So, I am taking another little break (I know, I haven't posted in forever and then I only do one on the book and another on a soap-box) from the usual fare and I am going to rant... only a little.
You see, I have a gym in a town in the Midwest and like all towns in the Midwest they have a newspaper that is run by idiots. You see, I don't submit anything to them any more because I send 12 people to a world championship and they don't print a word of it, not a single word. However, the front page can have some dopey person with face paint or better yet, they print an article (with a picture, mind you) of this group of, well, I am not sure what to call them. I myself and a D & D geek from way back, but these douche-bags are like a totally different level of social retard.
You see these guys dress up in costumes and fight each other with foam weapons. Yeah, you got it. For a visual reference check out the movie Darkon. Only, these guys weren't as cool.
I grow so weary of the morons that run newspapers these days. Maybe it's because the newspaper is an obsolete media and no one worth a damn wants to tether themselves to a sinking ship...
Sunday, September 19, 2010
7
Sagara Kyuma was completely at one with his master and served him as though his own body were already dead. He was one man in a thousand.
Once there was an important meeting at Master Sakyo's Mizugae Villa, and it was commanded that Kyuma was to commit seppuku. At that time, in Osaki there was a tea-house on the third floor of the suburban residence of Master Taku Nui. Kyuma rented this, and gathering together all the good-for-nothings in Saga, he put on a puppet show, operating one of the puppets himself, carousing and drinking all day and night. Thus, overlooking Master Sakyo's villa, he carried on and caused a great disturbance.. In instigating this disaster he gallantly thought only of his master and was resolved to committing suicide.
(There is a note on this saying he may have been trying to cover up some crime or something of a similar nature for his master.)
This falls into the context of how a master looks viewed from the public or from their superiors and/or colleagues. The role of the student to their master is that of sacrifice for them to save face. Consider this; which is it better to have look a fool? A student with limited experiences or a master with years or decades of experience? As a master, a person is put into a position of having to appear infallible, although we are all still human and make mistakes.
Once there was an important meeting at Master Sakyo's Mizugae Villa, and it was commanded that Kyuma was to commit seppuku. At that time, in Osaki there was a tea-house on the third floor of the suburban residence of Master Taku Nui. Kyuma rented this, and gathering together all the good-for-nothings in Saga, he put on a puppet show, operating one of the puppets himself, carousing and drinking all day and night. Thus, overlooking Master Sakyo's villa, he carried on and caused a great disturbance.. In instigating this disaster he gallantly thought only of his master and was resolved to committing suicide.
(There is a note on this saying he may have been trying to cover up some crime or something of a similar nature for his master.)
This falls into the context of how a master looks viewed from the public or from their superiors and/or colleagues. The role of the student to their master is that of sacrifice for them to save face. Consider this; which is it better to have look a fool? A student with limited experiences or a master with years or decades of experience? As a master, a person is put into a position of having to appear infallible, although we are all still human and make mistakes.
Monday, September 6, 2010
and 6
We learn about the sayings and deeds of the men of old in order to entrust ourselves to their wisdom and prevent selfishness. When we throw off our own bias, follow the sayings of the ancients, and confer with other people, matters should go well and without mishap. Lord Katsushige borrowed the wisdom of Lord Naoshige. This is mentioned in the Ohanashikikigaki. We should be grateful for his concern.
Moreover, there was a certain man who engaged a number of his younger brothers as retainers, and whenever he visited Edo or the Kamigata area, he would have them accompany him. As he consulted with them everyday on both private and public matters, it is said that he was without mishap.
Again, consulting with others, but with the added twist of studying the ancients and keeping them close in mind. I suppose it is the same as not repeating history so to speak. I think that a simple way to put this one is to say "even the wisest of men understands that there are always other views and perspectives."
Moreover, there was a certain man who engaged a number of his younger brothers as retainers, and whenever he visited Edo or the Kamigata area, he would have them accompany him. As he consulted with them everyday on both private and public matters, it is said that he was without mishap.
Again, consulting with others, but with the added twist of studying the ancients and keeping them close in mind. I suppose it is the same as not repeating history so to speak. I think that a simple way to put this one is to say "even the wisest of men understands that there are always other views and perspectives."
Number 5 ...
Because we do most things relying only on our own sagacity we become self-interested , turn our backs on reason, and things do not turn out well. As seen by other people this is sordid, weak, narrow and inefficient. When one is not capable of true intelligence, it is good to consult with someone of good sense. An advisor will fulfill the Way when he makes a decision by selfless and frank intelligence because he is not personally involved. This way of doing things will certainly be seen by others as being strongly rooted. It is, for example, like a large tree with many roots. One man's intelligence is like a tree that has been simply stuck in the ground.
This passage is fairly self evident. It is more than two heads are better than one. It says, in simplest terms, sometimes one is too close to the problem and needs some perspective and insight from someone else. There is a lot of truth in this, however I would warn someone against getting too many people's "opinions" as they will expect you to follow their advice.
This passage is fairly self evident. It is more than two heads are better than one. It says, in simplest terms, sometimes one is too close to the problem and needs some perspective and insight from someone else. There is a lot of truth in this, however I would warn someone against getting too many people's "opinions" as they will expect you to follow their advice.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Number 4
According to their nature, there are both people who have quick intelligence, and those who must withdraw and take time to think things over. Looking into this thoroughly, if on thinks selflessly and adheres to the four vows of the Nabeshima samurai, surprising wisdom will occur regardless of the high or low points of one's nature.*
People think that they can clear up profound matters if they consider them deeply, but they exercise perverse thoughts and come to no good because they do their reflecting with only self-interest at the center.
It is difficult for a fool's habits to change to selflessness. In confronting a matter, however, if at first you leave it alone, fix the four vows in you heart, exclude self-interest, and make an effort, you will not go far from your mark.
*Never to be outdone in the way of the samurai, To be of good use to the master, To be filial to my parents, To manifest great compassion, and to act for the sake of man.
This another great entry. As a people, we tend to over think things. A lot of different disciplines have their tenets or regulations (taekwondo included) and as a martial artist one has to keep these in mind when making a decision. If your thinking is clear and you are focused on what your your rules to live by would be, the decision becomes plain and obvious. This is something we are also taught.
People think that they can clear up profound matters if they consider them deeply, but they exercise perverse thoughts and come to no good because they do their reflecting with only self-interest at the center.
It is difficult for a fool's habits to change to selflessness. In confronting a matter, however, if at first you leave it alone, fix the four vows in you heart, exclude self-interest, and make an effort, you will not go far from your mark.
*Never to be outdone in the way of the samurai, To be of good use to the master, To be filial to my parents, To manifest great compassion, and to act for the sake of man.
This another great entry. As a people, we tend to over think things. A lot of different disciplines have their tenets or regulations (taekwondo included) and as a martial artist one has to keep these in mind when making a decision. If your thinking is clear and you are focused on what your your rules to live by would be, the decision becomes plain and obvious. This is something we are also taught.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Number 3...At long last...
OK, I feel the need to have a disclaimer. I apologize to everyone that may read this in the distant future for the gap in posts. Life happens.
A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. This is the highest sort of retainer. If on is born into a prominent family that goes back for generations, it is sufficient to deeply consider the matter of obligation to one's ancestors, to lay down one's body and mind, and to earnestly esteem one's master. It is further good fortune if, more than this, one has wisdom and talent and can use them appropriately. But even a person who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think earnestly of his master. Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.
This is a great passage for any martial artist at any age/generation/era/stage. As a young fighter it is difficult to come to terms with someone being your equal or superior when your talents or knowledge seemingly exceed theirs. However, as it states very plainly "Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness." This aches truth.
Not every student will be great at any one thing or even anything at all. As a diverse group of people we have just as diverse talents or lack of talent. But loyalty, following your master, and protecting that master with yourself, this is a good student. This is a good future leader. As in the last passage, we must continuously be prepared for death and in such, must prepare our "retainers" or students to take our place if necessary. How better to prepare them to follow your own master than to have them follow you?
This gets to the heart of things.
A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. This is the highest sort of retainer. If on is born into a prominent family that goes back for generations, it is sufficient to deeply consider the matter of obligation to one's ancestors, to lay down one's body and mind, and to earnestly esteem one's master. It is further good fortune if, more than this, one has wisdom and talent and can use them appropriately. But even a person who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think earnestly of his master. Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.
This is a great passage for any martial artist at any age/generation/era/stage. As a young fighter it is difficult to come to terms with someone being your equal or superior when your talents or knowledge seemingly exceed theirs. However, as it states very plainly "Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness." This aches truth.
Not every student will be great at any one thing or even anything at all. As a diverse group of people we have just as diverse talents or lack of talent. But loyalty, following your master, and protecting that master with yourself, this is a good student. This is a good future leader. As in the last passage, we must continuously be prepared for death and in such, must prepare our "retainers" or students to take our place if necessary. How better to prepare them to follow your own master than to have them follow you?
This gets to the heart of things.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Number 2
The Way of the Samurai is found in death. When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not particularly difficult. Be determined and advance. To say that dying without reaching one's aim is to die a dog's death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one's aim.
We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaining one's aim is a dog's death and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.
Ok, a little morbid, but the samurai dealt in death. That was a major theme in their lives and well deservedly.
I think this is saying what all those made for tv movies with someone diagnosed with terminal whatever embraces life and enriches their condition is saying. If you live life like you are already dead, what is there to fear? But it doesn't just say that, it says to remember and be mindful off it every morning and night.
I guess I am really only thinking this in terms of how it applies to everyday, modern life. I think it is much more applicable in the sense, however having already half the book there are some excerpts that will relate more to my life as a martial artist.
We all want to live. And in large part we make our logic according to what we like. But not having attained our aim and continuing to live is cowardice. This is a thin dangerous line. To die without gaining one's aim is a dog's death and fanaticism. But there is no shame in this. This is the substance of the Way of the Samurai. If by setting one's heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.
Ok, a little morbid, but the samurai dealt in death. That was a major theme in their lives and well deservedly.
I think this is saying what all those made for tv movies with someone diagnosed with terminal whatever embraces life and enriches their condition is saying. If you live life like you are already dead, what is there to fear? But it doesn't just say that, it says to remember and be mindful off it every morning and night.
I guess I am really only thinking this in terms of how it applies to everyday, modern life. I think it is much more applicable in the sense, however having already half the book there are some excerpts that will relate more to my life as a martial artist.
Monday, August 23, 2010
An old story
For your reading pleasure (maybe, be kind), here is a story I wrote a few years ago and didn't finish (surprise, surprise). Nothing too deep, just crazy.
The cannibal didn’t put on his low beams for anyone. He cruises down the Highway at whatever speed limit, with his high beams on.
He drove until he got hungry. The hunger always came. Whenever it did, the cannibal would pull over and depress the trip odometer with practiced ease. The hunger usually hit around mile 256. The cannibal never kept records, but kept a sharp mental record.
The odometer clicks 270 and the hunger springs up like salmon colored blossoms in his middle. The cannibal slows down and pulls over just as the trip odometer clicks 271. Almost as if caused by the odometer click, the hunger begins to bloom and fill his torso. The hunger must be obeyed, the cannibal found. He reaches and pushes the reset button and before he settles back into his seat, presses it again in urgency. This has been happening more and more often. One time doesn’t seem to be enough. Maybe it is blooming urgency, he doesn’t know but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
After he pulls over, the cannibal has a variety of tricks to get the prey to come to the predator. He doesn’t harvest the first Good Samaritan that happens to stop, but chooses like a spinster choosing a watermelon. Instead of thumping he uses his charm to find the soft spots. But he smells for freshness just the same.
When the odometer ends on an odd number (like 271, like today) the cannibal pops his hood and turns on his hazards. The thing he has noticed that it never matters if he turns off his engine or not. People still stop.
The cannibal has an eclectic palate. He would just know who his prey was after his verbal thumps and olfactory investigation. Once he had preyed upon a crusty old biker named Lance “Luv’em’up” Jones. He attempted to give the cannibal a ride into town on the back of his Harley via some back roads that were a shortcut he and his crew rode sometimes. Around the second bend in the dirt road, the cannibal took a hefty bite out of Luv’em’up’s neck. He tasted like leather, salt, and smoked ham. “I bet you would be surprised how much you taste like pig” the cannibal said with mirth in his voice as he took his second bite out of Luv’em’up’s forearm. By now the biker was screaming out of panic, fury, and fear. The cannibal was surprisingly strong and the hulking biker Lance “Luv’em’up” Jones was no match. The cannibal held him down and ate at his leisure and not too much; only until the hunger was appeased.
He had eaten many like the biker and then riding off on their bike or Audi or Cadillac. Once he ate a single mother and her 6 year old daughter. He sometimes reflected at how sweet the mother tasted and how bitter the daughter was. “Wasn’t quite ripe yet” he would say to himself and chuckle his cannibal’s chuckle, deep in his throat and hollow. But a person’s nature never reflected on how they tasted. The young girl was bitter although she was innocent. There was once he was picked up by a deviant that meant to rape and kill him. He tasted of cotton candy.
But now the hunger was here, the Hunger was blooming, the Hunger was urgent to be sated. The cannibal stepped out of his car to complete the illusion. Almost immediately a Cadillac with dealer’s plates pulled up with a man in a dark suit at the wheel. The cannibal walked up to the passenger door and was almost over powered by the sour smell emitting from the opening window. “Keep up the illusion” he whispered to himself as he steeled himself. The man at the wheel had a thousand dollar smile with ten dollar teeth framed by a pencil moustache. The cannibal stuffed a sucker at the stereotypical used car salesman sitting at the wheel with his oily, slicked back hair and thirty dollar suit. But the smell was almost too much. Pomade, stale swear, cheap old spice wear, last night’s beer came out in the perspiration on his forehead, and the last smell, the smell that told the cannibal “no need to keep this melon, it’s rotten” was of diarrhea. The warm runny kind that kids got after eating too many berries or when you get the flu.
“Everything all right? Need a hand?” The salesman sounded far away. Every time he spoke and opened that wide mouth with the ten dollar teeth, the smell wafted out and stronger. Definitely like warm, flu diarrhea.
The cannibal dug deep, put a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face and almost crooned, “No, thanks anyway. I already called for a tow on my cell phone.”
The salesman moved his hairy meat slab of a hand and said “Ok, good luck pal” before flashing his thousand dollar smile again. “If you need a new car, give me a call. I’ll set you up real well” the salesman says as he produces a business card as if from nowhere.
“Thanks, I just might” the cannibal says through his smile, thinking he might just have to burn the tips of his fingers to relieve him of the smell of this particular business card.
The caddy sped away as the cannibal nonchalantly lets the card slip from his fingers to the ditch. Thankfully the smell leaves him as well.
He walks back to “his” car, counting his steps absentmindedly, avoiding cracks and the painted lines. Once back to the car, the panic starts oozing out from around the hunger bloom. This panic feeling always comes after the first car leaves. Maybe it’s from the concern of a highway patrol coming, maybe not finding his prey, or the next car will stop even just a step short or long of this number in his head, the number of steps from the first car. Right now it is eight.
“Eight, eight, eight, eight,” ticks off in the cannibal’s head. It almost distracts him from the hunger. He almost misses the roar and scrape of a car half dragging its muffler.
The cannibal slowly turns with his sharky charm smile on his face. “Eight, eight, eight, eight” clicking, ticking, softly in his head. His fingers move with each step to the brown station wagon belching exhaust, counting, counting, counting each step. Nothing pervades his counting, the counting. “Eight, Eight, EIGHT!” The voice in his head screams as he reaches step eight, right I front of the passenger door.
The Cannibal
(Circa 2006-ish)
(Circa 2006-ish)
The cannibal didn’t put on his low beams for anyone. He cruises down the Highway at whatever speed limit, with his high beams on.
He drove until he got hungry. The hunger always came. Whenever it did, the cannibal would pull over and depress the trip odometer with practiced ease. The hunger usually hit around mile 256. The cannibal never kept records, but kept a sharp mental record.
The odometer clicks 270 and the hunger springs up like salmon colored blossoms in his middle. The cannibal slows down and pulls over just as the trip odometer clicks 271. Almost as if caused by the odometer click, the hunger begins to bloom and fill his torso. The hunger must be obeyed, the cannibal found. He reaches and pushes the reset button and before he settles back into his seat, presses it again in urgency. This has been happening more and more often. One time doesn’t seem to be enough. Maybe it is blooming urgency, he doesn’t know but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
After he pulls over, the cannibal has a variety of tricks to get the prey to come to the predator. He doesn’t harvest the first Good Samaritan that happens to stop, but chooses like a spinster choosing a watermelon. Instead of thumping he uses his charm to find the soft spots. But he smells for freshness just the same.
When the odometer ends on an odd number (like 271, like today) the cannibal pops his hood and turns on his hazards. The thing he has noticed that it never matters if he turns off his engine or not. People still stop.
The cannibal has an eclectic palate. He would just know who his prey was after his verbal thumps and olfactory investigation. Once he had preyed upon a crusty old biker named Lance “Luv’em’up” Jones. He attempted to give the cannibal a ride into town on the back of his Harley via some back roads that were a shortcut he and his crew rode sometimes. Around the second bend in the dirt road, the cannibal took a hefty bite out of Luv’em’up’s neck. He tasted like leather, salt, and smoked ham. “I bet you would be surprised how much you taste like pig” the cannibal said with mirth in his voice as he took his second bite out of Luv’em’up’s forearm. By now the biker was screaming out of panic, fury, and fear. The cannibal was surprisingly strong and the hulking biker Lance “Luv’em’up” Jones was no match. The cannibal held him down and ate at his leisure and not too much; only until the hunger was appeased.
He had eaten many like the biker and then riding off on their bike or Audi or Cadillac. Once he ate a single mother and her 6 year old daughter. He sometimes reflected at how sweet the mother tasted and how bitter the daughter was. “Wasn’t quite ripe yet” he would say to himself and chuckle his cannibal’s chuckle, deep in his throat and hollow. But a person’s nature never reflected on how they tasted. The young girl was bitter although she was innocent. There was once he was picked up by a deviant that meant to rape and kill him. He tasted of cotton candy.
But now the hunger was here, the Hunger was blooming, the Hunger was urgent to be sated. The cannibal stepped out of his car to complete the illusion. Almost immediately a Cadillac with dealer’s plates pulled up with a man in a dark suit at the wheel. The cannibal walked up to the passenger door and was almost over powered by the sour smell emitting from the opening window. “Keep up the illusion” he whispered to himself as he steeled himself. The man at the wheel had a thousand dollar smile with ten dollar teeth framed by a pencil moustache. The cannibal stuffed a sucker at the stereotypical used car salesman sitting at the wheel with his oily, slicked back hair and thirty dollar suit. But the smell was almost too much. Pomade, stale swear, cheap old spice wear, last night’s beer came out in the perspiration on his forehead, and the last smell, the smell that told the cannibal “no need to keep this melon, it’s rotten” was of diarrhea. The warm runny kind that kids got after eating too many berries or when you get the flu.
“Everything all right? Need a hand?” The salesman sounded far away. Every time he spoke and opened that wide mouth with the ten dollar teeth, the smell wafted out and stronger. Definitely like warm, flu diarrhea.
The cannibal dug deep, put a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face and almost crooned, “No, thanks anyway. I already called for a tow on my cell phone.”
The salesman moved his hairy meat slab of a hand and said “Ok, good luck pal” before flashing his thousand dollar smile again. “If you need a new car, give me a call. I’ll set you up real well” the salesman says as he produces a business card as if from nowhere.
“Thanks, I just might” the cannibal says through his smile, thinking he might just have to burn the tips of his fingers to relieve him of the smell of this particular business card.
The caddy sped away as the cannibal nonchalantly lets the card slip from his fingers to the ditch. Thankfully the smell leaves him as well.
He walks back to “his” car, counting his steps absentmindedly, avoiding cracks and the painted lines. Once back to the car, the panic starts oozing out from around the hunger bloom. This panic feeling always comes after the first car leaves. Maybe it’s from the concern of a highway patrol coming, maybe not finding his prey, or the next car will stop even just a step short or long of this number in his head, the number of steps from the first car. Right now it is eight.
“Eight, eight, eight, eight,” ticks off in the cannibal’s head. It almost distracts him from the hunger. He almost misses the roar and scrape of a car half dragging its muffler.
The cannibal slowly turns with his sharky charm smile on his face. “Eight, eight, eight, eight” clicking, ticking, softly in his head. His fingers move with each step to the brown station wagon belching exhaust, counting, counting, counting each step. Nothing pervades his counting, the counting. “Eight, Eight, EIGHT!” The voice in his head screams as he reaches step eight, right I front of the passenger door.
So, been a while...
I guess this has fallen to the wayside since March. My bad. I have been attempting to write but haven't been very successful. I mean, how much time do writers really have on there hands? Do they not have lives or laundry to be done?
Anyway, I had this thought and I will attempt to do it. There is a book that I have been slowly working my way through called Hagakure (aka The Book of the Samurai) and it is full of these little slivers of samurai philosophy. My idea is that I will attempt to post an excerpt from this every day with my comments on it as a modern martial artist (ask me about it sometime...). I will start with this post and see how it goes.
Here it goes:
Although it stands to reason that a samurai should be mindful of the Way of the Samurai, it would seem that we are all negligent. Consequently, if someone were to ask, "What is the true meaning of the Way of the Samurai?" the person who would be able to answer promptly is rare. This is because it has not been established in one's mind beforehand. From this, one's unmindfulness of the Way can be known.
Negligence is an extreme thing.
My thoughts on this are that I agree. There is few of us (us being any member of the human race) that can immediately answer what is the meaning of why we do anything. Many of us follow what our parents did or what our bosses do without truly understanding why. It is almost akin to Socratic/Platonic thought-"The unexamined life is not worth living." We tend to over complicate and make things much more difficult than the need to be in order to avoid examining and looking for the truth (being mindful) because it may turn out we have been wrong and must find a different way to live.
Any thoughts?
Anyway, I had this thought and I will attempt to do it. There is a book that I have been slowly working my way through called Hagakure (aka The Book of the Samurai) and it is full of these little slivers of samurai philosophy. My idea is that I will attempt to post an excerpt from this every day with my comments on it as a modern martial artist (ask me about it sometime...). I will start with this post and see how it goes.
Here it goes:
Although it stands to reason that a samurai should be mindful of the Way of the Samurai, it would seem that we are all negligent. Consequently, if someone were to ask, "What is the true meaning of the Way of the Samurai?" the person who would be able to answer promptly is rare. This is because it has not been established in one's mind beforehand. From this, one's unmindfulness of the Way can be known.
Negligence is an extreme thing.
My thoughts on this are that I agree. There is few of us (us being any member of the human race) that can immediately answer what is the meaning of why we do anything. Many of us follow what our parents did or what our bosses do without truly understanding why. It is almost akin to Socratic/Platonic thought-"The unexamined life is not worth living." We tend to over complicate and make things much more difficult than the need to be in order to avoid examining and looking for the truth (being mindful) because it may turn out we have been wrong and must find a different way to live.
Any thoughts?
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Nothing much, really
Nothing much to say as of late. I have had a few disturbing dreams, but nothing to even remember, let alone write down.
I guess I started this blog to start my writing again. Ever since I was little I have had a sort of love affair with books. I can even recall when I was 4 or 5 and getting upset when a Sesame Street book was left on the floor for someone to step on and break the binding on. As a preteen I would check out books from the library based on the smell of the ink, I mean, yeah, I would read some of it, but I loved books and the older, the more I loved them.
I would say that my need to write might be based on my feelings about books. I wanted to be a part of that world in just another way. I would think about stories and would day dream about the adventures that person would have. I even came up with a pseudonym for myself so I could get some privacy as a famous author. Wolfric Wild. That is the only one I can remember and I created it during a time when I was obsessed with werewolves. I think I was 8.
So, this blog is helping a little bit. I can see myself writing a little again. I just get so frustrated because I know what a good book sounds like, I can't do it. Sometimes I have flashes of inspiration and it looks pretty good in print, but it is nothing compared to the great books. So I ask myself: Could I feel satisfied as a mediocre, even pulp, published author? Or, should I better leave it undone and be better off wondering what could have been?
I guess the only way to know is to forge on and see if I have the chops. I hope the Internet society can forgive me if I don't publish it on my blog. That seems taking it a little far. Maybe once I feel pretty good about a work and I am as finished as I will be with it...
I guess I started this blog to start my writing again. Ever since I was little I have had a sort of love affair with books. I can even recall when I was 4 or 5 and getting upset when a Sesame Street book was left on the floor for someone to step on and break the binding on. As a preteen I would check out books from the library based on the smell of the ink, I mean, yeah, I would read some of it, but I loved books and the older, the more I loved them.
I would say that my need to write might be based on my feelings about books. I wanted to be a part of that world in just another way. I would think about stories and would day dream about the adventures that person would have. I even came up with a pseudonym for myself so I could get some privacy as a famous author. Wolfric Wild. That is the only one I can remember and I created it during a time when I was obsessed with werewolves. I think I was 8.
So, this blog is helping a little bit. I can see myself writing a little again. I just get so frustrated because I know what a good book sounds like, I can't do it. Sometimes I have flashes of inspiration and it looks pretty good in print, but it is nothing compared to the great books. So I ask myself: Could I feel satisfied as a mediocre, even pulp, published author? Or, should I better leave it undone and be better off wondering what could have been?
I guess the only way to know is to forge on and see if I have the chops. I hope the Internet society can forgive me if I don't publish it on my blog. That seems taking it a little far. Maybe once I feel pretty good about a work and I am as finished as I will be with it...
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Best Dream Ever (or at least for a while...)
So last night I had a great dream. I mean, yeah, it was kind of confused since at first I was on the lawn of my Jr. High School in the middle of America (well, within driving distance of the middle of North America) and then at the end of the lawn there was a lake/ocean. But other than those wierd little things, it was awesome.
So yeah, there were zombies. Not like the whole undead zombies but the modern, super-flu, infection zombies with crazy red eyes, so you know, it was scientific and possible. But who cares, I was made to kill zombies. And beside that, I had a sword. Yeah, a sword. Not as random as a shotgun but just as deadly. And since they are all sick and overheated (from a raging fever that makes them insane) their bodies tissues, mostly the epithelial and connective tissues, will start to degrade, thereby making it waaaaaaaaaaay easier to cut their heads off. Awesome, I know.
Plus we (I say we because there was people for me to save, of course) we escaping to a safe island in the lake/ocean. Turns out the island is a real place, Mackinac Island. Wierd, huh? You know what else is wierd? They don't allow cars on that island. Like, in real life. Only horses and buggies and shit. Crazy. Maybe zombies hate horses. Or buggies.
Sooooooooooooooo, now you know. If you are ever being chased by crazed, science zombies, go to Mackinac Island. Or my house. Or get a horse. But really, come to my house, I got the cure for what ails 'em.
damn zombies...
So yeah, there were zombies. Not like the whole undead zombies but the modern, super-flu, infection zombies with crazy red eyes, so you know, it was scientific and possible. But who cares, I was made to kill zombies. And beside that, I had a sword. Yeah, a sword. Not as random as a shotgun but just as deadly. And since they are all sick and overheated (from a raging fever that makes them insane) their bodies tissues, mostly the epithelial and connective tissues, will start to degrade, thereby making it waaaaaaaaaaay easier to cut their heads off. Awesome, I know.
Plus we (I say we because there was people for me to save, of course) we escaping to a safe island in the lake/ocean. Turns out the island is a real place, Mackinac Island. Wierd, huh? You know what else is wierd? They don't allow cars on that island. Like, in real life. Only horses and buggies and shit. Crazy. Maybe zombies hate horses. Or buggies.
Sooooooooooooooo, now you know. If you are ever being chased by crazed, science zombies, go to Mackinac Island. Or my house. Or get a horse. But really, come to my house, I got the cure for what ails 'em.
damn zombies...
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