Welcome to my blog. This place is an outlet for my writing and my thoughts — like an average run-of-the-mill blog, but with a creative, semi-fictional twist. The character's environments and actions are usually fictional (though not always), but his thoughts are my own, word for word. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Part Eleven.

Sometimes I sit and think, and I still miss her. It's sad when you miss something you never had in the first place.

I sit in this growing humidity. I feel beads of sweat gathering on my back and forehead.

What does it matter how many opportunities pass me by? There will always be another. Another event to attend, another person to court. A life of constant others.

Music swells in my ears, the violin strings gently being caressed by the bow, a sound of sadness in this case. As quickly as they had come, they were gone, replaced by strings of another sort.

Wanting what you can't have seems like such a falsehood. I see it portrayed in creative mediums, but who actually experiences it? More to the point, what would I do were I presented with it as a condition that I suffer from?

Maybe it would explain things.

More sounds enter my ears: water running through the pipes above me. That annoying, sporadic sound.

Usually I go with my feelings to solve a problem. I listen to my heart, but also something else that I can't explain. Something that I hear, but have no words for. I also see things in my head; images that appear random, but again, they speak to me. Right now, I see a whiteish square grid in front of a black background. The grid is made of a thread of some kind, like string . . . but it's tangled. One corner appears limp, falling in onto itself as a result of the loss of its structural integrity; more knots and snags are scattered around the mesh. I feel this is what's happening with my feelings right now.

I know there's something I have to do, but what? And will I be able to overcome my fear to do it?

Maybe some rest will help me untangle these knots.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Part Ten.

I walk along this familiar road, listening to familiar voices. The summer sun warms me to the point of discomfort, though it's not unbearable.

It's time to separate the good from the bad, I've reasoned. The trustworthy from the unworthy; the almighty from the powerless. Even if that means throwing myself in harms way every once in a while.

I approach the café & bookstore, somewhat unsure of what to do next. I decide to enter, and am plunged into a new world—small as it might be.

"Nothing worth having in life comes easy", a disgruntled doctor once told me. I used to take that as, "you have to suffer to get what you want," and that stopped me from taking chances. I now realize there's more than one way to play this game.

I scan the books, examining their presentation. Some are obviously old, their spines streaked with white, cracked lines. I arrive at the section I came for and begin searching for those special words; that distinctive visual. After triple checking, I continue across the shelves to a new section, my hands remaining empty.

I've noticed the pressure of the world more often lately. The periods off on my own are of a stark contrast to the rest of my time; indeed, even the rest of the world. Perhaps I give myself too much credit. Or perhaps others don't give themselves enough.

"No thanks, I'm just looking," I reply to the employee, a young man not much older than myself. Though he seems more relaxed than other employees at other establishments, I still feel he is trying too hard. But would I really be any different?

Perhaps I give myself too much credit.

I leave the café enriched. Not astronomically, and indeed, others will not even notice this small change unless it's compounded with more of the same. But it's there. What will happen with it is in my hands, though I don't like to admit it. I prefer to listen to my feelings and trust that they will guide me to where I need to go. Perhaps I give myself too much credit.

Or perhaps others don't give themselves enough.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Part Nine.

The trick is to enjoy the good times when they decide to show up. Take them out to a movie and make the experience last as long as you can.

I sit on a bench along this winding trail. Behind me, a playground. In front of me, a river populated by ducks. The sun is high in the sky.

I suppose I still don't believe it. I mean, when you've been around this particular block as many times as I have, you'd be a little more than sceptical too. There is a difference this time, though: I know I want this to last.

Many people walk by me as I sit. Many couples holding hands. Right now it doesn't bother me.

It's so weird feeling unbridled happiness. I've felt it often enough to become comfortable with it, and of course enjoy it. But when it stands alone, it doesn't mean as much as when it has a darker backdrop behind it. Where do you find the rainbow? Only after rain.

The children play in the playpark behind me. Their shrill cries of joy remind me of when I too was young enough to care about nothing more than the ratio of the amount of fun I could have verses the amount of time that was left. In this way, I have yet to grow up.

And I hope I never do.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Experimental Fiction / D.S. Variety

Horrific wonders of the world, sound off like you've got a pair!

The victory march around the neighbourhood lasts not even a block.

Now the chorus of defeat, you must make yourselves heard! We all know how hard you try to be noticed.

Regret injected with delight; a dessert that's come to be delicious. The kind you enjoy but wish you'd never experienced.

Satisfaction, sound off! Are you present today?

... No. It's gone AWOL.

The more you desire, the more you require to feed the new stomach. The more familiar an enemy becomes.

The more you desire, the more you require, like a snowball rolling down a hill. The more you need something, the more you're scared to live without it.

The more you desire, the more you require.

I am not a harsh teacher, nor am I a withdrawal of symptoms. I am simply an unfiltered eye. And an unfiltered eye lacks a bias toward the intricacies of my own shortcomings.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Part Eight.

The sun shines brightly as I walk out the door of my workplace. The street in front of me curves upward, obstructing the view onward. I take a right turn instead and proceed down an oppositely curved hill.

These days I find myself wandering down paths I've been before. Doing things I've done before. Feeling things I've felt before. Habits that I have a desire to break, but for one reason or another cannot — "I don't know any other way," I reason. "I need to do this." My avoidance has many identities, but I somehow manage to see through them all. I suppose when you spend enough time with something, you develop a deeper understanding of the internal components that keep it going.

I cross the parking lot, leave the sidewalk, and step onto the trail that leads home. The sun shines through the trees, illuminating the edges of the leaves.

So... should I be happy that I can see through my own lies now? Or should I be angry that I needed so much time to do so? That I needed to bear a burden just so I can understand what it's like to live without one? Even at this moment, I still cannot comprehend living without this pit I call a home. Perhaps one day soon I will.

I stop at the intersection, even though the lights are still green. I don't like to take chances and possibly make a fool out of myself. Irony if I've ever heard it.

I've caught brilliant white-light moments of happiness and would like that to continue... but maybe what makes it so great is knowing it won't last. After all, the grass can't grow without a little rain. On the other hand, too much will destroy it. So where is the happy medium? Where can I find the lush green that I so desire?

A long stretch of sidewalk, a left turn, and another intersection. The clouds have come to join the sun more closely, partially covering the sphere and forcing the light to push through the cotton.

Perhaps it's about compromise. Perhaps it's about letting things go and not caring. Perhaps it's about something I haven't discovered yet. Or perhaps I've been right all along and I just need to keep waiting.

Perhaps the lack of emotion is what makes it so emotional.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Part Seven.

"I'll learn to get by on the little victories." For some reason, it's harder to do than it sounds. And for some reason, that surprises me.

The rain pours from the sky, beating down on the window. I'm thankful that I'm sick today and need to stay inside.

I've done all I can for now. Everything is in the open. I just wish I had more to say.

A dark sky was an unsettling sight in the middle of the day—the grey clouds throwing drop after drop atop the surface—but I feel protected within these walls. In here, I can heal. I can stay for as long as I need so as to gather the last scraps of courage before I head out into the world.

I've been thinking about courage lately and how its affected me. It's strange to think that I can sink to such a dark place and still manage to climb out of it. Perhaps I'm more courageous than I thought ... or perhaps I simply lack the understanding needed to see how foolish I am. On the surface that sounds like a bad thing, but I don't believe it falls into that category this time.

I see a car slosh through a particularly large puddle. Water flies up onto the sidewalk.

Doing something different can be beneficial. It doesn't have to be done all the time, though—sometimes you can do something different by not doing something different. Of course, by doing that you would be doing something different, which would go against the desire to do nothing different. It's a conundrum.

A citizen enters my view. She is on the sidewalk. A large gust of wind tugs her umbrella backward and she awkwardly stumbles. Looking around to make sure nobody saw, she continued.

There is a message here, though. By doing something different, you can expand yourself into territory you had no idea you wanted to occupy, achievements you had no idea you could attain, and activities you had no idea you could enjoy. It's kind of amazing how blind we are unless we experience everything—and I mean everything—that life has to offer. The problems is that there aren't enough years available to us to see everything. You could rush through it all, of course, mindlessly checking things off your bucket list and never fully taking it in. But by doing that you're missing the point entirely.

I portion purple liquid onto a spoon and swallow it—then do it again. The taste is horrendous, so I eat a slice of bread afterwards. Outside, the sky brightens, but rain continues to beat the window like a drum.

I guess I'm going through with this because it's something different. Confidence is an item in short supply in my shop; occasionally shipped in from third parties, but never in stock very long. No matter the outcome, this will definitely alter how I view things from now on.

"And if the world decides to catch up with me, it's a little victory."

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Part Six.

I find myself upheaving rock after rock, hoping to find something valuable underneath. Some long lost wisdom I once discarded. So far, nothing.

It's another day, which means another walk home from work. The sun is still bright and there are no clouds to stop the rays from touching the earth.

Is it wrong to want more? On the other hand, is it wrong to want less? In this case, sabotaging myself would be foolish. I asked myself what the point of fighting a losing battle was—and it turns out the answer was pretty obvious. You give it your all so you don't have to ask 'what if' later on.

If you go down, you go down swingin'.