The Library: Part Two

The raucous environment surrounding The Library continued on and on.  Many passed, often in a rush, just to avoid whatever calamity hit the populous inside.  There's really no reason for them to bother acknowledging whatever anyone inside said; how could they take it seriously when they were surrounded on both sides by madness?  What does the truth matter when so many untruths surround it, setting up a smoke screen, limiting sight of both eyes, mind, and heart?

It wasn't the fault of the Librarian; they did their best to spread what knowledge and truths they could find and discover (oftentimes with assistance from those willing enough to ask the questions).  The smoke screen prevailed time and again, the legion of chaos within The Library spread without. 

The Librarian held onto hope, onto the truth that, much to their dismay, only they felt they could see. 

The Library: Part One

As Steven was walking down the street after a workout, he happened to pass by a library.

Seemed ordinary enough from the outside.  At least, it was ordinary if you plugged your ears. 

Through the door and windows, he heard screaming and crying.  Probably the loudest he's ever heard, even standing outside a building.  Glancing in, he saw a person that appeared in silhouette to be the Librarian, speed walking around the library floor, trying to keep everyone in control to no avail.  The Librarian kept glancing towards the door and windows.  They seemed to be worried that people passing by wouldn't come in because of all the excessive noise. 

The Librarian was right: Steven kept walking on.  Besides, he had to make sure he got his own work done.  He had his own life to worry about after all.


To be continued...

Rationalizations: The Process of Self-Help

Like I have admitted before to many people, I have a difficult time with self-care that doesn't have to do with staying physically fit.  That comes easy to me for a very good reason, one in which I am quite comfortable to discuss should anyone ask.

When it comes to "taking care of my own self,"  I have often found myself stuck, with little motivation to do so until an emotionally traumatic event hits me and shocks me into self-care action.  Maintaining that, however, is the current battle taking place.  So in my thoughts and posts and instagram stories, I have found myself trying to figure out the why "out loud" in order to best process it.  While some would say it is the actual acts of self-care themselves that help rather than the rationalizations, I feel it's important to reflect on choices I've made and how/why they were made.  Not to put off actually helping myself, but to understand myself; be honest with myself; and hopefully be my own best friend eventually.

One such realization came to me after work earlier today driving to my current place of residence.  Wondering why I haven't helped myself until now has been on my mind lately, along with the thoughts of how not helping myself has lead to negative consequences with regards to interpersonal relationships.  I try and avoid platitudes and phrases that can be placed upon a soothing or tranquil picture, as my situation is different from that person's situation and that other person's... and so on.  Yet, I do find some sort of commonality exists in all of us, regardless of our differences.  And while the human experiences of people can be and are quite complex, if one can't explain a thought or idea simply, then one hasn't given it much thought or internalized it enough.  So if any of my loyal readers decide to put any of my writings on a peaceful image, I will not mind and would actually be somewhat flattered. 

Regarding the realization, I found that when it comes to other people, I may not hear clearly what they say, but I'll still be listening.   With myself, I will hear what I say, but I won't actually be listening.  So I feel one step in breaking this wall of self-help avoidance down is to make sure I am actually listening to myself instead of just hearing myself.  To hear and not listen to myself is not giving myself enough respect to internalize what is being said, and as such, passes into the ether to be lost or recalled at random at some later point in time.

So, don't just hear you Self.  Listen to your Self.

There's your quote.

-D

Fiction: The Dreams

The dreams began with their heads on spikes, a cacophony of silent wailing, eyes drifting toward the land of the absent gods above.  Their skulls drenched in what was once their kinsmen, spiked next to them in similar fashion.  I found myself wandering through the litany of violence these visages represented.  I could not tell if I was clothed in rags or in skin, the heft of the apparel weighted me down enough for it to be either.  That could have also been the weight of the images I witnessed, I was numb to the surroundings as one would become in the cold.

Warmth in abundance was ironically present, overbearing in its smothering.  The fog and humid air could just as easily have been fed by the blood as the water in which this bog presented himself.  A bog that had forest-like elements, but with a complete absence of green, not counting the feeling of sickness to my stomach that was ever increasing the more I traveled. 

And thus I came upon an open field, foggy eyes and foggy skies clouded my vision to the more extremes of depravity upon which this field was built.  But for a moment, deep within the recesses of the mind's eye and cast through the clouds in flashes of unholy lightning was The Great One of which many have spoken, but none alive.  Truly, for a moment, I wondered if The Great One was either capable of such horrendousness surrounding me, or if we were merely playthings, ants led upon a path of promised lands and enlightenment yet brought to the brink of our sanity. 

Truly, not many will know.  For the gaze of The Great One turned toward me. 

Back to Writing! FOR NOW

Though I am glad that I have access to my laptop and the internet once again, I fear that my writing may take a dive.  I'm sure my fellow writers would chastise me in secret for choosing not to write at this point in time, and others would as well considering how often I wax on about its therapeutic effects with me.

I will do my best to write as often as possible, even if it is just a little piece such as this.  Once things settle down, my creative mindset will be unleashed once again and I shall revisit Estor and be more comfortable talking about that which ruminates through my brain.

Cheers,

-D

Six Degrees of Introversion (or how I learned to love the Silence)

For a condition such as what I have, minus the sinus pressure (which is dissipating, to my relief), it's not really silence that I hear every waking moment.

Try and imagine the squealing of brakes but subtract the pain. 

That is essentially what I hear constantly. 

Like many things, if exposed to an experience enough, one becomes used to it, complacent, and the noise ever present becomes the background to the rest of life.  I remember the time before it began, before high school.  Occasionally, I self-criticized myself for being stuck in a musical bubble, not listening to anything new unless it was new from particular artists in the 90s.  I don't self-criticize to that degree anymore because I can like what I like and forget any one else's opinions.  I did realize that perhaps the reason why I have stuck with certain music for so long was not just because I found new messages in their songs as a grew older, but also it was the music I listened to before I started to lose my hearing.

Having that said, while hearing aids have been undoubtedly beneficial for me in the long run, appreciating Silence and being comfortable with your own thoughts is a fine thing to hold dear.  Some may call it a type of Introversion, but I've always felt the stereotypes around introversion were odd.  Often, I switch between being energized by socialization or needing that time to myself to recharge; it really depends on the group of people I am with. 

I don't think many people are comfortable with their own thoughts. 

Think about it.

-D

A Nostril-ful of Dollars

That'd be a nice thing to smell.  If I could smell at the moment.

You'll have to excuse my temporary hiatus; the annoyance of sinus pressure coupled with the efforts of packing for a move have rendered me much too busy to write at length about either the goings-on in life, musings galore, or about the ever-developing world of Estor.

I will say at the moment that I hope to develop Estor further; there is a creative itch that must be scratched with regards to gaming and my writings here, though they are a first draft, will one day serve as the basis of that gaming world. 

That's all for now, loyal readers. 

Cheers,

-D