Attachment won't kill you (yet)
What I've been dreading for this year and half of the next -- because I get out of school in June -- is that I'll never see the people whom I've hung out with (and just now as well)...but there are other worries that I need to document.
This is officially a vent as this has been something on my mind as of late --
I know that life will go on and all sorts of things but life sucks...a lot. Especially when you're not 18 and your parent insists that they hold your hand all the way, bribing you with the benefits of a job they have and the companionship of a woman whom I probably should despise...for being six years older than me...and being married to said parent. :|
I'm having my doubts people -- about that union (that's already documented and official) -- and it made me realize how much of a skeptic I am, or have grown to be.
As kids we listened and did as told. If there was something that caught our eye on the flashing picture square with little people in it (a.k.a the tv) we emulated them, or their likeness. And we thought nothing of it. it was just something we did and thought was right or felt good. That blindness, to the consequences, was something only a kid could do since they haven't quite developed their moral system. Someone had to do it for them, until they could think for themselves. Of my childhood I'll tell you this much:
1) I dressed up as a little princess and held a little party when the dad was away at work. The entree served was no entree but a tray of hastily mixed Quik mix. We gathered in my brother's room (one was living with us that time) and listened to the music of the game he was playing in the other room via receiver and radio. He was notably annoyed. When the time came for the dad to come home, I pushed my guests out the back door while I rushed out the front door, hid behind a dumpster, and (like a stalker) watched him walk from his car to the front door of the apartment. I don't know till this day whether he saw me or not (I was wearing a pink Cinderella dress after all -- it was for a life size barbie).
2) I put a chicken egg -- the ones from the carton -- under a bird plush toy to see if it would hatch. There was even a nest I made of cotton balls. I honestly thought a chick would hatch. When a considerable amount of time passed, I was impatient and cracked the egg open. I noted the white embryo and said that a chick was going to hatch from the egg eventually! If only there was more time... haha of couse not. I was so optimistic about it too.
3) There was a time when a brother and I made a dollhouse (a simple blocky two story one) out of yugioh cards, paper and tape. The windows were saran wrap covered squares and the carpet was some thin spongy stuff that was used to keep decorative objects in place on a slippery surface. Beds were the tops of small boxes stuffed with cotton and the pillows were the round things in jewelry cases to put rings in. The characters we used for this house (and even for chess and a tactics RPG like game) were little toys and figurines, like a mini Pikachu and even a little troll thingy with the hair standing up...among other knick knacks. The toys were leftovers of a very present-filled Christmas. I don't remember the little details of the house now, like how the hell lights were incorporated into that thing but lights were there. Too bad that it was destroyed (probably by him or by the mom, not sure, I don't want to ask). The time spent with this house was time spent away from the mom, who pretty much dominated the house. It was an escape when the video games were taken away.
Of the things I tend to remember from those years were negative visions of my mom (and dad, but mostly my mom) and the embarrasing moments that bring shame to me. I barely remember the fun things. It's always the bad things.
I've tried to think of something else, or not think about it at all, but when the subject comes as to how my life was basically screwed over and turned into a confusing living hell...well, I blame the mom. Then I blame myself because I blame someone who was going through some problems that I could never comprehend (but did she have to resort to hitting their kids or unusually punishing them for miniscule things?). Why am I doing this in the first place? Why should I think of my past if it bars me from moving forward? Living in the present...whatever happened to that?
What I've been asking myself... is this:
"What am I guilty for?"
I do not cling to faith. I am a skeptic. I trust very little but have a love for mankind and their advances. I also despise mankind for their flaws. It balances each other out. I believe that we are delusional in the sense that we give things, objects, ideas more meaning than they should have. And we blindly go along with it. I disagree with logic being rationalized by untouchable things, so demonstrated by math and lab science.
"What are numbers? What are particles?" I know particales are what makes us but we have to imagine that they're there UNLESS you have the tehnology to see them. As for numbers...well...I have nothing for that. Putting that aside, it teaches you to think logically and that certain things have certain answers, guaranteed answers probably, but that's just me theorizing.
Anywho, though I like what life has to offer (if you're willing to keep with the program) I don't see the point in it if we die and rot in the ground (or are burned to smithereens if you so prefer). (That's why people have "faith" for).
Isn't that called nihilism?
I don't agree with that too.
There is a point in life and that point is what you make it out to be. Your actions do do something to you and other people.
There's another -ism for this but I can't recall it now.
...
..
.
.
.
Vent aside. Ideas are abstract (and I prefer abstract ideas). But it'll kill you. It isn't real. You can't touch abstract ideas. You can keep creating it on and on and on and it'll never end. People will take whatever idea there is, from whatever source -- it doesn't matter -- and morph it to whatever they Will it to be. In a way, we are our own Gods. We govern our life and whatever path we take. We judge others and they judge us...to name a few. If it's so, there isn't any point to wallow in abstractions (to wallow in a false reality -- in our past since it exists in fragments of memory).
So...
Live.
Whatever happens happens -- just let it be and deal with it however your able with whatever you're already supplied with.
...but it doesn't mean that real life attachments can't "kill" you either.
It's all just a matter of time.
Just saying *shrugs*
This is officially a vent as this has been something on my mind as of late --
I know that life will go on and all sorts of things but life sucks...a lot. Especially when you're not 18 and your parent insists that they hold your hand all the way, bribing you with the benefits of a job they have and the companionship of a woman whom I probably should despise...for being six years older than me...and being married to said parent. :|
I'm having my doubts people -- about that union (that's already documented and official) -- and it made me realize how much of a skeptic I am, or have grown to be.
As kids we listened and did as told. If there was something that caught our eye on the flashing picture square with little people in it (a.k.a the tv) we emulated them, or their likeness. And we thought nothing of it. it was just something we did and thought was right or felt good. That blindness, to the consequences, was something only a kid could do since they haven't quite developed their moral system. Someone had to do it for them, until they could think for themselves. Of my childhood I'll tell you this much:
1) I dressed up as a little princess and held a little party when the dad was away at work. The entree served was no entree but a tray of hastily mixed Quik mix. We gathered in my brother's room (one was living with us that time) and listened to the music of the game he was playing in the other room via receiver and radio. He was notably annoyed. When the time came for the dad to come home, I pushed my guests out the back door while I rushed out the front door, hid behind a dumpster, and (like a stalker) watched him walk from his car to the front door of the apartment. I don't know till this day whether he saw me or not (I was wearing a pink Cinderella dress after all -- it was for a life size barbie).
2) I put a chicken egg -- the ones from the carton -- under a bird plush toy to see if it would hatch. There was even a nest I made of cotton balls. I honestly thought a chick would hatch. When a considerable amount of time passed, I was impatient and cracked the egg open. I noted the white embryo and said that a chick was going to hatch from the egg eventually! If only there was more time... haha of couse not. I was so optimistic about it too.
3) There was a time when a brother and I made a dollhouse (a simple blocky two story one) out of yugioh cards, paper and tape. The windows were saran wrap covered squares and the carpet was some thin spongy stuff that was used to keep decorative objects in place on a slippery surface. Beds were the tops of small boxes stuffed with cotton and the pillows were the round things in jewelry cases to put rings in. The characters we used for this house (and even for chess and a tactics RPG like game) were little toys and figurines, like a mini Pikachu and even a little troll thingy with the hair standing up...among other knick knacks. The toys were leftovers of a very present-filled Christmas. I don't remember the little details of the house now, like how the hell lights were incorporated into that thing but lights were there. Too bad that it was destroyed (probably by him or by the mom, not sure, I don't want to ask). The time spent with this house was time spent away from the mom, who pretty much dominated the house. It was an escape when the video games were taken away.
Of the things I tend to remember from those years were negative visions of my mom (and dad, but mostly my mom) and the embarrasing moments that bring shame to me. I barely remember the fun things. It's always the bad things.
I've tried to think of something else, or not think about it at all, but when the subject comes as to how my life was basically screwed over and turned into a confusing living hell...well, I blame the mom. Then I blame myself because I blame someone who was going through some problems that I could never comprehend (but did she have to resort to hitting their kids or unusually punishing them for miniscule things?). Why am I doing this in the first place? Why should I think of my past if it bars me from moving forward? Living in the present...whatever happened to that?
What I've been asking myself... is this:
"What am I guilty for?"
I do not cling to faith. I am a skeptic. I trust very little but have a love for mankind and their advances. I also despise mankind for their flaws. It balances each other out. I believe that we are delusional in the sense that we give things, objects, ideas more meaning than they should have. And we blindly go along with it. I disagree with logic being rationalized by untouchable things, so demonstrated by math and lab science.
"What are numbers? What are particles?" I know particales are what makes us but we have to imagine that they're there UNLESS you have the tehnology to see them. As for numbers...well...I have nothing for that. Putting that aside, it teaches you to think logically and that certain things have certain answers, guaranteed answers probably, but that's just me theorizing.
Anywho, though I like what life has to offer (if you're willing to keep with the program) I don't see the point in it if we die and rot in the ground (or are burned to smithereens if you so prefer). (That's why people have "faith" for).
Isn't that called nihilism?
I don't agree with that too.
There is a point in life and that point is what you make it out to be. Your actions do do something to you and other people.
There's another -ism for this but I can't recall it now.
...
..
.
.
.
Vent aside. Ideas are abstract (and I prefer abstract ideas). But it'll kill you. It isn't real. You can't touch abstract ideas. You can keep creating it on and on and on and it'll never end. People will take whatever idea there is, from whatever source -- it doesn't matter -- and morph it to whatever they Will it to be. In a way, we are our own Gods. We govern our life and whatever path we take. We judge others and they judge us...to name a few. If it's so, there isn't any point to wallow in abstractions (to wallow in a false reality -- in our past since it exists in fragments of memory).
So...
Live.
Whatever happens happens -- just let it be and deal with it however your able with whatever you're already supplied with.
...but it doesn't mean that real life attachments can't "kill" you either.
It's all just a matter of time.
Just saying *shrugs*
In which the writer speaks to her other self
I must be crazy to start writing spontaneously from a list I made up yesterday. A total number of 32 titles - unless I add more of course. I call it the "Possible Title List" because I was thinking up of a good title for that vampire story (so far still unnamed). I said to myself, because I was getting possible titles for everything else BUT that story, "Why not write them out?" And I did.
One of those titles was -
The Castle of Cloud/Klaude/Klaude's Castle
So now you know why I had that piece up in the past post. Now for the angry part.
"Why did you start this now?!!?" *headdesk*
Now for the excuses part.
"Just to start writing so I can follow up with the unfinished chapters in the other stories."
Now for the "You idiot" part.
"Still, you should've left it as a one-shot, you idiot."
And then for the "Wait a minute" part.
"Wait a minute, it isn't like I knew it was going to blow out of proportion. Besides, it's for fun. It has no deadlines or anything of the sort."
"But so is everything else you started - except that one thing a year ago... Still. you should've waited maybe, or thought it over. Working on three stories while having to cough up drawings? What are you doing to yourself?"
"Doing what I love of course. Writing, drawing... I know it should matter because everyone else I know has their futures laid out for them while I don't. One's getting married, the others going to community college to study, another is moving out and another is probably going to go nowhere (no offense whoever I'm talking about, I'm pulling out examples from my currently dead brain). The uncertainty, of course it scares me, but I can't sit here and worry about things that don't exist!"
"Your point?"
"So... My way of coping - way of staving off the worrying - is to write what I've always wanted to write about, whatever comes to mind, whatever troubles I'm going through - every single thing that I see and hear goes into my writing somehow. It's the medium that I'm much more comfortable expressing myself freely."
"...you do know your setting yourself up for a great fall? Those worlds you've created, yes, those you hide yourself in, eventually it'll consume you whole and what will happen then?"
"That's why you're here. you can stop that from happening."
"But you don't listen!"
"Okay. Yes. I admit, I write sometimes on impulse -"
"Sometimes?"
"Hey, you've got to give me some credit now. I write because I want to and I can. Sometimes it's impulse, sometimes it's obligation or determination to see those chapters accumulate in your documents folder or get to a certain scene you particularly like."
"...okay."
"But talking about writing is so much more simpler than actually doing it. It's actually - everything, life, drawing, writing...not so much writing, just some specific stories are giving me trouble at the moment - starting to collapse, like the floor just...dissolved, or is dissolving slowly. I feel I need guidance, yet I don't want it."
"There's an easy solution."
"What?"
"Get out more. Walk the block - and not in your head or just down the stairs - actually go outside, wear pants and shoes and walk. The thing when writing, everything consumes you even if there is no specific rise in word count. The worlds, the characters - their voices, desires, loves and hopes and their fate - you hold them all in your mind and that wears you out. Before you know it everything mixes together, becoming a single monstrous entity that you carry like Atlas and the sky. So, mentally, you get crushed and maybe you can take the pressure but it eventually gets to you. You know your limits but even then you disregard that - thinking you're invincible - and push the envelope. And it's all for the characters."
"I love them all, shouldn't that matter?"
"Yes. but, love itself is like fiction. It isn't a physical like a person. It's an idea, an emotion - a character - and is malleable. It's definition is different for everyone and is used in different ways. Love is indirect. Adoration is a bit more closer to being clear with what you say. Think of it like this: Love is to Adoration; Beautiful is to Attractive; Movie characters to the Working man, you know, that guy working down the block at the construction site. You don't see them whistling."
"Now it's my turn to ask your point."
"Of course you love your characters. You made them. But you can't physically show them you care and vice versa. They don't exist so your love is, as it's multiple definitions, very empty. You're only saying it to give them more meaning."
"And...?"
"That'll kill you. You fear Death. I know you - I am you - and you don't want to die not doing anything."
"Sure. But the mad part of being a writer - the madness of being "brave" - is to face your fear."
"Oh. Right. Like being "brave" in writing is helping you in real life."
"Okay. I'll consider that -"
"It's true!"
"Alright. But I don't want to live in real life..."
"There's your problem."
"But it isn't like I know that. Since we're being honest, I envy everyone else who isn't missing out on...on whatever this time of our lives is supposed to be... BUT, I do not envy the things that some people do to themselves just to "live" among other teenagers. At least, what I'm doing, isn't so life-changing as, say, having a baby when you're seventeen."
"..."
"I don't want that kind of "real-life." My "real life" is different. Besides, this is summer. My last summer as a k-12 student. Next year it'll either be "college kid" or "freeloader." You'll just have to see - that's what everyone says."
"... Being uncertain is killing me."
"And I embrace being uncertain."
"This is giving me a headache."
"I know - I'm you remember?"
"Why the hell be a writer? There's the options of being an illustrator...or a psychologist. Ach, this ache is killing me..."
"Haven't I already covered that?"
"In a nutshell, please."
"I'm insane, duh."
Back from the hospital!
So this past week, I've been lamenting over my sore arms.
On Monday was my physical exam - on which I was told I needed a total of five injections. On that day I got three - two on my left arm, one on the right - and for the whole day I was tired (not to mention it was unbearably hot). And today I got the last two and you know what? That HPV shot hurts like hell! What? Do they use a larger needle? D: Anywho, I'm done ranting about that.
On Monday was my physical exam - on which I was told I needed a total of five injections. On that day I got three - two on my left arm, one on the right - and for the whole day I was tired (not to mention it was unbearably hot). And today I got the last two and you know what? That HPV shot hurts like hell! What? Do they use a larger needle? D: Anywho, I'm done ranting about that.
Well that and I'm sleepy. Later I'll check out everbody's posts and reply to comments - all that stuff you know. :)
...That was a pretty useless post.
Ever had one of those moments...
...where your muse takes you rollerblading? But you have no idea how to roller blade so your muse lets go of your hand and you crash into a big wet pile of leaves? Though you can't deny that while your muse was with you, you were enjoying the ride. You know...the wind, the breeze, a feeling similar to flight - cloud nine - before you realize that you don't want to move your knees else you'd lose balance and fall.
Well, after that fall, you're exhausted. And if you didn't have knee pads you'd have nicked your knees, or if you skidded across the neighbor's lawn, you'd have grass stains - or both. All in all you're tired and beaten, fumbling with the straps of the confounded contraption on your feet, and you curse for it seems that your muse has ditched you so it wouldn't appear to be the one at fault.
So where does that leave me?
Late last night, my muse gave me those roller blades. It was a fun ride that lasted...hmm...from sometime past midnight to 7 or 8 in the morning. And what I got was chapter seven in longhand and a sense of accomplishment for finally starting and finishing it.
So I closed the notebook and decided to sleep. Didn't work out. I ended up getting something to eat and later drank a gulp or two of sour milk... *shivers* Terrible stuff (and it wasn't even past the expiration yet). So I settled for oatmeal, after washing down the milk with flat coca-cola (it was better than nothing) and returned upstairs where I watched the news and Dr. Katz. Interesting morning? Quite. Later I turned off the television, opened the blinds (it was surprisingly cool and windy today) and read several chapters of Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones before finally sleeping.
...And here's something I should mention, yet I shouldn't, then again I feel I should.
I read aloud with the stereotypical British accent. Actually, whenever I talk (and there were instances at school) that accent slips out sometimes and I'd get these confused stares or laughter or questions. >.> Anywho, reading in that accent was kind of appropriate since...she was a British author...but anyway, it was a fun morning. BUT, I was told to wake up "early" because that day I had to go and get my senior photo taken...which led to my mother and I going around town to eat something, window shop and watch Year One (the one with Jack Black and Michael Cera) before heading home with dinner and a smoothie... Of course, I wasn't totally zombified due to lack of sleep - there was a time where I hadn't slept for thirty to forty somewhat hours and I was as lame as a manila folder taped to a beige wall...
So it has been a full day and I'm going to read in my faux accent and sleep - and then type out the chapter starting tomorrow.
And for some personal thoughts...
Lately I've been yearning to return to my fantasy writer self and have, all during Year Zero, been dabbling with the world of a project I started in middle school - the title of my blog - Ephemeral Wings. I suppose it's my life project because it was the first serious thing I tried to do after writing a horrid fanfic and even more terrible beginner stories... But now, after years of contemplating and putting it off because it just didn't seem original enough.... I started writing a few days ago and found myslef more involved and in love with the story.
And then, with that love churning out more ideas and making me type, I realized that that story would have to have sequels. Then that led me to Year Zero and that it too would have to have a sequel to it too since there are certain characters I want to explore. But I suppose I'll have to ask the readers about that - if they would like a full out sequel or one shots regarding a single character (good thing Wordpress has polls). But that's far off in the future...
Then that led me to the vampire story - but that won't have a sequel, oh no - but it became a longer project when it was first conceived in the dregs of summer 07.
And then there are the other projects under my belt - especially one a friend/fellow author suggested.
As I list everything out it all sounds plain overwhelming and stressful and complicated with all these characters wanting their story told, but, the more I laid out Ephemeral Wings and the more I worked on Year Zero, the more it became apparent to me that some of those characters were merely a deviation of the original characters I planned for my original story. And with all the years of not working on it, those characters changed and made their own paths the more I read and drew, taking in differing influences all the while.
So, in the end, there might not be a lot on my plate after all. I'm learning to choose my battles carefully now because I thrived on what was "in" at the moment.
Here's a visual -
Holy crappleberries Batman! It's a three-slayer cake! nom nom nom?
I am cannibal cake no more! Huzzah! *laughs in a triumphant and dramatic way*
...That cake is pretty creepy but it would be awesome to have one just like it one day.
Well, after that fall, you're exhausted. And if you didn't have knee pads you'd have nicked your knees, or if you skidded across the neighbor's lawn, you'd have grass stains - or both. All in all you're tired and beaten, fumbling with the straps of the confounded contraption on your feet, and you curse for it seems that your muse has ditched you so it wouldn't appear to be the one at fault.
So where does that leave me?
Late last night, my muse gave me those roller blades. It was a fun ride that lasted...hmm...from sometime past midnight to 7 or 8 in the morning. And what I got was chapter seven in longhand and a sense of accomplishment for finally starting and finishing it.
So I closed the notebook and decided to sleep. Didn't work out. I ended up getting something to eat and later drank a gulp or two of sour milk... *shivers* Terrible stuff (and it wasn't even past the expiration yet). So I settled for oatmeal, after washing down the milk with flat coca-cola (it was better than nothing) and returned upstairs where I watched the news and Dr. Katz. Interesting morning? Quite. Later I turned off the television, opened the blinds (it was surprisingly cool and windy today) and read several chapters of Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones before finally sleeping.
...And here's something I should mention, yet I shouldn't, then again I feel I should.
I read aloud with the stereotypical British accent. Actually, whenever I talk (and there were instances at school) that accent slips out sometimes and I'd get these confused stares or laughter or questions. >.> Anywho, reading in that accent was kind of appropriate since...she was a British author...but anyway, it was a fun morning. BUT, I was told to wake up "early" because that day I had to go and get my senior photo taken...which led to my mother and I going around town to eat something, window shop and watch Year One (the one with Jack Black and Michael Cera) before heading home with dinner and a smoothie... Of course, I wasn't totally zombified due to lack of sleep - there was a time where I hadn't slept for thirty to forty somewhat hours and I was as lame as a manila folder taped to a beige wall...
So it has been a full day and I'm going to read in my faux accent and sleep - and then type out the chapter starting tomorrow.
And for some personal thoughts...
Lately I've been yearning to return to my fantasy writer self and have, all during Year Zero, been dabbling with the world of a project I started in middle school - the title of my blog - Ephemeral Wings. I suppose it's my life project because it was the first serious thing I tried to do after writing a horrid fanfic and even more terrible beginner stories... But now, after years of contemplating and putting it off because it just didn't seem original enough.... I started writing a few days ago and found myslef more involved and in love with the story.
And then, with that love churning out more ideas and making me type, I realized that that story would have to have sequels. Then that led me to Year Zero and that it too would have to have a sequel to it too since there are certain characters I want to explore. But I suppose I'll have to ask the readers about that - if they would like a full out sequel or one shots regarding a single character (good thing Wordpress has polls). But that's far off in the future...
Then that led me to the vampire story - but that won't have a sequel, oh no - but it became a longer project when it was first conceived in the dregs of summer 07.
And then there are the other projects under my belt - especially one a friend/fellow author suggested.
As I list everything out it all sounds plain overwhelming and stressful and complicated with all these characters wanting their story told, but, the more I laid out Ephemeral Wings and the more I worked on Year Zero, the more it became apparent to me that some of those characters were merely a deviation of the original characters I planned for my original story. And with all the years of not working on it, those characters changed and made their own paths the more I read and drew, taking in differing influences all the while.
So, in the end, there might not be a lot on my plate after all. I'm learning to choose my battles carefully now because I thrived on what was "in" at the moment.
Here's a visual -
Holy crappleberries Batman! It's a three-slayer cake! nom nom nom?
I am cannibal cake no more! Huzzah! *laughs in a triumphant and dramatic way*
...That cake is pretty creepy but it would be awesome to have one just like it one day.
