Thursday, December 19, 2013
It's too easy to fail
Too easy to falter
Simple to sin
Left at the alter
Blood spills so fast
So fast it flows
Gone too soon
God only knows
Love fades with time
With time we heal
Easy to forget
The things we feel
It's too soon to judge
Too soon to jeer
So to say
Goodbye my dear
Tears come so easy
So easy to bruise
Ears too used
To new bad news
From me with love
With love I seal
Letters to you
Before my last meal
You have to remember... those with the most confidence often have the most insecurities to hide. I'm not my brother; I'm a dreamer. The sting of reality is a pain known to all humanity, but it is felt the worst by those who live in a dream. I've come to terms with the fact that I cannot live a normal life. I'm not cut out for the world outside of my art. My false bravado can only compensate so much for the isolation and uncertainty. I want to shout in my native tongue and have someone understand me, but that's a wish without a chance for being granted.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
I find it entreating
Like an employee meeting
And the stale chips we're eating
Verses go against the grain
Tense pressure on my brain
I hate poets, honestly
Telling me how to do my job
It's not that they are snobs
It's just that they are better
Sometimes it's four o' clock
Then I look and see it's five
But it was seven all along
PM not AM
Boring, until you realize
It's about advil
Pain is cool
Substance doesn't always need
A stain that goes away
Just something to sustain it
Art doesn't always make sense
Otherwise it would bore me
The game is the middle part
Not the start or the end
The bad dice rolls are the best
Pressure cooking, man
I'm sure you're lost
We all are
It's the human condition
Though that sounds like an ailment
There's a story in my eyes
But you aren't a reader
Doesn't stop you from looking
You caveman, you
Being random has its caveats
People call you weird
But they call
So there's that
There's a train running through my head
But I keep losing track
The conductor gives me coal
But I'm low on steam
Rivers keep bears fed with fish
But they wind me up
They've become time addled
Riddled with cliche
I want to tangle
Find me an obtuse angle
I need perspective
Make it inside, introspective
Any form of cohesion is coincidental.
Maybe that's why progress seems so incremental.
Monday, September 30, 2013
This post will contain a tremendous amount of spoilers if you've yet to see Breaking Bad in its entirety. I suggest you do so now. Not for the sake of this post, but your own. (You'll thank me later.)
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Aphrodite blew a kiss
Athena rose her sword
Diana went to bow her head
But fell on her knees instead
"What seperates us from the Mortals?"
"If they live on as a god dies?"
"How can this world persist?"
"When upon the marrow we desist?"
"The sun burns on, the wine proceeds to flow."
"The men carry on, rituals continue..."
"They'll never even know."
Athena threw a sheild on the flaming son.
"The fates shall not spare us, as they had not the titans."
"As we came from them, man has come from us."
"Just as they outlive us, so too shall they be outlasted by their creations. Lost to Chronos' ghost... Just as we."
Aphrodite pressed her warm bosom upon Apollo's navel.
"Death for flesh you weep a not..."
"Yet for divinity you morn a lot?"
"We are not greater, meddling most."
"Guests mistaken for the host."
"I've tasted love, both man and god."
"Our superiority? A mere visade."
Persephone lurked out of shadow.
"Let us strike back."
"Repay treachery with a god's smack"
"If we die than so should they."
"Without us, their worship goes to decay."
Hera then decended with a deafening boom.
Her stern glare shook the room
Acceptance never suited her strong
Yet she knew her daughter wasn't wrong
"It would be all too easy to smite man."
"Such is our brother Hades' plan."
"You've grown so happy with your rapist."
"A devil now, no longer an escapist."
"Don't you look your mother in the eye."
"You've doomed us all to die."
The women threw his chariot
Let its horses squeel
Their tears turned to stone
Smashed into a spinning wheel
I've decided to do a different type of blog entry this time. A personal one. One that's ripped straight from my skull, still dripping with the residue of my raw emotions. Normally, the posts you see are a sculpture-- meticulously chiseled down. This however is a crude hump of clay. Untouched grey matter. Unadulterated. Unmoderated.
I'm not even typing this from my computer or tablet. It's from my phone. I sit alone in a car, basking in the cheeky flouresent street lighting. The only sounds I hear are crickets, passing cars and a lone isomniac gull's squawks. I'll be honest with you, there's no point I'm trying to make here. No sagicity I'm trying to pass on. I have no plan today. Any philosophy I happen to empart is a product of chance. Pure musery.
My life is currently in vitro, suddenly ripped out of Its comfortable state of flux. A great many things are flying at me at once. My book is nearing it's completion, its fourth and final rewrite ending. My home, my house... It will be nothing but a memory in a little over a week. I have a destination in mind, but there's so much uncertainty fogging my view of the future.
My girlfriend is also going through a transition. While I'm beyond proud of her, I find myself ashamed of my own impatience and distance. Due to all my worries and stress, it's put me at an arm's reach. I've been so emotionally compromised, I've lacked the capabilities to behave as a proper boyfriend should. Between writing and working, I feel like I'm just not giving her enough time and love-- which gives way to a whole new array of worries. As unfair as it is, I hope she understands. I'm doing my best, but I'm aware of how lackluster that consolation prize is. I need her now more than ever, and yet I find myself needing to be alone.
If anything good has come out of this trying period of my life, it's perspective. Now more than ever I've come to realize how important my dream to be a full-time novelist is. It's my only anchor in this mad ocean of uncertainty called life. Though I'm still mired in stormy waters. My ambition will take me back to shore. I just need to wipe the salt water out of my eyes and keep rowing.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
"We've got an unidentified fighter diving into the crossfire."
"Is it one of our boys?"
"Who is it then?"
"The ship is reported as stolen. Its AUTO-HUD AR ID's aren't registered in any galaxies in this quadrant. It's actually just coming up on the screen as an image of a... middle finger."
"So it's hostile?"
"Not sure. We've yet to make contact, sir."
"What are you waiting for? Engage. We cannot allow anything to endanger this mission. For the sake of the human race."
The food-covered pilot snickered, amused at the confusion his presence caused. He spotted a floating snack bag and clapped it with his chubby hands. The bag popped, causing salty green orbs to float about the obese slob's crammed cockpit.
The fat pilot gripped the ship's steering handles and skilfully swerved out of the path of an enormous destruction beam. The line of purple light blew up three ships behind him. He dodged three more such attacks while eating the salty floating orbs using only his mouth.
"This is Assistant to the Admiral Janek Pulitzen. You've entered an active combat zone between the GFHI and a hostile group of Pandolian seperatists. Promptly identify yourself or be destroyed."
"Ohhh! You sound SECK-SEEEEE! Babe you got video transmission on that shiny ship of yours? Nothing turns me on more than having a hot babe watch me kick maximum assage."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know I'm a respected fleet coordinator and a--"
"Blah, blah, blah. Are you showin' me tits here or what?"
"Over my dead body, creep. You are violating seventy-six counts of personal craft space regulation. Operating an unregistered and outdated space vehicle Piloting a fighter-class ship housing war-grade technology and weaponry. Entering restricted airspace. Harassing an GFHI officer. Refusal to--"
The interloper's space junk encrusted craft expelled an enormous cloud of radioactive pollution from its rearmost exhaust.
"Make that seventy-nine," the pilot jeered, speeding straight into the Pandolian vanguard.
The alien's ships were odd, resembling large glowing orbs. The blue bubbles fired tiny purple laser pellets at the dingy brown spaceship. The dirty ship activated its bottom thrusters at the last second and shot upwards. Missing, the two Pandolian ships were hit by their own fire. Their ships quietly popped-- immediately suffocating all inside.
"Under the Foreign Species Cooperation Act of 7840, you are to submit to the will of the Galactic Force of Human Isolationists. Remove your ship from hostile territory and dock with our flagship at once."
"Sorry sexy, that act don't apply to humans and I'm as human as they come."
"How can we confirm your humanity? Your ship is not registered in any human galaxies."
"If you boot up that cam of yours I'll let you check. If you play your cards right, I'll even give ya proof of gender."
"Fine. I'm initiating visual communication, now. Gender verification is... unnecessary."
The ship's greasy windshield blipped and projected the face of a very professional looking young brunette in a white GFHI uniform.
"MMMMM... SEXXXXY!! Oh that uniform... Who knew extremists had such style? This will really get my juices pumpin'."
Seeing the grotesque blob of a man on screen, the girl's face contorted into reflect her disgust. Her lip trembled.
"What's wrong, baby doll?"
The pilot flew three loops around the rouge Pandolian fleet, causing three more incidents of friendly fire. He nearly crashed into a four ship wide cruiser, but pulled down at the last second.
"Don't forget that the video transmitter adds at least ten pounds."
"The Fat Asteroid..."
The admiral's assistant immediately cut off communication, ending both visual and audio contact.
The portly pilot grinned ear to ear. The cruiser dropped a massive bomb down below. Rather than evade, the pilot ejected a stringy white goop into a space. He fired a radioactive pulse, causing the gook to solidify into a sloppy, pancake-like shield. The bomb bounced off the white shield and collided into the cruiser. The beat-up brown spaceship dove down even further, escaping a massive explosion that not only took down the cruiser, but the five fighters surrounding it.
"Admiral Arkclaysx, I've identified the unknown craft..."
"It's the Fat Asteroid. I made visual contact with Regs Bilken. There's no mistaking him. Looks just as gross as the posters."
"Son of a bitch... What's that psychopath doing here?"
"The same thing he always does by the looks of it."
"Admiral? What should we do? Pull out?"
"YOUR MOM SHOULD HAVE PULLED OUT. Hyoohhhh!"
"Bilken!? This is a secure channel! How did you...?"
"Don't worry about that, baby. Just got back from the Pandolian CO's ship, and boy did that scaly mofo make me an offer. 300,000 damels. Yeah, I know. Coins? What a hassle! But no, I'm totally into that vintage stuff. Speaking of stuff I'm into, what kind of underwear you got on, babe?"
"You'd betray your own race for a mere heap of coins? Pathetic..."
"Do you know the exchange rate of damels to MWD? It's worth over a cool mil. That's nothing to shake a snake at. No, sir. Damels are classy as shit. Plus, they're all those old rest stop vending machines will take."
Assistant Admiral Janek fell silent. She looked down at her communicator, receiving a pulse inside her head. It was a message from the President of Unified Space Warp Affiliates-- the group holding the largest share in the GFHI. A message to her... a lowly space dog, from arguably the wealthiest man in the universe.
MSG:// 0:5456 - DONZA KEROGUN: Start a bidding war with the Pandolians. Allow it to rise to any amount. I will cover any expense. Do not attempt to outbid them. Stall the Fat Asteroid. Your reward will be great.
"We'll offer you 1.3 million MWD for your... services," Janek bid.
"Halls yar, we got ourselves a biddin' war," Regs Bilken, outlaw and pilot of the Fat Asteroid, cheered. "Let's put Papa Pandolian on the line, shall we?"
Janek stumbled back, suddenly face to face with the rough scaly face of the Pandolian Leader and the Regs Bilken's greasy jowls.
"Hope you don't mind me overriding that little block you set on visual communication," Regs laughed, licking crumbs off his face. "I just want to make sure I have your full attention."
Jenek hid her blinking wrist communicator behind her back.
"Gyurh som tonkeh shegale fanto don kegon," the commanding Pandolian croaked hoarsely.
"Speak Humandarin, idiot," Regs said. "You think this chick speaks your language? Of course not, she's part of an army of freaking bigots. Why do you think you guys are fighting in the first place?"
"Bigots!?" Janek echoed. "As if a man of your moral bankruptcy has any space to pass judgement."
"Do not deny ear to the Pandolian pilgrim's plea," the alien grunted. "I repeat: our offer is now double."
"HELL to the YES," the Fat Asteroid chanted. "You bubble boys got some deep ol' pockets. What now, my deliciously racist little muffin top? Does your company want to keep the Milky Quadrant human only, or will it let these big bad lizards come in and mine up all their asteroids?"
"Three million MWD," Janek replied.
The Assistant Admiral's high bid caused a stir on the Pandolian side, causing them to murmur amoung themselves.
"Tonkeh shegale dyukn don GOTTA!?"
"Forba... tanken kudo farra gon kor lie temba menka forba jungsta."
"Forba don... jungsta?"
The head Pandolian looked up and nodded.
"We bid four million..."
Before the aliens could finish their bid, Janek but in with her own.
"4.5 MILLION," she burst.
The Pandolian shook its head and grinned.
"You do not lend ear for all plea. Pandolians bid four million... damels."
Janek's entire body shook, astounded that the small army of refugees had so much coin to spare. The Fat Asteroid's greedy eyes ignited with a tremendous green fire.
"HOLY CRAP ON A PANDOLIAN PANOLI! DING DING DING. WE GOT OURSELVES A WINNER. LOOKS LIKE I'M BUYING CHICKEN DINNER FOR ALL THE BABES IN BABYLON-SIX!"
"Calm down," the Admiral Assistant snapped. "You still haven't heard my counteroffer yet."
"No, that I have not," Regs said eagerly.
"10 million MWD."
The Pandolians laughed.
"What's so funny!?"
"This plea... it is made under a false tense," the Pandolian CO said, grinning.
"Yeah, no crap," Regs said, changing his cheeky demeanor to a much more serious one. "Your group, the GFHI, is funded by special interest groups-- mainly human-lead corporations looking to eliminate competition from alien-run corporations. They don't even shell out a full million for services rendered. "
"What? How do you--"
"What's wrong, sexy? You prone to judging ships by their paintjob? My brain is the same size as my gut. That's how I've managed to get this far doin' what I do and stayin' alive."
"You use your unstoppable dogfighting skills and stolen tech to interfere in space battles and hold both factions hostage until one outbids the other... then you completely destroy the opposing side. You're a murderer, an extortionist and a thief. You don't have brains... you have reflexes and good ship."
Regs Bilken chomped a stray green puffball floating by and smiled.
"On the contrary, I tend to save lives," Regs corrected. "Fun fact: most of the conflicts I resolve involve a surrender. Instead of the loss of lives, money is lost."
"Greed can be good if the greater sum lies in the hands of the worthy," the Pandolian CO said. "While you war for a cause you do not fully understand, the Pandolians wish to simply make a peaceful life. A free existence. Eons of lightyears away, our planet Pandola sits in a remote corner of the Gunkryar Galaxy. It is cold and dark, relying on a the bubbling of phasomian--"
"Get to the point, grandpa," Regs said with a yawn. "This is an auction, not a history lesson."
The grizzled Pandolian leader nodded.
"We escaped tyranny only to face oppression. This 'Fat Asteroid' to us... is a beacon of hope. The savior of our entire species. All our collective life-savings, these damels, they are well spent... to save our lives."
"I don't care what that sentimental alien says, Fat Asteroid," Janek said bitterly, "you're still a greedy pig if you capitalize on war for your own gain."
"That's the price of business, babe," Regs Bilken laughed. "I only ask for money when my ship needs upgrading or I feel like splurging on some gourmet grub. It just so happens I need quite a bit for something, but I'm in no rush. Hell, normally I just do this for kicks. You're only bidding with money, but if you knew me you'd try something else. Catch my drift, sexy?"
"Something else? Oh God, you can't possibly mean..."
Regs Bilken blushed and started snickering like a girl-obsessed school boy. The fat pilot's laugh was extremely high-pitched and awkward... and always ended in a snort.
"Uron don korsh-korsh dykun don tago!?" the Pandolian roared furiously.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Regs smirked. "Or the twenty-third."
"Your race does not face danger," the alien protested. "I am not at understanding. What creature would value a reproductive act over great wealth?
Negotiations halted, abruptly falling silent. The only sound to be heard was Regs Bilken's creepily excited panting.
"If I show you my breasts, will you decimate the entire Pandolian fleet?" Janek asked softly.
"YUM TON KEEDO KOOGLA! Laugh worthy... There exists no man who would allow genocide just to see a pair of--"
"DEAL! HEHEHEHEHEH, SNORT!"
"KOOGLA TABU! DON NOKO KOOGLA KUMBA KO!!"
"That's quite enough of that," Regs laughed, booting the raging Pandolians out of the channel. "Mmm, let's see those chim-cham chillies, baby."
Janek faked a smile weakly, using every last ounce of her willpower not to vomit. Good thing Regs had kicked the Admiral from the channel. Her father would die of embarrassment if saw his daughter debasing herself in such a way. The Pandolian ships began to glow purple, preparing to mount a retreat.
"Hurry up girl, the Pandolians ain't gunna wait for your foreplay."
The young woman sheepishly tapped the yellow squares on her top, causing it to disappear.
"OH YEAH BABY, LINGERIE! WE GOT OURSELVES A DIRTY FLIRTY. MMMMM...."
Assistant Admiral Janek Pulitzen's hand hovered over her bra, vehemently opposed to exposing herself to such a horrid man.
"C'mon, baby... Don't fight it... Show Daddy Bear the way to the honey trees. Let the Bees out of the hive. Or are they D's? Oh boy, I hope they are... Heheheheh. SNORT!"
Janek's face crumpled up, no longer able to stomach the outlaw's disgusting behavior.
"PEZT, PEZT... KOOOOOOM!"
The image of the Fat Asteroid's face turned to static and the line went dead.
"What the hell!?" Regs shouted into his mic. He darted his ship back, narrowly evading another hit.
"Babe, are you there!? Did you see who sucker punched me?"
"Bah, that shot must have busted my communicator! Screw my luck. I was totally about to see some boobs..."
The Fat Asteroid's windshield blipped, showing he was receiving another call.
"Mmm... yeah! You're back, babe. I can't wait to see what letter we're working with. What have you got for me? "
Rather than breasts, the image of a still faced man with long white hair, pale blueish skin and big green goggles appeared on screen. The man was decked out in sleek white leather attire, adorned with detailed steel plating. The entire cockpit was ominously dim, lit only by the green glow given off by the ship's touchpad control panel.
"A quick death," the man replied coldly.
"I should have known you were behind this," Regs muttered, attempting to dodge the rapid fire of laser blades being fired at his beat-up brown junker. "I knew she was bluffing. Stalling me. I just ignored it cus she was hot as hell."
"Incorrect, the man who issued your bounty is 'behind this,' Bilken."
"Well, if you want to get technical about it..."
A ship suddenly came into view, turning off its cloaking device. Rather than a massive warship, the craft appeared to be no bigger than a recreational space cycle-- a black speeder module made for fast travel. The typically peaceful vehicle had been heavily modified, making it into a lightning fast killing machine. It housed only one weapon, a micro-compressed laser blade blaster. The ship's owner had decided to allocate the majority of its resources into evasive and boosting capabilities. The weapon itself actually borrowed power from the thruster system, meaning it had to slow down to make strong attack, or make rapid sweeping attacks at close range. It was a ship the Fat Asteroid met in combat many a time, though in various incarnations.
The ship's name: RS-VPX.mrk.7. Better known as the Response. Piloted by the half-human half-Xeli bounty hunter... Xylo Exodus.
"Do not attempt an escape, Fat Asteroid," Xylo warned coldly. "A time-space stasis barrier has been cast around the entire battlefield. This time, there shall be no warping away. There will be no escape. Only consequences."
Regs Bilken bit his tongue and tapped away at the various buttons on his chair. Two pods opened from the side of the Fat Asteroid firing off a barrage of missiles large enough to wipe an entire army.
"I know better than to run from you, asshole," Regs replied, spewing out more white goo. "The only thing faster than your 'Response' is your dad's sexual stamina."
"Incorrect, my father is a Xeli," Xylo said sedately, effortlessly dancing through wave after wave of missiles. "Our race only mates one xox out of the annual cycle, or 2.5 of your 'months.' Thus we develop a--"
"Yeah, and you take after him because you have no concept of what goddamn joke is," Regs scoffed, firing a laser at each glob of gook, evaporating them.
"Incorrect, I am still half-human," the bounty-hunter asserted, landing a brutal, laser-tipped ram to the Fat Asteroid's hull. "I understand humor. You simply lack the ability to execute an amusing quip."
"I'll execute YOU, you little bitch."
The Fat Asteroid and the Response clashed again and again. While neither ship could land a significant blow to the other, the Response's quick, weak strikes were steadily whittling down at the Fat Asteroid's shields. It was only a matter of time before Xylo outlasted Regs... and he knew it.
"Submit, Bilken," Xylo ordered.
"Pass. I know you want to salvage all the nifty gadgets on my ship for yourself, and I just can't let you have that pleasure."
"If I'm going to go out, I'm gunna do it being the biggest asshole possible.
"Dying as you lived."
"You know it, bitch," Regs Bilken laughed, popping open a minifridge. He pulled out a large frosting-rich pastry. "Now if you don't mind, I'm gunna commence dying as I lived."
The Response's engines revved deafeningly loud, his thrusters primed and ready.
"So be it."
Xylo attempted to land the coup de grace on his longtime rival, but he found his vehical unable to boost at all. Instead of a fatal dash and slice, the Response chugged forward at a snail's pace. The black speeder collided with the Fat Asteroid with a tiny tap.
Regs Bilken had his cake and ate it too, smirking all the while. He soaked in the bounty hunter's silent dismay, savoring each savory moment.
"Whasfst's wffong, Exoffdus?" Regs taunted with his mouth full.
He swallowed a hearty gulp of moist cake.
"Something gumming up the works?"
"Xylo, you're fast, I'll give you that... but you're oh so careless."
"Plytanium. That's what the goop is called. It's an experimental weapon made by the Vridianites. They gave it to me as a gift for settling their dispute with Syphlons five months ago. That's 2 of your 'xoxes.' Cool stuff. Starts out flabby and mushy... but when exposed to a certain type of radiation it completely solidifies. While you were busy dodging missles, I dusted the stuff all around us. I missed you on purpose, not wanting to prematurely harden the plytanium. I let the radiation from your engines do that job. The way you sped around... I knew you'd completely total your ship."
Xylos eyes narrowed. His hands began to tremble.
"Yeah, asshole, your whole ship is utterly useless now... leaving you to float helplessly in space. Even if you somehow find a way out of this, you're still fucked. You'll never get the plytanium out of your engines. Time to start from square--"
Xylo ended transmission.
The fat pilot frowned, polishing off the last of his cake.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Dripped from dream clouds
It solidifies into ambitious coal
Which I grip into diamonds
Life simplifies once you realize
The future rests on your palm
Not in your creases, or in a Pslam
Only a simple hand movement
I see things clearer each day
Despite my sight going away
Basic becomes sublty
The truth is odd that way
Misunderstood because it's easy
We think life has to be hard
So we make it so
Epiphanies come at odd times
Yet we appreciate them all the same
So read this and wake up
Unless you'd rather wait
Thursday, September 5, 2013
"Hey... yourself," the boy growled, dumping his dirty laundrey out of the hamper.
"Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hide away for sooooo long!
Where did we go wrong?"
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Sweat turns into fumes
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
I've put a lot of thought into my thoughts, rather unsurprisingly. The real shock though, is that with almost all my writing hardly any planning is involved. Before I write anything there's always some sort of epiphany. A spark of inspiration. My novel ideas come at the oddest times, in the simplest of places-- seemingly brought on by nothing in particular.
I owe it all to my creativity.
So where does it come from? Those who have read my work often echo that question. How does my mind come up with such unique and interesting stuff? Why am I able to create fantasy from nothingness? Well, I think it's just an innate ability. Not to sound arrogant or anything. Creativity is something, I believe, you either have or you don't. As long as your parents didn't quash your playful spirit during your youth, your imagination should grow with you.
Honestly, I think I owe much of my creativity to the video games I played as a kid. As lame that might sound to some people, it really isn't something to be ashamed of. Day after day, my budding brain found itself dropped into colorful worlds brimming with whimsy and awe. Challenges awaited me at every corner, constantly testing my patience and bolstering my critical thinking ability. The many silent protagonists whose shoes I filled served as my role models, and the villains I faced became my teachers. Beyond fostering my love for adventure and storytelling, video games showed me the importance of fighting for what you believe in... and your love.
But there's certainly other factors. To say I owe all my creativity to shunning the outside word and playing videogames would just be unfair. Toys, movies and TV shows also had their hand in the creation of my creativity. My love for detective stories started with a cartoon that I absolutely adored and watched over and over. (later to be discovered as an anime- and a Miyzaki one at that). Sherlock Hound, it was called. It starred the cast of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes in a re-imagining of the classic tales. The only difference? They were cast as humanoid dogs! By extension, my favorite Disney movie became The Great Mouse Detective. Same concept, only with mice. Can you guess what my favorite show is now? HINT: No, it's not that god awful show Elementary where Watson is an Asian woman and Moriarty is Irene Adler... It's the BBC hit SHERLOCK. Love me some Mofat writing!
But I digress.
Creativity is not formed solely in childhood though. It's formed by how you respond to your average day-to-day. All throughout my life I would constantly be thinking of fascinating and unreal alternatives about scenarios and such. I love fabricating identities to complete strangers, or messing around with friends. I make weird characters and cool stories up for no other purpose than to amuse myself. Acting them out and telling them (respectively), just so I can see the reactions on the faces of others. Now that I'm a writer, I don't feed the need to hoodwink random people, getting my fill of creative expression and then some. But my creativity grows nevertheless. Writing boosts my creativity exponentially.
So don't display, if you find your brain trapped in concrete. The path to seeing the abstract is a zany zigzag, and it runs beside the straight path we walk day to day. It's just a hop away and a hop back, so don't be afraid to create some creativity every now and then.
Friday, July 26, 2013
The loss of our lives would reverse the fate of so many others. That was the sole purpose of the project. That's what we were told, at least. Now, with the pretenses proven false, our parents' naivety seems all the clearer. Or was it greed? My mother and father, like those of the others, were given the ultimate choice. Asked to sacrifice their first born's for the betterment of the human race. N.U.-U.-Corp, placing themselves in the place of God himself-- echoing his harsh demands upon Issac. Yet the demands weren't all too harsh... Well, for them. Our parents donated their walking, bald corpses for the "cause." That cause being an undisclosed amount of cash. None of us knew what price our respective sets of parental units paid, but it didn't matter. To a true parent, the life of their child is off the table. Non-negotiable.
At first, I told myself they did it for genuine reasons... The amount of time I had left versus the cost of keeping me alive wasn't a fair figure. I even believed the delusion that they were genuinely interested in curing the world of my fatal ailment... But that died away. Along with the rest of my innocence... and my compassion. In the end, I fostered my hatred for them, just as I was expected to. Harvesting my spite as inspiration.
But I suppose I should be less vague... Who am I? What did they do to me? What am I now? What became of me, and how did I get fucking even? All good questions, and ones I intend to answer. Honestly, I'm not sure where to begin...
Ah, I guess I'll begin there... It's a decent starting point.
Hold on, let me transfer the memory.
INITIATING MEMORY BANK UPLOAD: DATA FILE 546456007213.
CLICK BELOW TO PROCEED
Saturday, July 20, 2013
You can learn far more from the internet than you could from any school. Then again, the internet stores that information for us... infinitely and indefinitely, so what purpose do we have for learning? I suppose in the future, when the human mind is officially linked up with its ever-growing digital cloud of information (i.e. the world wide web) there will be none. Only the application.
It's my understanding that intellect has often been measured in one's retention and memorization at entry level education, with critical and creative problem solving pushed to the advanced classes-- ones which a large chunk of the population are denied participation in. If the future indeed features an all-knowing humanity, eliminated of the need to actively retain or seek out data... then we truly are standing at the precipice of our race's ultimate, and perhaps final stage in evolution.
With all the truths reaped from mankind's existence readily available at our fingertips, we have become our own gods-- omniscient. The efficiency and innovation will increase at an exponential rate. Hypergrowth, a technological leap of currently unfathomable heights.
We will become immortal within this very century, mark my words. Evolution is all but certain, but the cost is still beyond my scope. Can a world of gods thrive? Or will we be consumed by our own ingenuity? As humanity's darkness, its evil... a force not to be underestimated, especially when amplified by this forthcoming evolution.
Needless to say, these are the kinds of things that concern me, and lately I've been left wondering if others ponder such things as well. What say you, my readers?
What is your vision of the future, and where shall you fall in it?
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
I feel this will take some of the pressure off me and allow me to better focus on the one project I should have been giving my absolute focus for quite some time now. As always, I thank you so much for sticking with me and being such amazing readers. When it comes to writing, I tend to treat what I want to write like an all you can eat buffet... overfilling my plate with so many delicious things that I can't finish any of them! I suppose pacing myself is the key... it's just hard when there are so many awesome stories I want to write! Aye, my head is a cluttered place!