Never let my guard down.
I thought I was prepared for anything. I guess that's the whole point in this big mess. A single fact that everybody else keep on telling you and that you always overlook. One is never prepared.
I read somewhere before that jealousy - covetousness, if you will - starts young and is deeply rooted in primal emotions. Say a child owns a toy, but neglects it for the other toys around it. Once the ignored toy is taken from him, the child then makes an effort to take it back, despite the fact that it is his least favorite or not the best of the lot. Because one does not know what is taken from him until he realizes what he loses. Or realizes another has taken it from him. Why jealous? Why so jealous; why so Emo on the matter when all should not be?
I couldn't get to fix my life. That is why I created the Mausoleum and the Necropolis. A place where I can question my own sanity in a riotous debate without losing the same sanity that is hanging by a thread. Midlife crisis at such a young age? Or just plain youthful ignorance? I once decided to never believe in fate, or predestination - that I make my own path. And this belief has lead me to construct my own doubts, since the only one to blame is myself; as I just sowed the seeds of my own self-destruction.
Which leads to the only possible and feasible solution: adapt. Keep the damage already done to the minimum levels. Rationalizing without making excuses, understanding the self-made problem without self-pitying, looking for answers to a question so obvious that it just dumbfounds me. I just keep forgetting that I should not blame myself. Once emotions take over, rational thought is thrown straight out the window. Which leads to another age-old question of why? Why should things be complicated, really? Human nature?
Sigmund Freud once said, "Human beings are funny. They long to be with people they love but refuse to admit it openly. Some are afraid to show the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized or worse, returned. But one thing puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be remotely connected with their object of affection even if it slowly kills them from within."
Once again, Doubt. It should be listed as a sin if it reaches this level.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Writer's Block
I have absolutely nothing to type. I just stared at the keyboard for about ten minutes then turned on the telly. Watched the remainder of a crappy movie for about twenty minutes then back to the monitor while the telly buzzed of ads and whatnot...
I just have absolutely nothing to write about. Ironic since I said in a previous post that this blog would serve as a mental exercise. I guess I am out of shape. The day was uneventful, actually, except for random machine-generated text messages I was compelled to forward around. Machine-generated. Heh... Anyways, I was thinking first of typing a few dozen of words about something relevant, started thinking my first sentences, realized that I do not know how to end the whole thing, let alone what goes next.
The creative process starts out big. An idea so profound that a writer cannot wait to get it down on pen and paper... sometimes on toilet paper for lack of material (however, I do make it a habit to carry a pen around, just in case). Then the idea sorts of twists itself into incoherence or something that a writer will eventually realize, "Aw, this is crap." The creative process then starts to dwindle, and saunter ever vaguely downwards. The wasted stage of it is when the writer puts down the pen and does something else. More likely to pull himself away from the crappy work rather than get the ideas together again. And eventually, he gets an idea again - however so rarely.
A lot of writers do not know how or where their story will go next. Will the hero do something really stupid? Will the toaster explode? Will the goldfish turn out to be ancient gods in disguise and finally wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace? Things like that, really. Then your stuck. Like I am now.
Thirty minutes have passed since the last paragraph, and I just packed my bags. Make that an additional ten minutes since I remembered I forgot to pack some cigarettes since that last bit about the bags. And I am back, munching on some leftover rice cakes and chocolate pudding. Thinking of something to write about gives me the munchies. Right now I'm finishing off the last of leftover pasta I salvaged from the fridge, washing it down with more leftover iced tea from supper earlier this night.
Eversince the necropolis was discovered, I found an interesting storyline. One I thought would rival Tolkien, Gaiman, and even my favorite Dragonlance Books. It is actually silly and even, well, for lack of better words... amateur. But it is MY story! Sadly, I could never get past several pages, and when I get lost, the story re-writes itself and never gets finished. By the way, that last paragraph was thought about after downing a glass of home-brewed tea. I felt the pasta might be hard to digest. So... Mmm... another five or six minutes past since.
Now school-wide politics goes through my head after reading several posts on facebook. Damned social networking sites. They do things to you. Like cast doubts. Bugger. Hmmm... sounds like a good plot turn in my story.
After that last bit, I went over my notes (guess I turned out to be the boyscout they said I was), and placed a reminder where to insert that thing about doubt and among other things, confusion and other matters that just happen to pop up at the wrong time.
SO I guess I had something to write after all. Funny, how this ends relatively well enough that a contented feeling came over me. Or was it the pasta? Now it has been another twenty or so minutes since that last sentence. Juts infer what happened from that short period of time that lapsed. No, your potty-headed minds cannot comprehend it. Something to do with pasta, and the last bit. There... I gave a clue.
Back to the mausoleum it is then. Ciao.
I just have absolutely nothing to write about. Ironic since I said in a previous post that this blog would serve as a mental exercise. I guess I am out of shape. The day was uneventful, actually, except for random machine-generated text messages I was compelled to forward around. Machine-generated. Heh... Anyways, I was thinking first of typing a few dozen of words about something relevant, started thinking my first sentences, realized that I do not know how to end the whole thing, let alone what goes next.
The creative process starts out big. An idea so profound that a writer cannot wait to get it down on pen and paper... sometimes on toilet paper for lack of material (however, I do make it a habit to carry a pen around, just in case). Then the idea sorts of twists itself into incoherence or something that a writer will eventually realize, "Aw, this is crap." The creative process then starts to dwindle, and saunter ever vaguely downwards. The wasted stage of it is when the writer puts down the pen and does something else. More likely to pull himself away from the crappy work rather than get the ideas together again. And eventually, he gets an idea again - however so rarely.
A lot of writers do not know how or where their story will go next. Will the hero do something really stupid? Will the toaster explode? Will the goldfish turn out to be ancient gods in disguise and finally wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace? Things like that, really. Then your stuck. Like I am now.
Thirty minutes have passed since the last paragraph, and I just packed my bags. Make that an additional ten minutes since I remembered I forgot to pack some cigarettes since that last bit about the bags. And I am back, munching on some leftover rice cakes and chocolate pudding. Thinking of something to write about gives me the munchies. Right now I'm finishing off the last of leftover pasta I salvaged from the fridge, washing it down with more leftover iced tea from supper earlier this night.
Eversince the necropolis was discovered, I found an interesting storyline. One I thought would rival Tolkien, Gaiman, and even my favorite Dragonlance Books. It is actually silly and even, well, for lack of better words... amateur. But it is MY story! Sadly, I could never get past several pages, and when I get lost, the story re-writes itself and never gets finished. By the way, that last paragraph was thought about after downing a glass of home-brewed tea. I felt the pasta might be hard to digest. So... Mmm... another five or six minutes past since.
Now school-wide politics goes through my head after reading several posts on facebook. Damned social networking sites. They do things to you. Like cast doubts. Bugger. Hmmm... sounds like a good plot turn in my story.
After that last bit, I went over my notes (guess I turned out to be the boyscout they said I was), and placed a reminder where to insert that thing about doubt and among other things, confusion and other matters that just happen to pop up at the wrong time.
SO I guess I had something to write after all. Funny, how this ends relatively well enough that a contented feeling came over me. Or was it the pasta? Now it has been another twenty or so minutes since that last sentence. Juts infer what happened from that short period of time that lapsed. No, your potty-headed minds cannot comprehend it. Something to do with pasta, and the last bit. There... I gave a clue.
Back to the mausoleum it is then. Ciao.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
When in doubt...
Doubt.
Damn that word. It gives a fellow a reason not to sleep well, get agitated, anxious, think twice... in short, well... Screwed.
Doubt breeds insecurities, as I recall, and insecurities tend to make one act in all sorts of manners that are far from being smart. You act stupid, and cannot think straight. Unless the doubt is removed.
A college professor once told us in our moral theology class said, "if there's a doubt, remove the doubt." How do you do that? He answered: "Exegesis. Look for the answers. Think."
"How the hell am I supposed to think when I am in a loss?" Now that would seem a funny moment if it weren't so sad. I am at a loss because I have no idea how the hell I am going to get through this year. I am now contemplating the thought of me not doing anything and just let fate decide. Not really choosing heads or tails, but rather flinging the coin and just catching it repeatedly. Until something comes up and points to me, "THERE, DUMBASS!"
But what am I looking for? Of course an answer to the doubt. But then again, what exactly is the answer?
Will I know it when it just pops in front of me? Will it consist in a long, drawn-out affair of contemplation on, say, like the meaning of life or why the toast lands butter-side-down? Or is it just under my nose, and I'm just too dense to notice? Asking for signs would be good, but that type sort of leads one to see what one wants to see, and not what one really needs to see. And that last one just leads to another series of doubts.
Another story is going to unfold in the Necropolis, and I am sure that it will be interesting, and at the same time a sad one. I myself do not know how it will end. Worse thing is, I do not know what will happen next... Individual factions will vie for supremacy, trapping those in between to struggle amidst that very same sea of doubt. About themselves, the side that they chose, or whether the decision they have taken is right. Even deeper there will be internal struggle in one who is caught in his own doubts. Questioning matters of self-identity, integrity, mettle, and heart.
Makes for a good story, if it were not something too close for comfort. Depressingly close, that is.
Doubt.
I hate the word.
Damn that word. It gives a fellow a reason not to sleep well, get agitated, anxious, think twice... in short, well... Screwed.
Doubt breeds insecurities, as I recall, and insecurities tend to make one act in all sorts of manners that are far from being smart. You act stupid, and cannot think straight. Unless the doubt is removed.
A college professor once told us in our moral theology class said, "if there's a doubt, remove the doubt." How do you do that? He answered: "Exegesis. Look for the answers. Think."
"How the hell am I supposed to think when I am in a loss?" Now that would seem a funny moment if it weren't so sad. I am at a loss because I have no idea how the hell I am going to get through this year. I am now contemplating the thought of me not doing anything and just let fate decide. Not really choosing heads or tails, but rather flinging the coin and just catching it repeatedly. Until something comes up and points to me, "THERE, DUMBASS!"
But what am I looking for? Of course an answer to the doubt. But then again, what exactly is the answer?
Will I know it when it just pops in front of me? Will it consist in a long, drawn-out affair of contemplation on, say, like the meaning of life or why the toast lands butter-side-down? Or is it just under my nose, and I'm just too dense to notice? Asking for signs would be good, but that type sort of leads one to see what one wants to see, and not what one really needs to see. And that last one just leads to another series of doubts.
Another story is going to unfold in the Necropolis, and I am sure that it will be interesting, and at the same time a sad one. I myself do not know how it will end. Worse thing is, I do not know what will happen next... Individual factions will vie for supremacy, trapping those in between to struggle amidst that very same sea of doubt. About themselves, the side that they chose, or whether the decision they have taken is right. Even deeper there will be internal struggle in one who is caught in his own doubts. Questioning matters of self-identity, integrity, mettle, and heart.
Makes for a good story, if it were not something too close for comfort. Depressingly close, that is.
Doubt.
I hate the word.
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