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.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
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...
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...
Monday, April 23, 2018
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
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
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
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.
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.
Friday, March 23, 2018
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
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
Thursday, March 8, 2018
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
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
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
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
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
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Nine Millimeter Nails
In today's foray of removing wall tacks holding artwork up on our apartment walls, two things are clear: 1) My index fingers really hurt and I should not have trimmed them the day before; 2) A tool will definitely be used when the rest of the art work comes down.
It's quite the odd feeling, moving to a new place, and one much nicer than past locations. Either way, we're both excited to set up our workshop and have a place in a much nicer neighborhood. It'll allow us to be at our creative best, relaxed, and with more room for the typical adulting habits. Our dog will definitely enjoy it and the ease it will put on his joints.
My thoughts at the moment dwell on said adulting, or rather the continued maturation one can and should experience even past their secondary schooling days (or past their higher learning days). One can go for long periods of time without so much as a challenge to their state of mind, yet suddenly be assaulted by a situation that takes them out of their complacency. It certainly says a lot about a person with how they handle it; do they back off, do they handle it with a neutral mindset, or do they overdo one aspect or one emotion, for good or for bad?
In whatever way they handle the shock to their system, the most important part is reflection and improvement. Measured improvement, of course, because to try and over-correct may have the opposite effect one intends. Not only must one learn, through trial and much error, how to approach a problem with maturity and grace, but also to approach future solutions with the same level of awareness.
Anyway, I'll be making my own coffee from now on and it's going to be damn delicious. Even with my pained fingernails.
-D
It's quite the odd feeling, moving to a new place, and one much nicer than past locations. Either way, we're both excited to set up our workshop and have a place in a much nicer neighborhood. It'll allow us to be at our creative best, relaxed, and with more room for the typical adulting habits. Our dog will definitely enjoy it and the ease it will put on his joints.
My thoughts at the moment dwell on said adulting, or rather the continued maturation one can and should experience even past their secondary schooling days (or past their higher learning days). One can go for long periods of time without so much as a challenge to their state of mind, yet suddenly be assaulted by a situation that takes them out of their complacency. It certainly says a lot about a person with how they handle it; do they back off, do they handle it with a neutral mindset, or do they overdo one aspect or one emotion, for good or for bad?
In whatever way they handle the shock to their system, the most important part is reflection and improvement. Measured improvement, of course, because to try and over-correct may have the opposite effect one intends. Not only must one learn, through trial and much error, how to approach a problem with maturity and grace, but also to approach future solutions with the same level of awareness.
Anyway, I'll be making my own coffee from now on and it's going to be damn delicious. Even with my pained fingernails.
-D
Friday, February 23, 2018
Horror of All Kinds
What scares me?
Startling is different from scaring, though they are often quite close. Plenty startles me; such is the life of one who remains oblivious for the most part and with bad hearing compounding that.
I've discussed at length the different between fright/startling and something truly scary for me, so I will refrain from discussing it at the moment.
I only bring it up because I find myself appreciating indie horror games that, were I to have a PC instead of almost a Chromebook, I would gladly play. Watching Let's Play videos on Youtube are my vicarious viewing choice.
Apologies for keeping this short, as preparing to move to a new place is taking up most, if not all our free time.
Cheers,
-D
Startling is different from scaring, though they are often quite close. Plenty startles me; such is the life of one who remains oblivious for the most part and with bad hearing compounding that.
I've discussed at length the different between fright/startling and something truly scary for me, so I will refrain from discussing it at the moment.
I only bring it up because I find myself appreciating indie horror games that, were I to have a PC instead of almost a Chromebook, I would gladly play. Watching Let's Play videos on Youtube are my vicarious viewing choice.
Apologies for keeping this short, as preparing to move to a new place is taking up most, if not all our free time.
Cheers,
-D
Thursday, February 22, 2018
Solitude
(Been a while since I've played Skyrim. I should get back on that with a new character...)
This post is a mix of a journal entry and a legitimate question I would ask of my readers. While we are all different, and different things work for each of us, I would certainly appreciate your thoughts on this matter...
How does one find peace in solitude?
Fire away.
-D
This post is a mix of a journal entry and a legitimate question I would ask of my readers. While we are all different, and different things work for each of us, I would certainly appreciate your thoughts on this matter...
How does one find peace in solitude?
Fire away.
-D
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Fiction: Estor's Caverns
Anthills.
Do you have anthills where you're from?
Imagine those, but made human-sized, and full of a gentle red glow.
Not the kind of red glow one would attribute to harsher, more sinister environments; the Caverns of Estor are like walking through a perpetual sunset. It's not just reds, it's oranges and yellows and everything in between, easy on the eyes and suggestive of wonders beyond comprehension in the deep recesses of the network. How they came to be I am unsure of and the numerous stories of the Caverns told in other lands are layers of paper one has to dig through to find any sort of source, and even those are questionable at best.
No matter, The Caverns are a sight to behold for any travelers that are welcomed into them. That's where Selumeth was born and raised.
He must have brought us to one of the caves used for waste disposal, because our shelter was haphazard, and so frustrating to navigate that I'd rather have slammed my head against the rocks to see stars instead of the environment we were staying in. Selumeth was consistently reassuring me that this was merely a waystation, but even those have standards.
to be continued...
Do you have anthills where you're from?
Imagine those, but made human-sized, and full of a gentle red glow.
Not the kind of red glow one would attribute to harsher, more sinister environments; the Caverns of Estor are like walking through a perpetual sunset. It's not just reds, it's oranges and yellows and everything in between, easy on the eyes and suggestive of wonders beyond comprehension in the deep recesses of the network. How they came to be I am unsure of and the numerous stories of the Caverns told in other lands are layers of paper one has to dig through to find any sort of source, and even those are questionable at best.
No matter, The Caverns are a sight to behold for any travelers that are welcomed into them. That's where Selumeth was born and raised.
He must have brought us to one of the caves used for waste disposal, because our shelter was haphazard, and so frustrating to navigate that I'd rather have slammed my head against the rocks to see stars instead of the environment we were staying in. Selumeth was consistently reassuring me that this was merely a waystation, but even those have standards.
to be continued...
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Fantastic Beats and Where I Find Them
Hip-hop was always in the background of my youth, no matter how much alternative rock I listened to in my room and at school. I grew an appreciation for the instrumentals more than the vocal tracks, but I did have a lot of appreciation for West Coast Hip-Hop thanks to my brother. I grew to listen to A Tribe Called Quest and Busta after that, Abstract remains one of my top MCs along with Mos Def and Method Man (Wu Tang is beast, that's a given).
Lately, I've been sifting through trip hop tracks and instrumentals; Massive Attack and Rob Dougan pop up the most. The chill beats calm me and do help me to write (and even weight lift, in a strange way). As of this moment, a mix of jazz and hip hop streams through my headset.
I cannot recommend trip-hop beats enough. They're both meditative and motivating for the mind. They push a steady river of creativity through the pathways in my brain until three minutes turns into three hours without realization.
Lately, I've been sifting through trip hop tracks and instrumentals; Massive Attack and Rob Dougan pop up the most. The chill beats calm me and do help me to write (and even weight lift, in a strange way). As of this moment, a mix of jazz and hip hop streams through my headset.
I cannot recommend trip-hop beats enough. They're both meditative and motivating for the mind. They push a steady river of creativity through the pathways in my brain until three minutes turns into three hours without realization.
* * * * *
I still have a craving for instrument playing here and there. Particularly the violin, as I have only played the cello and trying something like the violin appeals to me. I blame Sherlock. Damn that great show.
Perhaps one day, I'll explore a drum kit to a further extent than I have in the past. As stated above, beats appeal to me and creating them would be a fun thing to try out on a kit.
That's all for now. It's been a busy day of work and adulting and my head must rest and continue to absorb the aural smoothness.
-D
Monday, February 19, 2018
Fiction: The World of Estor
(this and any future creative writings will be labeled as "Fiction" in the title. I do encourage readers to not take these to heart as my personal thoughts, which will be titled normally. these are merely exercises to stoke the fires of my creativity once again, so regard any potential controversial writings as fictional)
It was with a hesitant heart that I ventured into Estor. That not usually my style, since I tend to jump into things with as much regard for my well-being as some dogs would have for their stomach's well-being. For a guy like me to feel any sort of hesitance means something. I could be rating my self-importance higher than others, but I'm about as humble a guy as they come. So very humble, the most humble even!
Either way, Estor's mountainous environment left me with double the chills, inside and out. The borloff coat was barely thick enough for me to still feel my arms and digits. Their fur is the best, better than their attitude that's for sure. My guide, Selumeth, felt it was a good purchase at the border village; his near toothless grin was a puzzle, almost literally, when trying to decipher whether i was being scammed or not. The damned thing was expensive, but I didn't know whether it was better that I felt the cold or instead just let my arms go numb from it at this point.
What to say about Estor? Cold, pointy, and full of surprises. Thick fog held in front of us at about 100 paces. Even my hand was hazy being in front of my face. The brief glimpses of the fog, when it passed, presented a valley of sparse trees and brief patches of forest. Say what you will about the forests in Estor, but at least they offered a measure of shelter. Selumeth's comforting recommendation of caves along the Estor pass did little to comfort me; sharp stones in my back are not exactly comparable to the gaudy hostels in my hometown of Craiis. I'm spoiled, what can I say?
Selumeth stopped us after what felt like days on the path to direct our traveling party to a nearby cave. Anticipating the worst, I went along with it to humor him.
I hate being right.
to be continued...
Verbal Gumdrops
A miserable archer. No wonder I connected with Hawkeye so much beyond the hearing issues.
I don't think, however, that should be the case from now on. Writing has been on the backburner for ages and now that I have both the mental and creative energy to commit myself to becoming once again a digital scribe, I must persist. For me.
The written word has always been a consistent form of therapy for me, no matter how sporadic my writings and verbal gumdrops have been over the years. Even while painting, I always went back to writing eventually. I wrote while I was in capoeira. I wrote when I was in college, in high school, in damn near every single moment of my life...I wrote. As I write now, I'm experiencing a new position, a different life than what I've lead before, and new experiences that are at times learned lessons and other times blissful completeness.
My notebook entries, which I will post eventually, are ones that are deeply personal and will likely be edited for privacy reasons. For now, I shall keep these posts as original content, hopefully delving back into the creative flow that I once and still carry with me. Worlds lay within my imagination once again, extensive landscapes of thought yearning to be observed, recorded, pondered upon.
I do hope you readers stick with me. I find motivation to write in emotional circumstances and from there I find myself at my most creative. It would be wise to write on the calm days as well, so I entreat you all to motivate me when I haven't written on this blog. It will help immensely.
Cheers,
-D
I don't think, however, that should be the case from now on. Writing has been on the backburner for ages and now that I have both the mental and creative energy to commit myself to becoming once again a digital scribe, I must persist. For me.
The written word has always been a consistent form of therapy for me, no matter how sporadic my writings and verbal gumdrops have been over the years. Even while painting, I always went back to writing eventually. I wrote while I was in capoeira. I wrote when I was in college, in high school, in damn near every single moment of my life...I wrote. As I write now, I'm experiencing a new position, a different life than what I've lead before, and new experiences that are at times learned lessons and other times blissful completeness.
My notebook entries, which I will post eventually, are ones that are deeply personal and will likely be edited for privacy reasons. For now, I shall keep these posts as original content, hopefully delving back into the creative flow that I once and still carry with me. Worlds lay within my imagination once again, extensive landscapes of thought yearning to be observed, recorded, pondered upon.
I do hope you readers stick with me. I find motivation to write in emotional circumstances and from there I find myself at my most creative. It would be wise to write on the calm days as well, so I entreat you all to motivate me when I haven't written on this blog. It will help immensely.
Cheers,
-D
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