I'm in the midst of looking for a job right now, and I mentioned that I was having regrets about my English major because there is no clear path an English degree sets you down, and I've been panicking a bit. But a very good friend of mine linked this article to me. I'm posting it here because I need to remember it. I need to keep this in mind as I search for a job, and hold faith in it. I also hope that if there is anyone out there who reads this blog, that they read it, too. Because it's not only encouragement for the humanities, but a stance against those who try to tear us down.
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6.09.2013
A Pledge
I want to write stories. I want to capture the emotions of audiences, I want to sway them back and forth, from terror to delight to horror to excitement.
No.
I do write stories. I am a writer. I will capture the emotions of audiences. I will be the puppetmaster, pulling strings at my discretion. If I say so, it will be. I will not be censored by the opinions of MY audiences. I will push through and let my story unfold how it was meant to unfold. I will spoon out dreams and pleasure, spiced with suspense and distress. There are worlds you have never dreamed of, that live in my mind. I will display them proudly. Criticism and disappointment will flood my way. It will wash over me and burn through my pages, but I will push on. As long as I place one word after another, string together my thoughts, my stories, my mind, I will have a rope to hold on to. I will pull through and I will write.
God damnit I will write.
➨
No.
I do write stories. I am a writer. I will capture the emotions of audiences. I will be the puppetmaster, pulling strings at my discretion. If I say so, it will be. I will not be censored by the opinions of MY audiences. I will push through and let my story unfold how it was meant to unfold. I will spoon out dreams and pleasure, spiced with suspense and distress. There are worlds you have never dreamed of, that live in my mind. I will display them proudly. Criticism and disappointment will flood my way. It will wash over me and burn through my pages, but I will push on. As long as I place one word after another, string together my thoughts, my stories, my mind, I will have a rope to hold on to. I will pull through and I will write.
God damnit I will write.
6.06.2013
Run, boy
"The things I've seen; the horrors I've heard ring out in the night, have opened my eyes to the world's true nature. Run, boy. Nothing will save you. You have no friends. You have no enemies. There is only you. Breathe in this air and let it empower you. If you cannot build yourself, no one else will. You want to be a warrior? You'd better find it within yourself. Warriors aren't made; no teacher will guide you, no spirit will compel you. If you are truly a warrior, you will find it and you will live it. Now go!"
The deep, raspy voice lingered in his ears. Hesitant only for a moment, he took off toward the West, filling his bare chest with the wind as his body rose and fell atop the stride of the great golden beast.
➨
The deep, raspy voice lingered in his ears. Hesitant only for a moment, he took off toward the West, filling his bare chest with the wind as his body rose and fell atop the stride of the great golden beast.
4.26.2013
We've Been Strong Armed by Ourselves
I have this incredibly unpopular view of the world and life which I have been fretting about for quite some time. It has begun to consume me, and I would love very much to be able to do something about it, but for now my only power is in thought and word.
I do wonder whether anyone out there can share my sentiments. I do not mean to ask whether anyone can find truth in my views, because truth can be found in most, if not all, things on Earth. I mean to ask, honestly, whether anyone actually, wholeheartedly agrees with me, and combs through their mind on a regular basis on how to come to terms with this, or even how to change it. Or, as I suspect I may be, am I alone? I am sure that if anyone does step up to agree, it will mean that I have not explained my thoughts properly, which I'm sure I haven't.
I honestly believe that if human beings did not try so hard to be a pack species and lived their lives independently of one another, everyone would be much happier. I do not believe at all that human beings need one another in any way; rather that solitude is the most natural way of life. Yet solidarity and the natural have all been hijacked and destroyed by this construct we call society.
Society brainwashes us into believing that community, friendship, and social interaction are what make our lives worth living; that we should be responsible for not only ourselves but for those around us, that we need each other in order to survive and thrive, and that there is one universal truth in everything. But what about the virtues of self understanding, a clear mind, and simplicity? Why is one’s own self not enough?
We make decisions for one another, hindering each others' ability to think for ourselves. We work together to create change and understanding in the world, or even just within our community, as if we could possibly come to a true compromise. But in compromise, do we not all give up part of what we believe in? Is community really worth allowing a part of yourself to be taken away and replaced by something you are not? It is incredibly hard to consider the idea that these widely accepted truths are not truths at all, but rather bits and pieces taken from the minds of people who are not yourself, that have been combined and shoved into your mind, pushing you out of the way. It is frustrating to think that our centers are sitting in our armpits and ear canals, having been moved aside out of our hearts and minds by the strongholds of society. And yet, while it should be so accessible, we are so well formed by society that all the digging in the world could not get ourselves back.
We have constructed ideas of how things should and shouldn't be, but in the process we have made living into an unnatural process. Nature grants us the gift of life, but as soon as we have hold of this life, we set off running in any direction the hands of society direct us, and never look back. We are so far down our paths of humanity that it is impossible to look far enough back to see that the truths we hold to be self evident may not be truths at all, but rather lies we tell ourselves only because the world has asked us to.
I find myself standing here so far down this path society has nudged me into, that when I look back I can only see a labyrinth of twists and turns with ghostly figures at each corner. And I ask myself, where have I come from, which turns have I taken, and who has decided that turn for me? Have I chosen which paths I turn down, or have these ghostly figures I see been directing me through life? I suspect that I have never made a decision for myself, not once during my whole life. We are so deeply submerged in this labyrinth that we can not possibly find a way back to the start, back to our pure selves, and therefore cannot possibly say that we have ever been uninfluenced by the people in the world.
You may argue that, no, for just a moment during your first breath of life, as a small child without comprehensive skills, you were entirely yourself and nobody else. But tell me: were you not subjected to language as the murmurs of your mother or the doctors filled your ears? The moment you heard these sounds your mind began to learn; the beginning of your knowledge and growth was therefore determined by those who surrounded your mother as you entered the world. Were you not treated with care, or at least recognized as fragile, whether you were treated as such or not? The universal understanding that newborn babies are fragile, in need of care, and are wholly underdeveloped is a form in which the “knowledge” of society is put on you from your first moments, deciding for you who you are, before you have any chance to protest. Were your genitals not noted? There are inevitable and unavoidable communal understandings associated with sex, and yours was certainly noted, understood, and considered, thereby pushing you even slightly along your path, before you were even wiped clean.
Can you tell me why murder is wrong? Why is it wrong to kill another person? Why must you respect others? Why is it best to live a healthy life? Why must our parents love us and treat us well? Really think – do you have a definitive answer; one that you can exert as absolutely true? Do you know why? I challenge you to think of one truth; any one thing that you can tell me, for sure, is true. I guarantee you cannot. There is nothing about ourselves that is not a societal construct. So who, really, are we?
I do not for a moment claim that I am excluded from society. I am a living, working, breathing part of this structure and I, too, help to push others in various directions just as I receive shoves from all angles, myself. Nobody, including myself, could find their way through the thickness of societal formation and dig back to their surface – it would take longer than a lifetime.
Why do we not value who we are as individuals, and stand strong, knowing with confidence that exactly who we are is exactly who we are meant to be? Why must we search for our “flaws,” the ones that society tells us we have, and “correct” them? Who are you to tell me that this or that is wrong about me? I am not referencing, here, society's ideas of body image or what music to enjoy. I am asking why it is wrong if I act rudely, but right when you are polite? We should know by now, from a very long history of constantly changing viewpoints, that nothing society deems as wrong or right can be trusted, so why do we trust these “truths?" Why do we trust ourselves?
I am too young to remember a time when people of color were wholeheartedly believed to be of lesser value than Caucasians, but if I am correct, this belief was trusted just as strongly as anything else. Just as today, those who believe in God, those who worship Allah, and those who find their spirituality in deities of the earth each know their faith to be the one truth. Those who believe homosexual relationships are unnatural for the human race believe this with their whole heart, and those who believe homosexuality to be an entirely acceptable and natural part of a human’s life also believe this with their whole heart. Prejudice, faith, and beliefs of all sorts are not a matter of right and wrong, or of knowledge and ignorance; they are a matter of popular and unpopular opinion – they are entirely shaped by society. I ask again: why do we place so much in the hands of society? Why do we trust ourselves as an overarching community to make decisions and decide for ourselves what is right and wrong?
We do not make our own decisions. We are not our own people. We live by the rules of our communities, which have been formed without a grain of truth. You do not know anything. Nothing at all. So don’t tell me how I should live my life; I am struggling hard enough trying to swim through what everyone else wants for me and find what I want for myself.
➨
I do wonder whether anyone out there can share my sentiments. I do not mean to ask whether anyone can find truth in my views, because truth can be found in most, if not all, things on Earth. I mean to ask, honestly, whether anyone actually, wholeheartedly agrees with me, and combs through their mind on a regular basis on how to come to terms with this, or even how to change it. Or, as I suspect I may be, am I alone? I am sure that if anyone does step up to agree, it will mean that I have not explained my thoughts properly, which I'm sure I haven't.
I honestly believe that if human beings did not try so hard to be a pack species and lived their lives independently of one another, everyone would be much happier. I do not believe at all that human beings need one another in any way; rather that solitude is the most natural way of life. Yet solidarity and the natural have all been hijacked and destroyed by this construct we call society.
Society brainwashes us into believing that community, friendship, and social interaction are what make our lives worth living; that we should be responsible for not only ourselves but for those around us, that we need each other in order to survive and thrive, and that there is one universal truth in everything. But what about the virtues of self understanding, a clear mind, and simplicity? Why is one’s own self not enough?
We make decisions for one another, hindering each others' ability to think for ourselves. We work together to create change and understanding in the world, or even just within our community, as if we could possibly come to a true compromise. But in compromise, do we not all give up part of what we believe in? Is community really worth allowing a part of yourself to be taken away and replaced by something you are not? It is incredibly hard to consider the idea that these widely accepted truths are not truths at all, but rather bits and pieces taken from the minds of people who are not yourself, that have been combined and shoved into your mind, pushing you out of the way. It is frustrating to think that our centers are sitting in our armpits and ear canals, having been moved aside out of our hearts and minds by the strongholds of society. And yet, while it should be so accessible, we are so well formed by society that all the digging in the world could not get ourselves back.
We have constructed ideas of how things should and shouldn't be, but in the process we have made living into an unnatural process. Nature grants us the gift of life, but as soon as we have hold of this life, we set off running in any direction the hands of society direct us, and never look back. We are so far down our paths of humanity that it is impossible to look far enough back to see that the truths we hold to be self evident may not be truths at all, but rather lies we tell ourselves only because the world has asked us to.
I find myself standing here so far down this path society has nudged me into, that when I look back I can only see a labyrinth of twists and turns with ghostly figures at each corner. And I ask myself, where have I come from, which turns have I taken, and who has decided that turn for me? Have I chosen which paths I turn down, or have these ghostly figures I see been directing me through life? I suspect that I have never made a decision for myself, not once during my whole life. We are so deeply submerged in this labyrinth that we can not possibly find a way back to the start, back to our pure selves, and therefore cannot possibly say that we have ever been uninfluenced by the people in the world.
You may argue that, no, for just a moment during your first breath of life, as a small child without comprehensive skills, you were entirely yourself and nobody else. But tell me: were you not subjected to language as the murmurs of your mother or the doctors filled your ears? The moment you heard these sounds your mind began to learn; the beginning of your knowledge and growth was therefore determined by those who surrounded your mother as you entered the world. Were you not treated with care, or at least recognized as fragile, whether you were treated as such or not? The universal understanding that newborn babies are fragile, in need of care, and are wholly underdeveloped is a form in which the “knowledge” of society is put on you from your first moments, deciding for you who you are, before you have any chance to protest. Were your genitals not noted? There are inevitable and unavoidable communal understandings associated with sex, and yours was certainly noted, understood, and considered, thereby pushing you even slightly along your path, before you were even wiped clean.
Can you tell me why murder is wrong? Why is it wrong to kill another person? Why must you respect others? Why is it best to live a healthy life? Why must our parents love us and treat us well? Really think – do you have a definitive answer; one that you can exert as absolutely true? Do you know why? I challenge you to think of one truth; any one thing that you can tell me, for sure, is true. I guarantee you cannot. There is nothing about ourselves that is not a societal construct. So who, really, are we?
I do not for a moment claim that I am excluded from society. I am a living, working, breathing part of this structure and I, too, help to push others in various directions just as I receive shoves from all angles, myself. Nobody, including myself, could find their way through the thickness of societal formation and dig back to their surface – it would take longer than a lifetime.
Why do we not value who we are as individuals, and stand strong, knowing with confidence that exactly who we are is exactly who we are meant to be? Why must we search for our “flaws,” the ones that society tells us we have, and “correct” them? Who are you to tell me that this or that is wrong about me? I am not referencing, here, society's ideas of body image or what music to enjoy. I am asking why it is wrong if I act rudely, but right when you are polite? We should know by now, from a very long history of constantly changing viewpoints, that nothing society deems as wrong or right can be trusted, so why do we trust these “truths?" Why do we trust ourselves?
I am too young to remember a time when people of color were wholeheartedly believed to be of lesser value than Caucasians, but if I am correct, this belief was trusted just as strongly as anything else. Just as today, those who believe in God, those who worship Allah, and those who find their spirituality in deities of the earth each know their faith to be the one truth. Those who believe homosexual relationships are unnatural for the human race believe this with their whole heart, and those who believe homosexuality to be an entirely acceptable and natural part of a human’s life also believe this with their whole heart. Prejudice, faith, and beliefs of all sorts are not a matter of right and wrong, or of knowledge and ignorance; they are a matter of popular and unpopular opinion – they are entirely shaped by society. I ask again: why do we place so much in the hands of society? Why do we trust ourselves as an overarching community to make decisions and decide for ourselves what is right and wrong?
We do not make our own decisions. We are not our own people. We live by the rules of our communities, which have been formed without a grain of truth. You do not know anything. Nothing at all. So don’t tell me how I should live my life; I am struggling hard enough trying to swim through what everyone else wants for me and find what I want for myself.
4.03.2013
Those Little Things
There are some very minor things that I would like to start doing every day. I'm not going to say that I will do them every day, or even that I will do them most days, because when I say I'm going to do something, I never actually do it. It's the things that I want to do and that have no pressure attached to them that I do. Therefore, I am going to say that I would like to do these things every day - but I absolutely do not promise anyone that I will.
➨
I want to listen to Celtic, fantasy, or meditation style music for at least 30 minutes every day. While I check my emails, do my banking, tidy the house, or write an entry for Her Writing Desk. This sort of music has immense power over me. It inspires me to relax, to be happy, and to be creative. And these three things are not easy for me to achieve. If you hadn't already guessed, I am listening to this music right now - which is why I am posting instead of rewriting my class notes, doing my homework, sending emails, working on my internship, organizing the never-ending list of things to do for the planning of our next big event, or doing my dishes. I especially enjoy this music to be very quiet. Not because it is more soothing when at a low level than if I were to blast it at full volume (though this is also very true - the time for blasting the Top 40 is during cleaning days, not for relaxing), but because I associate quiet music and inaudible words with an insignificant yet memorable time of my childhood.
When I was younger I would spend some early mornings at my cousin's house. These were generally days when my dad had to go to work, and therefore I would be dropped off very early. If it was a weekend, both my cousin and my aunt would often times still be in bed, sleeping. So I would be set up in front of the television, with the volume down very low, so that my aunt and cousin would not be bothered. I would then sit on the couch and let my mind wander as the sounds of Baby Looney Tunes served as my company. Those mornings were special to me, even then, because I have always had a special relationship with solitude and quiet. Now, when I am alone and I listen to the television or music at a very low volume, my mind is put at peace.
Something else I want to do on a daily basis is use Jergens' original scent hand lotion. Not long ago I decided to buy this lotion because I remembered that it was the one my grandma uses, and I have always loved the smell. The cherry almond scent (I swear, Jergens is the only lotion brand whose original scent is different from every other original lotion scent) is a distinct part of my grandma. When I would visit her very early or stay the night, she would always smell of this lotion because she puts it on each night before going to bed. As my dad, and grandma, always told me at bedtime: brushyourteethblowyournosegetyourdrinkgopeegetyourhandlotionandgettobed. I knew that this smell was incredibly nostalgic for me, but what I didn't know was that when I would begin to put it on myself before going to bed, it would put me in such a comfortable, relaxed state that I would sleep better just from the lotion. When I put it on any time of day at all, the scent reminds me to relax, be comfortable, and wash your hands before you sit down at the table.
The third thing I would like to do every day is drink tea. I shouldn't need to explain why I want to drink tea every day - it's tea. There is no reason not to drink tea every day, and so many reasons to drink tea every day. Admittedly, I haven't had tea yet today, but maybe I will make some after I finish this post. No promises.
Smile at a stranger. This one sounds a bit out of place, or even cliche, but I do try to smile at strangers that I pass, because not only does it benefit others, it benefits myself. I could go into the obvious spiel about how smiles are contagious, and that smiling is healthy for you, and that just one smile from you can make another person's entire day. But what I really hope to achieve with this is a reminder to myself to remain confident. When I was young my dad always told me to stop looking at the ground, and to look people in the eyes when I saw them, and to smile at them. When he told me this I thought he was downright insane; if I smile at people I don't even know, they'll think I'm weird, or creepy, or lost. But he challenged me to try, and I did. It wasn't weird or creepy - as a matter of fact, people smile back. To know that people I don't even know will give me a smile if I give them one is a reminder that I'm not alone, I'm not strange, I'm not creepy, and neither of us are sad, at least for that one moment.
4.01.2013
Where I Come From
I'd like to believe that there is a place where faeries exist; a place where all life coexists closely with nature, and every moment is beautiful. This is a place where nature's beauty is never forgotten for even a moment, and the purpose of life is to enjoy its beauty, as if this act of enjoyment is what keeps the world alive.
I like to believe this not just because it would be wonderful if it were true, or because my mind is enchanted by the fantastical, but because a place such as this sparks my creativity. To envision this place inspires me to write, to create, to dream, and to enjoy. It is difficult to believe that a place like this, that has formed my very being, could possibly not exist. If this place does not exist, where, I ask you, does my identity come from? Can fancy alone build up creativity and happiness? I don't believe so. There must be some concrete version of this world, or else my entire being has been formed from nothingness.
➨
I like to believe this not just because it would be wonderful if it were true, or because my mind is enchanted by the fantastical, but because a place such as this sparks my creativity. To envision this place inspires me to write, to create, to dream, and to enjoy. It is difficult to believe that a place like this, that has formed my very being, could possibly not exist. If this place does not exist, where, I ask you, does my identity come from? Can fancy alone build up creativity and happiness? I don't believe so. There must be some concrete version of this world, or else my entire being has been formed from nothingness.
3.26.2013
How is Life Meant to be Lived?
"I suppose it was never just a part of my life; it's a permanent part of who I am. I thought it was over, but really I've just learned to push it away, behind other things. I'm good at that sort of thing, you know - making things seem like something they're not. I even fooled myself." She stared straight forward at the wall, unsure whether she was upset or not. "I don't usually get that feeling of infinite loneliness anymore, but it manifests itself in different ways - as frustration, usually, or fear, or failure, and sometimes loneliness, just not as bad. There are these images of myself on my death bed, utterly unfulfilled - it's terrifying, especially to think that I have no control."
He wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close. Nestling his chin lightly on her shoulder he stared at the wall right along with her. After a few moments, "I think that's what makes you special," he said quietly. "You have this amazing ability to think about the world in all these different ways. Sure, sometimes you get like this, but don't think of it as a resurgence. I know it's hard - "
"I feel trapped. I feel like I'm trapped in a world I don't belong in," her words came out sharp. "I don't understand how the world has gotten this way. It makes no sense to me, really. I've taken history courses, I know what happened, but it makes me so angry that the people before me have created a world in which progress and regulation are more important than enjoyment. I know I don't have to follow social norms, but it's so hard to think outside of the way I've been molded to think. I want to go somewhere new and see what's out there, do something amazing, spend my time unconventionally just to see what life could be, but my mind tells me I can't, I have other responsibilities, and you don't just drop everything in your life and go do what you want. But, why? I've been blessed with life; how, or by what or who, I don't know, but I've been given a life, and I feel like I'm wasting it, all the time. I want to do more with it."
They lay close together for a long time, their eyes moving across the textured bumps on the wall. She focused on the sound of the gentle pounding of his heart up against her back, and the repositioning of his chin on her shoulder as he swallowed occasionally. He felt her chest rise and fall, lifting his arm up and down with each breath.
"So then do more." Those words ringing out from his soothing voice made it seem so easy, as if she really could just get up off of the bed and go anywhere in the world.
"Maybe." She thought about it. "What if the way I'm feeling now is actually a product of society, too? Maybe I don't have to have an exciting, fast paced life. I enjoy small things, too. Our world is so bent on doing so much all at once, never taking time to relax. Maybe I don't have to explore the world to find what I need. There are people out there who are laying on a cement floor looking at a dirty wall wishing they could go out and find a life like mine, where they could nestle themselves into a soft bed and feel safe because someone they love is holding them."
"That's very true."
"It's hard, you know? To figure out how to live your life. To know how to spend your time, where to put your energy." She turned toward him, looking into his eyes. "With all the things society tells me, it's really hard to find myself underneath it all. I don't really know what I should be wanting, let alone what I should be doing. Maybe I need to get up and go find adventure, or maybe I need to cherish this moment as it is. Maybe I'll never find myself. Maybe I'm not meant to."
"Maybe."
➨
He wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close. Nestling his chin lightly on her shoulder he stared at the wall right along with her. After a few moments, "I think that's what makes you special," he said quietly. "You have this amazing ability to think about the world in all these different ways. Sure, sometimes you get like this, but don't think of it as a resurgence. I know it's hard - "
"I feel trapped. I feel like I'm trapped in a world I don't belong in," her words came out sharp. "I don't understand how the world has gotten this way. It makes no sense to me, really. I've taken history courses, I know what happened, but it makes me so angry that the people before me have created a world in which progress and regulation are more important than enjoyment. I know I don't have to follow social norms, but it's so hard to think outside of the way I've been molded to think. I want to go somewhere new and see what's out there, do something amazing, spend my time unconventionally just to see what life could be, but my mind tells me I can't, I have other responsibilities, and you don't just drop everything in your life and go do what you want. But, why? I've been blessed with life; how, or by what or who, I don't know, but I've been given a life, and I feel like I'm wasting it, all the time. I want to do more with it."
They lay close together for a long time, their eyes moving across the textured bumps on the wall. She focused on the sound of the gentle pounding of his heart up against her back, and the repositioning of his chin on her shoulder as he swallowed occasionally. He felt her chest rise and fall, lifting his arm up and down with each breath.
"So then do more." Those words ringing out from his soothing voice made it seem so easy, as if she really could just get up off of the bed and go anywhere in the world.
"Maybe." She thought about it. "What if the way I'm feeling now is actually a product of society, too? Maybe I don't have to have an exciting, fast paced life. I enjoy small things, too. Our world is so bent on doing so much all at once, never taking time to relax. Maybe I don't have to explore the world to find what I need. There are people out there who are laying on a cement floor looking at a dirty wall wishing they could go out and find a life like mine, where they could nestle themselves into a soft bed and feel safe because someone they love is holding them."
"That's very true."
"It's hard, you know? To figure out how to live your life. To know how to spend your time, where to put your energy." She turned toward him, looking into his eyes. "With all the things society tells me, it's really hard to find myself underneath it all. I don't really know what I should be wanting, let alone what I should be doing. Maybe I need to get up and go find adventure, or maybe I need to cherish this moment as it is. Maybe I'll never find myself. Maybe I'm not meant to."
"Maybe."
3.04.2013
Catalog
I love lists, and I love cataloging in stories, especially when they have to do with contents of an adventurer's bag. I'm writing a story (slowly but surely...) and I'm working on a catalog for a young girl's satchel.
Ever since, Crea had rarely left the house without the bag. It looked much like a schoolbag, but inside it she kept items from her explorations. She did carry a pencil and a small notepad, but she used them to write directions to new places she found, and descriptions of people she met who she particularly liked, or disliked. She also carried a white gold pocket watch she had stolen from a man who had crossed her years before, a pair of gloves that came in handy when climbing rough trees, a small net on a stick which she used to catch frogs and rats, a yellow hair ribbon her mother had given her, but she had never worn, a ball of twine, a large metal ring, a jar each of antiseptic and conditioning cream, a whistle, a pocketknife, a piece of quartz, the manor library's copy of Trees, Shrubs, and Flora: The Complete Guide, two strips of brown fabric, a small ivory bowl, a vial of sand from the shore in the coastal district, and Sir Davies’ arrow box.
➨
Ever since, Crea had rarely left the house without the bag. It looked much like a schoolbag, but inside it she kept items from her explorations. She did carry a pencil and a small notepad, but she used them to write directions to new places she found, and descriptions of people she met who she particularly liked, or disliked. She also carried a white gold pocket watch she had stolen from a man who had crossed her years before, a pair of gloves that came in handy when climbing rough trees, a small net on a stick which she used to catch frogs and rats, a yellow hair ribbon her mother had given her, but she had never worn, a ball of twine, a large metal ring, a jar each of antiseptic and conditioning cream, a whistle, a pocketknife, a piece of quartz, the manor library's copy of Trees, Shrubs, and Flora: The Complete Guide, two strips of brown fabric, a small ivory bowl, a vial of sand from the shore in the coastal district, and Sir Davies’ arrow box.
2.21.2013
Revving up
Starting today, I begin a relationship with my computer,
with my keyboard, with that soothing feeling of typing away, clicking on these
keys, feeling the flat, hard, stiff, and yet ever so comforting texture of each
button as it gives way under my fingertips. They give in to me, every command I make, even when wrong, these keys
are nimble and beautiful in their submission.
Such an allowance to let my creativity flow. If I have any, that is. Maybe they simply let my mistakes flow, but
that’s okay too. Whatever I am, art or
flaw, these keys allow me to be me.
➨
Allow my self to build up gradually, more and more, as I foster this
circle of life. My circle of life. Thoughts build up in my mind, swirling
around, collecting, gathering size, importance, and majesty, and are flushed
down my skull through my body and shoot from my arms to my fingertips, like
bolts of lightning, stunning these submissive keys and thrusting my mind
straight into the computer. The keys
know their job: they continue this circle, this way of life for me, and light
up the screen with what was, merely moments ago, only in my mind. These small, seemingly insignificant keys
have such power, to give my thoughts an escape from my mind. My mind that always says, “no, you cannot be
free, no you cannot persevere, and no, you cannot write – you will never
complete anything, you will be stuck as a dreamer for life.” But I am not merely a dreamer. I have resolved to make myself more, because
I know I am such! I am not a dreamer, but
a realist. These thoughts will be free –
I will take hold of them through this cycle, forcing them to power up and be
released through my body, into my arms, out my fingertips, and onto this
screen, where I will see them before me, and the cycle then begins. My own thoughts, my own creation, like a
newborn child, lies out in front of me, and can bare into my mind once again,
through my retinas and into my skull where they originated. But this time, things are much
different. This time these thoughts are
not merely thoughts; they are creations.
My mind cannot bind them any longer, they have built up speed and with a
running start as they leap and bound from this screen back into my mind, I feel
them swirling, gathering, growing inside my head, into greater things. Each thought grows stronger as it cycles
through my body, fingertips, and computer screen, and this momentum is what
drives me. Starting up is the hardest
part, but clearly, as is laid out in front of me now, the hardest part is
done. I have finally revved up these
cogs and am in full gear; I can do this, I can write, I will create.
* Originally written on September 11, 2012
