Wednesday, January 25, 2012

On Victory

It's never the point, is it?

It's fleeting. It doesn't provide. I mean there is the endorphin reaction, sure. But anything worth celebrating is usually won at great cost against great adversity. And for what? To take in the moment and go home?

It's not about the end but what comes after. It's about utilizing the prestige or the momentum to great effect. It's about continuing on in a greater state than you were before.

I have this habit of writing to fulfill a sense of productivity, like depositing change in a bank. And I think if I can just get my hands loose I'll continue and write my fiction and my poetry. But instead I allow this feeling of satisfaction, this false accomplishment, to take the place of anything else I might do that would actually mean something.

It calms me down. Admittedly the act is an escape. I write something to avoid writing THE thing. I never thought that each poem and each completed short would simply be a step in a building process of my own strength as a writer. I mean we know this as common sense - that people who do something often get better at it. But I think my perspective viewed the outcome as the goal, not as one long continuous evolution of effort. So I'd write for the day and forget about it. I'd eat for the moment and forget about it. I'd earn a paycheck from work and use it as I need it but not as I choose to invest it. Each repetitive thing we ignore is valuable in the pursuit of a great living state IF we understand the worth of victory as a practice.

Victory or success or winning, all mean you have a temporary edge. It's confidence. It's being known perhaps. It's an opportunity to be listened to and taken seriously.

On the road to public success must be an infinite amount of private ones. There certainly are an infinite amount of private failures I can account for, otherwise I wouldn't be home in my pajamas for the last 3 days playing games on my laptop. Now there is a habit well constructed and afforded by the genius in interactive entertainment. How can a person with the aptitude for over 12 hours of focus, easily, have it susceptible to the particular stimulus of the digital medium and not be able to wield it on command?

I thought wanting something and achieving it were arbitrarily related. Now I see that the tools best suited are not aptly applied as a rule in some cases. Crossed wiring?

But like any program, a command change in one line can alter the function. They way I viewed tasks made the approach seem laborious. But looking beyond the final word of the story, beyond the development of the script, beyond the choice to try, beyond the eventual success of achievement, and I am confronted by an ideal state by which I can do . . . some real good in this world.

Well I'm not sure if I truly believe that. For every idea I have there are people that would attack it and maybe the best ideas are never seen that way until they've been marketed right. Trying to find the true good in the middle of all the things that seem to come close is impossible. Sometimes it seems like humans were never meant to agree. But then there's victory and you can't be victorious in the way we are used to without it being recognized by those around you.

It's a moment of communion but that isn't the point now. It just resembles something that we are all attracted to... And I suppose those that are watching want to be a part of it. So victory becomes a greater statement about what we all want in the world, the quality within us to offer something important. And then-to do just that.

If I look at meeting goals as having the right to meet another and taking joy in each accomplishment, then I would never cease in my effort and I would accomplish a great deal.

My challenge exists in all the habits formed prior to this new practice, where there was no importance beyond the act or beyond the day. I've had so much time to lose my sense of urgency that now, when I'm trying to create a sense of perpetual joy while acting upon a realized freedom to succeed, I am faced with a wall of complacency.

In games we are provoked into action and we call it stimulus. We are attacked and we find within us the nature to respond, to end the conflict, to resolve the turmoil, to save the day or overcome the challenge otherwise. But when realizing our own worth we are faced with the infinite. I don't know where to begin at first because I'm thinking of some goal that doesn't exist.

Victory isn't a goal, it's a state of existence. One instance of success MUST role into another. It is the waves of motion in the ocean, it is the steady self-perpetuating rhythm of our hearts. Success is life and death every day, a cycle that has allowed humanity to form. So success in the heart and mind must not be constricted . . .

We call it hard work and seek to escape it. We seek to relax and think we owe it to ourselves to rest. But when it's the right work and we use that same formula we are missing the point. This is the problem, or part of it at least.

I believe investment is dangerous, I am programmed to avoid my commitment. It's not that I don't want to write but I have a strong sense that I shouldn't and I can't figure out the one root and this is how I know that wanting something isn't enough. The feeling, it's the feeling. There is a lot of hesitation when I think about acting. Hesitation and fear as if I stood before something too important to touch but would be mine if I felt the conviction of being worthy of it.

It's an honest question poised to me from something ultimately beyond my understanding:


There is no judgement in the question because all the consequences are known and accounted for somewhere. It's just a question for me and about me and no one truly knows what it feels to be asked it in my shoes and know one should ever care.

The universe is benevolent and just. The void it contains eclipses our understanding, our perspective, our reality. You do not accept deals with it lightly if you do not know your place, and yet men do it easily enough in their ignorance and plow forward through history recklessly and call it it bravery. There is a modicum of bravery sure, when facing the unknown.

But it is far more terrible to face the full request and consequence of your existence and choose the path forward once you understand the importance of the part you can play.

So we come at last to the famous saying "Be careful what you wish for." It is a lesson in the heart of me that I do not take lightly and it is disguised by humility, thought it is truly a fear of my own capacity; of the image I must invoke, the person I must become to allow for all the effort I am as yet unfamiliar with in this life. But the choice is not fleeting, it stays with me and stares at me and waits. It is the patience of it that is unnerving and makes me feel like I have a debt to pay.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Chasing Volition

It's nothing short of magical. Being creative makes no sense. Why are we inspired and from where does it all originate. What is the chemical value, the physical value of questioning the reasons why anything happens? What is the implication once we begin to receive answers?

I guess it depends on what answers you get. But I'm referring to the stillness that comes with doing something entirely personal. I'm alone in the apartment. I hear my fingers hitting the keys. It won't be long now before someone interrupts me, before I'm reminded of what responsibilities are looming over me...but for now the time is mine and I'm using it to hunt down - well what can we call it? Self-control?

Currently I'm experiencing the onset of that oh-so-familiar condition of narcolepsy. I'm not proud to falter beneath sabotage. I wish I could identify specifically whatever douses the mind in that black velvet of sleepiness at the moment of truth. But maybe I'm just too relaxed. I just don't see how this weakness can ever allow a full book of fiction. I need a break for a moment to stretch my legs. Being independently productive is the God challenge of our existence. And to think it's a wild enough chase attempting to claim the right to change one's path, to alter one's habits, to act upon a goal with full determination all days. Imagine what happens when I finally get fingers around the trigger, wouldn't I just lose my mind with excitement and doubt?

The problem with writing fiction

It's easier not to do it.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


The mind's an awkward tool. It will not always support you. Often it can crash, and will, at critical moments. There are reasons to fear this loss of control but the mind is not who we are. It's a tool. It attempts to translate our interactions into terms that represent absolute values like beneficial or dangerous. But it's capacity to accurately determine the truth of an encounter is limited to our own education and references. In order to increase the vocabulary you have to break regulation on occasion.

When the thoughts stop coming, when your interpretations lack depth and fail you, and you wonder if you are out of your league, just relax. Let the lack of understanding give way to peace of mind, because surely you can't do much about something you have no reference point for.

Your secondary lifeline are you natural instincts. They're bred into you; fight or flight. Survival doesn't take much, just a willingness to let the form set the pace. There isn't much to say about it. We don't often interact with our instincts unless under dire circumstances so the terms are less that stable. We're not super familiar with our animal selves so dropping guard can have the consequence of misfiring (e.g. hitting someone without cause and paying for it, or leaping out of a window from pure fright only to die anyway).

The tertiary mechanism is something you might here in philosophy 101: a priori. There's an argument some are tempted to put forward that we know all we need to know and that our minds are just picking up the slang to translate that awareness into local currency. There are plenty of living examples too stupid to support this but if I'm allowed to chalk up the irregularity of common sense as a means toward a dark future by our, very much insistent, darker tendencies, then what we're left with is the institution of terms agreed upon being misrepresented as objective truth and confusing what we are and what our purpose is.

Finding yourself without a clue would be a blessing in this case. It's a vacation from the madness of our combined perspective and a trip into the void of creation where nothing and everything meet. It's the birthplace of consciousness, that element that allowed for sentient life to roam the galaxies and somewhere at the heart of darkness is an understanding that can't be defined but defines all.

Now making peace with your world could be the outcome and not a very productive one. It's not about letting the chips fall, it's about not playing the game at all. It's about choosing a different way to experience and live and to do it with the a priori first and the mind and body closely following. It means that when things look bad, understand that look is a distraction from the truth of an imbalance that you are there to correct. Let's call it justice and let's call your work in the formula gifted. Let's call it all crazy because we created language and that honesty may suffice to stop calling it anything. End of story, learn to understand non-traditionally and treat each day like a bright new revelation and perhaps the so-called miracles will return to us carrying abundance on every wing.

Thursday, January 12, 2012


It's my view that the world is divided by people who do for others and those that do solely for themselves. Many of us walk the tightrope because we are capable, easily, of doing both. However the seed of one concept is rooted a little deeper. Extreme situations make the dividing line and we know who we are.

I'm no socialist/communist. I don't even know what that means. I believe we each owe it to ourselves to utilize our inherent freedom to find our fullest potential. And I believe that in doing so we can provide our greatest benefit to the world and should do it in a way that also provides for our happiness. Being good at something and being adequately appreciated for it is a wonderful, if not ideal, experience.

But we are left short-sighted when the resources don't balance properly, thus the class warfare now thinly veiled by bipartisan politics. The wealthy and powerful need humility and perspective and need to lead or the sphere of experience to which they are privileged will corrupt their legacy, the world will crumble with such inappropriate misuse of wealth and the system will fail, eventually leaving an imploding state; a vacuum that the rest of the world will war over filling.

That is one worse-case scenario. It could go any number of ways. But having the power to do good and just doing like any common man is a waste of potential. Living above your means, spending on ridiculous luxuries, alienating your fellow man, not educating, not reinforcing, not taking your ability seriously (that part of it that is directly relevant to your connection within the great organism of this planet) is an affront to the meticulous process that arrived with us, with today.

No self-respecting individual wants a hand out, just the right to work hard and earn their fare share. Not everyone is seriously interested in doing nothing. There is an entire class of people who love that they can provide for their loved ones...

But not everyone understands their own capacity or has the sight to find the right opportunity. They can do right but are misdirected and ignored. This happens in relationships of all kinds. Some of us are try hard because we believe in something, and some people just exist to consumer experiences and abandon their conscience as often as possible.

It's the unconscious people that make me angry, that demonstrate the living setback of our society. They don't want to think and choose or refuse to. No communication, no regard and when they do respond, it's nonsense. If left alone they would destroy the universe and abstain from admitting suicide. And the rest of us with ideas, with sentiment, with compassion, would die trying to hold back the tied of things these others let loose.

We need to be aware of the potential good we can do and do something. The more power we have, the larger the support team and the retinue of ass-kisser, the more that can be delegated, the more that can be achieved. Power surrounds the successful, opportunities surround the attractive, but their commitment to themselves does not usually evolve to anything grander, and they prove how limited their ambition is.

When I first wanted to write about dissapointment, it was with the idea that I might have to regret the type of person I was for the unkind people I have associated myself with in the past. It was more about being regretful for believing in any worthwhile communication across the board. Instead I've learned I had to be particularly picky about who I surround myself with and even then it may pay off to play things close to the chest, be reserved, observe, use leverage, secure the hierarchy even in casual relationships or abandon it.

But I don't want to be this person. My mindset has since adjusted from the point where I wrote the title and saved the draft for working on another day. I'm not feeling bleek today though my situation is what it is. I'm near destitute. I won't get into it again. Still, the point was it turned out that I wasn't really concerned or surprised about the frailties of other people but rather that I let their mindlessness stain my outlook.

Why should I let a mass passive-aggression turn me into a vegetable? That would be like agreeing with these assholes.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

On Distraction

It's amazing what one can focus on during an escape. Our ability to prioritize the secondary objectives seems incredibly effective. Primary objectives, if ambitious enough, cause a bit of shock. They can breed hesitation, procrastination, and excuses. But by comparison, an alternative agenda seems to brighten the day.

There's a psychological association with the mission, some ominous attachment that causes the ego to eject like a pilot from a flaming jet.

School to video games,
writing to exercising,
social ventures to sleep,
family get together to school work

There's no pattern, just mindless and arbitrary hopping. The question is then if we can't acquire the diverging energy and reinvest it, at its peak, in the task at hand? Why can't we catch the blasted devil that is our own elusive will and stick in its seat and point it at the bulls-eye?

How simple would life be if we could take the impulse of our distraction and stack it upon the most important order we've given to ourselves: to live healthy, to be self-confident and have conviction, to achieve mastery, to accomplish effortlessly all the goals that fall within our radar? What if we could take that very natural interest we have in all things aside the great issues and sharpen them consciously upon the opportunity for success in whatever idea that has the greatest potential impact in our lives?

It's so easy to do what I shouldn't be doing and such a pain in the ass to do what I'm know I'm supposed to. If I can find a way to swap these values, if I can just find a way to adjust for the emotional lapse, and take its reinvestment back where it belongs, well . . . nothing could stop me.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

On Discipline

What part of the self rules the other parts? In a proper democracy this role is always changing. We preach balance and call it a good idea. But houses are built on order. Bridges and walls are built with repetition. Mountains are climbed one foot at a time for several thousand. There can be no lenience if one is to complete the journey. There can be no wayward tendency. The blade is sharpened finest with patience.

So now I discover that unlike the nature around us, which shows us order and designation and repetition, and unlike our own bodies which are filled with structure and design, the three aspects that define us are at odds.

How we function at all...scratch that. How we achieve anything must be a matter of the heart. It must be obsession. What pulls all aspects together is more than I can define. But whatever it is, call it passion, or addiction, or insanity, or fear or desperation, it is the trump card on the enigma of humanity. It binds a man's varying faces in to one solid edifice, it binds people into stark contrast . . . we think money does this, or influence, power or leverage. Sure, people are herded, but what gives one man or group of men the foresight to conjure the mechanism to control other men; mind and body?

Why go through the trouble and how does one overcome the challenge?

It's not that control of others is the goal, merely control of the self. Should a person not delight so easily in escapism, or the company of loved ones, or indulgence of any kind. Should he forfeit a jovial existence so that he may create a lasting legacy?

What is discipline to the common being?

I can say, so far, of one path. It is through the destruction of the ego and it's replacement with an idea, that a purposeful action gains traction and a goal is pulled near. Even one's humanity may be compromised in this act of lunacy, in the tearing down of name and status and importance and desire all for one idea that will redefine the life of the being. It's not discipline, it is possession. It is being possessed.

One must give up, and not just once but repeatedly hit and dismantled. One must be torn down. It's sad but I do not the trust the easily organized, the casually right thinkers, the ones who manage their investments clinically without any temptation and the appearance of balance without any sign of the pain of growth. I do not trust the ones that say there is nothing to it. They have not suffered, they have not learned the hard way. They have never buckled beneath the weight of their needs and the anger caused by hunger. And if they have, and if they hide it, shame them.

To remove oneself from poverty means to remove oneself from the spiritual state that allows poverty and that may mean breaking down every definition one has come to live by and then to repeat that struggle with everyone that has to come to label them. True change is not just within, but without. To reshape one's existence, the idea ruling the mind must be known to be expendable. All interests, all habits, all fears, all doubts, all concerns, all connection...gone.

True discipline is dangerous. It means becoming a tool of a greater deed. It means sacrifice. The paradox: if the goal was appreciated in the former mind, what happens to its legitimacy when that mind, because of its failure to achieve it, is replaced? How does one transcend without forgetting the purpose of their transcendence?

Saturday, January 7, 2012

On Determination

Time's-a-wasting. For near 15 minutes I'm sitting with my fingers suspended over a this keyboard. I'm trying to breathe some life into a derelict blog. I'm doing this because I have to acknowledge that the investment I made in attempting to write consistently was not just a method of self-therapy. It wasn't meant to be a hobby only. It was meant to be an exercise that supported a discipline that might one day develop into one aspect of my career as a creator and storyteller. Why would I ever let this go fully knowing that it would serve no other purpose but the greatest one: to keep my mind alive with intent, self-awareness, and in service of the dream of my life. Recently, perhaps because of time and limiting circumstances I have undergone a great sense of despair. As the gifts of interest and opportunity might evaporate out of disuse, I felt a bitter loneliness greater than what I've felt provided by the missing peoples of my inner world; these personalities unaware of their importance, following their own stories and paths while I watch them fade from view as a vision that was never really there. No this feels worse. As the connection thins between me and the life of great merit I always felt I was made for, I found my sanity going with it. For it there remained nothing left to be done in this mind, if not to solve the problem of the unobtained.

What does madness mean to me? It means ignoring life's value. It means never believing in anything true again. It means always being a burden to everyone around me. It means never passing on a legacy, never finding love, never being capable of righting any wrongs, never leading, never leaving the world in a better place than I found it. For however many decades I have left I will sacrifice them to nothingness and what an addition that will make in a world already strangled by complacency and dishonor and injustice and horror. The people representing our humanity and the best possible future for our race, have always faced a bitter end. None of the people leaving seeds behind get to see if they grow. Perhaps their faith comes from the seeds planted in previous generations and certainly our people have evolved through great social change. But the greatest is before us yet. It is class warfare and it is culturally unbiased despite our tendency to point at old wounds. All manner of people are suffering now.

My mother and I live under great strain and for who knows how long will we be allowed to keep this shelter we've enjoyed for almost thirty years. If I'm not creating with what time I have left I have access to electricity, or a pen and paper, or school materials, if I am not giving all for the day I have a home and a family and the respect of a position that can be looked on with some acknowledgment, then why should I deserve it?

Does determination mean that we have agreed to compromise ourselves? Does it mean that we have knowingly engaged discomfort and possibly hardship to scale a height without guarantee or assurance? Under what circumstance is determination defined? Is being stubborn another way of explaining it? Must I be stubborn to earn the life I dream of. Must I be unwilling to accept any other? Is that enough for a sounds, in its near blind refusal of extraneous circumstance, a bit like the madness I started out with.

Should a man be determined to change what is not fully in his control to manipulate? My financial standing in a broken economy with art as my main argument? Can I even call this art? The questions pile and determination, for its own sake, would have me ignore them and put words on paper or on screen and use them to argue that I am a writer.

But what was I determined to do with this claim? I live off its successful execution, without ivy league backing, without great promise at early age, without the sense to learn brevity or increase my vocabulary, I am determined to monetize the word as I manage to shape it. After months away, I am trying again.