Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Meetings.
Lawdy Lawd lawd.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
A New World Record
My favorite fiction characters are wonderfully complex; they have flaws, personalities, and feel as if they're actually someone on this world; it's mindboggling how by creating a flat, two dimensional character, Meyer managed to be one of the most popular authors in our generation. He's mysterious, he's caring, and he's definitely hawt, but that's about all there is to him.
A Return, No Less Triumphant.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Please, No Salt On My Fish
Music!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Just a few quick notes that I'll expand on later
- Perspective. My perspective is an outside one of everyone else, so how do I know you're real? You can tell me you are, but my brain would create characters to do so, thus making everything possibly fake.
Same goes for you. This may just be a creation of your imagination, and there's no way of knowing because I would tell you so. Persona creation. - Present. The past is irrelevant. Right now, all the time leading up to right now, only took a second in the present. Which is always. It is always the present. Therefore, everything is irrelevant?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Infinity Squared.
As in, there is a 1 in a 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.... chance that it has turned out eactly the way it has.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Disattachment
Sure, it's not fair, and due to my inherent selfishness, I would get annoyed if I felt I was "wronged," but in the grand scheme of things, nobody is equal.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Clarification
These posts are here to
Favorite Pastimes
Stare at the wall. How do you know, that at this exact instant, there aren't aliens crawling around on the wall? Your senses tell you so, but it is entirely possible that your eyes aren't processing the information to your brain because your brain has been trained to believe that aliens are nonexistant, thus impossible, thus rendering this information as irrelevant. First mathematical FACT of this blog: your brain processes 2,000 bytes a second, yet it is capable of 2,000,000,000 bytes a second. Something like that. I can't remember the exact numbers, but it was similar to that.
Decisions, Collisions.
Assume that you are the center of the universe. Less difficult for some than for others, but for the moment, that is what you are. Everything around you is what you've created with your mind, thus everything around you is merely a memory.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
My Shoes (First Person Fiction)
Dear Owner, my wonderful Owner,
I represent the epitome of form, and function. A presumptuous statement, to be sure, but not one that is entirely unwarranted. A collector’s item, but the general apathy associated with those bums the Baseball Cards does not apply to me. You'll take me out to the longest of jogs, but I don't need the constant washing of those sweaty Shirts. Everywhere you go, I follow. I'm definitely more loyal than your average cat, and even a dog would be hard pressed to be more loyal than I, unless this dog happens to be a combination of Ol' Yeller, Lassy, and your dog Tutu.
What would you do without me, your shoes? Sure, I may be more than a bit smelly at times, but I never leave your side, or more accurately, your feet. The padding, cradling your feet in what seems to be the softest of sensations, brings to you a bliss rarely found on this Earth. Every movement is a yet another perfect moment of absolute ecstasy upon your feet, my offering to you, and I ask nothing in return. I am always there for you. I will never walk away from you, as long as you never walk away from me. I happily wait for you when you need a rest, never being impatient. If you run, I shall run with you. If you creep, I shall creep with you, even if you are one yourself.
Without me, what would come to your feet? The numerous foot afflictions, such as flat foot, frostbite, or even god forbid, a stubbed toe, make me nervous just to think about them, much less to have you experience them! Every scuff mark I suffer, every stitch that is torn, every square inch of soiled fabric is a badge of honor. I gladly endure the winter chill, the endless rains, the blazing heat; the elements are all endured for you. Even on the occasion when you left me outside overnight, where I must play host to spiders and night crawlers, I forgive you for your forgetfulness, and continue to perform at my best. It is a dangerous world out there for a pair of bare feet, and I shall be your ever vigilant protector.
I must admit, though, I often feel nervous as time goes on. I often see you throw out other of my comrades in a painful selection, yet you often skip past me in this process. Whether for nostalgic or cosmetic reasons, I have yet to be submitted to the Trash Can, a place of mystery to us who reside in the shoe rack. I fear that perhaps one day, this state of affair will cease, and you shall discard me as you have so many others before, resigning me to the mystery of the Trash Can and whatever heaven lies beyond.
With Love,
Your Shoes
PS: Excuse me for the recent stink. I blame your socks. Please change them more often.
Because you and I both know you wouldn’t change me.
Or would you?
Monday, February 2, 2009
Thoughts. Much like everything else.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Conundrum
Terrible, is it not? I am lost, yet I know where I am. I am confused, yet I know what troubles me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Dancing
Ah, morning time once again. As the night recedes back against the horizon, a tremendous yawn is emitted from what looks like a strange, hunchbacked creature on two legs shuffling down a flight of stairs. Eyes barley open, the creature proceeds to use it's sense of touch to navigate it's habitat, occasionally colliding into the corner or outlying handle. Undettered, the creature continues its search.
After much shuffling of feet, seemingly random arm waving, and cursing of stubbed toes, she finds what she was looking for. A bag of coffee, obtained from no other than the business juggernaut that is Starbucks.
As the bleary fingers work through the familiar process that has long ago etched a groove into thousands of drinker's mental process, literally enabling the user to perform the motions nearly half asleep.
And yet, after a few sips, an amazing transformation occurs. The wonderously and famous bitter taste of coffee seems to have no effect, instead energizing the person, causing an interesting transformation to occur. No longer are the feet attached the the floor, where they swing evenly, rather than shuffle awkwardly; eyes are open, and somewhat bloodshot, yet still open!
It is, all in all, a wonderful invention. Until someone overdoses on that and goes batshit crazy, but hey.
There's always a downside.
Chinky
A delightful crescendo of noises, escalating from a single source. It seems impossible that a single instrument, despite how massive, could create a sound as varied and beautiful as it is now. The notes flow seamlessly from the piano, spiraling forever into the air, every note transferred from the fingertips to the keyboard, a tribute to those who played on this grand instrument before her, every note sounding out in perfect unision.
The pianist, lost in the moment of creation, sits at the the bench, a silent figure among the noises around her. The mute figure is a testament to the works in process, fingers working at the keyboard, slender fingers jumping from notes with a speed that would confound even the most astute of observers.
This is creation, pure and simple. They say God created the universe from nothing, but even that incredible feat is rivaled by the beautiful sounds of the piano. It is in that moment, at the climax of the piece, when the rich, dulcent tones surround the single member that consisted of the audience, if only for a second, when all noises but the rich tones of the music are blocked out, and everything in the world seems to be at a perfect harmony.
The music, so beautiful it was, seemed to make everything perfect for just a single moment, the final note sending out a wave of innocence and beauty throughout the world, making the world seem like a better place, if only for a second.
And then, it is lost. The reality returns with a crash, a crash of silence signaling the end of the piece. A roaring, deafining silence, one that fills such a void after the music is over.
Music is the epitome of human creation. Few scientists have created things as wonderfully satisfying as a wonderful, perfect piece of music.
Hey, I made through that entire post without referring to asian people.
Awesome.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Undead
The purpose of life? To die. Humanity invented the afterlife, religion, and most things spiritual to cover up our lack of importance in the universe. Look at any ancient civilization, and nearly every one of them had, at one time or another, the belief that they were the center of the universe. This is a very common belief even today, with people acting, living, and believing as though they are indeed the center of the universe. On a grand, cosmos-esque scheme of things point of view, we are insignificant.
Ironic how everything we've created is a direct result from the fear of losing everything we have. We fear that all the hard work we perform on this earth will go to waste, so we imagine an afterlife that rewards us for all the sweat and effort put into doing things that we don't want to. T'is heaven, and since it didn't make sense to send those people who defy to do good deeds there as well, we send them to hell.
To describe death without any concept of an afterlife, however, is literally impossible. If there is no afterlife, than dying would be loss of every perception. Every adjective we have is linked to how we perceive the world around us, such as sights, feel, and sound, among others. You cannot even compare it to someone who has lost every sense in their body, as there is no mind, there is no thought. There isn't even a "nothing," as there is no conception of nothing.
Sometimes, I really scare myself.
Electricty!
Now, as far as I'm concerned, lightning bolts and such have never developed a complex personality. Thoughts must come from somewhere, and thoughts are more than mere whispers in the air. Thoughts have significance, the right thought in the right person potentially changing the world. They may not be tangible, but they can hold a person mesmerized.
Thus, leading me to do something I rarely do. In support of religion, god, and the supernatural, there must be something other than mere electricity inside of ourselves. It is impossible to express myself in such a way as to properly describe this, but anything that has self awareness, anything that has the ability to create such monumental testaments to our own humanity, there must be something else at play. Divine intervention is always something humanity as a whole turns to when there is no other explanation, the "get out of jail free" card if you will, and I find myself playing this card once again.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
A Voting Process
A leader is any man who is willing to take authority of a group of people. We fear leaders, and most of us fear to be a leader.
Failing by yourself is hard enough, yet to be the cause of a downfall among a body of people is perhaps the most frightening of any scenario. Guilt, a terrible emotion to be held to, is among the first of many emotions to assault the mind, causing doubt in future leadership opportunities, and to lose faith in oneself is to lose one's ability to act.
Yet, every so often, we come across an amazing person, one who stands against the rest. This is a man, that when standing in a crowded room, everyone else fades to the foreground. Shy people generally tend to blend in well with the background, but a man like this, no, shall stand out among the rest, giving cause to even the most courageous of men to pause.
This post made no sense.