My blog, where I store those thoughts rattling around my brain
Welcome to the insanity of my mind! Please excuse the cobwebs and clutter, I've been meaning to clean the place up a bit...|
This is where I vent in poetry, give updates to what I'm writing about, or just post music I'm listening to at the moment. I don't really know what to do with blogs so I just go with the flow!
Stop in and read some of my nonsense whenever the mood strikes you :)
|Do blossoms know the time of day
When shears will open glinting jaws?
Petals tumble and severed stems
become a final grand display.
What thoughts pass through perfumed leaves
with whisper-song of earthen breath?
Do roses watch the florists work
and think them nothing more than thieves?
If romance is celebrating life
by wooing flames with graceful death
why must the florets slowly wilt
to please a doting stranger's wife?
Perhaps my sentiment is glum
for I'll end up in Death's bouquet
when the eternal shears draw near
I ask you this, what dreams may come?
|I've no desire for wealth or fame,
no burning need to mark my name
upon the halls of mortal gods,
those who bask in praise and lauds.
What use have I for flashy goods
when I wander silent woods?
Trees care not for what you wear.
What's more important? Clout or air?
Why's there an emphasis on worth,
Indoctrinating us from birth?
Can't experience enrich your fate
while you possess a poor estate?
The world's consumed with endless greed,
Foul corruption tainting need.
What I want most cannot be bought:
A dream, a wish, a forlorn thought.
Will you watch the stars with me,
so we can flee reality?
Let's dip our toes in a dying sea
and forget all pain and misery.
Regale me with your wondrous past,
so we can make these minutes last.
We'll trade secret hopes and fears,
treasured moments from our years.
Let me get lost within your eyes
blocking out the burning skies,
Come lay among the withered ferns
before catastrophe returns.
I long to share this deep embrace,
holding a tender fragile space.
This I want, and nothing more
before the earth erupts in war.
I just finished writing one of my longest short stories. Kinda feeling a bit empty and exhausted, but it was an exciting ride. Don't even want to think about editing but I know there are some hanging plot threads and other polishing to do.
But you know what I say to that?
I'm going to crawl into bed and die now. Have a great day, folks!
|I sometimes dread it when people call me.
Not because of the social anxiety, but the possibility of having to do a favor or make future plans, or even a simple request to hang out and cure their boredom. While I enjoy the company of friends, it makes me feel guilty when there are things I was hoping to accomplish. Who knows when life will turn upside down and force me to sideline yet another project?
I must always seize what free time I have and guard it possessively. They wants it, my preciousss.
But I suppose I'm not entirely blame-free. After all, it's one thing to complain about people pestering you and preventing you from writing and it's another to sit around watching TV and goofing off until it's time to be productive and then have something come out of nowhere.
Still, I'm getting better at managing my time. Slowly but surely I'll have this mastered. Just you watch.
|I hate Amazon. Well, that's not exactly right. I wouldn't use the word hate in this scenario...
I despise Amazon.
That said, I have an uneasy partnership with the aforementioned world-eating corporation. Things are quite hard for content creators, forcing authors to compromise their values in exchange for a steady source of revenue. My first foray into the literary world has been fairly quiet but I expected nothing less from a debut novel. (Is it really a novel if it's a collection of stories?)
Library of Nightmares has been a moderate success and received a fair amount of acclaim. With this, I am content.
But one cannot live on scraps alone. My next attempt (The Book of Shadows) was going along quite slowly until I caught wind of a new program launching through Kindle. Naturally, I was interested and wanted to know more.
"Kindle Vella, the new way to read stories.' That remains to be seen, I thought. But I cannot deny it is a bold strategy... Kindle Vella is an episodic format, offering readers three free chapters of a story and changing per episode afterward. Each episode requires tokens to unlock, each amount varies depending on the word count. Authors get a larger cut than they would with a traditional publication but I have my doubts.
Also, wouldn't readers prefer to pay upfront and have an entire story at their fingertips? The execution and reception are crucial to the success of this new format, but I can't deny that I'm a little curious.
I decided to see how it works for myself and uploaded a good amount of The Book of Shadows. If this works, I could schedule chapters to release weekly and finish writing it while earning a few bucks in the meantime. Not a bad plan, eh?
But... I ran into some snags and things quickly grew frustrating as I struggled with the barebones submission tools and argued with the reviewing team. Somehow along the way, they discovered an excerpt of the prologue on some website I frequented years ago. Understandable, I thought. It'll be a quick fix, just gotta log in and remove it.
And yet after I deleted my account and offending text, the results were still popping up in Google.
I surmised this must be the website metadata, an old snapshot that wasn't yet purged from the servers. But this was enough to keep my story pending submission for weeks. Once I finally got that situation cleared, I had to re-upload each chapter and fix all the proofreading errors that I cleaned up previously.
It was a major pain in the tushy.
And now when I finally can breathe, I learn that this isn't even fully launching until next month or possibly later. Kindle Vella is only available on the formal website or on iOS apps. No Kindle support, no Android apps. Not even launching outside the US currently. So all that work for a fraction of the audience?
Time to hit the bottle, folks.
|Our vast seas are dying rapidly and this would be a tragedy
... if we didn't have aquariums for our little brats to see.
Wildfires raging, firemen engaging, FEMA in disarray
... but hey it's all okay, this is a distant world away.
The heatwave out here killing folks is really just a liberal hoax
... so let's be carefree with our A/C and crack some tasteless jokes.
Crops are failing, animals dying, wars still raging, politicians lying.
Hate is growing, famine looming, fear is showing, oil still booming.
Let's succumb to apathy, sleepwalking to our fate.
Everyone dies, it's no surprise - enjoy life while it's great.
Oh stop your constant worrying, you can't change a thing.
Just consume within your tomb and raise more doomed offspring.
Blocked from start and I try to unfold
When I'm stepping out into the unknown
There's a part of me that just can't relate
So I'm turning my demons into saints
Am I inviting or am I disguised
Are you living the dreams the ones that keep you alive
I see myself begging for only the worst
You know that I love you but you know that I'm cursed
|There's something soothing about waking up to the gentle patter of rain. It's a lazy comfort whispering to stay in bed a while longer, snuggle deep in those blankets and let your cares unwind. Perhaps it's a subconscious message.
After all, who wants to leave the house when it's pouring outside? Your brain never urges you to stay inside on a pleasantly sunny day. (Unless you are a recluse like myself)
I always loved the smell of fresh rain in the summer. It's an intoxicating aroma, the musky damp earth intertwined with the mellow perfume of growing leaves. Maybe I was a tree in a previous life? The sight of glistening foliage and rippling puddles always rejuvenates my soul.
Today is going to be a marvelous day. I couldn't have asked for better writing weather!
|Why is it that some of the most poignant art is created through human suffering? This is a question that has plagued me for years. My best work was completed during some particularly tumultuous circumstances, which is frustrating when attempts to recapture it are futile at best.
Is this a symptom of mental and emotional pain? Enduring the crushing pressures of society, distilling emotions until they morph into a breath-taking diamond? I'm constantly reminded of things I've seen - media I've consumed that echo this message of overcoming hardship to develop your voice. 'Beauty is pain', one model says to another. Perhaps there's something there.
We can take a bodybuilder, bulging with pound upon pound of hardened muscle. An Adonis, carved from living marble. It's truly remarkable how some individuals can transform themselves in this way. But not many understand that it requires tremendous effort and devotion to a brutal lifestyle. A strict diet regimen, research, and supplements, not to mention years of burning limbs, dripping with sweat. All this so strangers can nod appreciatively when shirts come off.
It's one thing to know it takes effort and another to actually experience it. So I'll ask again, is beauty a byproduct of pain? Or does the agony merely elevate the ecstasy? Let's explore this a bit further.
Would you be interested in a handwoven basket, if you saw it? Well, what if that basket came from a war-torn country, crafted by starving children? Does the human element add to the monetary value or is it merely an ethical dilemma?
I question how much of art is expressed through real pain and how much of it is manufactured to drive up the asking price. Of course, not every situation is the same. But I wonder if some of it isn't artificial.
But on the opposite side of the spectrum, starving artists are a real thing. Why, it's common knowledge that many of the greats were penniless, overlooked during their time, and only became a sensation posthumously. But I wonder if this wasn't the reason behind their success.
Let's say you had a passion for filmmaking and directed some low-budget movies with interesting ideas, what would happen if you were given an unlimited budget but gave up most of your creative control? Could the next film you direct really be called yours? It's a bit like the ship of Theseus. I wonder if notoriety and wealth have more of an influence on artists than we realize.
I would have a tough time turning down a multi-million offer for a teen romance novel, even though I despise the stuff. It's a hard position to be in. There's a saying that it's better to be nine people's favorite thing than being the ninth favorite of millions.
Where am I going with this? I'm not entirely sure myself.
My initial question was why anguish creates such haunting rhapsodies. I think the answer lies in the duality of man. Comedians have the uncanny ability to twist reality and subvert expectations with hilarious results. Yet, they tend to be depressed and suffer from a variety of mental and physical disorders. But why are they so good at skewering society?
Humor is a coping mechanism for many. When life is beating you over the head, isn't it better to see it for the cruel joke that it is instead of curling into a ball? Comedy is the opposite of tragedy, but we cannot have one without the other. So it is with our favorite funny people. They have an innate understanding of humor from experiencing emotional trauma and other hardships.
I think this is why the (arguably) best art comes from pain. We manage to bundle our fears, worries, insecurities, and other personal demons into self-expression, which elevates it above the rest. Is it healthy? Heck no. I'm not advocating this by any means.
I just find it fascinating that we can turn some of our worst flaws into something exquisite.
|Skateboarding is a complicated experience.
For my birthday, a friend of mine bought me an impressive-looking board in the hopes that I would join in on his hobby. It would be rude to dismiss such a gift, so I agreed. While the prospect of zipping around concrete streets and performing reckless stunts always made me feel a bit hesitant, I was moderately experienced in snowboarding.
Snowboarding is such a delight and I made sure to take full advantage of the season this year. Who knows how long we'll have snow?
But skateboarding... that's a whole 'nother can of worms.
My sense of balance was better than I expected but the intricacies of controlling this foreign vehicle were something I have yet to understand. Foot placement and reflexes are king. And a healthy amount of recklessness/confidence is necessary. But despite the goading of my friends, I could do little except practice riding around and not falling off.
Getting old doesn't help either.
I'm a bit of an odd duck, born in that strange era where two generations overlap. I can mingle with people older than me but still relate to the younger crowd. Walking between these worlds is a bit surreal at times. You feel more mature and outdated with the Gen Z kids but are a bit too frivolous and inexperienced among the Gen Xers.
This duality can make it hard for me to get excited about things my friends do. Is it merely the cynicism of adulthood or the knowledge of previous experiences?
I think that's why it can be hard to learn new things as you age. All the information you've attained can be detrimental compared to a young fresh slate. So much to unlearn before you can soak in new skills.
As for me, I'm going to be practicing my ollies and discovering some painful lessons. Wish me luck!