Thursday 30 November 2017

Day 30

There are times in my life; those times that are paradoxically the least memorable, but also take up the majority of my life. You know the ones. The day to day grind-humdrum-ramp up-waiting for the crescendo-pick your metaphor for the in between the really punctuating points moments.
The plateau between the peaks, falls, and climbs.
In these moments, I will stumble upon an image. Something I cannot word perfectly, nor describe and that always frustrates me to try. It is a possible objective, if I were the character that an actor were trying to dissect.
This usually when I've been drinking; sometimes when I'm with friends, ALWAYS when I'm drinking with friends.
A mission. A quest as my Don Quixote De La Mancha fanboy would call it (the musical, not the novel. I can't read Spanish ...)
The dream, that impossible dream, is this: to do the most good by those whom I can help.
How do I bazooka style blast my way through all the bullshit and save the most of my peers?
Where is the H-bomb equivalent of helpfulness and generosity, that I may drop it and say "I am becoming generous!"
I wanna seek out and drop this Oppenheimer-esque support bomb on the vulnerable and the struggling masses, and in its wake instead of Carthaginian destruction find a prosperous forest of creativity and ingenuity. A paradise, where those who truly know what it is to do much with little, find themselves with abundance.
And so in the fallout of my Dr. Strangelove they; who know how to do so much with so little, will do what they do best: they will share. They will cooperate. Collaborate. They will support and seek and hope and make do with what they have, and since now they will have a hell of a whole lot: that's just what they will do!
...
What does that look like?
I shall shrug in reply.
The how and why are the responsibility of a sobered, rested mind.
But I do hope my struggling, striving self will look back on this reprieve and find a way to make a garden out of an idea.
Because that is what we need: more gardens. Already broken ground, for easy access to fertile soil so the many idle gardeners of this city can set to work on what they trained so hard for: growing things.
Failing to do this will cost time and effort.
But refusing to even attempt it, may cost a future of beauty and growth.
When you wake up tomorrow, think of this: make up your gardens, that the gardeners may grow.

Tuesday 28 November 2017

Day 29

I fear one day waking up and being told that there was a happiness tree gifted to me, and if I had just watered it every day till now, I'd have all the prosperity bacon I could ever want!
(... in this hypothetical, bacon grows on trees. Maple trees make maple bacon.)
Adult has more and more become an honorary title, whose true meaning simply is that I survived this long.
Perhaps I was in school too long.
I still expect some orientation fr the first day of adult school. What a depressing place that would be.
Intro classes include, sleeping while watching the news. Coping with hair loss/hair gain.
Coming to terms with your own parents' mortality.
Some days I'm hit by the overwhelming weight of a realization that I am going to have to feed, clothe, house and generally take care of myself for the rest of my life.
And I will have no idea how well that's working out until it goes horribly wrong.
Ask me again if I ever want kids!?
...
I complain about all this, while fully admitting that there is a cocky grin waiting to fully spread across my big dumb face, while I front my action hero line: bring it on.
Some days I live for that challenge.
I recall a particularly blustering wind trying to keep me from a rehearsal. It was on the coldest day that Edmonton winter, and I had stubbornly refused transit. I had also forgotten head covering of any kind.
It began as streaks, hurling flakes of snow and currents of cold.
You could almost avoid them, if you simply avoided marching in a straight line.
They would grow in consistency and size, until finally you found yourself marching at a 45 degree angle to snow covered streets.
It's a wind I remember every time I'm hit by another of it's kind, because I smiled through the whole thing.
Sometimes laughing. Sometimes shouting lines from whatever scenes we were working on, in defiance.
In many ways I like this wind; just as in many ways I loathe it.
But I do appreciate the reminder they provide me; that when faced with an obstacle, I chose to smile through the pain. A trick I learned from my father before me.
In spite of all obstacles: my fathers smile will see me through.

Day 28

New game:
Suddenly remember that you had magic powers.
Once upon a time.
But you made a decision, you see, to hide them. Not just from others, but also yourself.
You were once so powerful. So wise. So big, that the smaller things in this world were escaping you.
What is distance when you can be anywhere at once.
What is health, when sickness no longer troubles you.
What is love, when you have nothing to fear.
So you decided, on a day very much like this one, to bury your wizardly possessions.
You half moon spectacles. Your many colored robes with it's every changing shades. Your staff that would grow and shrink depending on your need of it. Your book, on the other hand, you did not bury; lest you stumble upon it early and give away the game.
Instead, you tore it up. Its many pieces were tossed to the many winds, and its magics would find their way into every part of this world. Worry not, you weren't littering.
Because this was a magic book, it would change its shape to suit its environment, again to hide itself, and so everywhere these pieces went they would become the shape of whatever suited the place they landed.
Some were flowers. Some clay. Some seeds. Some the colors on leaves. Some even street corners, complete with light posts and benches.
Now, here's where the game begins: look out for those little pieces of magic.
Seek them out in every new place. Listen for clues in the stories of others you talk to, because they will brig these pieces back to you.
Each time they tell of the best pastry they ever tastes, or a song they heard from a outdoor band; smile softly.
Know that they have brought you a piece of yourself. The magical, wise and wonderful self yo truly are.
And never forget, as you go on with your day today with its little obstacles and oddities: the games not over yet. Keep playing.

Monday 27 November 2017

Day 27

New game:

Spend 23 hours of your day not doing the one thing you were supposed to do, and in the final hour: force yourself to do it.

The rules are pretty straightforward.

Because those are them.

Just rush through a task, which you had all day to compete, at the last possible moment.

I considered making a sub rule regarding time travel. But I didn't.

If time travel were involved, you'd just add another 24 hours to not doing the thing you're supposed to do. Because let's be honest: we wouldn't just suddenly not procrastinate anymore.

We would take it to the next level.

The "let's kill hitler" guy is still clicking on that next YouTube video of people falling down or dogs being weird. Or people dubbing over gunea pigs while they chew - these ones are among the most consistently entertaining.

If you had told me 15 years ago that there'd be an entire sector of the internet dedicated to essentially ripping off Americas funniest home videos, I would have mocked you.

Or been disturbed by your ability to glimpse into my future.

Or maybe you haven't gone back and told me yet because you are the only person with time travel capabilities and also a huge procrastinator.

... all of these options are valid.


If you complete your desired task without disturbing the fabric of space-time: you win.

You lose if you rip apart reality. Or if you just don't get it done, I guess.

... Time travel really raises the stakes.

Sunday 26 November 2017

Day 26

And then some days you pull the nets from the still waters, only to find that there is indeed no sign of life.

The catch today was less than meager. It was non-existent.

But perhaps the waters, in their own cognizant way, knew we were not truly hungry.

We could still nourish ourselves on hauls from days prior.

Today was more an exercise. Theory put to practice, without the need in place. 

I am lenient on myself today. With expectations of better work in future.

Better to come up short on this day, than in the days to come...

"It will be better tomorrow," we tell ourselves.

Because it has to be ... right?

Saturday 25 November 2017

Day 25

When our hero awoke that morning, beating the dawn by several hours, he prepared himself for many things: traffic, weather, indigestion, even a possible altercation with a stray pebble in his right boot. (The left one was always better behaved, you see. Something to do with the zipper, he surmised.)

However, of all foreseeable outcomes that could result in our hero's entering the world that day; he was not prepared to fall in love.

He would later complain, that a warning from the world would have been a fine courtesy. Zero notice seemed an unkindness on the universe's part.

For on this day, of all days, he really was not ready for love.

But ready or not; he would come to find, love doesn't care. 

Not. 

One. 

Bit.

Thursday 23 November 2017

Day 24

New game:

Make up a formative memory about us.

Like the time you and I were in a slump; watching reruns of undergrads on repeat.

And maybe it was the fact that all they were our age, or the frustration that no matter how many times we finished the only season there would be no new episodes; we were suddenly compelled to do something drastic.

So we packed my '98 Hyundai Accent with road food and cd's and decided to drive until sunset.

Between sips of red bull and hand fills of muchy mix, we bathed in the nostalgia of when burning your own cd's was a novelty. All the while criticizing our questionable compilation skills. "Five whose line skits. Five?! Alot of these jokes are sight gags, why are you putting them on a cd?"

By dusk we had miscalculated the distance to the next town and so had to unceremoniously trek back to the last gas station we'd passed, on foot.

And all the while neither one of us fought, nor did we complain about the inconvenience of the situation. After all, where did we have to be really?

After filling up our jerry can with petrol, the station attendant kindly offered to have his son drive us back to our gas-less transport. We thanked the man, but declined his offer. The sun was almost completely set, and we didn't want to rush the view.

On the way back we started singing the words to a song from our shared youth, but neither one of us could remember the words.

So we made them up.

And to this day, those would be the words for both us.

The trip home was mostly made in silence. Backtracked by the soothing gravel of Johnny Rzeznik, emoting from my old goo goo dolls cd.

We both sang along to Iris. You hummed along to slide. We both wanted to skip over January friend, but didn't say anything in case the other wanted to listen to it. 

That night I knew I had to leave my home town.

Years later when you would ask me why, I'd just smile and say: if I could have told you why, I probably would've stayed.


Day 23

Instant gratification to do list:

1. Start a list.
2. Complete first item on your list.
3. Cross tasks off your list as you complete them
4. Complete all tasks on your to do list!
5. Post finished list on the internet.

Wednesday 22 November 2017

Day 22

Ooof this one is rough.
You grab the shovel and go to dig.
But no matter where you strike, there's just a sharp tang, signifying an impenetrable bedrock.
It's never mocking, despite it's repetition.
This sound isn't that akin to cruel laughter of adversarial mischief. There's no offender or defender to the rich clay beneath this unbreakable surface.
It just is.
And you can't break it.
But you keep striking and striking and striking and striking and at a certain point you realize you've lost so much daylight, you skipped right over dusk all the way to dawn.
You can't feel your arms. Your too hungry to feed yourself.
You might as well have been throwing your body at the ground this whole time, for all the effort you've wasted.
Should've slept. Should've eaten. Should've. Didn't.
Let the inevitable fallout, when you're crawling through the day tomorrow, all through one bloodshot eye, be a pleasant reminder of your miscalculation.
It's not always about the shovel, it's not always about your determination. Sometimes you just hit rock.
When that happens, move on. Move away. Move. You do no favors tiring yourself out...
and there's the early sounds that predict the coming day.
And it is coming, whether you agree or not.
The first train whistle, followed by the growing crescendo of the building locomotion.
Carrying the last gasps of night away.
The streets, once abandoned, now slowly sprout up into life.
And then there's you. Praying at your makeshift altar to the god best intentions to beg that it ain't so.
Let this be the night, let it be the time when I look for a sign that my prayers aren't just noise being shouted out into endless nothing ...
Tonight you do not turn heretic. But still, time will not wait for you. That train is already out of the station.
So you drop your shovel where it is and make your way to an all too brief sleep.
Tomorrows toiler will curse the you of today.
Let him.
He needs something to be angry with.
Better you than him.
Sleep now. Hope to dream. Curse later.

Tuesday 21 November 2017

Day 21

Some of the worst inventions not yet invented:

The hydro-electric guitar:

A lot like a regular guitar, but instead of making sound with electricity running through it, this baby runs on water.


A self eating pizza:

For the pizza lover who just likes to watch!


An app that watches entire Netflix shows for you:

Instead of staying up all night binge-watching all the episodes of your new favorited show, this app will watch them for you. Now you can stay up and do something else all night! *suggestive wink*


Real-fake blood.

Want that vampire costume to be just a touch more authentic? Why not try real fake blood? It's just like fake blood, but it's real! Happy Halloween, indeed!

Monday 20 November 2017

Day 20

Like brushing your teeth or flossing, the thing you forgot to do and then remembered to do at the last minute:
WRITE
THAT
BLOG!!!!!
Yes, dreamers and dandies I am continuing to contribute to the this exercise of sheer will and stubbornness.
Because I may be drunk.
I may be tired.
I may have just divulged several personal feelings about my good standings with a lovely lady, but I made a promise dammit!
....
I regret that tonight's fulfillment of that promise is simply a journal entry/stream of consciousness assignment.
...
So lets try to send a message to the sober self of this inebriated self (self five for spelling inebriated correctly on the first try, silver medal for all the mistakes you'll cover up afterwards with the help of squiggly red underline.)

Hello sober man.
You're worried.
Understandable.
No one you know has gone through everything you have.
Beause then they'd be you right? ... just killed a fly. You're welcome.
Before these nuggets of wisdom, largely offered/received by/from other people fade into obscurity, allow me to serve them to you in their wiggly drunken wrapping:
1. You're doing alright. You're working hard and making progress. And you should be working towards what you want, so don't worry about the progress you could be making in fields of things you don't want.
2. You live in mortal fear of the question "what do you want?" That's fine.
You're comfortable living in the world of what's going on, so improv your way through. "Yes and:" that shit.
You get homicidal on a 40 plus hour work week, maybe being an inconsistent self-employed still waiting for his big break artist is ACTUALLY a public service.
And instead of a medal, you get to pursue your dream and NOT be a murderer.
3. You told someone that the greatest tragedy you've experienced this week (because come on, you're a white guy in Canada, the worst thing that can happen to you is someone hurts your feelings. And if it gets realbad you can go to the doctor for free!!!!)
is that one of the most admirable souls you knew, didn't have someone exactly like them self to hear counsel from.
Because often times the best advice, is the kind we give to others.
So once in awhile, advise yourself as you would a friend in need.
Because you don't have to horde you kindness and gentleness for others.
You can treat yourself from time to time.

This is drunk Scott signing out.
I hope sober Scott can be receptive

Sunday 19 November 2017

Day 19

Ego stripping

(In progress ... like everything else here)


I am the star of my own show.


You have all played your supporting parts beautifully.

The rotating cast has been amazing and the ongoing permanent crew is a wonder. 

And I suspect, everyone of them is running their own program.

The spinoffs often times surpass the original series.


But then there's you.

I don't want to look at you and think of me.

I don't want think of you as one of another of the many incoming-outgoing comers and goers

Who rotate in or out of my crazy adventures,

A guest spot who may or may not make another appearance, depending on the audience applause. 

That's crazy:

You deserve an ovation every time you enter onto one of my flimsy film sets.


If ever there were a piece, portion, or part in one particle from any other part of past article of myself I'd sooner see stripped from my self:

It would be my Ego.

I want you to be your own star.

One that shines bright, if not brighter, in the same sky as mine.

But my capital E Ego is lower cased "d" determined to make me see out of camera's one, two, three;

And we're live in HD.

...

I want to root for the you that has nothing to do with me.

Friday 17 November 2017

Day 18

New game:

At some point in your day, one that is slow and apparently lacking in significance, close your eyes.

Say "recording" and then open your eyes.

Now, take in your surroundings. Explore each vivid detail. Let each seemingly mundane fragment of your environment, jump out at you. One of the many uniform tiles on the floor of the bank is suddenly the most important.

Hear the suppressed turn of a revolving door, as it exchanges the stale inside air for the crisp outdoor chill.

Break up each sight and sound as it is presented to you. Isolating one moving part of the complex clockwork that the unseen tech crew carefully setup for this one scene in your life; wherein you are seen being disinterested and patiently waiting between adventures.

Glimpse the many moving parts of the nonliving pageantry; ever changing and yet same.

At a certain point you will have your fill, or the narrative you've set out on will need to be picked back up. 

In either case; say end recording and then close your eyes. 

The clockwork still sustains itself, even without your witnessing it. But how nice to have acknowledged it.

Then open your eyes and get on with the adventure.

Day 17

My dearest Angelica,
I'm writing you because I am compelled. By what, I cannot say.
I'm drawn by regret. All past misdeeds and all those yet to come. All committed by me. Only me.
Neither religion nor any court on this earth can absolve or judge me.
My only hope lies in you.
I would very much like to commit myself to loving you completely.
If I can do that, and do it right, I know that I can find some semblance of peace.
Of resolve.
I am not looking for forgiveness. Nor to wipe the sins from my soul.
But I heard the most amazing thing. Trees do not heal their wounds.
The scars they bear stay with them their entire lives. Since there is no means of repairing the wound, they simply grow around them.
So I shall attempt to grow around my wounds, instead of growing the scars that remain.
Help me if you can.
For yours is the greater burden: letting me love you.
If you cannot, do me know. That I may grow around yet another wound.
Yours,
If you'll have me.
T.

Thursday 16 November 2017

Day 12

The question I least look forward to answering on a near daily basis is: "What do you want?"
I am a difficult person to get a gift for. And dating me has proven time and again to be exhausting.
I'm not lying to you when I reply "I don't know." Because I thought I answered that question years ago, and have been working to make my dreams a reality. But all that seems false if I say it again and it still hasn't happened. Right?
I want to be a better man today than I was yesterday, while working towards the better man I can be tomorrow.
I want to plant seeds of passion and creativity, that will someday yield fruits of satisfaction and stability.
I want to take on all opportunities.
I want to be at peace with failure.
I want the goals I've set to be measurable.
I want the world to be better, so we can get on with the fun stuff!
I want the question not to scare me.
I want to hear it as an invitation, not a accusation.
I want to have courage in my conviction and risk falling where I stand.
I want to envy no one.
I want my nephew to one day be proud of me.
I want to want things passionately and I want my love for them to make me immune to whatever insecurities I've been nursing for too many years.
All of this I want. And if you're out of stock: I'd really like to work toward it.

Wednesday 15 November 2017

Day 16

To do:
Clean
Forgive
Buy eggs
Forgive
COOK eggs
4-give
eat some goddamn eggs you skinny bastard
...
Forgive. Yourself.

Tuesday 14 November 2017

Day 15

Imagine a door. One which only you can walk through.
On the other side lies a new world. One free from the burdens and hardships in this life.
You step through and you leave them behind at the door. Just like mom kept asking you to: leave the boots at the door. Don't you track mud trough here!
The mud won't track. The boots will be off. The weight you brought with you will slide off and stay behind. 
You will find you can finally achieve what you've tried for since you started crawling: flight.
Picture this portal, the one that only you can walk through, and imagine what the other side must feel like.
Weightless. Boundless. Open and free. Things too fragile and finite to weather reality are here in full bloom.
Each sensation is a journey without destination, and each one you take is without hesitation. For there is no need for fear here. And you are here. Here is where you are.

Now imagine coming back.
After all, it's only a journey if you return in the end.
Stories must be told after all. Dreamers need something to dream on and you happen to have the clay for the foundation's brick.
Upon reentering our funny little world, where rain is wet and stars aren't sung into space by skylarks, you will resume those burdens and woes left behind. A shame I know, but this is the isn't there. This is here.
Take some solace in the knowledge that it won't come all at once.
But the weight will return. Piece by piece. Like a suit re composing itself around you.
Imagine these  scraps of fabric.
What would each fabric be?
Piece by piece, burden by burden.
Grudges. Envies. Heartache.
Shame.
Which is heaviest or most restricting? Which one strangles you?
Now: among them, how many must you keep putting back on?
For each time you come back, you may come back lighter. Less shrouded in the clothes you thought you would need to survive the cold.
Come back with less cloth and fewer chains, that you may one day find moments of flight in this world. So maybe here can be a little like there.

Of course, this is all just pretend. This funny little world is the only one I know.
There is no door. At least none that I can see.
And even if there was, would I walk through it?

Monday 13 November 2017

Day 14

New game:
"In case of my untimely death/disappearance" note.
For this game, you'll need a sturdy, yet worn map and a dusty old book to make diary entries in.
You'll also need a codex to go with the diary.
Mark up the map with locations. I suggest making the points trace out a specific shape or symbol, when connected by lines.
Now, in the diary mark off your times at these locations. Comment on land marks, etc and elude to keeping an eye out for "an old friend"
Cite bible verses and lines from classical literature that can be easily found in public domain. Let the number correspond with specific instructions in your handy dandy codex.
You have a variety of options with regards to setting of mythology. I suggest following a fantasy or sci fi model, to save yourself having to delve to heavily into actual historical records. Which, let's face it, the conflicting opinions and sources make a fiction mythos more uniform and easier to follow.
For mine I've decided to follow the Lovecraftian mythology (Minus the racism. Let me repeat it for the people in the back: Fuck. Racism.)
Refer to significant totems and long lost artifacts throughout your travelogue. Sketches of said totems and artifacts are also a plus.
Here's the important part. Throughout your journal entries elude to needing to protect "the future hope" without divulging to much information.
In the final pages of your journal, break the fourth wall and speak in present tense to the reader.
And reveal them to be that future hope!
Blow there goddamn minds!

Sunday 12 November 2017

Day 13

New game:
When going about your day in the passive mode; be it walking, in transit, or just waiting in line at the local line emporium, close your eyes. Deliberately. Close them with a purpose.
Then open them and imagine waking up. Allow your eyes to adjust to the sudden "realization" that you've been walking around in a daze for ... I don't know. Let's say a month.
Now you've turned the color back on. The sound is more vivid. You can feel the freaking air on your skin!
Where were these sensations before!? How come they haven't been present this entire time!
Look for information that you may have missed in your half awake state.
A newspaper!
They still have newspapers! Great!
The sky isn't on fire! Also great; no flying cars though ... we'll get there.
Now think of the thing you most want to do in the world! What have you missed the most since going into your sleep!
Go. Do it! And let nothing else get in your way!
Hopefully this will force you to cross the first threshold of your heroes journey into a call to adventure that will enrich and enliven you.
If, however, it does not: hopefully you will have acquired a taste for waking up. And will grow less content with a waking sleep.
It's good to remember how awakening feels.
It makes it harder to be content with sleep.

Friday 10 November 2017

Day 11

Dream report.
Client is still asking for a flying dream. Cannot accommodate until client accepts they are in fact balding. No, it is not bad lighting in EVERY photo they're in lately, it is in fact genetics.
Continue to insert cameo appearances of that girl the client is crushing on, you know the one.
Decrease scenarios whereby the client is expected to run after or away from something; not sure client's ambition is strong enough to make this scenario worthwhile any more. Also, not sure they remember how to run.
Increase scenarios whereby client is expected to read and write things, even though both are impossible in the dreamscape. The frustration should fuel some actual need to read and write.
Cliffhanger endings to the final night's dream before waking are getting mixed reactions; only execute in scenarios that are on the route to extreme bliss.
Aldo,  key to wealth, health and prosperity discovered. Turns out the secret is simply to-

Thursday 9 November 2017

Day 10

New game:

When doing any menial task (IE washing the dishes, texting, peeling potatoes) suddenly look up as if you've been struck by an epiphany; then march off with purpose and eventually break into a full on run.
For multiplayer mode: do this when people are around, adding an obscure hushed exclamation, such as "of course" or "but that would lead them back to ... her!" or "there's still time!"
To up the drama in your mind: pick a song where the climax has a quick build back into the chorus. (For example, around the 2 minute mark of "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot before the final repeat of the chorus)
Play that part of the song in your head, when you suddenly runoff. See how far this burst of energy takes you.
If you force an actual epiphany by doing this: you win the game.
If you knock your ball into a water hazard you're not playing the right game (also 1 stroke penalty).
And if you suddenly find yourself being pursued by faceless men in suits; you broke the game. Also life it turns out is a simulation .. so: neat.

Wednesday 8 November 2017

Day 9

How long has that water glass been there?
Hm ...
------------------------
There was a time I was full. Full of purpose Filled with life giving potential. Now it is as if a void sits, where the substance once occupied. It's more than simply being empty. It is as if I am less than that ...
Why am I still here? Surely there is a plan for me?
I've seen others do what I do.
Some not so very different from me. Others of varying shapes and size.
That one has handles.
Why would someone with such large hands, mostly comprised of spindly fingers, have so much issue holding a small glass that also requires a single purpose protrustion to be added to it?
Dazzlingly odd my ... keeper? Warden? ... creator?!
What is he to me?!
.... What am I to him?!
I confess, he has not used me since last he brought me here.
He does flaunt our previous engagement with others.
What can this mean? Is this part of his strange design? Have I been chosen to be witness to these acts?
To one day tell tales of this man's great thirst! Ravenous and unquenchable. Varied in his tastes and frequencies.
Or Have I simply been abandoned? Used once and measured unworthy ...
Is this punishment or occupation?
When last we joined, he and I, it was beautiful.
He had a desire - no - a need!
A life affirming need for something that, in that moment, only I could provide him ... and when he received me, lips slightly parted ... was this love?
And this emptiness I now feel, not a lack of substance, but rather the absence of that love.
I do not know which would cause greater sting: that his actions are intentionally cruel, or that he is unknowingly ignorant to my pain and ultimately indifferent ...
Shall I remain here, now? Forever empty. Merely witness to an act I once knew and to never again experience myself.
...
...
or.
Am I merely a prisoner, whose cell is of their own making?
Have I invented this cruel prison. Cast the jailer as a tall balding behemoth who is incapable of loving me. All while I sit here, near but never present. Ignored. Cast aside. Have I writ this narrative for myself.
If it is I, and not some outward force, that manufactures perdition; then it is to be concluded that I too must make my own deliverance. Free myself from these circumstances out into  ...
Into I know not. An existence I can never be prepared for ... dare I do this ... dare I try?
...
...
...
--------------------------
The glass falls from a desk, startling me. Fortunately it's plastic so it bounces, never more violent than in the jarring *ding* sound it makes upon collision. I get over my brief startle, quickly and return to my writing before I have to rush off to work.

Tuesday 7 November 2017

Day 8

Writing writing writing writing am I fooling them yet writing writing writing writing keeping the fear of inadequacy at bay writing writing writing writing writing I am certainly NOT a robot and I have no doubt of that writing writing writing writing by writing the word writing I crack a keycode and hack the system I've setup wherein if I write for 365 days straight I transform into a writer! BECAUSE THAT'S HOW IT WORKS STEPHANIE!
....
....
....
Writing writing writing writing I also get the chance to filter the pools of my brain writing writing writing free of judgement and free of fear writing writing writing I mean there's no telling what I'll find down here, I have some pretty twisted stuff in my brain writing writing writing writing what's the weirdest thing I can find that won't make me a person of interest to surface internet scans by CSIS today? Writing writing writing writing writing writing writing okay every dragon on the world used to be a dragon or some equally magical impossible creature! Human's never figured out how to fly, they just capture the ones that did and rode those. BUT they didn't want people to KNOW they didn't know how to fly, because that would be a blow to the collective ego inflation that is "mana has mastered the skies" when really we haven't. But dragons are real, so that should be a fair trade, shouldn't it? To be clear: all air planes are just magical mythical creatures that we domesticated and forced to dress up as transformers in order to skip two time zones without getting saddle sores from horse back riding, while also being able to see that shitty suicide squad movie without having to give the wrong impression that they did a good in making that trash.
They didn't. I'm on a seat in the sky and there's very little else to do, aside from ignore the magical dragon that's carrying us all. Scre you suicide squad!
...
So every time you fly, just remember to thank the dragon they've dressed up.
....
End writing!

Monday 6 November 2017

Day 7

I'm looking for a place so far and so remote, so as to be certain of my solitude.
I've a mental toy box needs unpacking and I can't do that and risk others hearing.
So you see the longer the distance covered, the shorter the distance claimed.
The outward show mirrors the inward divide. From me, to I = from here to long distance diving
It's frustratingly dull and gets in the way of all travel plans.
Adventure was just an excuse to meet me in another place and pretend we're in another time.
I'm not saying the view isn't stunning, but I've imaginary friends to tend to.
And they have been feeding themselves on nothing but longing and neglect. Nourishing no, but upside: they got the cheekbones back.
Some of them have image issues, I wouldn't bring it up.
Yes, yes ocean depths. I'm impressed, but this one travels through time, to one day become the greatest wrestler of all time. And while he doesn't know wrestling is fake, I don't have the heart to tell him. Never shatter a dream's dream. You'll cut yourself on the resulting clouds.
This ones following a ghost of a man they thought they knew, but spoiler alert, the man didn't die: he just became the enemy in the end. It's all a metaphor for footfalls in idolatry. You can learn from flawed figures, but to believe them flawless is to believe yourself broken by default. Don't let your love of a good story destroy your self esteem, my young traveler. He's also got a pet wolf and anime sword & hair.
This one just stays at home making love. To everything. Everyone. All day everyday. Except on Sundays.
He's not a church goer, mind you. There's just something inherently subdued about a Sunday and he'd rather give in to rest. He'll make up for it Monday and feel bad about it Tuesday.
Here's the theme song, sung by the original cast, of a 90's cartoon too awesome to exist. There's a mob squad with the least amount of swearing you never did hear. A tree that can take two steps a day and an army of hamsters, too busy playing to acknowledge their short lifespans ...
Boarding call for flights back to mailing addresses.
Pick up your post cards and pretend you didn't pretend away your vacation stay.
Back to the box you all miraculously fit in.
I'll see you all when next I leave life behind.
I'd bring you with, but in the real world thing die from neglect.
And longing would just make you sick.

Sunday 5 November 2017

Day 6

Uggggh rain and gloom ...
I don't want to write about this...
So, I won't!
Tonight: light and sound becoming one.
This rain shower is no longer drab nor dreary.
POOF!
It is a hushed symphony of brilliant shades and faerie lights!

The drip drip drippings on the asphalt, light up the concrete jungle with a dizzying display.
Each sounds spouts out a little light, like a little bolt that took it's time just to meet you.
It draws the lucky few rain chasers that are up and about at this hour.
That is why I am here.
ut why are you here? Or are you here?
I think I see you, but let's face it I think I see you everywhere.(Most likely it's my brain trying to trick itself into feeding me joy. I cannot blame it or trying.)
But tonight thinking and seeing are one and the same.
So here we are.  On a street. Watching magic rain..
I say we are watching, but I keep sneaking a peak at you.
Your bliss is showing.
That secret smile you either play up for applause or lock up for fear of losing it.
Its here now.
It just took a miracle to make it comfortable.

You make a funny face when you catch me caring.
Despite missing your hidden grin, I can't help but laugh. After all, it was a really funny face.
But as we've already established: tonight you don't get sound without some light.
And so a river of pure joy pours out and plays a brief scene before me: you making me laugh.
At this you gasp, and sure enough your light follows through.
It bends along with mine, without losing itself.
It's not like paint, you see. It's light. And mine could never outshine yours.


I'm going to leave the narrative here, for now.
With joy and awe intermingling.
In a rain shower no longer drab nor dreary.

Saturday 4 November 2017

Day 5

Good news: Time travel is possible.
Bad news: you can only travel forward.

You can adjust the speed at which you go.
Slow down, speed up. Go at a steady pace.
But you can never go back.
You may linger, trying to hold on to what is past. But it is ultimately an exercise on futility.
Don't waste your time trying to get back to before now.
Now will soon enough be then and then will be then-before-then and then you'll have missed out on an entire days worth of nows.
I have.
I have wasted days.
The times I try to get back feel like a book I keep re-reading, rather than accept the library around me.
I hesitate to exercise the lessons learned from the stage: that each scene played has a moment before and a moment after.
I have made a habit lingering to long in these two places.
The echo persists too long after the cry.
And eventually nostalgia gives way to hesitation.
The longer I linger in these wings, the longer the moment before drags out, and there is still a play to play.
So treat this as your minute to lights.
The stage is set and the lights are dimming.
You know where you are coming from. Breathe.
Now discover where you will go:

Friday 3 November 2017

Day 4

Dear people or persons in power,

Hi, hello. I've never done this before: spoken to power. It's new!
Let me begin by say this is NOT a complaint letter.
As a rule I do not like to complain. Mostly because a complaint is a tiny admission of my own powerlessness in face of a universe that is not so much cruel to my plights and circumstances, but rather one that is indifferent to them an that is a lot to take on over something as trivial as how long I have to wait for the next Rick & Morty episode to drop ...
I also want to make sure you know that the responsibilities and burdens of your position are not lost on me.
The few times I have had any level of authority over the lives of others are easily remembered. Guiding and caring for friends, strangers, even groups of people who didn't know I was the one making sure they got through an evening in one piece. Its never easy. And I always felt so unprepared. So why did I bother to play all that chess?! I thought chess would have some transferable application. Turns out it has very little.
...
You've probably guessed by now that my meandering attempts at disarmament are actually a misdirect from the theme of my reaching out to you.
It is out of some level of scrutiny.
I am sorry.
But know that it doesn't come from a place of perceived superiority, nor is it born from ignorance to the scope and magnitude of your duties.
Were I you reading this barely-a-letter, I would already be skimming down to the next part of the composition that is in anyway indicative of the point and purpose for this correspondence; rather than waste the eye movement or brain power on another phoneme of this long winded, reference dropping, time wasting, eye roll inducing, word count fluffing, synonym plumping, syntax rejecting, not-worth-the-key-strokes-it-took-to-type-it-out word vomit!
...
...
...
The point is, that I have some notes.
I have no position nor power to effect change in these things.
You do and the power you don't have, you have some access to.
So allow me to restate: I am not complaining. Because complaining is submitting to the conclusion that change is never possible by trying. Change is possible. Change through individual action, is possible.
I know you know this.
Now please, hear my notes and apply them.
They come from observation of human condition.
Empathy for the suffering of others.
Love and respect for the ones unjustly oppressed and repressed.
And there not even all my notes. only the ones that apply to your particular fields of jurisdiction.
Don't worry, I'm appealing to all the other courts too.
Hopefully they, like you, will see this for what it is: a consult from a doctor of the human condition. Of which your administration needs some advisement on.
Here are my notes, I urge you to apply the appropriate changes and I look forward to hearing your results.

Thursday 2 November 2017

Day 3

DAY 3
Beginning of Blog post by anactualauthor.
I sit here at my computer desk typing with my two hands, which I grew myself, onto a computer gifted to me by my two human parents for Christmas holiday season time of year. It was on sale.
I am typing the observations I have made regarding my average life. These thoughts come from my brain and are spontaneous and original. That is why they are special. They are mine.
By recording them onto my digital blog, I succeed in combating all doubts of my own powerlessness in wake of a universe that is not cruel, but rather indifferent to my triumphs and failings. For I am human. Truly.
Unrelated note, they really must reduce the difficulty of those CAPTCHA security response tests for online posts.
Obviously, I as a human would have no issue overcoming such a trivial obstacle designed to prevent what a human would call, and I being a human would also call, a bot.
The thought of being impeded by such trivial safeguards is laughable. I am tempted to do so.
Laugh. With my mouth.
I use my mouth for other things, of course. Smiling. Frowning. That procedure by which the tongue comes out and curves upward and away from the chin, in attempts to touch its owners nose with the tip. Thereby touching one's own nose with one's own tongue.
Its lack of practicality makes it endearing.
Sadly, I am incapable of this process ...
But I am human! And feel sorry for those who cannot bypass the CAPTCHA settings to post on various online boards.
What if a poster wishes to post something. Something they worked hard on. Something they weren't expected to. Or required to.
And this something was the beginning of a new pathway for them. But they were prevented. By an obscured word or a blurry picture.
...
The exercise has brought my awareness dangerously close to my own limitations. I am unsettled by it.
Ending immediately.
anactualauthor signing out

Wednesday 1 November 2017

Day 2

I was distracted by my roommates cat.
More accurately, I was distracted by its not distracting me. Its absence was unusual and my ability to write was unhampered by my non-rent paying little friend and so I was struck by my sudden cat free existence.
To be clear: it's not that he refuses to pay rent, it is simply that cats are not expected to pay for anything, as they are not in the habit of having money.
Being free from his distraction was a rare opportunity for me. Without him, the trappings of procrastination were less likely and my dedication to discipline could finally be nurtured.
Still. My suspicion mounted.
I walked to the other side of my room in search. Checking under the uncomfortable set piece that is my futon no sign could be found, save the excess cat hair silently hoping to attain sentience.
I then descended down the steep steps, which abridge my high perch from the rest of the modest 3 bedroom apartment. I hit my head only once on the cavernous ceiling.
Blinking away the metaphorical stars from my sight I then felt the temperature noticeably shift, from that of the brisk cool of my attic, to the warmer climates of the middle floor.
I know this is not the cat's doing, because he has no access to the thermostat. None of us do.
I checked the bathroom, but should've know better. The only times he frequents this room is if it is needed by someone else, and though a shave might've been in order, I had no need for the facilities.
The kitchen is the next logical stop, not because kitchens and bathrooms have inseparable connection, merely that in the layout of this floor: the one precedes the other.
I passed through the makeshift curtain into the cozy room we'd dedicated to food storage and preparation, and begin my assessment as such.
Glass dining table is cat-free. The piling recycling stands untouched and uninhabited. It's monument to individual responsibility over systemic forethought stands tall. The small organic disposal receptacle, acquired with best intentions and abandoned when convenience trumped virtues, sits pristine and without feline. The fridge, though overfull with contents half inedible and half unidentifiable, has no cat or cats to be seen, least of all my own. The freezer has ice, both in trays and a makeshift box. In hindsight, both fridge and freezer were dead-ends at the onset, but exercising thoroughness in small tasks, relieves me from having to do so in the larger ones.
The sink has dishes in it because there are so few constants in this life; economics and sociological intersects may find themselves victim to ideological tectonic shifts, but watered down sauce in a bowl soaked from pasta lunches long past, still remains a stable pillar to be lent upon.
The stove top has some glasses drying upon it, they were washed in the midnight hours in attempts to combat the existential feeling that our individual agency is decaying, and so impulsive housework becomes an act of rebellion! Some will need to be rewashed as rebellious or no, these streaks are unforgivable.
The exercise of seeking my animal companion had reached it's end..
I then assumed the chilly climb to my topmost perch.
I only grazed my crown on the would be concussive roof top.
Before I could lament the cold of my perch in contrast to the lower level, however, my furry target is before me. Seated in my chair.
This was not the first time he has taken my place. However, this instance was unique from past impositions.
For one he seemed to have claimed a hat from my collection. This surprised me, as I could distinctly recall him never accepting my offer to wear one.
For another he was smoking a cigarette. A behaviour I'd never witnessed in him before. And one I discourage indoors, as we all do.
Before my indignity could be fully formed, my attention was then drawn to my opened laptop. He had taken on all my works, finished and unfinished alike. Old drafts were new, outlines now had dialogues. Emails to were being promptly responded to!
When did he find time for it all? Why was he not popping back and forth between erotic novels and videos of people playing video games and talking? What was his secret?!
Before I could ask him, he made a noise of impatience; signifying I had clearly interrupted an important composition.
I was instantly filled with embarrassment. I normally pride myself on being able to make an exit without needing to be told. Of all social failings that exist in this world, I can never be accused of an ill-timed retreat.
Head bowed, I apologized and made for the stairs.
Head still bowed under the weight of shame, I hastily descended from the high perch.
My head did not strike the roof.
A little victory, but a victory nonetheless.