', "the third age, an age long past, and an age that will come again"...or something like that). I suppose there's always other sorts of interesting possibilities, like the idea that time does not travel in a straight line at all, maybe it's cube-shaped or something, multi-dimensional--who knows?

It seemed like an interesting thought. Another thing that's been in and out of my mind is this story I've been trying to write which I posted part of a short while ago ('The Beginning, aka The End') . The major conflict revolves around whether or not to end the world. On the one side is 'God', who sees how the perfect world he gave free will to has devolved and corrupted and how the sinister tendrils of itself have slowly wrapped their way around its own proverbial 'neck' and begun to squeeze. He doesn't think the world deserves to continue--he might as well start from scratch again, maybe this time impose some rules though, keep everything running smoothly, and the world as pure as the day it was born. On the other side of the ring is the 'devil', though not in the traditional sense, more as the antithesis of 'God' than as the evil creature wanting the world to descend into chaos. She (the devil) looks at the world and sees buried deep within the corrupted souls of the people a seed of compassion, a small ray of hope. More than that, she tries to show her alter ego that a world without free will is incredibly dull, mapped out, and at least not half as entertaining, that it's an idea born of frustration and exasperation, and one which would be regretted if ever followed through with. And at the very least, shouldn't humanity be given the chance to exterminate itself?

There's the gist for you...and for me really, since I haven't written part yet.

So the point of this all is that somehow I got to the idea of there being a point to being alive, or having a purpose of some sort. Life is simple. You're born, easy enough. You spend the first two decades of your life living by someone else's rules, under someone else's roof--and no matter how much you love or hate your parents, you are most often conditioned (to some extent) to behave in certain ways, to follow certain rules without question, and without thought. Then you move out, and you either recondition yourself (or break the conditioning) on your own terms or you continue on in the world as you are. Then you spend your life in school, then working, then having a family, then retiring and spending the last of your days old and useless (give or take). Not very profound or interesting over all.

I watched the wonderful movie Patch Adams today, and it again reminded me that passion is a good thing (something which is beaten out of many of us at a young age). Patch Adams is an admirable man.

I want to accomplish something. In eighty years, when I'm old and frail, I want to be able to look back and know that I've done something that will make a difference. Somehow. Something that makes my life more than just existing comfortably. I want to make something happen!

And hopefully I will.

No, not hopefully.

1 2 3 4 STONE 4 3 2 1

2008-04-26T18:35:00.006-04:00

I finally perfected looking serious,
So now I never am.

My mind is outside playing jacks
And you thought I was listening?

The Beginning (aka, The End)

2008-04-22T20:43:00.004-04:00

It was suddenly very dark.

Every muscle in my small body seized as a shiver rolled down my back, calling the coarse hair there to attention. The leftover sound of birds which had been singing their summer songs hung stale in the air, emphasizing the abrupt silence so that it seemed almost ear-shattering. Nothing moved. Wind which was normally so playful and insistent suddenly couldn't be bothered to let out even the barest sigh.

Everything was stuck. It was like life was on hiatus while the world came to some final decision about it. Seemed to me that something important was in the works here, and I just knew it wasn't good. I have a sixth sense about these things--that's how I've survived so long out here in the wild--and this was giving me the same feeling I'd get telling me I needed to hightail it outta there, like when one of those vicious, hard-eyed devil-birds tries to scoop me up straight into its stomach. Only this was bigger. Much bigger. So big I didn't know if I'd escape this time.

The soft lilt of voices stilled my thoughts. I could feel the light vibrations of footsteps coming up through the earth, and soon I could hear them too. My mind wanted desperately to make a run for it, but my body would not budge.

"...useless, and you know it well enough!" A smooth and clearly frustrated voice rang out in the deadening silence. The footsteps were getting closer, and I still couldn't move. Oh, of all the times--

"Do I?" a second, female voice chimed in, but you could tell she was just as weary and frustrated as the man.

------------

And, I shall finish another time.... :P
Just like every other story I've ever written.

This isn't worth titling

2008-04-10T00:05:00.002-04:00

Fuck I'm good at procrastinating! If it were a life skill, I would be set. I'd be rolling in bills!

Makes life tough though, since it is NOT. More of an anti-life-skill.

Fuck.

Sun sun sun sun sun! SUN

2008-04-06T18:25:00.003-04:00

Ha, you can tell I'm ecstatically happy about the weather!

I had the most wonderful day yesterday. Had the day off work, biked to Leith and back. Hardly anyone seems as amazed at this as I was though.

I wandered into my room at around midnight last night, and the moment I stepped through my door I felt like it was summer again, down from the very deepest part of me all the way to my toes! I miss summer incredibly--this summer will be the summer to rule over every summer that has ever come to pass though!

Damn procrastinating. I was supposed to read The Catcher in the Rye this weekend.

Left it at school.

Silly of me, that.

I ought to try some writing exercise though and make like I'm at least attempting to do homework. ---

Izzi is shining his light. Is it bright? If it's within sight, night is hid. His light isn't timid, it isn't insipid, it isn't dim--it fights with night, twisting its shining fists, hitting it. Igniting its midnight mist. Grinding it till its finish, till twilight visits. Is this pitch? With his light shining, it isn't.

I wish I might sight his striking light. Sighing, Izzi insists his light will blind. Still, I wish I might.

Hiking his rigging, tipping his lid, Izzi sticks his light in this big bin. Izzi thinks, in hindsight, hiding his light in sight will bring ill things. Izzi is right.

Izzi isn't in sight. I'm still with his light. Sitting in this big bin with it. I wish...

I wish...

Hm? Is it night? It isn't, is it?

Is it?

Shit.

-----------

And there you have it! Ha that was fun :D

BE

2008-03-13T20:33:00.003-04:00

Just Be.

I swear that is probably the most hippy thing anyone has ever managed to say. Add a couple of 'man' s to it, and a pause in the middle to make room for a toke, and you'll practically have begun the revolution.

Not that 90% of teenagers these days aren't already just like the 'hippy' in that picture. And you're kidding yourself if you disagree.

A friend's dad is very gung-ho about this book called "The Power of Now" which I haven't read, but is apparently all about living in the moment, and the importance of just being. I'm sure there's a lot more to it than that, but you get the gist. He buys multiple copies, just handing them out to people to read.

Our ideas about life hold us back from living. I was filling in one of those "about me" sections on a website today and consciously thought to what group did I want to tailor it? Which idea of 'cool' did I want to live up to? --and immediately shook myself and thought, well, who the fuck cares? I'm damn well gonna live up to my own idea of cool. And proceeded to be incredibly geeky. But geek is sexy, doncha know?? ;)

I remember talking to a guy, a long time ago, about how people show different sides of themselves when they're around different people. He thought it was totally natural--and, well, it is. There are often perfectly legitimate reasons for being a different person around different people. But you've gotta admire the people who are always themselves. My parents have a friend like this--he's a wonderfully nice guy, he's got a foul mouth, and a problem with authority. And because of who he is, he can say things that most people wouldn't get away with. But he's the same person around whoever he talks to--his boss, his friends, his coworkers. And it's hard not to admire that.

Now I'd like to say this is interpretive dance... Well, maybe it is, in the world of words.

Be
For me
What you aren't
For them

Be
For me
What you couldn't
Then

Be
For me
What it means
To live

Be
For me
All that life
Can give

But mostly
Be
For you.

sortacutelotsastupid (ha you're awesome Lauren)

2008-03-06T17:11:00.003-05:00

Jeez. Men. Ha.

If only people didn't comment mysteriously anonymously... Ha now I'm curious!!

I wrote a poem heh...

When Bey the little grumblebee
Went humbling down the till
His criends they fried "Why flon't you dy!"
And yet he's tumbling still.

Ha oh writer's craft.

----------------------------------

He looked up from his craggled perch deep in the darkest depths of the most feared and avoided level of hell. Those so horribly condemned in death as to be banished to such a depth could only be pitied, regardless of the evils they had spread in life. Heart-shattering screams, moans played a horrific and perpetual symphony, drumming its way to a crescendo, the sounds of eternal damnation.

A slight smirk began to inch its way across what little face he had left as his tattered eyes closed and he listened, trying to draw their screams, their pain, into himself--as if it warmed him to do so. He was but a shadow here now. Not like the rest. His suffering was at an end. Theirs--his lips curled into a sneer--theirs was only beginning.

A particularly close shriek--a momentary solo in the symphony--woke him from his reverie and he swiveled his head around, shoulders and body following in one fluid motion just in time to witness the beheading of what might once have been a beautiful woman, her screams continuing to pierce the air as head and body were carried in separate directions. Tears streamed down her ghostly pale face, still very much alive and still feeling every terrible second of her torture.

Because one cannot die twice.

Turning away--he was done with that now--he raised the shadowy remains of his head to gaze up into the greedy darkness that had swallowed the roof. Towards the surface. Not much longer now and he would have the run of the world once again. And this time they would not stop him. They wouldn't be able to. The fools.

A cruel smile ravaged his lips and he nearly laughed aloud. How surprised and how outraged they would all be when they realized the truth. As it was, all of humanity was like a dog chasing its tail--and catching it. He would relish the moment when it discovered, after chewing off its own tail, that it could no longer walk. And he would arrive ready, leash in hand. They had damned themselves this time. Things would go his way, this time.

Because one cannot die twice.

And he was counting on it.

-----------------------------------

And now it is....

MARCH BREAK!

woo.

Continued from last post..

2008-01-22T23:49:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it is hypocritical of me, as an atheist, to believe in the idea of soulmates. Most of my life I have believed that to be an atheist is to believe in nothing. A life without any belief is a lonely existence. It took me a very long time to realize that belief, even religious belief, which I used to see as silly (and in some ways I certainly still do) is not a bad thing. Reading Douglas Adams' 'The Salmon of Doubt' there is a section where he talks about a book which has changed his life. For him, that was a Richard Dawkins book, and it helped him to come to be an atheist. For me, who is so easily absorbed into the worlds that leap up off the page of a fantasy novel and dance, full of vigour and life, along the lively corridors of my imagination, it was unsurprisingly a fantasy novel which changed me. Or perhaps more accurately, two books, both by Brandon Sanderson. 'Elantris' and 'Mistborn'. Both are filled near to bursting with ideas, philosophical and religious most especially, which burned in my mind.

I don't know how many understand the feeling you get when you finally understand some epic concept. It's an empowering feeling, and in that moment there is nothing that could defeat you. Mountains seem like anthills. All the power of Rome in its glory days would cower at your feet. It is a wonderful feeling of discovery.

These books awoke this feeling in me, like few have done before. They held up all of religion--not just Christianity or Islam or Judaism or Hindu, Shinto, Buddhism--all of it held up in front of me, and threw it under a different light.

Religion, belief of almost any kind, is a sort of hope. In 'Mistborn' there is a character who is a keeper of all the religions of man--all of them forgotten because of enforced state religion--who often attempts to find a religion to fit the main character. The main character is looking for the common ground between all the religions--what made them all last so long against the emperor when nothing else survived?

I like the idea that there is no real right or wrong about any of it--though unfortunately too many today would disagree. And what is the same about all of them, regardless of truth? It's that believing breeds hope, and is enough to help one get by in a hard and oppressed life. And this is by no means restricted to just religion.

Soulmates...

2008-01-22T20:56:00.000-05:00

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remover:

O no! it is an ever fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

So much of life is taken for granted. I'd like to think love is not one of those things, but I've been wrong before. The death of romance that some people talk about, or the death of chivalry, I'm not entirely sure is altogether true. Even during my brief flirtation with life I have found more than one really good guy.

Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 brings to life, in a swirling mass of entrancing ideas and images, the romantic within me. I have always believed in the idea of soulmates. Not necessarily that there is only one other person whose mind and overall existence perfectly complements yours, for the odds would be astronomically stacked against you finding 'the One' (but who knows? this could certainly be the case), but more the belief that there is someone out there whose very presence invigorates and inspires the very core of you. That there is someone whose conversation is captivating, who you can talk to for hours without becoming bored.

But I would agree I am certainly romanticizing the whole thing, as I know I have a tendency to do. Perhaps I haven't yet woken up to reality. Time will tell.

What not to do when you're writing a group essay for math.

2008-01-17T23:23:00.000-05:00

Mobile blogging. Pah! What crazy talk is that?

Ha, I was thinking today (as I was attempting to avoid homework, that hunched figure creeping in the darkness, waiting until I slip up so that he can jump me...) that most, if not all (I'm certain I can't remember them all though) of the people I respect deeply play an instrument or have some musical talent. Or theatrical talent. Which is a lot of people, and I suppose there are a good deal of people I hold a deep respect for. Meaning, at least 5, if not 10 or more.

I've been feeling the Summerfolk blues lately. Ha I miss the good days! A whole year is much too long to wait, but I have a feeling already that this year will be great.

...I should really be doing other things.

Cheers!

A Humbling Thought

2007-12-18T22:03:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think about the millions, the billions of other people out there living in the very same moment as me. I see myself first, aware and in thought, then layer the possible lives of each person, one by one, over my own. I imagine famous people having regular everyday lives, regular everyday people doing regular everyday things. I imagine passion, boredom, anger, death, grief, love, hatred, fun, sadness, insanity, hopelessness, bravery: every imaginable facet of life.

The trick is to imagine it all happening not only at once, but existing as part of everything--having a past and a future. The thought is humbling. It gives one that feeling of being only an infinitessimally small part of a working whole. Bringing the two ideas of self to parallel each other in one's mind--that of an almost insignificant dot on the canvas of life, and the constant comprehension of self as of an extreme personal significance; both as being the most unimportant and the most important thing at the same time--is, I think, the hardest part and the most important part of understanding oneself, and the why of everything.

Of course, it doesn't really answer the why. It does help one come to terms with it though. Once, long ago, I asked myself the why of everything. Why does anything really exist? I had an internal crisis. Discounting any religious reasons, I wondered for a very long time, and it came to truly bother me.

I eventually came to realize that it doesn't matter. Some things in life are best left mysteries, so as to make life a constant adventure, a labyrinth of discovery and of beauty. Life is for living, and as long as I am alive, then I'll do so as well as I can. I don't need a reason to be--I live for myself. I live for my happiness, for doing the things that I believe in, for a love of humanity and for a love of life itself.

Why do I exist? Well, why not?

"Life's Been Good to Me So Far...."

2007-11-25T01:51:00.000-05:00

Hummin' a song in mah head...good stuff, really. Learning to play that thar geetar, pick an' all! Bluegrass is the name. Liana's the game. Ha. Figure that out!

The Luck strikes again! Apparently I was so lucky as a child that my parents would have me pick their lottery numbers for a while. They never won. I think the luck only works for me personally. :D

haha Yay Friends! lol I made a friend today. Sometimes I do that. Spices up the life here and there. Y'know I make friends sometimes. Apparently people like me. Who knows where they all get THAT idea :P

I didn't win a space heater.

That's probably a good thing though. Space probably shouldn't be heated up. There's no air there anyway, so it would be a pretty big waste of energy to try. And I guess it's pretty big. Or extremely small, and we're all just miniscule bits of dust that live on the surface of what the big people think are atoms....that'd be kinda neat.

Causal loops are neat too. That's my chicken theory. My answer to the what came first question: the chicken or the egg? I say neither. Or both. I think that chickens are genetically developed in the future, and their eggs are sent back in time through a time machine, where they hatch and become the first chickens. Don't you think that that makes perfect sense! It's the answer we've all been searching for! haha

I think it's time to sleep...lol

Goodnight!

Right this second.

2007-11-21T00:18:00.000-05:00

Weirdly, for some reason my cat decided to sleep in my laundry pile. And I just know that at 3 or 4 in the morning, she's going to meow at ear level and force me to open the door for her to get out. And then come in and do it again 10 minutes later.

Oh Title, How Sorry Am I That Thou Hast Been Forgotten

2007-11-20T23:27:00.000-05:00

I wonder sometimes why people get offended by words. Words only have attached meaning. They often can't express what we're really getting at besides. That weird mindtrap you get into when you say a word over and over again, and suddenly it loses its meaning--I think that's when you get to the point where you realize its just a sound that you make, and not the actual expression of thought (though it does try to accomplish this).

I came to two significant conclusions today. The first is that I never understood charisma properly. It's all well and good...but some people just have far too much of it, and KNOW that they have far too much of it, and use that fact to persuade other people into doing things. And, sadly, I'm not even terribly bitter about it, because charismatic people are also incredibly likeable. Hmph.

Manipulative bastard.

But I do think that he would be a really good manipulative bastard to base a character off of.

The second is a conclusion I've come to before, but because of one person, keeps getting driven home. The idea that I can overtly be, and not be ridiculed.

I've always had a problem with this. For some reason I seem to have a fear of not being accepted. I'm not squeamish, I don't have any outstanding or particularly irrational fears of anything else really, except for that. I think it's also probably where my shyness stemmed from, back in the day.

So off to do the homework that's been put off for ever and ever. I wish I had an irrational fear of procrastination instead. That would make my life one hell of a lot easier.

2007-11-15T20:29:00.000-05:00

So I just restrung a guitar for the first time ever! Now I can truly be called a guitar player. Don't know if anyone else has heard of it, but I plan on learning a traditional bluegrass tune for summerfolk next year...Blackberry Blossom, it's called. Really great folk tune!

"I know where you sleep--below me!" The Whimsical Creations of a Bored Mind

2007-10-22T23:14:00.000-04:00

So I think I'm feeling sufficiently whimsical tonight to write something interesting.

Oh, I wrote a poem illustrating my supreme love and melancholy towards the dreadlocks that were so fleetingly a part of my life.

"You Are My Dreadlocks"

You are my dreadlocks,
My only dreadlocks.
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know dear (you are inanimate, after all)
How much I love you ( A lot)
So please don't take my dreadlocks away (too late...)

How's that?

And I just found, sitting here, being patiently ignored by me, my popsicle stick people! They have waited there, under a stylish pile of necklaces and bracelet-y things, for probably the last three or four months. But I should introduce you!

So first we have Manfred, the ex-priest. He always wears the robes of a priest, but they've grown somewhat short for him, since he can no longer get more of them (and they keep shrinking), and we can easily see his (very) hairy legs. His face is more than mildly reminiscent of the famous painting, The Scream, with his hands glued to his cheeks in such a way that he looks quite distraught (and quite gaunt as well). He also has one black eye, and a very odd-looking bowl-haircut.

Next there's Elnor. Neither are very attractive, as a matter of fact, though Elnor is moreso than her counterpart. She resembles a stick, even to the point that, yes, she is made of wood. She has no pupils, and even worse, no nose. Her white, not-quite knee length dress is in stark contrast to her black leggings, and her almost shoulder length hair is bland almost to the point of feeling fatigue from boredom just in looking at it.

They are quite the pair, I must admit. Lovingly created one bored evening in a doctors office, they are the creation the greek gods wish they could equal. But nay, it was not so. (Thankfully, I think I can say with utmost honesty)

And quietly they go, side by side, back to their home, a place of buried beauty and chaos. They will never know the world just outside the haphazard pile they call home. And hopefully they never will, because that would be very worrisome. I would be very afraid--they know where I sleep. Beside them!

Ha--

"I know where you sleep--below me!"

-----

Trapped- Reworked (mostly) into song form.

2007-10-16T22:32:00.000-04:00

In the key of A minor (my favourite key!)

The powerful fool keeps the smart beggar prisoner
Chained in a cell with invisible walls
Tortured with words he begins to believe them
And throw them at others and laugh as they fall

They keep him enslaved knowing naught but what's told him
They show him a world where there's nobody home
They give him the power and toys to control it
And soon he'll discover he's all on his own

It's a sad sad time in this world we exist in
They tell us what to want, what to think, what to be
It's hard to find an out in this cage that surrounds us
It doesn't seem much like a good time

To me

Backwards people preach ideal extinction
Everyone listens but nobody hears
Our minds are bombarded with misleading half-truths
They strike at our weaknesses, prey on our fears

It's a sad sad time in this world we exist in
They tell us what to want, what to think, what to be
We're all shut up tight 'tween a rock and a hard place
It doesn't seem much like a good time...

To me

We, the people,
are held fast in a fist made of sand
Struggling and fighting

Enslavement and cages are not what was meant us
A sun eclipsed and darkness falls, and blind is the new black
Life still enshrouded and hidden around us
A crack of light--will we soon...

Be free.

the secret--

2007-10-16T22:29:00.000-04:00

Ok, here's the thing about me that some of you may not know (it's a really big secret). I am secretly a geek. In almost every sense of the word (as far as I know, anyway). I love video games, especially, but not solely, RPG's, I used to play an MMORPG (yeah, figure that out), I read constantly (though, in my opinion, that's not really geeky at all, I'm talking extreme stereotypes, though), let's see...I used to be really into anime, though not so much anymore (though I do still like it) and I love japanese history and culture (which is not geeky, I just thought I'd put it there) and I am SLOWLY learning the language (and I repeat: SLOWLY). Sometimes my friends and I have sword fights, and I really want to do fencing or kendo or something like that; I'd LOVE to learn, at the very least, some sort of sword fighting.

I used to be able to program an OK button. In visual basic. I can fix almost anything, or figure out how it works (which is not geeky, but IS really handy, and it's fun to be able to make something work in seconds when your whole family has taken 10 minutes to try to figure it out, but haven't).

As my good friend Josh likes to point out, I'm a closet pokemon fan, and won't play pokemon with him at school. I guess that's true. (I actually haven't played the game in weeks, though I DO own it).

On the flip side, I love to be active, and how it makes me feel to be active. I certainly am not active enough, and need to find a way to make activity a regular part of my daily routine (like not taking the bus to school in the morning). I play guitar (acoustic) and write my own music. Music which I like, even (what a surprise!).

A comment which was made to me the other day when I was outrageously hyper (damn energy drinks! :D) was that I had 'come out of my shell'. I lose my self-consciousness when I'm hyper, my paranoia is totally gone, and I definitely have way more fun that way. Slowly, I'm working towards being in that state of mind all the time.

Haha, as they say, admitting you have a problem is the first step to fixing it. (or admitting that I'm a closet geek is the first step to accepting it :D)

No hablo Espanol! I do speak french though!...J'espere que j'ai parle la langue d'Espagne. :(

2007-09-22T15:40:00.000-04:00

I realized today just how much losing my voice would suck. And it's not just because it would be harder to communicate. I do so much of my thinking out loud, especially during tests (and then, especially math). It helps me to organize my thoughts and figure out where I'm going with them. My voice today is like a radio station that keeps going in and out. It's very crackly and sometimes it's here and sometimes it's just not. It sucks.

Aside from me complaining about life in general... I got a job!!!! At Sears, and it's only seasonal, but with a strong possibility of being kept on. And that's a direct quote. Soooo....this means I can finally start visiting people who've abandoned me to go to university soon! :D

Last night I was at a fiesta. And no not just any fiesta, it was a Lauren fiesta, and we (Lauren, Che and I) made a lot of beef. And Sangrea. Mmmmm. And it was a lot of fun. Half my Lit class was there just about. It was fun being able to hang out with different people for a change. Get into a bit of a different groove, and such. AND THEN. We went somewhere else. There were seven of us, and we all had to fit into one car as we drove up to Jon's house to get another car. Martin drove us. So Lauren sat on Graeme, and Jon was in the trunk. The whole way there Jon's in the trunk giving us impeccable directions. We stopped and it was "Right here!" or "Now turn left here, and stop right under that street light...." Pause "Yeah that one." Haha! It was insane!

....And the rest of the night shall remain a mystery. Because I am too hungry to write it down right now.

bleh

2007-09-21T11:13:00.000-04:00

I should really start bringing money to school. I'm slowly starving myself. :(

Or I should buy ham for lunch...too much work.