BLARGY

Dangerous though it was, the lake of fire was an easy one to cross! The firewalls were sliding holodeck doors. Without so much as a creak, the sodden things slid open. Their curves were oblong, smooth, and aesthetically pleasing. It reminded him of castle-bricks stacked into turrets filled with maidens and overflowing with gold coins. Without so much as a blink, he dashed through them, followed quickly by her at his side. The doors were engaged to the surrounding area by thick geocentrical wiring. Each electrical transmission was accompanied by a faint hum and a dull glimmer. Each glimmer was fed into a splitter,  dividing the signal into even wavelengths, where they were then guided by invisible magnets. It was basically a railway fitted within a silver matchbox, where signals were chopped up, retrofitted, and fired down the most appropriate pathway. Think of dolphins, they said, just like the metropolitan aquariums.


And their voices could be heard from the streets, calling out from beyond. They were more fancy and collective in their chorus, and their footsteps were clipping quietly against the pavement. It was a sound that could be heard for miles, because the dolphins had echo-rays that traveled plainly through clear glass. It was a masterpiece to begin with, but in the end it was a cosmic event. She knew this, and she was usually reticent of the fact that the dolphins didn't give a shit to begin with, 'BLARGY UP THE DRAGON'S WORG,' hollered Pete, 'SAILIN' DON'T DO ITSELF.' Not seeing where he was going, the man teetered dangerously close to the edge of a plated block leading out to space. 'WE'RE IN FOR A ROUGH ONE!' The Suncraft set sail under the veil of solar blankets reflecting cosmic lunar dust, just in time for the first wave.

Seven Dunes of Sand, and Six Planks of a Sinking Sunscape

"Till tomorrow." Sindra said, casually sifting through a copy of Dune's March.


Her violet eyes didn't lie. What it would be like to see her again. She was in control of her imagination, and it didn't matter how many drinks they had together. The night washed away as normal, but the howling at the gates was drowned out by social clamor. Pockets of people shuffled back and forth as the night went on, and there were times when he lost sight of her. There was unevenness in the joyride. It was of endless potential, reaching to the fringes of existence; the void, the black-magic planes, where rolling thunder melted into hot swirls of orange plasma. 


'Where are we, and what is this place?' he asked, breaking his mind of its locked judgement.
'It's somewhere you want to be.' She said. They soared above the golden clouds together, achieved the greatest symphony, and not a dull tune was struck. Warmth.

Cpl. Shithead

Before the microwave era, there was an outbreak of war along the Zimbabwanean peninsula. This war was known as the War of Appliances. Refrigerators, vacuum cleaners, and ride-on lawnmowers were all at stake, and to the victor went the spoils. Each side was comprised of sun-baked adventure seekers with nothing to lose. Instead of conscription, these men had been bred for battle via birthing factories the size of hospitals, where they were then doped by an accelerated growth mechanism. As refrigerators were the most highly regarded items in this war, some men had been cross-bred with oxen for the purposes of carrying not one, but two refrigerators at once. It was a feat of modern genetic engineering. Decades prior to this, scientists were able clone sheep, but nobody wanted sheep, because they were docile and stupid. 


The craters were burnt and black. Men had marched out in the thousands, and after days of war, there were only handfuls left. Trenches lined with barbed wire held broken bodies like gruesome cradles. This is what death felt like, unless you had a flamethrower. Corporal Shithead had perfected the art of charging machine-gun batteries with his thrower on full belch. This created a real firewall, just like the anti-virus programs. When he raced at the machine guns, he was followed by a group of men whose sanity was left behind in the sloppy gray mud-walls of the trenches. To these brave and sullen men, only absolute victory was acceptable.


'Onwards men, to the firing line!' he exclaimed, standing atop piles of cracked skulls. His form was obscured by heatwaves. The men under his command were teenagers, young and stupid, but their drive to survive was well imprinted. Survival in this land meant bringing death to the enemy. And so they rushed forward.
The clattering spit of machine-gun bullets met their advance. Some troops threw grenades, while others ducked for cover. Corporal Shithead did neither, as he was crazed and battle-frenzied. 


Visions of destruction danced in his mind. He did not perceive the living as one might expect. Both friend and foe were but transient things to him, and he himself was not truly alive. He was cognizant of his own movement and presence, but in reality, he was a zombie. Few were aware of this, and none dared question it. Zombies were known to be quite sensitive about their condition.


'We shall strike at their heart!' he yelled above the gunfire. He called in air-strikes on a whim, and directed mortar fire with his mind. With an extension of his wrist, he unleashed hell's fury. Napalm escaped his grasp, ridding the enemy bodies of their flesh, and only cinder fragments remained. Burnt husks and twisted limbs were left behind as decorations in his wake. Whether or not his own men survived was of little concern to him.


During the assault on Frying Pan Ridge, he directed a tri-pronged attack force of the finest soldiers. These men toiled for days as they ascended the endless walls of cooking implements, spatchula after bloody spatchula. In the final hours of the assault, their numbers had dwindled greatly. By sunset, the remainder of the enemy defense had barricaded themselves within a gargantuan waffle-maker. With the waffle-maker on high, they attempted to smother Shithead's men by hurling giant waffles at them, but they were of Belgian decent, and so they through the waffles in .8 seconds. 


Aghast at the voracious appetite of the Belgian warriors, the nameless enemies retreated immediately, leaving behind their prized waffle-maker. Without a moment to spare, Cpl. Shithead jury-rigged the maker to belch out fireballs instead of waffles, and proceeded to ride down the fleeing enemies while piloting a gyro-copter made of silverware. Many a fire-waffle was distributed that day, and many a Belgian was proud of their strong heritage. Cpl. Shithead was never seen again.

They met on a field

A Crowded Day

  




The Professional building was gray and lifeless. It was not known if people went there. Crowded cubicles could be seen from its empty windows, but they were of no importance. Stacks of papers passed through this building, but they were apparently filed by ghosts. There was one small room in the building, and that's where the vacuum cleaners lived. The appliances used to have names, but such whimsy was frowned on, so they no longer had names. 

  There was no fun allowed in the Professional Building, and you were expected to shun away from the sort. The walls of the building ate ideas and souls on a regular basis, but the janitorial staff were good at scrubbing away the residuals. The desks were buried beneath piles of coiled phone cords and files that had long since fallen into decomposition. 

  Yellow and frayed were the pages, like the scraggly curl of un-clipped nails. It was a brutal place to be. It was a place that nobody should have been. And that is why nobody was there.

 But why did the building exist? What was the purpose of the Professional Building? Did the vacuum cleaners have children, and were they needed to rid the surrounding carpeting of dust? Nobody cared about vacuum cleaners, and there weren't any people to breath in the dust, so vacuumized offspring were out of the question. 

  Gloria sifted through her notes, shaking her head in dismay. 'I grow tired of these games,' she said, her ruby lips fixed in a practical scowl, 'and you can't leave yet. Maybe in a few hours, or days. Doesn't matter to me.'

  She was a crow-keeper, and he was locked in a cage of twisted silver bars. The light from candles slid down the bars. Heat was consumed by the touch of her icy breath. He had no way of escaping, for she held the key, dangling in rings at the end of her index finger. She sat on a pin-cushion of black velvet, legs crossed, and she played with the point of her springed stiletto. 'I can cut you with this.' She said.

  'You already have.' He said, knowing full well her penchant for slicery. He had scars to prove it, both inside and out. 

'How about another?' She asked. Beneath the cupid's bow of her top lip were a row of pearly incisors. They shone as she spoke. 'I think you'd like that.'

He shunned away. He imagined her as a bird-keeper adorned with vibrant feathers like a peacock, her eyes shrouded by a white mask inset with crushed diamonds. The lips of the mask had a single red mark down the middle, and the eyes of the mask were closed, shaded darkly, with a large yellow feather sticking out the top. The entire room was dark now, save for the low glimmer of gemstones built into the bulbous walls. She approached the cage and ran her fingers down the groves of the bars. He was bound of course, and made no attempt to avert his gaze from her half-naked body. Her arms were slim and toned, and somewhat tan. Her natural hair was black and parted, but the mask hid her dark tresses. She laughed a coy laugh, and slammed her fist down on top of the cage. The clamor it made ripped through his eardrums, causing a ringing sound. 

She observed him like prey. 'Perhaps we can play another day.' She said, her face inches from the bars. 'But for now you shall stay.'

Planet Retail

  'Syllabus after bloody syllabus!' the professor bellowed, his countenance rife with steam. He paused.
  'Never again! You vermin toil night after night, glued to your devil boxes, and I sit here like an oblivious wretch!'
To his observation, the room was an empty field. Students penned their notes of course, but not a single mind was locked. Brains stuffed with filth. Not a single breath was muttered. 'You fucking idiots!' he spat.


  There was great emotion in his failed conveyance, but not a cell of reason could be forged from the sheep. The board was littered with arcane symbols. Angled and obscure they were, not unlike the broken harmony of Jen's lithe form. And she carried it so well.


 Locked in that god-forsaken room for eons and solar systems, forced into rituals and drilling plans lodged deeply without reason. Damned again and again.


  'That night was so joyous.' she said, her voice marked with jubilation. 'The enemies were burning and not even the priestess could restore warmth to my broken self!' she made a joke of it. He had no idea what she was talking about. The room spun away with a twinkle and a shine. She made no secret of making herself known while in his presence, and it was brilliant, really. She led as they walked down the bow-cable suspension staircase, where each step was a block of perforated steel.


  And later on that day, they were going to visit Planet Retail, a place where salesmen went to die. Not only that, but it was a mega-complex covering vast sections of nullified land. People were born there, and spent most of their life within a branded sarcophagus whose income generating advertisements spun round and round. And it was expanding, day after day, sucking the life out of every nearby organic. But that was the way of things. One acre at a time.

There was that damned impasse, so blatantly jammed into the forked roadway about fifteen feet away.

Quadrant 6

The frontlit sign on the overhanging portal read 'Quadrant 6', and the music was just as electric. It droned like nascent hunger.
  'So, it's not as easy as you think?' she asked, seethingly.
  'I want it to be.' he replied, looking solemnly at the ground. He looked away. The snowbanks were coated by the residual grays of car exhaust. 'More than anything in my life.' He paused for a moment, recollecting all fragments and blemishes leading up banks of snow-sludge; a loose trail of forgotten figments and meaningless muses. Ragged faces and ruined scenes fluttered for brief moments, sifting in and out of focus, instances of sickening clarity; inert, dead, unable to extract from the lifeless symbols any semblance of realism. 'This trail caught up, the one from the Nightless Watchtower. It goes on and off from time to time. I was there last summer.'
  'No, you weren't.' she said, forcing his gaze upon her brazen face.    'Don't lie to me.'
  'But I was. I can prove it.' his tones sunk.
'Waste of breath, as you are a waste of life.' She was practically singing.
  'I can't prove anything.'
  'And you mustn't even try. I have here a bejewelled sphere.' She plucked from her pocket a glimmering globe of latent sapphire warmth. 'The one from the tomb that you so carelessly smashed. Do you remember?'
  'So long ago... I remember.'
  'Hard to believe.'
  'But I do remember.' he said. She ignored him, tending to her own wretched devices. 'Like yesterday.'
  'Shut-up.' her tone was flatly stroked, rending the air like visible rows of verbal submission. 'Throw your mind away. I expect it.'
His mind flourished like a candy-glazed window, sticky panes, opacity on full. Her gestures were like reigns, both calming and forceful, like the stretchy second skin of a latex catsuit. They fucked mindlessly for the next three hours, thin bands of tapered black fabric cast aside. All her screams rode waves like pure prism signals, and neither a soul or skeleton could tear them apart from bliss.

Entire blockades of constructed doubt were to be sliced away by plasma torches wielded by minds confined to the blankness of stagnant visions rising like tendrils of gun-smoke. Blindly sitting at the junction, the soft melt of the glass-lined passageway responded blankly. It was an instanced wall leaning towards arbitration, a gateway unloading blindly the field-text of so many stitched dreams. He had been here before. The roads were unending. And yet it seemed fortuitous to travel this path, despite the balmy preoccupations of those who considered the entire venture unfeasible.

Shadow Bolts and SOPA Boxes

s:-S
cc = \_

The towers were like cinder-glass cylinders, broken at areas located near defensive patterns.
She was not a sinner, but a taker. cc.


   'I don't have any with me at the moment.' she said normally. 'But why don't you stop by later? I'm sure are some lying around.' Her demeanor, much like his, was careless, affable, indicative of knowing too much and getting into the wrong kinds of places. Checkerboards were outlined on the playfields of on-screen sitenets.       
   And even the black boxes were laughed at.
   Previous to this insubordination, she was as docile as a bow of reeds, but after zero reluctance, the horizontally stacked bars of reason were de-laddering an entire contingent of reticence in the warzone of her mind.
   'Where are the blister-rings?' he asked, leaning carelessly against the wall, puffing on an Indonesian e-smoke.
   'It doesn't matter about the names.' She said. 'As long as they are regulated. The regulations for incoming and outgoing are set in a way that both systems make sense.'
   Clarity hit his mind, sharp and fresh. 'Makes sense.' he said.
   Baring morning sunlight was enough to start the day off straight. Bustling by snow banks and concrete cavalcades since the Mexican revolution. And there could be seen piles of polychromatic sitenets blotted out by symbols of noiseless black plastered skyward, their past vibrancy overshadowed by decades of impending doom. The machine of symbols was apt to condemn the circumnavigation of illiterate thinking, but it considered more greatly the monetary importance of the matter (re: The Early World War Period).


Necessary targets were pinned down by the restitution. They were worth more than whatever credit was to them given. 

s:-S
cc = \_

The towers were like cinder-glass cylinders, broken at areas located near defensive patterns.
She was not a sinner, but a taker. cc.
Baring morning sunlight was enough to start the day off straight. Bustling by snow banks and concrete cavalcades since the Mexican revolution. And there could be seen piles of polychromatic sitenets blotted out by symbols of noiseless black, plastered skyward; their past vibrancy overshadowed by decades of impending doom. The machine of symbols was apt to condemn the circumnavigation of illiterate thinking, because it considered more greatly the monetary importance of the matter (re: The Early World War Period). Necessary targets were pinned down by the restitution. They were worth more than whatever credit was to them given.

Previous to this insubordination, she was as docile as a bow of reeds, but after zero reluctance, the horizontally stacked bars of reason were de-laddering an entire contingent of reluctance in the warzone of her mind.
'Where are the blister-rings?' he asked, leaning carelessly against the wall, puffing on an Indonesian e-smoke.
'I don't have any with me at the moment.' she said normally. 'But why don't you stop by later? I'm sure are some lying around.' Her demeanor, much like his, was careless, affable, indicative of knowing too much and getting into the wrong kinds of places. It couldn't be easier.

Introspective Hippy Stuff

Wrote a lot of introspective hippy stuff a few years ago, and I stumbled across it today.

Kind of random.

Words.

Should probably get back into fiction.

And I also took this picture because my Jedi's a badass.

October 5, 2008

It will seem like small images being pushed back into a place where they cannot harm you, and they will not harm you, because they are just memories, just actions and experiences linked to external forces, including outside events and the actions and thoughts of other people. I believe we waste entirely too much time on discussing what other people think and why they do things, instead of focusing on what we think and why we do things.

But again, this is only a natural, instinctual thing, and you cannot expect to modify this process immediately. And you shouldn't have to, because it's not necessary to push your mind into any area that makes you feel uncomfortable or uncertain in any way.

In the thousands of years before us, and the untold millions ahead, think to yourself, why am I here? This is a big question, but do not let it overwhelm you. The simple answer is that you are a product of life, and your primary objective is to live. That's it. No more, no less; at the very base and root of our mind, we are driven to live. Focus on that, and love your life for what it is, and not what it isn't.

The more we get caught up on personal flaws and deficiencies, the harder it becomes to accept ourselves and accept the good things. And there are so many good things to see, feel, and experience. A good feeling is something to cherish, because it's something tangible, something warm and forceful that brews deeply within each and every one of us, some burning brighter than others.

You should not require intoxicants or pharmaceutical methods to achieve this state, but for many of us,this can be a necessary ritual, and in reality, I do not blame people for turning to such methods in order to feel happy and self-confident, especially since humans have been utilizing such methods for thousands of years to achieve similar results. But, as the golden rule states; always in moderation.

The more moderation we maintain with things, the more we can learn to appreciate and enjoy them, because the mind can only handle so much of one feeling or one experience before it starts to become tolerant of it, which leaves you feeling empty and wanting more.

If you start to feel this way, it's important to reach out, and grasp that something more. But do not latch onto it with all your determination, because that will only cause you to find a new distraction, a new addiction to fill the void.

You're worth more than that, and you're so much more important than the feeble opinions of others. Do not get caught up in what they say, because they will only cause you to feel doubt and self-loathing, which can cause a great deal of harm to your emotional well being.

To be your own person and have your own image is a greatly important thing in this world, and it's important that you cherish who you are, and construct a bridge of understanding between who you are now and what you once were. This will allow you to flourish as an individual and a force of creation, because as human beings we like to create, whether it be items of use, artistic works, or even life, we were designed to live and we were designed to produce.

There are so many things out there that many of us may never understand, but don't let that overwhelm you as well, don't let the unknown cause fear and debilitate your senses, because unless you're in immediate danger, whether it be physical or emotional, you should allow yourself to reside in a state of happiness and contentedness. Simply allow it to come, because you can only do what's in front of you, so if you worry about the things that you have zero control over at that very moment than you'll end up reinforcing a depressive mood. Break this mood through reading, listening, talking, or just thinking, and know that you like yourself, and you can step outside yourself and view your personal accomplishments from afar.

It's a beautiful thing when you can truly do this without interruption, because it totally carries you along on a mental exploration designed to better understand who you are as an individual, and what your individual wants are.

Once you have a clearer view of this image, and a more solid base of understanding in regards to the internal and external forces which shape yourself and everything around you, do not doubt your findings, as they may contain more truth than you give yourself credit.

By giving yourself the benefit of the doubt you're subduing any sense of failure or lack of well-being. And we all deserve to feel special and wanted in our own right, and there's nothing wrong with allowing these feelings to get stronger, because negative inhibitions only constrict us, and once you have a clearer picture of yourself in comparison to a clear picture of the things around you, then it becomes much easier to come to terms with a sense of knowledge and understanding.

Know these things, and repeat them in your mind as much as you'd like. Know yourself and then like yourself, and make that feeling so impenetrable, so obstinate, that no external view or judgment can shake or deter it. Live, love, and flourish, because you can step above anything, you can allow yourself to feel any feeling. It's all in the mind, and your mind is the key to your soul.

Our souls bind us to the very essence of our being, and allows us to revel in an endless stream of positive emotion. It can allow for the creation of a natural high, bringing us higher and higher from the darkened realms of confusion and doubt.

The less time we spend in these areas, the harder it becomes to access them, and in time, they may never hold us back from achieving and accomplishing anything we've ever desired.

As genetic material is passed on from one generation to the next in a never-ending chain of survival and breeding, it's likely that this genetic information is allowing us to become much more intelligent with each passing year, each passing century, as our bodies and our minds adapt continuously to the surrounding environment.

This means that as you grow older, all the things you think about and do will be stored into various cells, the most obvious of which are located in the brain, and being a living organism, it will perceive this information as being conducive to its survival, with the purpose of passing on such traits to the following generation of offspring.

This allows me to believe that there is hope for humanity. Although things are so exceedingly materialistic and overblown with glamour and image, I don't think this will last forever. I would like nothing more than to believe that somewhere down the road there will be another 'enlightenment' or 'renaissance' in which human beings begin to detach from their rabid pursuit of wealth and beauty for the sake of vanity, and begin to deeply contemplate the forces around them, begin to really consider why things are the way they are in an attempt to further understand their world and themselves.

It is naive for me to think that this will occur soon, seeing as how things are the way they are, but there is nothing wrong with that. Humanity in general is in a transitory state, as we've leapt and bound over so many complex hurdles in the last 100, if not 50 years. If you consider that humans have only been around, at least as far as human history dictates, for 5000 years, our current information age is but a drop in the proverbial hat of human existence. We've developed such exceedingly complex devices designed to examine a myriad different sources of information that I do not believe our minds are fully capable of comprehending the significance of this shift as of yet.

But, that is the beauty of evolution, and I believe this ties in strongly with the concept of genetic memory. As things get faster and faster, and human beings absorb more and more information, becoming increasingly literate, articulate, contemplative and introspective as we retreat into our own realms of understanding and knowledge, the world will slowly evolve into a place which values knowledge over wealth.

In my belief, such a world would be utopian. Think of how your life would be like if you never had to worry about money? What if you never had to visit a bank, write a check, deal with a credit card company, pay a bill, swipe a card, live with debt, mortgage, hidden costs, or anything... a world where your primary asset was your mind, where you were encouraged to sift through it as deeply as possible, probing the very root of your conscious and subconscious realm of thought.

I think this is secretly what we all want, because as it is right now, we're all bound by the green devil that is a dollar bill, and it looms above us like a blood sucking bat with terrifying wings, ready to strike and drive us into sporadic bouts of despair, greed, and conflict.

It is the number one source of conflict in this word, and the number one cause of divorce and breakups in relationships. That fact alone speaks volume about the subject. The fact that something as trivial as money has taken precedence over the natural human instinct to be with a mate, to feel love and give love in return, abhors me. It means that it is always lurking at the backs of our minds, constantly threatening to harm our confidence, self-esteem, and ability to enjoy life.

There are many in this world who do not have this issue, as they have managed to acquire significant amounts of material wealth, or they are stable enough to not have to worry about it. There is nothing wrong with this, as in our society it is only natural to desire wealth in excess amounts, but this may lead to the development of a mentality which seeks to demonstrate their wealth, and subsequently power, over others.

This is an interesting topic, because rarely do we consider the fact that there are those who gain a certain measure of satisfaction from exhibiting their personal wealth, and it makes them feel somewhat entitles to certain benefits that the rest of us aren't likely to receive. We've been indoctrinated through mass media and celebrity worship that being rich and famous leads to a fantasy life style, at least compared to those who lack such status.

Of course, we're all cognizant enough to realize that even the richest person might not be happy or content with anything, and that the poorest person might be the happiest in the world. But based off logic, it's more often than not that the opposite is true. The simple fact is; those with wealth are usually destined to have access to more opportunities, experiences, and items of material significance than those without. This is a simple fact, and it does not imply that wealth is a bad thing, because the truth is, we all desire it. We desire it so much, that we're willing to forego childbearing, limit our intellectual engagement, limit our social contact, physically harm ourselves, and possibly harm others in order to attain it.

Such instances of greed, theft, deceit, jealousy, hatred, depression, anxiety, etc., are very commonly associated with money, because as it has been said, it is the 'root of all evil.'

Well, if that is true, than wouldn't it also be true that valuing human experiences such as spreading true emotion and engaging intellectual pursuits in order to reinforce mental traits related to genetic memory so that future generations may get smarter and smarter, and less influenced by empty, materialistic pursuits, is the root of all 'good'?

I parenthesize the terms good and evil because they cannot be truly defined in a way that applies to every individual situation and every individual person. But in a nutshell, I would simply state that good and evil are polar opposites, and you can't have one without the other. There must be a balance, because as I mentioned in a previous stream of consciousness, too much of anything is not good, and it's important to take everything in moderation.

An appropriate counterbalance of good and evil may sound difficult to understand, but if you consider that within our minds exists the capacity to exact either force, then you can understand that in order to fully experience our realm of understanding as it exists within our minds, there must be no stone unturned, no door left closed. You must open yourself to every thought, every experience, as long as it doesn't harm you or dislodge your sense of being.

It is important to listen to your body, listen to your mind, and follow the instructions as an outside observer. Only then can truthfulness come, and it is impossible to expect everything to come immediate, as nothing is without a certain degree of patience, even in light of our present emphasis on immediacy and convenience.

In referring to genetic memory, it is quite possible that your values, morals, image, and beliefs will continue on in your children, their children, and so on, so you must understand that you are responsible for everything you do, and you can't expect to help anyone else unless you help yourself first. This does not in any way imply that you should make any immediate changes or deny the things that bring you happiness and joy, but it might be necessary to simply reevaluate them, perhaps manage your time differently, and even set your sights on the future ahead.

I don't like goal setting because some of us are destined to devise a system of goals which ensures failure, or they fail to abide by their goals in the first place, but since we are only human, this is only natural. Instead, just think about the person you want to be, think about the feelings you want to feel, and allow that image to flourish in your mind, allow it to bind to your innermost thoughts and permeate your imagination.

Constantly repeat this image in your mind throughout the day until it is so rooted in your subconscious that even thinking about it causes you happiness. Just believing that you could one day be that person, whether it's possible or true or not, gives us a feeling of hope, and it helps us develop into much more genuine people, much more sensitive and intuitive people; the type of people we really are.

Spend hours, perhaps entire evenings, just exploring your mind. You'd be amazed at what you can find there, and do not let the conflicts and problems bar you from delving deeper and deeper. Nobody is perfect and everyone has problems, so don't let them affect you in a wholly negative way, observe them instead, step outside of them, detach yourself from their grasp and simply examine how they may have affected your life for better or for worse.

Examine the world around you, the events taking place, the people involved with such events and what their actions were. Consider what they may have been thinking and how they may have interpreted the entire course of events, and allow yourself to overcome the entire situation. Allow yourself to step above it, step away from it, and put it into an easily digestible context.

A Temple.

There exists a temple.


Banished beyond elemental plains,
Seven vaulted chambers of dragon-plate,
Chain-locked coils like riveted reigns,
And triple-thick walls of obsidian slate.


Where behemoths are ripped asunder by Might,
Eons of crusted, sedimentary rock,
The sorceress thrives by the sleight of her mind,
And the assassin ticks like the strike of a clock.


Sunken 'neath shadows; a voyagers fate,
Steadily buried by the dust of time.
A balance of purity, in sync with hate,
And from where he stood, the voices were fine.


Boundaries crossed in a hologram of light,
And all the minions, deflected by spells,
Eldritch wizardry and infinite sight,
A brimming white crest, the ocean swells.


Awash with neon, a glow you can feel,
Living colours blending and weaving so well,
Warm fluorescence, like liquid red steel,
Broken reticence brings freedom to dwell.


Doors unlocked and fantasies wrought,
In a sequence of passages, veiled in bloom,
A bouquet of pixels was what she sought,
But what she received was much more real.

There Was A Time When I Gave A Fuck

Back in the day, I sometimes gave a shit about stuff. If I remember correctly, I was trying to be cool and smart at the time, but that all failed miserably.

I don't remember who I wrote this letter to, but I do remember (hazily) that I was drunk at the time.

/rant

(I also remember that whoever I wrote this to did not reply. Lololol).

27/06/10

Did you give your laptop a good smack? Technology... man. There are so many things about our fast paced hyperculture that I hate, but there are others I am amazed about. For example, the dialogue we're having, or even the nature of this website, where people actually READ and discuss their ideas, is something I find lacking these days. Not to sound elitist, bias, or what have you, but it's hard to carry on a good conversation with people of my age-group. I feel isolated in my pursuits, and it is often lonely to be interested in things that many of my friends think are a boring waste of time. It's hard to find people who take the time to enjoy sharing their own thoughts, even in university. It's all about the grades. It's all about brown-nosing to get recognition and acceptance. Individuality is quelled under tight deadlines and strict adherence to policy and the challenge isn’t even there, because the feelings of competition and success have been sterilized and reformulated in such a way that the spirit of discovery and 'newness' is totally downtrodden; though this is not true in every case. Put a group of people who really know their own minds in a room together, and you have yourself a beautiful thing.


I guess the idea is that the world can just go fuck itself, because nobody really needs to clean up the mess. It will take care of itself, I’m sure. Oil is natural and maybe fish even like the taste of it, so there’s no need to worry. Who are we to give a shit?


I'm sure the Dark ages weren’t so bad. Maybe the enlightenment was a bad idea. Instead of universal gravitation, calculus, optics, and alchemy, Newton would have done much more for the advancement of humanity if he had burned witches and invented rap music.




Hell, there's been more than one occasion where I've come across people (whose rapid-fire texting a machine gun would envy) that are so disconnected with things, so drowned out in the background noise of over-consumption and ignorance, that I became mad and reclusive. Dealing with these people is not just a waste of time, but a complete waste of life. Feels like Gibson's bizarre experiment in social Darwinism, where some bored researcher held the fast-forward button.


It makes it difficult to share ideas and reinforce each other’s interests. I like the kind of people that never stop asking questions, and who are willing to be selfless in the pursuit of answers.


I am just starting to get perspective on how my generation has developed through the years, and it really scares me. Most of my guy friends that did go the post-secondary route are completely lacking in motivation and interest. They seem so discouraged with academia that I don’t know how they even made it through. But then again it could just be history repeating itself, and that there is little difference from this time and another, although I would argue that university attendance has certainly exploded in the past 50 years, but then again so has the population.


I couldn't agree more with your insight about work. So many people do things they hate everyday and it takes real courage to break the slavery. It's so easy to be taken advantage of in anything. It's so easy to get lost in the shuffle as you get stepped on by backstabbers climbing the pyramid of material wealth. They are idiotic and useless.


People ask me why I even like science. They ask me where the money is, and try to convince me that it's a waste of time to fiddle around with questions involving the origin of the universe and why we are here. Maybe those are pointless questions, and there is be no final answer at all, but just thinking about it drives my passion for exploration. I'm not much of an academic success to be honest. Even though I work hard I do well enough to pass. It could be that I'm not cut out for cosmology or particle physics**, because I find that what they’re really looking for is number-crunching automatons who memorize the names of everything without knowing what they mean. But I too am a smart-ass, so I won’t listen to what they say anyway. Smart-asses are what this world needs more of.

**I was obsessed with physics at the time.

(Right now, I am obsessed with video games and creative writing)

And now would be an appropriate time for Star Wars.

Feel the Voodoo

The night drifted blankly, brazen yet somber. Buck Rodgers and his company would have had no problem examining the thing; faded recordings containing scientific officers soon to be exposed to the vacuum of space, regardless of actions that might have prevented such measures taking place. It was a haywire blitz, a euphoria of the highest order, intended for once and perhaps twice the effect that drilled within conscious thought an issue of supreme importance, not seen since the faded tapes and disintegrating images of visages fading away into infinite darkness.

Neon Forest

         Faded black ink visible between her collarbones, slightly beneath the pit of her neck; an Isis eye of tapered Egyptian mysticism. Her glasses were white and wide-rimmed, inset glass sleek and clear with eyes blue and sharp, in sync with the faded shades of her uniform. She'd seen life, all sides of it, despite her reluctance to share this information.


The isis eye seemed to shift as she smiled a coy smile. 'Security is here most nights.' she said. 'Without it, we'd be threatened on a nightly basis.'


  'Welcome to the graveyard.' he replied. The granite counter-top between them was speckled with decades of careless indentation; millions of tiny scratch-marks extending millimeters beneath the surface like bad memories. Dead fluorescent lamps shed a flood of light at an angle oblique enough to draw upon the pockmarked surface a miniaturized web of shadows, emphasizing the abuse.


'Graveyards are all I know.' she said. 'Just another sideshow in Neon Forest. And it doesn't stop, night after night.'


  'The only way to deal with them is to respond with violence,' he said, sparking a moment of mutual clarity. 'They'll understand that. And tasers. Lots of tasers.'


   'That's what I'm used to.' her smile returned. The soft crease formed on her upper lip when she smiled was a welcome distraction.


An air of transience marked the transaction, carefree and simple, as if a glorious ringmaster had plucked the rush of a roller-coaster drop and plunged it through the prick of a hypodermic needle, slicing through skin. Her other thoughts held themselves within locations locked and wrapped in tightening tendrils, patterns repeated and re-uploaded on a consistent basis like the flow of a railroad track; a game for him.


And the night-rain was comforting in the cityscape. It fell in sheets, wet as can be.