a journey to a dream

cold. so cold. for so long.

i can't remember anything besides the cold. there was once wind and sunshine. and something else. something magical for which i can't remember the name. floating specks of glimmer in the sky. they looked like gently falling stars and would settle like a blanket upon the ground. i remember that magic. i remember wanting nothing more than to swirl through the air, dancing in all the lights, a white faerie on the black curtain of nights.

i vaguely remember lights. everything is pale blue. glowing. not dark. well, not all the time dark. but never pinpricks or warm globes of light.

layers above me are sloughed off. the glowing gets brighter. i feel a kiss of breeze. a burst of cold wind greets me for the first time in i can't remember how long. and the sun. i feel it's rays reach into me and wrap around, filling me with the brilliant gold light.

and then i begin to slide. my fall gains momentum and i round a curve to see a massive expanse of blue and glitter. not quite as magical as the falling stars, but the sun dances small magic upon the surface. i slide down the surface, my back chilly against my frozen others, my front warm as it's blessed by the sun, and the expanse of blue becomes my whole vision as i reach closer to it and slip below it's surface.

i float. i've never had this experience. or, if i have, i do not remember. the ease of doing nothing and floating along the surface. i move not at all, and yet i am pulled, turned, twisted, and pushed by some imaginary strength. i can't withstand the force if i wanted to, but i am off for an adventure so i flow.  beings below me live out dramas and comedies, murders and births, families and predators, a world of bubbles and breath. sometimes the beings are huge. i am swept through some of them, through flaps in their skin, or right in the mouth of the giant ones, before being burst out into the sky.

that's my favorite time. when i can fly in the air, touching nothing and no one else. but i fall again so quickly.

i try to stay around the big animals. i try to grasp my time in the sky. it's too dark and cold in the bottom, i have no urge to explore the depths. i've had enough dark and cold. i stay close to the surface and bask in the sunshine i can't get enough of.

and something begins to happen. i feel a pull, a tug, again, one that i cannot control or resist. this time i feel as though i am leaving what i am to be something else. i feel changed. i feel myself grow lighter and buoyant. then i begin to soar. i warm up considerably, separate and fly upwards, reveling in the change i've gone through, not sure where my next stop is.

and it grows cold again.others are gathered around, huddled closer for warmth. i pull myself together and listlessly float through the mist, kept so far aloft by a heavy grey cushion. i gaze around at my fellows, all beginning to crystallize.

as i observe, i also grow crystals. and grow heavy. and, with a whoosh of a gust of wind, the cushion opens up and my glimmering brethren are released into the dark night sky, stars seeming to twinkle all the way around us and off of us. slight breezes lift me high before letting me drop straight before picking me up and letting me swirl down.

i embrace my deepest desire and dance in the starlights.

endless boundless universe

that just keeps growing.

Will it reach a cyclical moment and start to retract again?

Or will the world never return to a zero, because time will never return to a zero?

Although, time often circles around to zero again to start a new revolution of numbers. So if that is the case, why is it so hard to believe that the universe and galaxies will grow until they get to a point where they need to start over again?

Perhaps the big bang began not with a random explosion, but with the explosion of our last universe and galaxies. Maybe all life expanded into nothingness and something had to grow from the small nothings that are growing into existence. Or maybe all life expanded until it had reached it's elastic stopping point and then began retracting, the far-off stars becoming numerous close-up suns in the sky of a single planet until everything destroys itself on the other things closing in around it, causing a big bang of creation out of the destruction.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

What's your process?

Do you create for a purpose?
an intention in mind
with every step,
toeing the line.

Or do you let breathe your creation?
take on a life of it's own
go where it will,
even if alone.

This will be short

Firstly-- sorry to the loyal readers--I didn't blog yesterday. I'm running around crazy right now trying to get a craft ready for opening night tonight.

Secondly-- since I don't have much time, this will be a concise little entry.

I was reading an article a couple of days ago about how short most people's attention spans are, the writer claiming that less than 5% of the people who begin reading something online navigate away before the end of the article. While I do agree with this, I couldn't help but analyze this article itself. It tried to be funny by attempting to "call back" the readers who had left, but it was poorly written and executed.

I couldn't help but think-- ya know, if you wrote better (and in a more precise fashion) people would be more inclined to read the rest of your article.

Maybe our attention spans aren't getting worse--maybe most things on the internet are becoming less worthy of our attention.

Just some food for thought.

Sooooo much

has been going through my head today.

First off, I saw this internet thingy-ma-jig that was a posted twitter from a self-proclaimed feminist about the lack of strong female protagonists in any soon-to-be-released video games. She was commenting at E3 2013 and released her comment into the twit-o-sphere. (Sorry, twitters ((or whatever)), I don't tweet, so I'm not familiar with your terminology).

A huge negative response then ensued, comprised mostly of douche-y gamers calling this feminist horrible names, including and sadly not limited to "cunt". Berating her for not being satisfied with the masculine protagonists released. Suggesting that not enough women game for there to possibly be a strong lady hero.

To begin, whatever one's opinion, it doesn't give them the right to attack another person of opposing opinion. Period. There is no reason to verbally assault this person because they are speaking their mind. It is their personal page, and they have the right to put anything there. Granted, anyone else has the right to comment however they so choose, but why would ANYONE choose to berate and tear down a fellow human being?

On a deeper level, the fact that a bevy of men descended upon this woman and abused her for her opinion is disgusting. People wonder why women were downtrodden for so long---and still are, hugely---- when if a woman goes to stand up for herself and her believed rights, a group of men will call her names and attack her intelligence instead of the issue she introduced.

Virtually or not, bullying has the same effect.

Personally, I don't care one whit what gender the protagonist of a game is. Not. At. All. I love zombie video games, I love RPG's, I love good games. But, I do think that women can be just as badass as men. And hey, I have yet to hear a dude complain about a strong, smart and sexy female hero.... Even if they don't exist.... Strong, smart, and sexy male heroes don't either.

One of my favorite games---Castle Crashers.

I challenge those men who think girls don't game to play a game of that with me. Granted, I'm not amazing. But I kick serious ass. And I'll kick your butt with my green poison knight just the same as I'd kick it with my pink heart-arrow-shooting rainbow-and-stuffed-penguin-magicking knight.


((The link to the article I refer to is: http://femfreq.tumblr.com/post/52673540142/twitter-vs-female-protagonists-in-video-games in case you'd like to see specific examples. One I would like to highlight is "As soon as women are as capable as men, then mabye" (yeah.... typo and all)))

overcast

I lay in my hammock, a grizzened black kitty on my lap, purring away and staring at me with green eyes, swinging away under the sky of grey and murk.

The feline slowly closes his eyes in ecstasy as I groom him with elongated nails, gentle scratches and pressure, which sends him promptly off to a catnap. I cease the petting. After all, I don't want to wake the cute little bugger. I fold my hands upon my chest and stare up at the sky, my normally too-sensitive eyes able to appreciate the overcast glory.

As I stare and dream, I feel the breeze dance across my naked arms and watch the salt-and-pepper ears of the sleeping one twitch back and forth, listening to the chickens around the side of the house and flickering back to pick up the sounds of chittering songbirds. He awakens, seeming to realize that I haven't been touching him for the last little bit, and re-situates, pushing his head against my hands and I crumble to his will.

His eyes, now open, engulf me, and I feel myself intrigued by the dark flecks on a base of light sage, his black pupil steadily meeting my gaze. As he gets comfortable again, settling down and laying his head over one side of the hammock, the wind playing games with his fur, his eyes begin to close slowly. I withdraw my hands again.

I again check the sky.

At a time, there is one or two patches of cloudlessness. Bits of pure blue peek through, small enough that I could cover them with my palm if I wanted a faultless grey day. The clouds dance and sway, covering the holes and finding new ones only to smooth those out as well.

One of my feet has fallen asleep and the other leg has been resting straight too long. I move to shift and the kitty falls between my legs. He looks at me with no reproach and simply moves again. His head upon my hand, I lazily draw my fingernails through his fur.

A half hour passed as such is paradise.

an effort to be real

Never have I felt that what I am inside is to be who I am, what I am, where I am, when I am, how I am outside. In this being. Or form. I've felt extremely uncomfortable as a human in my skin. When I read (or act), I feel as nothing and everything, no one and everyone, and this is comforting.

But recently, I've been attempting to be a real person, which forces me to connect with others and see things as though I am a part of it. Understand as a human does. Interact as a human does. Empathize as a human does.

And I've read a desperate need for attachment in most every human I encounter. 

Perhaps this is the world in which we live now, and I can't say with confidence I'm above the need, but it seems as though no one is happy enough with themselves to not seek constant approval from those around them. As though the secret to being happy is creating a relationship with other people and trying to prove yourself to them. Or, in creating that friendship, one has proven themselves as worthy. 

I don't believe I have that worry. I do want others to think well of me, but that is simply because I don't want them speaking ill of me. I don't really care whether or not they are impressed with me. 

And yet, to approve of a person, to laugh at their joke or nod enthusiastically with their opinion, brightens their whole face. Makes them feel supported, wanted, intelligent.

If humans could learn to bottle that feeling and give it to themselves, the need for connection with other physical beings becomes optional, and people would choose to get to know other people for the sake of getting to know another person.

And we would learn so much, being open to the world and every inhabitant.

giving

and receiving is like a dance with the universe.

Its all about finding the balance within oneself and the surrounding situation. Finding where we can take, and where we can push. And interaction with others spurs us on to change the steps. To make a new 8-count where we weren't expecting. A collaboration that creates a living, breathing, canvas that envelopes the whole wide world.

We need to feel brave enough to give of ourselves, and proud enough to receive for ourselves.

For a cycle can't continue if one step is skipped. It becomes a "C" rather than an "O".

Connect the circles in which we are all included. Connection brings peace.

scheduling

I've begun to schedule.

It's just that I already get reminded of all of my facebook events/birthdays on my new phone and since I'm already being reminded about things I don't care about, I might as well also be reminded about things that are actually important in my life.

So, I went through and scheduled all of my rehearsals that I have as of yet.

But I've begun to schedule my crafts. Which is good, for me, I think. Well, it should be anyways. If I specifically slot time to work towards a certain craft, then it is much more likely that I will spend said time as I've scheduled, instead of getting tired and wasting my precious recreational time by getting on the internet and trolling around, being stupid.

Today, my scheduled crafts are: 

#1--fixing my sunvisor in my car (it has holes in it) and also embroidering a message that reads: "Traffic? TUNES!" or something similar

#2--crocheting adorable little buggers. 

And these are both after my rehearsal. 

Hooray for productivity!!!!

Comments

You can't take back the things you say. Due to the very airy nature of spoken language, it is impossible to forget or delete from the world and what happened. A mere moment of arrogance carries great potential to create a facade for a terrible opinion of an ordinarily meek individual.

An attack of opinion, waged in anger and fear, causes insults and pain that was never intended. A feeling of a needing to defend causes backlash and biting comments that, once uttered, always exist.

Words spoke in haste and anger are rarely remembered by the speaker and rarely forgotten by the audience.

I wait

And I sat, waiting, pondering on the feeling of water cascading down my insides to puddle in an empty stomach.
I waited, with a sense of anticipation and desire for release. I waited, with words building up in my mind and a song stuck on three lines playing over and over in my head.

I waited for my eyes to settle and my thoughts to become real. I straightened up, consciously cleaning my posture and reminding myself of improvement.

and still I waited.

I flitted away, contenting myself with various tiny activities. I tried to push, to work hard, with the numbers that echo around me here. I ignore the subnotes drifting through the stagnant air.

I waited and tried a smile. My lip cracks down the middle, quick and unbelievably searing pain, before my tongue moistens the wound. I put on chapstick as I wonder how much longer til it heals and wonder if it ever will.

I thought of dinner, the stalks of celery and cuts of lunch meat, lacking any bread of any kind, and how I feel about it. Happy to not be in pain any more, disappointed I can't eat sweets, happy my diet was forced to become so wonderfully natural.

I waited, and I fixed my schedule to reflect my rehearsals, feeling little bubbles of excitement for life itself.


and still I wait for inspiration.