In true fashion, I suppose. I have a bad tendency to pick up and abandon things as I go through life. T'is something I'm proud to say I've stopped recently. I know I have limited time, and the longer I take to fulfill my goals, the more of it I waste doing things I hate. This blog was one of those pursuits, and will be again.
Today at work, a friend of mine told me about his 12 year old niece who writes stories constantly and is publishing a novel. Not a novella, no...a book over 200 pages long, carrying a somewhat simplistic but still linear story. That put some things in perspective. I can blame timing, schedules, outside influences, other interests...but in the end, this girl half my age is in the middle of accomplishing my goal. I can blame work, but she's in school just as long. I can blame social influences, but I'm sure she's got friends. I can blame other interests, but she also writes short stores, comics, and reads constantly. In the end, I have to blame work ethic. I have to attack it at the core. I have to change myself and the way I prioritize life, or I may be doing the same thing 10 years from now.
What does any of this have to do with you, though? I'm sure that you've had similar experiences. Nobody has done everything they've wanted. But what causes this effect? Why are we, as a people, prone to quitting and shrugging off the blame? I fear this is a more modern event, but I can't truly embrace the notion. Regret is an old, old concept that the hippies didn't invent. Rather, I think it's a way to seperate the wheat from the chaffe. Those who should be creating, create. Those who shouldn't, push it off and feel bad about it. I don't think that the lines are hard and fast, though. I think it really comes down to the individual. With technology and networking being what they are today, the only way a person can possibly fail is if they simply never try.
I'm done failing. I have so far created 4 short stories for a collection I'm working on, with two more in mind. I have two short stories for a collection I'm working on with a friend written. I have an old comedic novella that's in much need of a re-write. I have a new novel idea that's in much need to be written. I have a graphic novel idea that I can't possibly illustrate, but can storyboard. I have a webcomic idea that I can illustrate, and I've pulled out the old sketchpads to start on it. I have a jumbled collection of story seeds that are waiting to be planted - enough to fuel 20 projects easily. When I have one that I'm content with, or rather, when I have one I'm tired of revising and think is half-decent, I'll post here for you.
For now, though, this blog is about myself. I am succeeding. I am just doing it slowly.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Friday, May 23, 2008
I'm moving this one to a more appropriate blog.
Posted on Myspace a few months back. I've decided that I need to move this somewhere more suited to this type of idea.
I was at work today, pacing around, and it hit me. A revelation, a moment of clarity if you will.
Man initially was Man the Beast. As a beast, man knew nothing but instinct and desire. However, something changed. Man invented. Man learned. Man the Beast became Man the Dreamer, and the Dreamer knew nothing. There was no beginning and no end, there was no Truth. There was only the viewer and his view. There was only what we now call Postmodernism.
This scared Man the Dreamer. His mind was young, he knew nothing of how to deal with it. And so, he did the same thing most Postmodernist do: he created the most absurd and fractional thing he could create. He created God. This was good: now Man the Dreamer had a means to find his answers. He had a safety net to keep him from fear. Man the Dreamer even dreamt of things greater than his own view. God had allowed him to create hope. He could now hope for something more than this confusing world. Man the Dreamer grew.
In time, his creature grew, aided by the Dreamer's willingness to offer more and more of his life to it. Soon Man was limiting himself in order to appease his creation. For his limitations he was granted guilt. Guilt kept man restricted, limited. But Man the Dreamer still has bits of Man the Beast within him. He longs for a release. Man then created his next great construct: love. Through love man could fulfill base desires without feeling guilt. He could have sex now, as long as love was involved. He could show charity and kindness on a few without feeling obligated to do so for all as long as he loved those he favored.
And so, with an overlord setting up limitations and a release for Man's selfish desires, the Dreamer crippled himself to crawl beneath God. This is the high point of religion: the Pope rules Europe, the Pharoah reigns in Egypt, Siddhartha is proclaimed the Buddha. At this point God is no longer an omniscient overlord. He is a man; specifically, he is Man the Dreamer personafied. He has power over the world. He reigns from a higher base than this confusing world. He is obtainable, yet he can never be touched. Man the Dreamer begins to stir. The Dream will end soon.
Like any creation, God is faulty. He cannot keep up the role he was created to play. The Pope loses his credibility amidst the schisms. The Pharoahs fall to Muslim conversions. God wanes in power. His outlets into the world lessen from many to few. His power within the few weaken. The Dreamer honors the Dream, but he is beginning to lose faith in his creation. God cannot stay the ideal Dreamer for long; he begins to fall back into dream. Man has developed his final tool needed for growth: he now creates doubt.
Man has safely bound himself in a web of limitations, guilt, selfishness and doubt. He forces himself to work around strange conditions, but he also finds many discoveries that he would have otherwise missed. He now knows science and math, he grapples with philosophy and meaning, and he creates time to measure it all (and history to measure time.) The Dreamer shifts under the realism of his dream.
And the Nietzsche kills God. The Dreamer opens his eyes for the first time since Man the Beast. Man the Conscious now walks the same world as his ancient ancestor. It is confusing, it is cold, and it lacks meaning. It does not start nor end, nor will it ever bend to rationality. We enter the age of Postmodernism once more.
And for all that Man has gone through, he is both better off and worse than he was the first time around. His condition is better because he has found basic Facts that he can use to search for some semblance of Truth. He is worse off because he now knows of hope and love and must come to terms with their falsity.
I was at work today, pacing around, and it hit me. A revelation, a moment of clarity if you will.
Man initially was Man the Beast. As a beast, man knew nothing but instinct and desire. However, something changed. Man invented. Man learned. Man the Beast became Man the Dreamer, and the Dreamer knew nothing. There was no beginning and no end, there was no Truth. There was only the viewer and his view. There was only what we now call Postmodernism.
This scared Man the Dreamer. His mind was young, he knew nothing of how to deal with it. And so, he did the same thing most Postmodernist do: he created the most absurd and fractional thing he could create. He created God. This was good: now Man the Dreamer had a means to find his answers. He had a safety net to keep him from fear. Man the Dreamer even dreamt of things greater than his own view. God had allowed him to create hope. He could now hope for something more than this confusing world. Man the Dreamer grew.
In time, his creature grew, aided by the Dreamer's willingness to offer more and more of his life to it. Soon Man was limiting himself in order to appease his creation. For his limitations he was granted guilt. Guilt kept man restricted, limited. But Man the Dreamer still has bits of Man the Beast within him. He longs for a release. Man then created his next great construct: love. Through love man could fulfill base desires without feeling guilt. He could have sex now, as long as love was involved. He could show charity and kindness on a few without feeling obligated to do so for all as long as he loved those he favored.
And so, with an overlord setting up limitations and a release for Man's selfish desires, the Dreamer crippled himself to crawl beneath God. This is the high point of religion: the Pope rules Europe, the Pharoah reigns in Egypt, Siddhartha is proclaimed the Buddha. At this point God is no longer an omniscient overlord. He is a man; specifically, he is Man the Dreamer personafied. He has power over the world. He reigns from a higher base than this confusing world. He is obtainable, yet he can never be touched. Man the Dreamer begins to stir. The Dream will end soon.
Like any creation, God is faulty. He cannot keep up the role he was created to play. The Pope loses his credibility amidst the schisms. The Pharoahs fall to Muslim conversions. God wanes in power. His outlets into the world lessen from many to few. His power within the few weaken. The Dreamer honors the Dream, but he is beginning to lose faith in his creation. God cannot stay the ideal Dreamer for long; he begins to fall back into dream. Man has developed his final tool needed for growth: he now creates doubt.
Man has safely bound himself in a web of limitations, guilt, selfishness and doubt. He forces himself to work around strange conditions, but he also finds many discoveries that he would have otherwise missed. He now knows science and math, he grapples with philosophy and meaning, and he creates time to measure it all (and history to measure time.) The Dreamer shifts under the realism of his dream.
And the Nietzsche kills God. The Dreamer opens his eyes for the first time since Man the Beast. Man the Conscious now walks the same world as his ancient ancestor. It is confusing, it is cold, and it lacks meaning. It does not start nor end, nor will it ever bend to rationality. We enter the age of Postmodernism once more.
And for all that Man has gone through, he is both better off and worse than he was the first time around. His condition is better because he has found basic Facts that he can use to search for some semblance of Truth. He is worse off because he now knows of hope and love and must come to terms with their falsity.
Mission Statement
And what is the mission, precisely? I suppose that I can answer that no more than anybody else can. Sure, on the superficial level, the answer seems easy. I have made a blog so that I can write. But hell, I can do that on MS Word and spare myself the prospect of being read. No, there must be a reason why I've created this.
Ah, that is it. I need to create. I am human, that is what we do. Build, destroy, rebuild. And this is a small link in the chain of human works, one not likely to turn many heads. Or perhaps, it might catch an eye or two. Either way, the goal is one of creation.
I simply need a place to put my thoughts.
One might turn to Myspace or Facebook for such things, but no. Social programs are good for what they do. The thoughts that merit placement there, are placed there. A voice in the world, though, begs to be heard. Such, perhaps, is the mission entailed. To spread my words to the masses.
Perhaps that is all that anybody has ever needed, really. The world falls upon two distinct groups: speakers and listeners. One gives the orders, the other recieves. Speakers create, destroy, oppress, liberate. They have the voice, and with voice, power and freedom. Listeners, in turn, learn from these speakers. Their lives augment according to the words spoken to the world. Within each of us is a shard of each, a consumate yin and yang that dictates our courses of action. I have grown tired of listening. I have a voice, and I demand to have it heard. As well each of us should.
The purpose of this blog, I suppose, is to create. It is to be my voice. Whether I shout at the universe with no response, or I whisper to my neighbor and shatter the windows is of no consequence in that regards. I have a voice, and it must be spoken.
Ah, that is it. I need to create. I am human, that is what we do. Build, destroy, rebuild. And this is a small link in the chain of human works, one not likely to turn many heads. Or perhaps, it might catch an eye or two. Either way, the goal is one of creation.
I simply need a place to put my thoughts.
One might turn to Myspace or Facebook for such things, but no. Social programs are good for what they do. The thoughts that merit placement there, are placed there. A voice in the world, though, begs to be heard. Such, perhaps, is the mission entailed. To spread my words to the masses.
Perhaps that is all that anybody has ever needed, really. The world falls upon two distinct groups: speakers and listeners. One gives the orders, the other recieves. Speakers create, destroy, oppress, liberate. They have the voice, and with voice, power and freedom. Listeners, in turn, learn from these speakers. Their lives augment according to the words spoken to the world. Within each of us is a shard of each, a consumate yin and yang that dictates our courses of action. I have grown tired of listening. I have a voice, and I demand to have it heard. As well each of us should.
The purpose of this blog, I suppose, is to create. It is to be my voice. Whether I shout at the universe with no response, or I whisper to my neighbor and shatter the windows is of no consequence in that regards. I have a voice, and it must be spoken.
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