Still Alive

And now, the many paths of telling a story, and how some work, and most don’t.

As I plow through Merritt Island, I’ve begun to realize that it’s not really much of a horror story. At least, not from a novelist prospective, or even the standards of conventional horror movies or games.

Merritt Island at its core is still a story about insecurity and repression, and the decay of a city, and the perception of a city and what it should be. As I’m drafting it out now, I realize the primary interactions are not really between Joshua and Isabella, but rather between Joshua and Merritt Island itself.

Lots of the story has diverted away from these sort of hellish settings and Joshua being taunted by Isabella throughout them, and now they’ve shifted into Joshua sort of battling not only the city that’s decaying around him and actively trying to kill him, but also his past perceptions of what the town meant to him and how it treated him in various stages of his life.

Stage 1 of Merritt Island is what Joshua saw of it in childhood. When something like the mall meant wonderful toys, clothing, and movies, and he spent his time with friends and at playgrounds and the small boundaries of the island were a kind of utopia.

Stage 2 of Merritt Island is Joshua returning in adulthood, and seeing many of his old favorite places closed down, bulldozed over, or changed. On top of that he’s far more bitter and has come to a grave understanding of what he considers the consumer hell of the island to really be. He sees old locations are places he doesn’t want to visit again, and he’s fallen out of contact with everyone he used to know.

Stage 3 is hell itself. Where the signs and billboards reveal a very different nature. For instance, Joshua’s dealings with the decayed and rotted bridal shop push his buttons in regards to his absolutely pathetic love life. His outward rejection of traditions and customs clashing with his inwards desire to fully embrace those things for the sake of some vain acceptance. This is reflected in other things relating to other facets of his life, as the city slowly reaches out to destroy him.

As Joshua returns to his old school, he’s faced with a lot of his social anxieties. At the mall, he’s faced with a lot of his problems regarding his recently getting fired and swimming in debt. So on and so forth, with Isabella as the antagonist pushing him to keep exploring the bowels of the city, and Mr. Smiles the being that keeps tormenting him as he reaches each location.

The central hub of the story is contained in the two main roads in metropolitan Merritt Island, Courtenay Parkway, and State Road 520. Joshua rarely diverts from these paths, and it helps a lot to keep a very narrow view of the city for me. Joshua’s memories of Merritt Island are of a lively and busy city, while his view of it in hell mode are of a vast and empty place trying to kill him.

As Merritt Island becomes more and more dystopian the conflicts of past and present make it very much its own character.

Aside from Isabella, the other primary motivator for Joshua is still Mr. Smiles. He’s moved on from being this weird tormentor, and is now this sort of forceful version of Virgil. Early on he seems very much the villain, but by the time Joshua gets to the mall in the story, it’s clear that Mr. Smiles isn’t out to kill him, but force him down a road he doesn’t want to walk down.

There are very few actual villains aside from the city, there’s mostly just stuff standing in Joshua’s way, such as the Diamond Man. It’s a path I walked down for Eternal Engine, and while Merritt Island is a far more mature story in tone, (and speech) I still find it interesting to drive a story with minimal conflict. I find it allows me a bit more freedom in conveyance through other means, as I tend to be weird regarding dialog.

I’ll have moments where I’d have no dialog for very long stretches in Eternal Engine, followed by really long exchanges in chatter… and then right back to everyone keeping their mouths shut. Clock was pretty well mixed in that regard, but going back to that sort of “less is more” idea with Merritt Island has been very fitting.

Merritt Island also goes back to an old trick of mine I haven’t used in a long time, which is a minimal cast. Eternal Engine blew up more than I’d have liked, and every section of Clock needed its own brand new set of characters, so getting back to a tiny list of characters is wonderfully refreshing, as it offers far more time to spend on the reflections of these few characters, instead of rushing to define archetypes.

I think drifting away from strict horror has also been uplifting for a very critical reason, in that it puts Merritt Island into that zone I like to remain within, in that it’s impossible to set it within a single genre, much like Eternal Engine and Clock.

Overall, I just like being weird for weird’s sake in my tales.

Your concrete heart isn’t beating
And you tried to make it come alive
No shadows, just red lights
Now I’m here to rescue you

Out Of It

I’m pretty late to its release, but I just downloaded the new Brad Sucks album “Out Of It”. It’s brought me back to a sort of new line of thought on music and how it is consumed this day and age.

I hate the “indie” label, because for whatever reason it’s now used by hipster douche valves as a genre label, instead of just factually stating that an artist operates without being signed to a big name label. (How odd, “indie” used to mean “independent”.)

However, I do enjoy a lot of independent acts. From chiptunes, to nerdcore, there’s a very vast array of music out for consumption that’s far easier to obtain these days.

Shit, I got “G.A.M.3” on my iPod, the third collection of songs from people on GAF. It has no real reason to exist, but there have been some pretty choice cuts in the collections as far as electronica goes.

Jonathan Coulton (JoCo) is another artist I’ve been checking out a lot lately, and he’s another good example of a guy that “gets it”. When you visit his site, you can look at his entire collection of songs, and listen to any of them in full right from the site. Fairly priced bundles are available, or you can snip single tracks from the site for a buck each. Or, if you just stole all his music, he has a tab for donations in case a person liked the stolen product enough to support it.

Brad Sucks I think really has it down. When he first launched his site, his CD “I Don’t Know What I’m Doing” was up as a free download. More impressive though, was that when the album was ready for a real professional like release, he still left it up to download for free, leaving it up to the fans to decide if they’ll buy the MP3’s, the album itself, or just download the MP3’s for no cost.

This also applies to the new album he’s released. Better yet, the price for those who want to buy is completely up to them. You can buy all the MP3’s for a couple of bucks, or chip in 30 bucks to support the artist. Keeping focus on fans, you can also download the source material for all of Brad’s stuff as well, which has spawned a lot of remixes of his tracks.

This sort of community focus for music I find very comforting. Music, for most of the 80’s/90’s had become pretty faceless. Napster obviously shook things up quite a bit, (before selling out) but that impact has remained.

Contrary to popular belief, the impact wasn’t that people could steal music for free. If you look at the Pirate Bay’s website, you’ll see people will steal anything over the Internet these days if they can. The true impact was that between music itself and the user, and it’s why someone like Jonathan Coulton can amass a cult of nerdy fans to bring half monkey half pony dolls to his shows. (Not to mention all the awesome “Re: Your Brains” videos from PAX.)

Truth is, that sort of faceless bland development for music doesn’t work as well anymore, which is why artists on major labels these days aren’t presented as artists, but product. No one can listen to rap these days and consider it actual music, but there’s a ton of indie hip hop around that carries a far more “pure” spirit than any mainstream shit.

Music these days has entered a sort of weird flux. Television I imagine is next, (Hulu.com is so awesome) but music seems to be first on the internet’s chopping block of shit that’s due for a major cultural overhaul.

But most of all, the indie scene shouldn’t just be viewed as some measure of elitist snobbery that shuns the mainstream simply for the sake of it. The breadth of content out there, and it’s levels of pointlessness and obscurity and style ensures that there really is something for everyone these days.

Only about 4 years ago, I used to snub ANYTHING hip hop related, assuming in my head that the modern rap/crunk scene was all it really had to offer. Now I adore hip hop, simply because it’s actually possible to find so much of it that can appeal to me.

In fact, prowling different opinions and looking over You Tube and such to check out different artists is something I do nightly these days.

I’ve got no time to make you believe me
Set in the sun for someone to leave me.
I’ve got so much time to take it easy
Now that I am on my own.

Zero

Baby shower, birthdays, Jesus Christ I want this month to end. Still no job, still no new place lined up. At least sports are being kind to me lately.

Current ideas I need to line up: (I’m keeping this short as I’m writing it from my Laptop away from home.)

1-Sketches, if only to motivate myself, get a picture in my head beyond the vagueness I used to swim within so freely. Sentinels from Eternal Engine, Hatter from Merritt Island, Guardians from Eternal Engine… Oh, and some scenes as well. Get a general sense of the muted rusty/blue/orange themes for Merritt Island.

2-Touch up my “children’s tale”. It’d work well as is with illustrations, but I don’t have those on hand, so I should most likely just beef the content up a little bit before posting it.

3-Start writing down the ideas I have for that comic. Being limited to what people are involved/when they’re involved will bring back that sense of “shoestring storytelling” I used to have with Shadeless Sky.

4-Finish up with the sample work I got going and put out the “Merritt Island” soundtrack I’ve had cooked up as a new audio experiment. Thinking about adding some strange ranting and/or background ambiance in there as well.

5-Renew subscription to Xbox Live.

6-See if anyone in Napalm actually raided Gruul’s Lair Friday.

7-get home in one piece. Well, home’s a very poor choice of words. Return to Kyle’s pad in one piece.

8-Take a good deal of nights to think instead of write, I’ve got a lot of shit in my head to work out.

And God is empty, just like me.

In Arrears

Considering I tend to go off topic at the drop of a hat and find new trains of thought quicker than a bumble bee on meth, I’ll actually try from the outset to put some structure into this entry. Let’s see how well that works out.

1: General bemusement
2: Information on new projects
3: Thoughts on growing old

To start things off, my new iPod has been getting a lot of use already. As I sit here, it’s at song six in the new Ten-Song playlist, the Smashing Pumpkins “Tonight, Tonight”, followed up my MC Frontalot’s “In Arrears”.

Speaking of which, I’ve been listening to the Front’s new album quite a bit. I wish to have enough cash upon its actual release to be able to afford it. I’m still very headstrong in supporting independent artists whenever possible. I guess because maybe in some weird way I could qualify as one? Blah, I hate thinking about writing as an art form, creative or otherwise. Also, I’m about 100% sure I won’t be able to get it. Still, I enjoy the mixture of serious with goofy fun shit. Song’s like In Arrears and Black Box touch upon really deep stuff, whilst songs like Canadia (featuring Halifax rapper supreme Jesse Dangerously) and Diseases of Yore (with the wonderful crooning of Jonathan Coulton) are just straight up goofy and fun. Secrets from the Future wasn’t just a good follow up to the Front’s debut album “Nerdcore Rising”, it absolutely blew it away, showcasing that beyond the gimmick, there was real talent behind the recordings. The new one seems to be just as strong, as Front and the crew around him only get more adept and more focused with each album release.

Now about new projects… or the better known subtitle for this topic “how fucking crazy am I?”

First, as I’d hinted at in previous journals, the new project is titled “Merritt Island”. An homage to Silent Hill, while still trying to maintain the feel of my own horror universe that I’ve been crafting for eons. Basically, I decided the best way to feel out some of the problems, is to pull Third Horizon into this current offshoot to try and work out some of the themes and such. Much like Silent Hill, the focus of the story is short on dialog, and heavy on self reflection. The few unique things I can lay claim to I still want to brandish about though.

For starters, while the title of the story also rips off SH (using the location as the name of the story) there’s no weird fog or so such. A unique tropical setting means a hurricane is what has emptied the island. Though obviously that’s just on the outset, as the few people left are all insane/demonic.

While the previous (and finished!) draft of Third Horizon also took place in the same city, the hurricane was mostly a ploy for emptiness and removing the need for social interaction within the story. There were very few “weird” moments that took place in that draft, and all of them were driven by the main character’s insanity. The new version instead thrives in “bad land”, twisting and perverting normal every day locations into shrines of self torment.

Also, with the inclusion of more characters, I’m forced to act upon an older draft of the story again for themes. Mostly in that the main character isn’t the only nutcase around, so things that were only hinted at in other drafts get to come to light now. The thing that draws everyone to the soon to be obliterated and desolate town is some horrible crime that’s been held inside for too long. So I can’t just focus on the sins of one character now.

In the end though, the core of the story is really mostly the same, I just haven’t really found the proper way to write a horror story yet. The first draft of Third Horizon played out like a reality TV show with monsters, and the second one was mostly just one character reflecting on his past. This spin-off gives me the chance to just go nuts and do whatever, with no worries about the core story getting messed up (amazing what a simple name change can do).

Hey, look, I’m actually keeping this on track like I planned!

So my birthday has passed, and after the elation of free goodies and cake, comes the afterthought, much like a hangover. I realize that 22 is actually a fairly youthful number, but when I look at the pace of others and what they’ve accomplished, I still feel like I’ve done nothing but waste time, as though my entire life has been a series of missed opportunities.

I suppose the one that’s real easy to dwell on is the one that matters the least at the current moment… also the most ironic. I’m 22 now and still very single. At times, such as when I fall asleep and wish for someone to be at my side, I understand that sort of raw need to have someone around, but when I get to those moments where I dwell on it, I remember that I’ve pretty much remained that way according to my own whim.

Granted I can only think of about three cases total (one though was very much recent) where a female has actually been interested in me in a degree that’s even obvious to me. But the problem is the people I seem to attract are NOT the kind of people I even want to SEE on a regular basis much less get intimately involved with. Intentional celibacy is a strange place to be in when you’re in a world that places nearly zero value on love. But, my morality and conservatism stand on separate bridges that our society has yet to find common ground for. I suppose it’s not that I’m sad that I’m still alone, but more that I just haven’t found anyone actually worth sticking around with. Then again, I feel that a lot in general now. I seem to be at a point in my life where I’m losing more friends than I gain. That need for contact often conflicts with my desire to be alone, but I’m well aware that it’s mostly just because of the company I’ve kept for so long.

For instance, when the only people in the house are Kyle and Tara, everything seems fine and okay. Frankie gets home and him simply being around brings a level of annoyance that sparks ire and angry thoughts with everyone.

Perhaps I need someone around just to keep me from offing myself? I’m aware that when others are around, I’m so caught up in the noise that I don’t focus on the things that make me depressed. Like a drug, but one that doesn’t have any good high. I exchange annoyance for self loathing.

But that’s just one thing, not really a primary issue that’s been cropping up in my mind. Most of what I feel is this general sense of uselessness. I matter to very few people. My day to daily is mostly spent trying to find a place and not disturb anyone. I bring no money or fame anywhere, so when I’m around, I never have a place to speak, which means I often don’t. Even on my birthday, I notice how easy it was for me to fall out of the conversations being had by all. There are many moments I look at where I can remove myself from the picture and see it not making a change. One day while playing Warcraft, Tara offered me a bowl of snack food, and I said thanks and took it, but something that simple, made me feel so shitty. I don’t like being pitied. Even if it’s well intentioned, everything I’m offered here only serves to make me feel worse.

I’m not the kind that can mooch and enjoy it. I’m well aware that there’s far less economic burden here with me gone.

I’ve seen a few people around me talk about jobs being offered recently, and it was funny, because they talked about it RIGHT to my face, absolutely knowing what kind of horrid financial state I’m in… but then went on to talk about other people they were going to assist in getting said job.

I’ve always disliked myself, but I keep seeing it from weird angles lately.

There’s the shy kid that won’t speak up when someone breaks in line. Polite to the degree where it’s very much a physical detriment.

There’s the philosopher that’s given up on childish dreams like hope, and has come to grasp that humanity will face its own end because of itself. A man who’s view on the human race borders on hatred.

There’s the person wounded so many times that “trust” is a word that seems like it came from a fairy tale. So embittered by his experiences in life that he’s lost the will to care about anything.

There’s the mistaken artist, one who’ll listen to a song and spend the entire day contemplating the placement of strings and electronics, and how they’ll create new images within one’s mind.

And finally, the failure of a writer. Listening to a podcast recently where a guy leaving his job writing about video games sort of went about the trials and tribulations of creative writing. Pondering his own experiences freelancing for a terrible failed gaming site, emerges a person who realizes that written words are seen as mostly pointless in modern western society.

I look at all angles of who and what I am. Constantly wondering what kinds of impressions I leave on people, and why. I once thought the other day after saying something stupid, that what I just did was not what I wanted as a reflection on what I am. I’m looking back with curiosity at the mistakes of my past, and wondering what I would have done to focus the world on me, to see THIS, and not the quiet bullied kid that exists like too much of a stereotype.

The philosopher in me says “What does it matter? Time is not malleable, and what you leave behind won’t even last as long as memory. All traces of all people will one day fade.”

The sky kid in me says “If only they knew what I was really like, if only I could show them what I’m really thinking.”

The artist in me thinks “so many around me, and they’ll never ask the questions I question, they’ll never feel the flow of the rhythm and creativity like I do, and I pity them for that.”

The embittered man in me thinks “What does it matter? If they don’t know me, it’s their fault, and it means they’ll likely never care enough to know.”

The writer in me thinks… “Why am I wasting my time on this, what is it going to accomplish?”

I’m asking them all the questions as though I’m sitting at a round table with myself. Different layers of thought and time colliding into a chaos that I’ve spent years trying to comprehend. But in the end, after all these years, other layers have only added to the confusion.

I try to sit around and watch humanity surge in the same yet different directions, and I wonder why I bother contemplating that, when I don’t even understand myself.

Spin around.
What does it do to your inner ear?
Your account:
Don’t pay the dues? You are in arrears.
What I’ve found
Is we get just another day or two.
Falling down?
Dizziness does that to you.

Change the World

So very tired…

Want my brain to stop yelling at me, that’s keeping me awake.

Didn’t get to watch kickoff for Football season save for all of three minutes of the fourth quarter in a couple of games. That didn’t really provide me with much joy either.

My head’s been less manic over the last few days… not to say that’s a good thing, as I’ve just slid back into a normal and steady depression. Haven’t eaten in the last couple of days, my stomach’s screaming about as much as my brain is… just want to sleep.

See yelling, see anger, don’t care much myself. Bleed for me, or bleed for nothing. I enforce the standards that everyone else wants… me, me, me. Confusion and struggling, I just want to sleep. Provisions have been made, keep ‘em out, this is the dance that makes them all fall down.

No conclusions for a sound.

The icons we cherish, idols and monuments built as abstracts for nothing other than personal self awareness. But that awareness isn’t projected outwards. You can kill with no thought given to it. Someone takes from you, and suddenly guilt, regret, awareness finally shows up. Insular… just like me.

This is for me. This is me. No more stories to tell, no more fiction, no more smiling. I see other people smile, and I want to strangle them. Project into them everything I’ve been forced to endure, all the bullshit I’ve seen, slung about my shoulders because I was willing to give everything. When the apathy of my world is replaced, I want to see hope, or those few good things whispered into my ears. I feel only anger. That very same anger I used to lament in others, but I lie to myself, say I want to direct it elsewhere. I know what “elsewhere” is.

I sit in what I guess I could call my bed, telling myself it can’t be real, that everything will open up and the sky will fall, bringing with it all I’ve ever wanted. It’s a game I’ve played for years, a little pathetic gesture to keep me alive. Even those dreams I used to play out, worthless little fantasies of a better world… even they rot in my brain now.

A tender smile cast my direction, but I scoff, and react poorly, stretching out with violence and hate, showcasing what I really want, against a blood stained visage of all I ever needed. Two such disparate things that create the same creature. A different kind of Prometheus, smiling with malevolent intentions. Product of our perfectly wonderful modern world.

I don’t want pity… not anymore. Words whispered away from me as to how angsty and pathetic I’ve become, I couldn’t give a shit if I gave it all the effort in the world. No one’s given an inch, and I’m not willing to budge much now either. Worry for their selves, and just or unjust, it leaves me on my ass. I’m a hair away from being outright homeless, and right now, I’m thinking I’d actually prefer that as an option. Just cut myself away from everyone that’s pissing me off. Find some new place to rest my weary mind…

Those dreams oft dreamed of, they never came. The days longingly hoped for, they never came. Couldn’t find my place amongst others, couldn’t find a career, couldn’t find a place to sleep, call my own. I could have had a little bit more… shit, could have had a car. The doors that’d open for me alone…

Ashes to ashes, dreams to dust, and the world around me is now covered in rust. The trick is to keep breathing, but this place is sweltering, so even that becomes a challenge.

I just want silence that can last long enough for my mind to grasp it. I used to be my own protection… I used to shield away the horrors of the world with a unique and whimsical brand of logic… but as the clouds move closer, and the days grow shorter, I can’t really feel a thing. In my darkest hours, I’ve reached out for help, for understanding. All I ever found were meaningless words, and more reasons for my heart to ache to a different life.

I burn like the ashes of a cigarette in an ashtray. Smoldering, dreaming of setting a forest aflame, but doing nothing, going nowhere, not bright, and fading more and more. The dreams I used to have, of what I would be… just that.

I scream because I have no voice. I hate because I have no hope. I cry because I have no allies. I’m bitter because I’ve had years of getting kicked around under my belt. I spit venom at everyone, because I’ve never seen a reason not to. I’m spinning in circles, because I’d rather do that than face desolation.

No solutions… No answers, not from on high, not from the earth around my feet. No praise, no hands to hold, nothing but crawling after having lost the ability to walk. Punched in the stomach, but still going onward, wounded and ill. So very tired…

Like some notes cast before the cosmos before my death, I keep writing these like I have something to say, something of value to give… but this is all that’s left of me. Every last fucking shred of that nice little kid has been bled out. All the dreams he had have died, all the good memories are like the taint of another life haunting my own.

Calling me home… wherever that was. Like some sort of vague image. Logically, my brain says I’m looking for Merritt Island, but when I ponder that, I feel revolted. I’m just trying to remember, what was I called? Never stood in the spotlight, always playing second best, the arm everyone could lean on and pay no attention to.

“Do you like this?”
Actually, in some kind of sick way… yes.

“Is it always the same?”
Yes…

“Will you remember my name?”
No…

Because no one will remember mine. I could leave this place tomorrow, telling everyone here that I’m just going to walk off into the distance and drown myself. They wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t be a burden any longer to them, so why should they shed a tear?

The few people I interchanged and referred to as friends, they all went their own way. Only ever got back in contact with one for a small moment, just to go about two seconds of an IM conversation that was basically nothing more than “Hi… okay, bye”. None of them exist to see the ruins that are left of me. I should be thankful for that… but honestly there’s no solace to take in such a thought.

This is all the salvation the world will afford me. Pointless little bits of depressing abstract thought cast out into a realm that’s anything but subjective. Everyone’s got their heaven waiting for them, their own image of salvation. I don’t look in the mirror and think “what happened?” I look in the mirror, and past it, and I see what will happen before it all ends. Cry! Show the world what you’re not-so-unique talent is, shoulder it all, and cry like there’s something bigger than you! I’ve found their salvation. It’s the lies I used to feed myself. All the little words spoken only to myself to ease my mind into somber, peaceful, sleep…

I don’t like the way I whore out my suffering in these, like my thoughts mean so little. I resent the ways that even I suffer. But that doesn’t stop it. Just like kind words don’t make hurt go away.

Just like writing all this solves nothing.

Truth be told? The only reason I’m writing this, is because I can’t trap my mind with those false dreams of what I was holding to fall asleep. This is my new drug, when slumber won’t find me… contemplating endless sleep, and partially hoping that I’ll find it.

I see the way the salesmen stare into the sun
I stood and watched them as they fell off one by one
And everyone’s so blind
They’re not to help mankind
Reach into your bag of tricks and pull another one
You don’t wanna change the world like you say
In it for yourself, no one else
You’re ready, saving yourself
You’re gonna change the world

To Another Abyss

I’m not so stressed, but I am aware that some kind of breaking point is soon upon me. Clock struck 12 and I could feel September sink in like a rock in my stomach. There’s a lot I need to figure out this month, and if nothing comes to fruition? Then… I’m outright screwed.

I mooch off my cousin today for a couple of trips for fast food, didn’t ask, just tagged along. I think he has some idea about how bad my situation is, but at the same time, I’m also aware that he can only do so much. He’s got to pay to have his wife’s new car fixed up and getting it on the road and such, along with other shit, and all I do is add further burden to this place. I can’t provide anything to anyone. Fuck, come the next few days, I won’t even be able to eat on my own anymore…

Wonder ‘Bout

When I try to sleep, I often pursue strange thoughts. Chains of thinking that all lead into one another, but I have no idea what direction I’m facing by the time sleep finally claws at my brain.

Cat circles my feet. I wonder, why do people domesticate some animals, but eat others? People that run shelters for dogs and cats most likely eat at fast food places like the rest, should that be ironic? Or, is it just that being cute makes for a handy survival trait?

I have no reason to think that, but I do. I am surrounded by a lot of pointless drama, and I see the cat around me. Maybe this is why he’s here? This small creature sees through a lot of bullshit. He’s perfected the art of not giving a damn.

Only Happy When It Rains

It rained all day today. Felt great. Took a walk when everything let up for a bit, and there was a chill to the wind that bit at my face, and the clouds kept everything a lovely dark shade of its former self.

Wind kept blowing all day, sat outside a lot with the cat and just watched the trees fight at the storm. I love days like this. Others call these days dull or terrible. I thrive in them.

Granted, I didn’t do shit with most of the day. Aside from going out to the new Sonic with Kyle and his wife, I just sort of dicked around on WoW all day (Nether Drake, you will be mine).

Still, there’s some unique type of whimsy that floats in my brain on days like this. Instead of the usual pain and tedium that propagates in my mind so much these days, I was instead able to break away and look at inspiration again.

…

I didn’t FIND inspiration, but for the first time in a great long while, I felt like it was within reach. A whole week of this kind of weather, and maybe I’ll actually get back to shitting out some drafts again.

I listen to this Junkie XL track, “Home”. It’s odd because I don’t really know the true meaning of the word. But the wordless soft and sweeping sound. It pushed me in a direction at least. I find it amazing how easy it is for a song to bring me to the brink of tears. If not for the music itself, then for wherever it takes my brain. Some unique type of place where I’m constantly reaching out for that hand that can guide me towards creative bliss… but I only come so far. End up short.

Every attempt at anything I’ve endeavored towards so far seems like some kind of analog. Like I’ve built it just to build it. Look at the form, look at the idea.

The only sort of solution I came to is to start “sketching” ideas based on characters. Get the feeling of what should transpire with things like poems or short little bits of tales that do nothing but try to establish a mood. I should hopefully crank a few out over the next few days.

But of course, if this weather doesn’t hold… then it may be for naught.

Fickle…

And though I know you can’t appreciate it
I’m only happy when it rains