Productivity is for Bitches

January 13, 2009 at 10:15 pm | In Musings | 2 Comments
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An interesting thought just occurred to me. Lately, I’ve been concerned that I haven’t been productive with my time. Instead of writing, I’ve been playing games. Instead of drawing, I’ve been watching videos online. You get the idea.

It was a legitimate concern, and one which I understand fully. But it’s not one that I’ve stopped to question.

It seems I had fallen into one of society’s myriad of cultural lifestyle traps, without even realising it. It’s not uncommon; we have everything we know and think about how we should spend our time drilled into us by a society that demands conformity to it’s mundane and repetitive rituals. As I’ve recently expressed, I’m painfully aware of the societal expectations of a life and how to use/spend it. We go to school to prepare us for a job, and we work until we’re too old, at which point we retire and/or die. Further to this system, we’re led to understand that time is a very valuable thing (not something I disagree with), and that any time we have that we don’t achieve something with is time wasted. Recreational time should be kept to a minimum, and to counteract the effects of more stressful ‘real life’ situations.

And I was of the same line of thought, deluding myself as to being separate. Because whilst I didn’t see myself as subscribing to the idea of being productive through working, I was nonetheless determined to use my time to achieve my own goals. For instance, writing and drawing. Not a bad thought to have, but one which occurs to me, now that I can step back and re-evaluate it, as something decidedly out of character for me.

Because I don’t believe I need to achieve anything with my day. I don’t feel that a day spent playing games and not writing a word is a day wasted. The regret that I feel on coming out of a day with nothing tangible to show for it, no achievements to list and feel satisfied in, was simply a societal construct, designed to lead me back to the path of work and money.

There isn’t any reason for me to rush to achieve these goals. Beyond what is expected of me, I have no motivation to complete anything within any set time frame. If I happen to set myself my own goals, that’s fine, and a perfectly acceptable motivation to work from. But if my only reasoning is based on what others think, and not something I’ve considered and decided for myself, well, it’s not something I can be comfortable with in the long run.

Fuck You, That’s Who Works Here

January 8, 2009 at 6:10 pm | In Musings | Leave a Comment

An interesting thought occurred to me today. Whenever prompted to explain/describe/write something about myself, the same two items always rush to the surface of my mind.

The first is writer. I consider myself, above all else, a writer. Writing is what I do, it’s what I love. I cannot deny that. What surprises me, though, is how readily I apply that label to myself. I have never had any of my work published, or made any money off of writing. My writing consists almost entirely of this blog, and several fictional works that I have yet to complete. I have experimented, and branched out, but never successfully. And I say that not in a dejected manner, merely an amused one. To consider myself a writer at this juncture of my life should feel odd, but it doesn’t. It feels right. (Was slightly tempted to make a right/write pun there. Be glad I didn’t.)

The other is insane. Whomever is asking, the response will be the same. I am in-fucking-sane. And this, too, I mean genuinely. Not that I think I belong in an asylum. I don’t believe I function significantly differently to ‘normal’ to be incompatible with normal society. And I am very easily able to disguise my differences and abnormalities. But it becomes more apparent to me every day that my brain does not function the way everyone else’s does. And I’m okay with that. Hell, I fucking love that.

Anyway, I have little else to add today. I know, it’s uncharacteristically short. But there you go.

Crazy is as Crazy does

December 30, 2008 at 8:04 pm | In Musings | 1 Comment
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What, you thought I was done with the crazy? Oh, far from it. Another snippet for you!

So, my brain seems to work on two channels. That is, at most, if not all times, I have two separate trains of thought occurring simultaneously. I’ve been known to have a song stuck in my head, and when I try and distract myself and think about something else, the something else happens at the same time as the song. Other times, I can find myself experiencing two very different reactions at the same time.

It’s not so obvious that I have two voices in my head, arguing with each other. It’s rather subtle, not something I notice unless I’m actually thinking about it. As I write this, I’m thinking about the next words I’ll be typing, repeating the words to the song I’m listening to in my head, and, since my msn icon is bouncing, trying to guess what people are saying to me. At the SAME FUCKING TIME. Not, like, flicking between all those thoughts rapidly. I’m actually having them simultaneously.

Also, I can think and say completely unrelated things at the same time. I think this one is definitely unique, because when other people seem to do it, they muddle up their words. Obviously, I can’t know for sure.

For all I know, this is totally normal. Maybe everyone has multiple thoughts occurring at once. Perhaps the commonly accepted notion that we have a single, constant stream of thought was fabricated, or at least misguided. I doubt it, though.

I don’t think of it as a bad thing, like I’m some kind of freak. I also don’t think of it as a good thing, like my brain is more competent than anyone else’s. It’s painfully apparent that it isn’t. It’s just something about me that other people don’t seem to share. Nothing more, nothing less.

Why am I writing this here? I don’t know. I enjoy the simple act of writing, regardless of the content. I don’t really care who reads this anymore. I would write it even if no-one did. I would write it if everyone read it. It makes me feel better, putting these things down into words. I could always do it and not publish them, but there’s something about them being accessible and open that makes them that much more satisfactory to me.

I’m beginning to pick up the metaphorical threads of rambling here, so I may cut myself off. I didn’t really go into depth on this one, but I don’t think I really need to, nor do I have any desire too.

Odyssey/The Heart of Darkness

December 24, 2008 at 4:38 pm | In Musings | 1 Comment
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The concept was proposed Wednesday; a journey north, to Sydney. After concluding all business by Friday, we arrived in the heart of Sydney by Saturday night. After copious hours within roasting in the car, with naught for entertainment but old music and new words, it was a welcome relief to be unchained. So there we were. New city, no boundaries, no plans.

We learned a lot about Sydney. Navigating the perplexing urban jungle that is the city was a lesson in both patience and frustration. Supermarkets are few and far between (we found only one in the entirety of the city) but convenience stores litter every block. The city felt hollow, empty, unnatural.

We soon found the reason for the desolation and silence. In our travels, we came across several youths with swords of glowing light. My heart soared at the possibilities, and we raced through the night to the source.

We followed the lights, and trickling crowds, but found no swords.

Instead, we found the city’s heart, arriving to a great cheer and fanfare.

We did find our lightsabers eventually. To them, an overpriced trinket. To us, a symbol. Of our youth, of imagination, of popular culture, of our new found freedom. So armed, we seized the night, accompanied by explosions in the sky, littering the starscape with the briefest of coloured flashes and sound.

The Christmas cheer was alive and well. A solo photo became a group exercise. We never learned their names, but I’ll never forget their smiles.

The night was ours. With glowing swords, we shared the silence, and countless words. Of all the nights to arrive, ours was unsurpassed in its perfection.

All it took was a simple question, one wrong turn, and we had a night to remember.

The following day, we found a park, and learned a simple truth. Parking is expensive, but parks remain eternally free.

And so passed another day in Sydney, nothing tangible achieved, yet a richer experience than any shared with those left behind. We were pioneers, treading new ground over innumerable forgotten footsteps.

But two days in the heart of darkness began its oppression, and we felt suffocated by it. We fled north once more, arriving in Manly after a tedious and lengthy escape from Sydney’s maze of bridges and tunnels.

In Manly, we found peace. Sun, beaches, and swimsuits. Beautiful people and gleeful children, we were outsiders once again.

Drunken abuse, hurled over empty space. He left, but reverberating words echoed within the void.

And so we journeyed home. Familiar, safe and boring.

***

I took notes in sketch form. I’ll take those sketches, and form from them a visual re-telling of our journey. Then I’ll leave it somewhere, for you to read, or not.

Merry Christmas.

Word

December 10, 2008 at 4:13 pm | In Musings, Rants | Leave a Comment
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Fuck I’ve been blogging a lot lately. I go through stages in which I have a lot to say. I should learn to space it out somewhat.

Today’s topic? Words.

I was thinking about my grasp of the english language, and the relationship I have with words and phrases, and I realised, it does not work in the same way for me, as it does for other people. For most people, it seems, they know words, and they use them as per their knowledge. It’s simple, it works, it makes sense. You don’t use words you don’t know, or don’t know the meaning of, right?

But for me, it’s not like that. I have a certain level of understanding that allows me to use a word, without implicitly knowing the definition of that word. By which I mean, I can use a word in a sentence, but if you asked me to define it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

It comes more from an understanding of how a word works, as opposed to what a word means. I know how to use words, I know where to put them and when, but I don’t know how to actually define those words, or explain them.

I think it’s something born of a lot of experience and use of something. In my case, language. I’m a writer, and so my relationship with words is different to that of most people. For an artist, I think they see things differently, and musicians hear things differently. The more we use something, the more our proficiency and comprehension of it is enhanced.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong, and that’s how it works for everyone. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way. And I enjoy that. I appreciate that it makes me different. Not better, I wouldn’t really consider it an advantage, or superiority. Just a different way of thinking.

And I think about words a lot. I hear a word, and I think about how it’s structured. I think about what the different parts of the word mean, and how the word may have originated. I think about how its meaning may have evolved, and how it relates to other words. Words are more than just a medium of expression to me, they’re an art form. Even a single word could be subject to a critical review, should someone feel like dedicating the time to it.

And this infatuation I have with words is ever growing. I look back on things I wrote mere weeks ago with scorn, appalled at my horrendous disregard for the forms and structures that are burned so deeply into my subconscious.

This leads further, too. It is from these origins that my fervent disdain for the destruction of language is born. By which I refer to the disgusting and mutated dialect that has devolved over the internet. Useless slang, unnecessary abbreviations, obscene acronyms, and a purposeful disregard for grammar and spelling. Any time I read these unashamed mutilations of language, I am filled with a fury and loathing unlike any I could ever restrain. 

Of course, most of it originates from 4chan. But no matter the birthing, nay spawning place of these hideous evils, I cannot abide them. Though language is constantly evolving and changing, and certainly it’s become infinitely more colloquial than ages past, but this is different. It’s wrong. And it makes me sick.

Crazy Insane or Insane Crazy?

December 8, 2008 at 8:15 pm | In Musings | Leave a Comment
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Creating blogs for Alex and Becky has really opened a whole new world for me. I realise it may not seem like much, just blogging under what is essentially two fake identities, and then having conversations with myself, but to me, it’s so much more than that.

What I’ve essentially done is split my personality down the middle. I’ve always had two sides to me, this isn’t something new. A part of me has always been cynical, critical, and angry at the world. That side is Becky. And there’s always been a part of me that doesn’t care about that. A side that just wants to live life and have fun. A generous and considerate side. That side is Alex. And they’ve always been at odds.

Honestly, I’ve lived a lot of my life battling with myself, torn by these two alternate personalities within me. A couple of years ago, it really got to me, and I felt like I was losing my mind. But I got over it, and they settled, and essentially I become something of a balance between the two, though with more Alex than Becky.

It was never a mental disorder, I don’t suffer from split personality disorder, or anything like that. I’ve just always been conflicted, and unsure of how to approach it. But these two characters, my light and dark sides, allow me to essentially express both perspectives, and oddly enough, feel less crazy about it. I can start to externalise my internal debates, and let both express themselves.

Of course, neither of them are really me. They’re based on me, but they’ve been exaggerated, expanded, stylised. But at their core, they really are me, and I love having them as a form of expression.

Both blogs now have a link on the sidebar >>>>

I’m really only getting started, getting used to the concept of talking to myself openly, but I think it has real potential, and I can’t wait to see what direction it goes in.

Better still, it’s helping me understand myself, and try to find my perfect inner balance, my true self. I’m finding that the more I express through Alex and Becky, the less of them I find in my normal self, and the less of them I have, the more of me I have. If that makes any sense at all.

Of course, you’re under no obligation to read what they write, but I’d be glad if you did, and offered feedback. But I do ask, when you’re on their blogs, treat them as real people, and not me. There are a lot of reasons for that, but I can’t go into any of them now. Thanks in advance for your cooperation.

Only sometimes…

November 24, 2008 at 2:15 pm | In Musings | 1 Comment
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I just need to run. Run and run and run, and never stop. No slowing down, no looking back. Just running.

The running itself isn’t important. I don’t feel the need to be active, to work particular muscles, to push my body to any level of performance. I just need the movement, the motion, the momentum. I need to feel free, unrestricted, alive. I need to be out, to be in control, to be out of control.

The point of it is the pointlessness. To be doing something for the sheer sake of doing it, for the feeling it provides, for the complete lack of a goal. That is true freedom. As soon as you set a goal, you set yourself a target, something to work towards, you find yourself trapped. You will, eventually, one way or another, find your way to that goal, and thus, the action is ultimately outside your control. Sure, you can choose your path, you can control the journey, but throughout that whole journey, you know exactly where you’ll end up. And I don’t want that. Not ever.

No, I want the undiluted futility of just running, without a destination. Maybe I’ll arrive somewhere; probably I won’t. That’s not important. What matters is that I have found true escapism, a world in which all that matters is the present. It doesn’t matter where I was, or where I will be. It doesn’t even matter where I am now, or why.

I run, and the walls melt away. No longer am I constricted, held within these boundaries, my every action controlled and restricted. The world stretches out and opens up, and I am limited only by myself.

But still I cannot. I have ties to this world, things that cannot be left behind. I am tied to the life I live, and without it, nothing I could find is worth having. And so I remain, and life goes on, banal and empty as ever.

Because I know, even if I run, even if I leave it all behind, I will inevitably, inexorably be drawn back to this world, this existence, and the true freedom I seek would be but a puff of smoke, barely veiling a world I cannot, and would not, escape.

I wonder…

November 18, 2008 at 2:51 pm | In Musings | 3 Comments
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When did ‘mature’ become synonymous with a lack of imagination?

As children, our imaginations run wild. We see what we want to see, we are what we want to be. We are restricted only by how far into the surreal we are willing to tread. Whatever we will, is. It’s called pretending, and it’s a phenomenon experienced only by the youth of any generation.

And as we age, we reach ‘maturity’ and ultimately adulthood, this imagination fades, and we plant ourselves more firmly into the real; into what we can see, touch, hear. We lose our links to the world of make-believe, and any chance we had at imagination. We become ‘normal’, ’sensible’, ‘rational’.

This is not new, nor is it news. It simply is. We all know it, we all accept it. And I ask you: why?

Why can an adult not pretend? Why can they not lose themselves in makeshift worlds, and for a few fleeting moments, become an astronaut, or a firefighter, or a dinosaur?

Have our brains changed? Do they lose the ability to imagine, once we reach a certain age? Are we now incapable of imagination? Of course not, the notion is ridiculous. So why, then?

Perhaps our drab and dreary lives have crushed the imagination out of us. Perhaps we are so suffocated by the repetitive, seemingly aimless existence that plagues society that we no longer have the capacity to imagine. Perhaps we now lack the open mindedness and optimism that children possess innately, and thus cannot travel as far beyond reality as they can.

Or, more likely, we have simply been socially conditioned to accept it. Adults don’t pretend; they are far too busy acting responsibly, setting a good example, making sure the world keeps spinning. They have no time for such silly and pointless antics, and an adult who dares to lose themselves in a fantasy world, and soften their knuckle-whitening grip on the truth, is immature, and irresponsible, and needs to ‘grow up’.

Because whether you see it or not, that is the mindset that blankets our society, and squeezes the imagination out of us. It starts at school; you have to act in a mature way, you need to do as your told, learn what you must, and come out at the other side reading for society. You do not create, you do not imagine. You do not live.

And then it extends to the media that inundates our lives. In every movie, every show, every book we read, the adults are mature, and the children are not. And if that is not the case, then that person is wrong, or odd; an outcast. 

It permeates every inch of our society, until we cannot think in any other way. And when we see an adult act like a ‘child’, we scorn them, shun them, disapprove. Do you not agree? Imagine yourself walking down the street, and seeing a grown man with his arms outstretched, pretending to be a plane. Can you honestly say you would think nothing of it? That you would not think it weird, odd, unusual? More likely you would assume mental disability, or more charitably, perhaps just a lack of maturity. Or perhaps an actor, where is the camera?

Maturity does, of course, have its place. As does the need for staying in the moment, to stay planted within reality. But that is not all the time, and when there is no harm in it, why should we not lose ourselves to fantasy and fiction?

We cannot break away from these entirely. We read books, we watch movies, we tune in to shows, allowing us to witness the unreal, the things we cannot have for ourselves. The desire to have more than we do, to be more than we are, is burned into us at the very core, and yet we force it from ourselves, hold it at arms length, labeling it ‘childish’.

For a person cannot be both mature, and childish. We place them together; opposite sides of a coin. And yet, they are not related, and do not belong with each other. A person could embrace both, if only they gave it a try. There is a time and a place for both, and one need not pick one or the other.

As always, I urge you to be different, to break free, and live a little.

Musical Musings

November 15, 2008 at 1:56 pm | In Musings | Leave a Comment

Sometimes, music just hits me. When I’m in the right mood, I can listen to anything, and appreciate the musical artistry, and just enjoy it.

Other times, I can listen to all my favourite songs, and just not want to hear it. I’ll skip through fifty to listen to half of one, then do it all over again.

Such is the way of my musical taste.

Music is certainly a strange entity. It can be judged on the skill and creativity behind it, or simply on the effect it has on people, and often, those are entirely separate. Still, I think there’s value in almost all music, whether I enjoy listening to it or not. And I certainly appreciate music being taken in new directions, beyond the usual chorus/verse format that all music seems to adhere so strictly too.

That’s all. A shallow wash of thought flowed into me, and leaked out here.

Back to silence now.

Just some thoughts

November 4, 2008 at 7:09 pm | In Musings | 1 Comment
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I wonder…

Why do we allow ourselves to settle into familiar patterns and routines? Why are we happy to do the same thing, day in and day out? Is there a certain comfort to be found in it? Does it feel safe? Free from danger?

Or do we lack the creativity to go out and change things. Are we missing that spark, that flare we need to stop, and say, let’s not do that again today. Let’s do something different, out of the ordinary, unexpected.

Because it feels very much like we’re growing very weary, as a collective race. Increasingly, we are guided into the bland and predictable world of consumerism and banality. Those who try and break the mold are not hailed as heroes, but shunted, as people who threaten the delicate balance of society.

And I wonder where this leads. Will we eventually all grow into zombies, lying to ourselves, telling ourselves our lives are fun, are exciting, are different? Will we start to see even the tiniest of changes as radical, and subconsciously try to stamp them out? Or will we realise what we’ve become, and rise against it?

I don’t know. I’d like to think we’ll change, we’ll grow, but I know all too well how easy it is to fall into routine. I just hope that something happens to snap us out of it, and steers us of this path of boredom and confinement.

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