Posts

The Fountain Dancers

I still don't know what the hell happened.

Not the best way to start a recount of a moment in my life but I've no other way to tell it. I have no idea what the hell I saw one day in February of this year. Well, that isn't entirely true. I do know what I saw and that's about all I can give you.

So, to begin. It was Friday afternoon in Old Towne Orange. I had just come from my shift at the library, had lunch and was reading Don Quixote in the park. It was a nice day, there was a calm breeze in the still chill air and for once the Circle was quiet of all the cars dangerously driving through the roundabout. There weren't many people at the park, maybe a few couples scattered around. I would occasionally glance up to watch birds flying through the flowering Jacaranda trees, the beautiful citrus scent of the few orange trees was comforting and familiar. It was a very poetic setting. Idyllic, beautiful, complete with a babbling fountain in the center and gentle winds.

It…

Whatever

I've been feeling very unfulfilled, very lonely and angry lately. Feeling like nobody cares, nobody gives a crap. Feeling like there's nothing anymore and that my little basket of worries is starting to overfill, getting ready to topple over once again. I don't feel right in my skin anymore. I don't feel well. I'm tired and I can't stop thinking about how tired I am. I'm annoyed and sick of feeling sick and alone and tired and angry. I'm just done with most things right and I think I need to change something. I need to do something. I don't like this. I hate all this. Whatever.

,,,

I hate this all.

Interesting series to check out

Here is a list of interesting series on Youtube

Welcome to Night Vale


The West Records


Tribe Twelve


Marble Hornets


Eckvanet

Enjoy.

Food

Something that really annoys me is this idea that some vegan and vegetarians that they are in some way superior to those that eat meat. I know that most people don't hold this view but it is one that I encounter again and again. I hear the same sentiments expressed by these people over and over as well. "Well, you know, I don't eat anything that's alive." or "I'd never eat anything that breathes!" as they scarf down every plant imaginable.

The thing with eating is, it always creates death. No matter what you eat, you're killing and then consuming something. whether that thing be a pig/cow/fish or a head of lettuce/beat/carrot etc. Just because plants aren't fuzzy and warm and they don't have eyes doesn't mean they aren't alive. Studies have shown that plants have feelings, they might be able to feel pain. Interestingly plants produce oxygen while all animals, including us, only produce waste and carbon dioxide.

Just a reminder, I…

Random Quotes and Poems

Ever reeking from the vales of earth
Ascends to us life's fevered surge,
Wealth's excess, the rage of dearth,
Smoke of death meals on the gallows verge;
Greed without end, imprisoned air;
Murderers' hands, usurers' hands, hands of prayer;
Exhales in featid breath the swarm
Whipped on by fear and lust, blood raw, blood warm,
Breathing blessedness and savage heats,
Eating itself and spewing what it eats,
Hatching war and lovely art,
Decking out with idiot craze
Bawdy houses while they blaze,
Through the childish fair-time mart
Weltering to its own decay
In the glare of pleasure's way,
Rising for each newborn and then
Sinking for each to dust again.

But we above you ever more residing
In the ether's star translumined ice
Know not day nor night nor time's dividing,
Wear nor age nor sex for our device.
All your sins and anguish self-affrighting,
Your murders and lascivious delighting
Are to us but as a show
Like the suns that circling go,
Changing not our day for night;
On your frenzied l…

Pretensions in the Craft

As I wait, tortuously, for a reply from a magazine, I was struck recently by something a friend of mine said while we were having some coffee. "Writers," he said, "are mostly full of themselves."

"Well," I said, "of course they are." Everyone wants to be the next Hemingway, or Dickens and in that reaching to the heights some actually believe they are the next great author. Pretension runs high in all forms of art and all artists are either a little pretentious and a touch humble, or a little humble and mostly pretentious. Though it seems to me---maybe because I'm around more writers than visual artists, maybe because I've been lucky and have meet mostly decent people---that writers tend towards pretension more than others.

Why is that? It's not as though this is a particularly hard thing to do. Well, of course it is a hard thing to do. A hard, tiring, awful, remorseless thing to do to you and your mind. But really there isn't mu…