Tag Archives: Writing

Ramble, Light

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Just a quick ramble, not more of the rambling I’ve been doing the past few days.

I’ve been spending most of the day finding things to do other than write my essay. This is partially because a cluttered house is a cluttered mind, but mostly it’s just avoidance. Our last set of shelves arrived this morning while I was out getting our car serviced, so when I got back I set them up (Mickey had to go to work). After building the shelves and setting them in place came the fun task of getting all the devices onto the shelf and plugging them in appropriately. This involved much craning around and contorting myself into a pretzel to get behind the tv, a place which at this point is fairly inaccessible.

I finally gave up being a contortionist and did what I should have done in the first place: moved the TV away from the wall and hooked everything up, then moved it back into place (I also moved it a few inches to the right, per Mickey’s suggestion/request).
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Passion vs Obsession

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Before I get into the central topic of this thread, I’d just like to give a shout out to my cousin Cortney. Happy Birthday, hope it was a good one!

I’ve been sitting around the house for most of the day, not really doing much of anything. I read some email (not much, though, as I don’t have much lately), and chatted on IRC for a while (in fact I still am, in #applegeeks over on the Aniverse servers). Mostly what I’ve been doing is thinking about what is important to me, and what things no longer are, or at least not AS important. I’ve been thinking about streamlining my life a bit, organizing it, pursuing my personal goals more and worrying about other people’s expectations less. I haven’t come to any concrete conclusions yet, but I think overall it has been helpful.

Now, it’s around 8:50 in the evening, and we’re back from trying another restaurant in the area (sushi, so my choices were a little [self]limited, but I managed alright). I’ve discovered the music channels on the cable service, and have some jazz playing in the background. Now seems to be a good time to reflect.
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“The Normal Life”

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I have never been one that could be called “normal.” I know, I know, normality is a very fuzzy concept, but put aside the “everyone is a unique snowFLAKE” circle-jerk for a moment and realize that there IS something called “normal,” and that a lot of people are just that. Normal. That does not make them sub-par human beings, or without talents, or a unique identity that makes them who they are. It’s just that when you add up all those talents and personality traits and actions and thoughts, it comes out to “normal.”

To claim that I am not normal like other people may seem a little egotistical, what with the current fad of “doing your own thing, just like everybody else.” This is by no means how I mean it. I’m talking about the ever-present sense of alienation from one’s peers, of doing things differently despite yourself, of trying to fit in and be like other people even though a part of you inside is screaming out and rebelling against normality as hard as it can.
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MORE Musings of a Frantic Mind

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Let me ‘splain to you… no, it is too much. Let me sum up:

I spent a good portion of the day at my parents’ house, doing odd things, like running antenna cable through my father’s car (he’s installing a two way radio… we’re all ham radio operators, you see). Before that, however, I was on the Penny Arcade forums, where there was a poll going on as to whether or not the art forum should try to find non-nude anatomy references to post for exercises. I think the notion is absurd (and upon checking the poll again now that it is completed, apparently the rest of the forumers agree). I recall reading in (I believe) one of A.D. Coleman’s essays a recounting of a story about Toulouse Lautrec at a gallery opening. A dame came up to him outraged at a painting of a woman undressing with a man looking on. She called it pornography and filth. He turned to her and said “The woman is not undressing, she is dressing, and that man is her husband, and I’d appreciate it if you would stop looking at my painting.”

Alas, the entire story is paraphrased horribly, as I have not been able to locate it again. I’ll go back and edit it if I discover the actual story again.
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The Visceral Experience

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Let me explain to you something about me, that I certainly hope explains at least somewhat why I write what I write on this site. (When I write anything beyond Site Maintenance, I mean.)

Some people don’t understand this, but it holds true for me: the viscera of life is a priority to me. The feeling on your face as the weather shifts from still, muggy, saturated air, to the turbulence and refreshment of a summer storm. The excitement and childlike joy that fills me when I see lightning and a thunderclap almost simultaneously, the fascination and eagerness of feeling those large, swollen droplets of rain splash onto my face.

The feeling of the heat of hot pavement on a summer’s day, scorching your feet, making you feel like a lizard, skittering along on it so as not to be burned. The feeling of trudging around in three feet of wet snow, warm in your snowgear, watching clumps of snow fall from the trees, listening to the activity that dwells within a sense of stillness.

The crash of the waves on a beach, a thunderous subsonic crescendo of noise, felt in your bones. The soft rustle of dry autumn leaves being walked through, hands in jacket pockets, keeping warm in the brisk air. The peace of lying down in a patch of moss, in a fern surrounded glen, listening to moisture drip from the trees, listening to things grow all around you.

This is what is important to me. This is what fills me with wellbeing, and happiness. I wish I could share it. I wish more people wanted to SEE.

Heat Musings

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Well, we have finally hit summer. This week, we have had a series of days ranging from 90 to 103 degrees, with signs of a break down to a measely 85 degrees this weekend.

The heat has proven to be an interesting shift in mode for me. As much as the heat can be overbearing during the day, the combination of sunlight and a climate controlled car make it reasonable to still do my normal daytime activities. However, the warmth carrying into the evening keeps me active and awake until much later at night than I had been, giving me more time for creative pursuits.
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At a One-Act Reading

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Play: The Final 45 Minutes of the World at a Coffee Shop

Strange throwback at the moment. I decided to go visit Haehnel, drop off the book I picked up for him while I was in Chicago.

It’s so STRANGE being back here. I got here a few minutes before school ended, and I caught the tail end of theatre arts. In observation: actors are actors, through and through, no matter what age, or how good they actually are. Or maybe it’s just that I’m out of this circle of people (actors… high schoolers). Either way, a lot of what they say I can’t even make out. It is gibberish, spoken quickly and mumbled, slurred. And then they get up on the stage and are suddenly in “stage mode”, everything enunciated carefully.
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Thought Buffet

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I just spent a week in DC, with Mickey, which was a great deal of fun, even if I did get into a funk towards the end. I don’t like it when I get that way, especially when it causes people who care about me to become concerned (like Mickey). But that is over and done now: I’m back up in Vermont (well, Dirt Cowboy at the moment), and she’s down in DC, working. I’ll be heading back down there in November, though exactly when is yet to be determined.

When last I wrote (on the 15th), I ended because my friend Richard suddenly showed up after not seeing him for a year and a half. Or at least I thought it was him. (I was right). Hopefully, he’ll be around more now that he knows the Dirt is open in the evenings.
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Freewrite

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We are all prisoners here. You can’t put a finger on why, you can’t define the cage, but regardless, we are confined, restricted by rules of society, rules of physics. We cannot fly, we cannot run naked among the throngs of a crowded street. We restrict ourselves.

Past times I’ve done a freewrite, a ramble, or really anything like this, I end up talking about Truth, in one fashion or another. Beyond this brief mention here, I’m going to try and not this time. There are other things to talk about. Other things indeed.
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