Dreamscape

It's been about seven months since I've written anything substantial here; although the void doesn't seem to have lasted longer than the blink of an eye. It's amazing how quickly your life can change - how quickly something or somebody can take hold of you and extract you completely from your old life. Where everything seems different from your point of view, from waking up in the morning to scrubbing the last morsel of food off a dirty plate. Any previously deemed monotonous tasks are revitalized and no longer completed grudgingly.

What sparked my interest in returning here to write something stemmed from a few things including a new found curiosity to both write down and share my dreams and a rather curious soundtrack that played during one of my work nights. Of the many calm inducing songs that were played over the eight hour shift was that of Erik Satie, Gnossienne 1.

They say the more you think about your dreams, including talking about them and writing them down, the more likely you are to remember them. There's nothing more annoying than waking up and not remembering what you just dreamt about. Imagine going on some spectacular adventure, doing whatever you please, having the most fun you've had in your life, and not remembering it the day after. Remembering is how we grow. Reminiscing for me is a greatly satisfying experience. I don't want to forget anything, even my dreams.

My dreams come in two parts, two waves mostly independent of each other. Depending on how much time passes from when I wake up to the point when my pen reaches the paper, I can usually only remember one part - probably the second. I like to write them down right away, otherwise I'm risking the loss of detail. I'm not obsessive about it, but I do keep a notebook pretty close to my bed. I'm also not one to interpret my dreams much, also I do a bit of mild correlating between certain dream occurrences and past real-life events. I don't believe dreams predict the future, but they certainly say something about you. Please excuse my fragmented way of portraying my dream, it's how I remember it playing out.

Dream Log 11/14
I'm standing at the mid-point of my grandmother's back yard looking where her fence should be, but instead at my newly built house. It is very tiny, a little bit bigger than a mobile home - but it's one of those new-age mini cost-efficient houses that's solar powered. I'm standing there looking at my house wondering if the walls are thick enough - if they're well insulated, and also of the locks on the doors are strong enough. Then I turn around and look back at my grandmother's house and wonder why the heck I built my house so close. So then I start to wonder how easy it would be to transport the entire house elsewhere and also wonder how I'm going to explain the reason I want to move away. The next thing I know I'm at the back porch of my grandmother's house talking to her - what about I don't know. Then my aunt shows up and asks me to babysit her kids. The next thing I remember, we're playing follow the leader around the yard and my house - I'm the leader. What's weird is that there's some old lady in a wheel chair in the back of the line. We walk around a bit more until we get to the side of my house. We stop and look beyond the back yard. I realize my house is built almost in the middle of a street, slightly over the two yellow lines, and it seems to be built on a big speed bump. There are cars coming from both sides of the street, slowing down as they approach the speed bump, and squeezing by as they avoid my house. Now I'm standing there wondering how that could have happened and then I realize there's an ocean just beyond the road. I wake up shortly looking at the blue waves.

I've Killed Something Beautiful

Apt and eager to take on the uncertainties of this beautiful April morning, I opened my front door and took a deep breath. Exhaling and looking out at the clear sky I felt something land on my shirt with a buzz. I instinctively brushed down with my right hand and took a step back to see a yellow jacket fall to the floor. My screen door closed as I backed into the kitchen while the wasp squirmed a bit on the floor as it flipped itself over. Having a bad experience in the past I panicked and stomped down with my right foot and twisted it counter clock-wise. I turned my head away and winced after hearing the barely audible 'crunk' as I ended the life of something beautiful.

I wouldn't say it ruined my day but it certainly put a damper on things - as I spent the rest of the day mulling over my split-second decision. The corpse is still there, right in front of my door; I'm not sure when I'll pick it up. I remember when I had absolutely no problem killing insects - I even did it for fun once in a while. I had a friend next door when I was in elementary school and we used to have a contest to see who could kill the most bumble bees in my front yard. They would hover right above the grass at exactly the right height for us to pounce at the right time and squish them under our little feet.

It's strange now that I think about it. I believe I always had a slight phobia of insects and arachnids of all sorts, but I went through phases in which I enjoyed inflicting harm on them. In another house at another location.....and yet another friend when I was five years old, we used to look around the perimeter of his house for daddy long-legs. While I just watched, he would pick them up by one leg and pluck the rest off one by one until only one remained. I didn't particularly enjoy this activity, but he was my only friend at the time.

Which brings me to ponder the importance or value of different forms of life. I remember having a discussion with my aunt not too long ago about what we would do if I hit a deer with my car. She said that depending on the severity of the injury, she would most likely try to run the deer over again to kill it, to end its misery. I honestly don't know if I could bring myself to do that. I then asked her if she would have the same attitude and willingness to accomplish something of that nature with a human being, if say perhaps there was absolutely no hope for recovery. She said she didn't know, and that it's completely different.

Is it completely different? I don't know - I suppose it depends on the person and their point of view. I killed the wasp because I was afraid it would sting me. I suppose I shouldn't feel bad about it, but I do. I've never killed a human before, but if I was defending myself and it happened, I don't think I would feel any different than killing the wasp. Sure if there was a dead human body laying in front of my kitchen door, there would be bigger implications in terms of the law, but psychologically I don't think I would react any differently. Did I cry when I killed the wasp? No. Would I cry if I killed a human out of self-defense? I don't think I would.

If you asked me if I would rather save the lives of 1000 people or 1000 bugs or 1000 elephants or 1000 deer or 1000 polar bears, I wouldn't have an answer for you. Of course the people I know and love are important to me, and so my answer to the previous question would not apply - but in general I don't think human life is more important than any other form of life. Would I be called evil? Probably. Unethical? Amoral? Filthy excuse for a human-being? Most likely. I honestly couldn't care less what people think of me, but I think its this mode of thought that is destroying the diversity and beauty of our earth. Some people would just say that its evolution - survival of the fittest....but do you think humans will evolve fast enough to keep up with drastic human-induced changes to our world? I'm not so sure.

Son

{ I never knew how to be a good father. I always figured it would come to me naturally; it seemed to me that the art of parenting was part of our physiological structure - much like love, you can't simply read about it in a book. Thinking back to my childhood when my father was still alive, while my memory is vague, I remember his charming smile. He wasn't around often because of work, but from what I can remember he was a very cheerful man and always managed to make me smile. My fondest memory was the day he taught me how to throw a curve ball. We were in the back yard all night it seemed - until I got it just right. Upon catching the last ball he jumped up and cheered and we ran toward each other. He grabbed me by the sides and lifted me up above his head and twirled me around in the air. After setting me down he took his right hand and rubbed the top of my head and told me how proud he was of me. While I didn't get to see him that often, he made a significant impact on me as a father. Above all though, he was always there for me. No matter where I was or how I felt, I could always get get a hold of him and he would always cheer me up. Even through the phone, I could always see his smile.

After loosing my wife to cancer a year ago, I could no longer maintain this timeless smile. I don't know if my son could notice or not, but it was something I worried about every day. Not only was my wife taken from me, but I was left to raise our son on my own, and the fear that I might fail grew with every thought. I read every book I could get my hands on - from single parenting to depression and living with loss. I even began to see a therapist. Even after months, none of it seemed to be helping. My son seemed to be coping just fine, but I honestly couldn't tell because my own depression. Although I was spending much more time with him, my head was filled with constant mourning and negativity I had a hard time seeing what was right in front of me. I followed my self-help books to a T, and I hoped to god my son was getting all he deserved. I made sure he ate well, did his homework, and got to bed on time - but I didn't know what he was thinking, and I can see now that I failed to ask.

Every night after tucking my son into bed, I would escape to my reclining chair in the living room and watch the old video tapes of my wedding. With a cuban cigar in my left hand and a cup of scotch in my right, I would drown myself in alcohol, smoke, and memories that are now painful to think about. I couldn't help myself. Every night would be the same. It was just me and my son now and for some reason that wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough? Am I really that selfish a person to forever cling to the past and abandon my responsibilities as a father? I want to smile again, and I want my son to see me as I was before all of this happened. Why did this have to happen? I don't understand, and I will never understand. No one will ever be able to answer these questions. No one will ever be able to undo the past. Things became clear to me though on one of my more pathetic nights - the most important day of my life.

I woke up to a beep, after a second realizing it was my cell-phone which was in the kitchen. I was sprawled out on my basement floor in a sea of old pictures that were scattered around my body. I sat up and peeled a picture off my forehead which happened to be of my son and I on his fourth birthday. I carried this with me while I walked upstairs to the kitchen. I flipped open my phone, surprised to see that I had twenty-three missed calls, all from home. I also had one message from my son, which made me panic at first. He was sobbing and sniffling and barely managed to let a few words escape, "daddy, where are you?". I thought for a second and remembered that he was terrified of going into the basement at night. He must have looked all over the house. I rushed upstairs to his room and he wasn't there. My second guess was right - I found him curled up with in my bed with a cordless phone in his hands. I stood there for a minute, watching my son sleep. I had forgotten how precious he was to me. Tears flowing, I crawled into bed and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry sport, I'm here. I'll always be here, I promise." }

- A short fiction by Jordan

Tripod: A Fiction

{ Three rooms, three people - ever since my accident, this is what my life has been confined to. For the past several years though, I've discovered that the uncertainties of the outside world are just as frightening as the truths that emerge behind closed doors. There's a delicate balance of peace within these walls, and even though I'm completely aloof in terms of my direct influence on the psychology of this family, I am completely submerged within it. I can't really walk that well, and as the days go by it feels harder to breath.

I spend most of my time with the son. He's very calm, quiet, and gives me just the right amount of attention. Unlike his sister who is constantly on the phone, gossiping to her girlfriends about the way a certain guy looked at her during school that day. Between phone calls she likes to pick me up from under my shoulders and twirl me around in a circle several times until she gets dizzy. She then plops me down on her bead and almost violently rubs the top of my head out of excitement, leaving my hair sticking out in awkward directions. This is about the time I stroll back over to the boys room to fix myself. He'll usually have his window open for me to rest on the window sill. If I'm lucky the sun will be out and the birds will be chirping. I'll stretch out, close my eyes, and lay there the rest of the day letting my imagination run free. Occasionally the boy will break away from his notebook and gently stroke behind my ears, sending me further into oblivion.

I've never been in the father's room. He always has the door closed and always seems to be doing something. From what I can hear, he does a lot of typing. He does come out from time to time to either make dinner or to check up on his kids to make sure their homework is done. From what I can tell, they all get along quite well - there never seems to be a dull moment during family meals. Lots of smiles, lots of laughs - just a normal family sharing their daily endeavors and activities. Although brief, their encounters are joyful and pleasant - nothing seems to be out of place. Naturally though, most of their thoughts are kept at bay. Not wanting to disturb the buoyancy of their relationship, much goes unsaid. Secrets have reasons for existing, but not without high potential for disaster.

One day the kids got home from school - I was resting on the son's bed at the time. Coming up the stairs with his report card in his hand, he called out, "Dad, dad! You're going to be so proud of me". His sister went in her room to change and he proceeded to knock on his father's bedroom door. There was no answer. Slightly worried he opened the door and walked in to make sure he wasn't there. He had only been in this room a few times since they moved in, and it looked slightly different from before. On the corner of the computer desk stood a small monitor. Looking more closely at the screen, he saw that there was a young girl getting undressed. Once she turned around, the boy became extremely confused.

"I thought I told you never to come in my room!", his father yelled from the door way behind him. The boy spun around to see a face he had never seen before. "Dad, I'm sorry - I was trying to find you.... I uhh....why is sister on this little t.v. over here?" "That is none of your business, get out of here right now!" "But I wanted to show you..." Before he could say anything else his father had thrashed over to where he was, lifted him off his feet and carried him all the way to his own room and slammed him down on his bed. "If you ever tell anyone about what you saw in my room, I swear to god you will end up just like your damn crippled cat".

That night was like no other. The boy held me in his arms until he fell asleep while I could barely hear the father weep silently in the other room. Things were different from then onward. The subtle balance had been offset and no one could ever hope to change that fact - the fear was too great. For once though I felt a strange sense of belonging. Broken, we find ways to compensate, to fill in the void, to maintain at least a sense of balance even though it might exist only in our imagination. }

- A short fiction by Jordan

25 Things

1. I like to walk around my apartment in complete darkness.

2. Every time I see myself in a mirror I make a habit of saying, "hi there!" - which always makes me laugh.

3. I can't fall asleep without some form of a cover.

4. I'm the only person I know who doesn't own a cell phone.

5. My favorite thing to write with is a standard wooden #2 pencil.

6. When I was younger - when I found someone I was attracted to, I would always join their first name with my last name to see if they sounded good together.

7. In one of my biology classes in High School, my instructor passed around a taste test for everyone in the class to sample. We were discussing genetics and the test was to illustrate the presence of dominant and recessive genes. My instructor explained that there should be at least one or two people in the class who wouldn't be able to taste the sample - they would be the ones with the recessive gene. After putting the sample in my mouth, I didn't taste a thing. When the instructor asked the people in the class with the recessive gene to raise their hands, I kept both of mine on my desk, tightly clasped.

8. I still own my R.O.P.E. shirt which I got in elementary school - which I wear to sleep every other night.

9. My favorite color is yellow, and I have no idea why.

10. I simultaneously hate being alone and in the presence of most people.

11. My favorite childhood pastimes involved the original Nintendo - playing Tetris with my mother and Baseball with my father.

12. I once cried in class because I didn't get student of the month.

13. I remember the first and only love letter I wrote. I spent an entire day on it - of course considering I was only ten years old, that was a long time to ponder anything. I worried about it so much, I even asked my mother for advice. I wrote in the letter to this girl that I would change for her. My mother told me to take that part out - and I said I would, but I didn't. The next day in school I was too nervous to hand deliver the letter, so I asked my best friend at the time to do it for me. He said he would do it, so I gave him the letter. We decided the best time to give it to her was just before recess. So when the time came, I left my friend and went to hide on the side of the building while the rest of the kids had fun. I met up with him afterwards and he said he delivered it. But I never heard back from her. She never even looked at me. I spent the rest of that school year feeling like I didn't exist in the eyes of my peers. Like I didn't matter. Thinking about it now, I'm wondering if my friend actually lied about delivering the letter.

14. I've never been really sick.

15. I sometimes lose track of what someone is saying while figuring out why they're saying it.

16. If I ever feel the need or want to raise a child, I will most likely adopt. The film Martian Child gave me the idea.

17. Some of my most intimate conversations have been with people I have never met.

18. I used to hate wearing jeans. Almost every day it seemed I would fight with my mother as she forced them on me. Stiff and uncomfortable against my skin, my whole day would be absolutely miserable.

19. I never understood the saying, "I could care less". I always say, I couldn't care less.

20. I almost crashed my car once because of an epiphany that popped into my head.

21. Some of the best feelings in my life have occurred during night-time summer jogs across town.

22. I take my time to appreciate almost anything I encounter. Say I only need milk and eggs from the grocery store, I'll walk down every single isle just for the sake of doing so.

23. I was born in North Carolina on the 23th of January, and my parents named me Jordan, Michael(middle name) without any knowledge at all of the famous Michael Jordan who went to college in NC, whose jersey number is 23.

24. I taught myself how to juggle in one day.

25. Every day I try to do something slightly different than the previous day. Instead of brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I'll brush them on my couch. Instead of eating dinner on my kitchen table, I'll eat at my desk. Instead of trying to write these entries sober, I'll try doing them drunk. Meanwhile, all day I'll throw around 'what ifs' in my head... what if I was blind.....what if I was an orphan....what if, what if, what if, what if, what if tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of my life, and I have found reason to live on.

My Haven

{ I remember the first time I stepped foot in a library. It was during a school day in my third year of grammar school. I'm not exactly sure of the reason for the trip, but I know it was a field trip; all of my classmates were there. I think perhaps it was required for all third year students, just to get us acquainted with the concept of a library. I wonder if they still do it; I'm assuming it was a town tradition. Whatever the reason, I am very thankful. I might not of otherwise discovered such a beautiful and serene place. I had never seen so many books in one area before. While the rest of the students clumped together in their separate niches that would continue to grow and evolve all throughout grammar school and beyond, I broke away from the stares of my peers and ventured off along the walls, scanning the titles of the books I could see. After circling the entire room, I discovered a staircase that led upstairs to yet another huge room lined with books. I grabbed a text off the shelf about icebergs, sat down in corner of the room and began reading.

Ever since then, like a magnet-like attractiveness I would find my way back. Every day after school. Every day after work. All day long for fifty years I would long for the silence, the peacefulness of this sanctuary. I could have read a book out of the library, and I have once or twice, but it's never the same. I could go anywhere in the world, but there's no place I'd rather be. Every time I walk through the doors, it's like walking through a sieve; all of the chaos and the noise is stripped from my skin. Finally, I am completely at ease. I did have a library card and I would check books out, but I would only read them where they belonged. Every day I would exchange brief salutations with the librarians as I made my way up to the second floor, across the isle, and behind a bookcase to a cushioned chair in the left-hand corner of the room.

This was my home. And the books were my family. It would always give me something the outside world could never hope to give me. Did I know this for certain? No. But I didn't want to waste my life looking. I did my fair share of traveling; but no matter where I went, it was all essentially the same. Slight differences in temperature, dialect, language, governments, belief-systems, culture - interesting for a brief time I suppose, but then the mundane and repetitiveness sets in and you're left with a million words trying to describe one idea. I would find myself desperately asking around town for the whereabouts of the local library. In the end, that was the only reason I traveled at all. I'm glad I did though because I found my favorite library in the world. I would move there shortly after.

I had a few friends growing up and I suppose a few close acquaintances during my professional career, but there wasn't anyone I was particularly attached to. They would often tell me to go out and meet people, to try my hand at a social life. I tried, I really did. This may sound strange, but no matter who I was in the presence of, I always felt like I was being suffocated. All of these eyes on me, judging me, expecting something from me, wanting something. Maybe I'm just inherently and irrevocably selfish, but I always hated the idea of giving something up and not knowing for sure if it would be returned in full. I have often been disappointed in the passed and ever since I've kept myself at a safe distance.

I do get lonely, which I think is a big reason I like the library so much - you are never alone. You are constantly in the presence of like-minded people; you exist together, doing what you love, expecting nothing but peace and quiet from each other - that alone is enough for me. I'm a simple man. I don't need much. The thousands of stories I've read act as an all-encompassing placebo to my needs. My dreams and aspirations are satisfied completely - until one day.

It was a day like any other, it just happened to be Spring on a Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining slightly through the window to my left, filtering through the bookcases and cutting across my lap. I was finishing the last chapter of my book when I noticed one of the librarians, an older woman by the name of Elena making her way down the isle towards me. I had never really noticed before, but she was incredibly beautiful. She had a book in her left hand and with her right, she curled her bangs almost nervously around her ear as she looked at the floor in front of her as she walked. A few feet in front of me, she looked up and our eyes met. Neither of us said anything for at least ten seconds, or so it seemed. She took her hand down from her hair and placed it on the book which she held down in front of her.

"I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but I was wondering if you would be interested in this book. I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but I have noticed over the months the kinds of novels you've been reading and I'm quite delighted to say that many of them are among my favorites. I really think you would enjoy this one." I've never heard her speak with such an anxious and enthusiastic tone before. I couldn't help but blush, something I haven't done in a long time. The sun was slightly in her eyes, so she probably couldn't tell. I stood up almost immediately and gently grasped the book from her outstretched hands.

"Thank you, I was looking for something to read next", was all I could come up with. Our eyes remained locked for the next several moments, until she broke the silence with a slight shake of her head. "Well, I better get back to work. When you're ready, I'd be happy to check you out." She left me with a smile and walked back to her desk. I stood there for a few minutes not realizing how much time had passed, almost unconsciously basking in the sunlight holding the book tight against my chest. I sat down and finished the last few pages of the other book and quickly made my way over to the check out desk. Elena was busy helping someone use the library index, and not wanting to bother her, I checked out with one of the other employees.

I rushed home and started on the book straight away. Stopping only to eat and use the bathroom, I would finish it later that night. After thinking about it for a bit, it was the first book I've read from start to finish outside of the library. Something took a hold of me. I no longer had that strong sense of uneasiness that plagued me for so many years. The chaos and ugliness may have still been there, but it no longer passed through my field of vision. I had one thing on my mind, and that was the fact that I couldn't wait to share my thoughts with another person.} - a short story

- Inspired by the film: Love Comes Lately

Change

{ I could see it coming. I didn't want to believe it, but my subconscious could no longer maintain the illusion. After ten years, you really know someone. The way she smiled. The way she kissed me. None of it was the same anymore. She wasn't cheating on me; she's not that kind of person. Day to day though I could feel her slipping away. She no longer felt for me the way I still felt for her. It's not her fault though, nor is it mine. Emotion is purely reactive and is not something we can control despite our inherent free will.

A few months after we started dating, while neither of us believed in the idea of marriage, we came to a consensus that we would stick together no matter what. We often discussed the idea that somewhere in the world there would always exist someone else who we found more attractive than one another. Removing ourselves from that never ending and fruitless search, we maintained a fiction that we were each others soul-mates. We would support each other, love each other, grow old together, and change together. We even talked about adopting a child once.

And then it all came to a halt. I knew it the morning she left for work. Not wanting to accidentally wake me up, she would normally leave the bedroom door slightly ajar; that day I woke up and the door was tightly shut. We discussed the situation logically over dinner that evening, and she moved out the following day. And I was alone, repeating to myself one of the last things she said to me, "I still love you, but I've changed". I had no choice but to change as well. } - A short fiction

Performance-Based Relationships

A few months ago I happen to catch a segment of a Dr. Phil show on game addictions. Being an avid gamer myself in the past, despite my contempt for the host, I took an interest in what they were saying. He's not really a doctor, so I'm going to be calling him Phil from now on. Anyway, at the moment I started watching, they were talking to a man in his late twenties, early thirties about an online game he played and the friendships he formed. Phil asked him what sort of character he played and the man replied with, "an elemental shaman". Phil laughed at him as if he were a child and proceeded to ask him why he enjoyed playing the game so much. He went on to say that it was a hobby like any other. He enjoyed the experience of playing in an alternate world and the mechanics of the game-play, along with the interactions with hundreds of others and the friends he acquired. Phil then asked him, "You actually have friends in the game you play?". He said yes and that they interact almost everyday, even sometimes outside of the game, and that he actually met a few of them in real life. Phil and his side-kick expert for the day took over from there. They argued that the friends he acquired in the game-world weren't real friends because their friendship is performance-based. They were only friends with him because they wanted something. This is where I started feeling for the guy. Phil then started spewing out pseudo-facts about how detrimental game addictions are and that they were offering to provide him 'professional' service to help him get rid of his vice.

In his situation, he planned his entire life around the game and while he still maintained a job, he slightly neglected his family and his girlfriend. I will agree that game addictions can be detrimental to a person's overall well-being, but it is no different than any other addiction or hobby for that matter; you can learn to control and balance it. My biggest problem with Phil is his assertion that the man's online friends weren't real. I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that the all-knowing "Dr." Phil has never played a video game in his life, much less a massive-multiplayer online role-playing game(MMORPG).

I have no problem admitting that I played the ever popular World of Warcraft for about a year straight. I was pretty heavily into it. (If you'd rather skip the geek-talk, feel free to skip this entire paragraph) I leveled four of my characters to level 70: a gnome mage, night-elf hunter, human warlock, and a draenei paladin. During the Burning Crusade, my mage was my main(character). I don't care what anyone says, I'd pwn a warlock any day on the damage meters - especially after the tier 5 bonus with the arcane spec - although I admit I was horrible at pvp. Anyway, I joined up with a mature guild named FortyTwo on the realm Whisperwind. It was a raiding guild and we were able to progress half-way into tier 6 content before Wrath of the Lich King was released. For those of you who are trying to follow this paragraph, 'raiding' is an event in which 25 people get together at once and try to overcome an obstacle known as a dungeon that requires alot of communication and coordination on everyone's part. The encounters I am most proud of are when we were able to defeat Lady Vashj and Prince Kael'thas, along with our ability to achieve the Zul'aman timed event which awarded a Bear Mount which less than 10% of the total people who play the game are able to get. I don't mean to brag by any means, but rather outline the difficultly that went into the achievement.

Here's my bear!


Vashj by FortyTwo of Whisperwind

That's me up front doing a little dance for the camera.

Prince Kael'Thas by FortyTwo of Whisperwind

I'm on the far left. Aren't I a little cutie?

Watch this video to get an idea of the complexity of such an encounter. Also, imagine twenty-five people talking to each other through microphones while all this is going on. As a gamer, this is my attempt to defend our intelligence and to break down any stereotypes that these types of games make people's brains go to mush.


People play these games for different reasons. I played it for the challenge. The satisfaction I got from achieving something with twenty-four others after hours of practice was immeasurable. After playing the game for so long, the more I realized how similar it was to real-life. It had it's own economy, competition, controversy, and groups of people who got together to achieve a similar goal. The people I played with had lives of their own. They have jobs, families, and significant others. It's interesting to notice thought that most of the people in my guild played with their significant others, which is perhaps the reason why the game didn't get in the way of their real life. I admire these people because of their ability to balance the game with the real world. Often after the 'raid', people would just talk.... about the economy, about life, about relationships. If that's not a friend, then what is? I have since stopped playing the game, but I'm still in contact with a few of the people I played with. Above all, for me, it was a distraction. When something acts as a distraction, it becomes dangerous. It was just something I was doing while trying to find my true passion. After I found it, I was able to let the game go. I did enjoy the experience though and there might be a day I'll return, but when and if I do, it will not be my first priority like it once was.

Phil's argument was that online friends aren't real because they are performance-based. I can see where he is coming from with this argument, but I don't agree. Much of the game takes quite a bit of skill, and often when groups are forming, the best players are picked first. My guild's raids for example....only twenty-five people can go, while there are more than that who want to go. Depending on the maturity of the people you group with, it is possible for someone who pretends to be your friend in attempt to get you to help them out with something. This is where the false friendship comes into play. I would say that the average adult can probably see through this front, which is part of the reason I disagree with Phil. Contrary to popular belief, most of people's play time is spent socializing; it's in these times that most of the real friendships are formed.

I'm also going to argue that all friendships, and even most relationships in general are performance-based. According to Phil, true friends are the product of unrequited friendship. With this mode of thinking, a friendship with a rock could exist. Before I go any further I want to give my own definition of friendship. Friendship to me, is a bond that exists between two parties which requires reciprocation on both ends. When searching for a friend or a lover, you look for someone you can connect with. In order for this connection to be made, participation is required from each person. Phil says that online friends aren't real because they only want something from you. How is this different in real life? I'd argue that all friendships and most relationships exist because of a constant exchange of goods and services. The main difference between a friend and an acquaintance is the frequency and importance of these goods and services that are exchanged. The ability to exchange these things whether it be advice, a sentiment, or a shoulder to cry on is in essence a performance. The better performance, the better the friend is.

Textograph time! The Xs are the exchange of goods and services. You can imagine what the Os are.

Acquaintance -------------------------------Friend---------Lover
x x x x x x x x x xx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoxoxooXOXOXO

It is my opinion that unrequited love exists largely among immediate family, more often from parent to child. We all have some level of unrequited compassion within us, but friendship does not require it. While it is possible to have unrequited love or compassion for someone else, this does not necessarily require any form of relationship. While unrequited, compassion is just another good or service that may or may not spark a relationship. It is a theory of mine though that compassion grows with connection. While it may not start the relationship, it will keep it going.

And as Forest Gump said after his audience had absolutely no idea what he was talking about previously, "that's all I have to say about that".

P.S. - Go Alliance!

Chance

{ Through the fog of his breath, he spins his key chain clockwise like he always does to find the correct key to open his apartment door. There are two similar keys for different locks located right next to each other and after a two years, he never knew which one was which. Every night coming home, he would blindly choose one of them and try his luck. He could have easily separated them or put an identification marker on one, but he was comfortable with the idea that he would never know for sure which one to choose and that he would forever need to take a chance. Being as bitterly cold as it was tonight, he regretted slightly this silly commitment, but he figured the comfort he would feel as he entered his home would be that much more worth it.

Kicking his shoes off next to the door and sliding his jacket off and onto the back of the a chair in his kitchen, his body slowly adjusted to the change in temperature while his face emitted the slightest smirk. He proceeded to squeeze his wallet out of his front-right pocket and unclip the carabiner that allowed his keys to hang freely in his left-side pocket and plopped both on the top of his microwave. He made his way over to the stereo in the living room to put some on music to listen to while he cooked dinner. Wincing the Night Away by The Shins was already in the disc tray from the previous night and he was in a similar mood, so all he had to do was press play. In a very low tone, 'New Slang' began filling the apartment with sound, and feeling.

After scanning all the cabinets and rummaging through the fridge, he finally decided on his favorite dish, caramelized onions served over slices of slightly fried tofu and asparagus. Plucking the ingredients out of different levels of the fridge one by one and balancing everything in his arms, he heard a thump in the adjacent room and stood up straight with a start, sending an onion through the air and into the living room. A second later his roommate came trotting out of the other room, looked down at the onion for a second, and walked straight to the couch in the living room and curled up on the corner cushion. "Thanks for picking that onion up, I appreciate it. I thought you were out...what have you been up to all day?" - no response. "You know, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to the wall."

He turned the lower-left burner on high and let it heat up while he cut the onions into strips. "I hope these don't make you cry. I'm not sure why, but I think I've become so used to the fumes, they don't bother me anymore. I could hold my eye-lids wide open, jump into a pool of peeled onions and not a single tear would fall. I think maybe the tears are converted at a constant rate and transferred to my salivary glands and released that way". His roommate looked over at him for a second perhaps to show the was listening and shortly after turned back to his previous direction and placed his head in his arms. "I really wish the reverse was possible, I'm a little tired of constantly washing all of these sheets and pillow cases due to your night-time drooling problem."

He drizzled a pan with some olive oil, threw the onions in, and placed it over the burner. He fetched a spatula from the utensils drawer and used it to move the onions around as they browned. "So what's wrong, you haven't said a thing since I got home. You know, you can talk to me. I know I might not always have the right thing to say, but at least you can get some things off your chest." - no response "I tell you what, I'm going to guess what you're thinking, and by not responding, I'll assume that I'm right and continue".

The onions continued to caramelize and the sweet odor filled the air. "Wow, that smells amazing.... don't you think? I'm crying so hard, you can't even see it." ...."Ok, here goes. Feel free to jump in at any time. You're wondering how I come home happy every day. You think that you're the only one in the world who is constantly worrying about how you appear to other people, and that maybe..... just maybe you could have done something different to better represent yourself. You think that you're so bad at communicating, no one understands you, that there's no hope for improvement, and that you're better off just not trying at all."

Moving the onions over the a corner of a pan, he made room for the slices of asparagus and tofu. "I can tell you for a fact that you are not alone. It is constantly on my mind. You cannot let this bother you though. You have to come to terms with the communication gap that will always exist between people. What you mustn't be concerned with is how people perceive you, but instead your ability...... and yes everyone has this ability to improve your own image and the way you display yourself. Imagine fishing for example..... because I know you love fish. The hook is what makes you, you.... and the bait is your will to communicate. Improve the bait, and someone will bite. Sharpen the hook, and the odds you will connect skyrocket.

Using the spatula, he flips both the tofu and asparagus to let their reverse sides brown a bit. "What you also must realize is that chance is a huge part of life, it's something you can't help. Patience and persistence will be your greatest tools. And while you're waiting for someone to bite, you can find comfort in the waves and constant ripples in the water in which you are wading, for you are connected nonetheless." He fetches a plate from the left most cabinet and places it on the counter. After turning the burner off, he uses the spatula to scrape the contents of the pan onto his plate and places the empty pan in the sink. He pours himself a glass of red wine and brings his food into the living room and places it on the coffee table.

"I hope you ate already, I feel really bad eating in front of you like this.....even though I know you hate vegetables. I'm glad we had this talk, I feel a lot better." He used his right hand to eat and his left to rub his best friend's neck. "You understand me don't you boy?" He continued to enjoy his dinner with the soft tones of The Shins and the calming purrs of his cat. } - A short fiction

Ink

{ Crossing his legs on the corner of a bench in his favorite park about a block from his apartment, he propped his notebook up against his knee and proceeded to jot down his feelings for the day. Looking up only a few times to make sense of his thoughts by gazing into mesh of colors that made up the tie-dyed horizon, he maintained a steady conversion of memories to ink until the surface of the paper reflected exactly what existed in his mind. With each new sentence, a new smirk emerged on his face as he the relationship he had with himself continued to evolve.

Meanwhile the earth continued to revolve, revealing less and less of the sunlight that allowed this boy to make the most important connections of his life. With the wind picking up slightly along with a drop in temperature as the sun left the sky, he scribbled his last words for the day. He slipped the pen in his right-hand pocket and after closing his notebook, he placed it at the very edge of bench to his left. Being in a relatively good mood without having to be anywhere else, he figured he'd enjoy the peacefulness of the area until the moon came out. He knew it wasn't yet in the first quarter, so he wouldn't have to wait long. He pivoted his body clockwise, lifted his feet up onto the bench, laid back, and folded his arms on his chest as he gazed East into the sky where the moon would soon become visible.

As it became dark enough, the lights throughout the park started to flicker on, one by one. There was a light at every bench, separated by about forty yards along the sidewalk which cut through the center of the park. It was a different place at night. Simultaneously quaint and mysterious, he felt as if the park encompassed the personality of something or someone he longed for. If he just waited there long enough, he would be able to communicate with the night, bridging the gap from the previous day in which he discovered himself. He closed his eyes for a brief moment in an honest attempt.

A shriek of wind stirred at the very end of the walkway and he sat up with a start. A chill shot up his spine when it happened again. He stared down the sidewalk to the last light he could see. Each burst of wind became increasingly louder, sounding more similar to screams as their intensity grew. All of a sudden, as if contained within a funnel from where the sound emitted from, a gust of wind spiraled his way, knocking his notebook to the ground. The pages flipped and eventually landed on the entry he had just finished writing. While pondering this for a second, he heard a light bulb burst in the distance. After a second, another one broke. Like a row of firecrackers, the lights exploded in quick succession toward him, adding a new layer of darkness to the night.

It all happened so fast he didn't have time to react. Like a deer in the headlights, he had no choice but to stand there and watch fate unfolded in front of him. He glanced down at his notebook and read the last seven words of his entry, "my imagination will never cease to exist". And just like that, there was silence. He looked up and witnessed a vast tidal wave of darkness that stretched to the edge of the park down to the last line of his journal entry. He took his pen out of his right pocket, unscrewed the top, and held it out in front of him. The ink condensed and made its way back to where it belonged, revealing the sidewalk and the lights that illuminated it.

Opening his eyes, he didn't see the moon to the East where he was facing, but to the West. It was smiling at him, and he was smiling back. } - A short story by Jordan

Birds Eye View

As discovered from Timothy "Speed" Levitch in one of my favorites films Waking Life, Thomas Mann admitted that he would rather participate in life than write 100 stories. As a writer this must have meant that while he was writing his stories, he would have preferred to be somewhere else. To me, this could have been for two possible reasons. One, a physical problem: he was in a situation where he couldn't actually participate. Maybe he was stuck in the hospital or his wife was away. Two, a mental problem: perhaps even though he said he would rather participate, his personality prevents him from doing so. Either he prefers to just watch as the world goes by from a birds eye view, or he sees things that are unfolding in front of him that he would rather now be involved in. I consider the latter to be a possibility because some folks wish that they were ignorant so that they could be happy. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.

In a sense, what Mann is saying is that he would rather live a fully content day-to-day life instead of writing at all. Being a Wistful Author, he writes about things that bother him. If nothing bothered him, he might abstain from writing altogether. You start thinking about people's ratios of participation and observation. What Mann is describing is 100% participation. While this is not possible due to human's ability to think and find faults, it would probably be everyone's preference; it would be equivalent to pure bliss. Imagine a love-long orgasm, a permanent lovers embrace, or a constant state of the 'holy moment' acted out in the film.

Timothy goes on to say that 'an assumption develops' that you cannot live and understand life simultaneously. In my opinion some folks spend an excess amount of time trying to understand this absurd life. Well-known authors such as Friedrich Nietzsche and possibly David Wallace ended their own lives because they thought too much, to the point of madness. I'm making a huge assumption here, but bare with me while I attempt to make a point. Being very intelligent and logical, their happiness came from understanding. In their tireless quest to understand, the life in which they knew became meaningless to the point of not worth living. In a depressing sort of way, their suicides proved this assumption right.

Adding his own belief, Timothy says that 'life understood is life lived'. I don't agree entirely. One of the biggest reasons is that I don't believe it is possible for humans to fully understand life. But at the same time like Nietzsche, I cannot stop trying to figure it out; it's in my nature and is what I get most of my fulfillment from. I would tweak the quote a bit by saying that even though it may be impossible to understand life completely, the quality of life depends entirely on the undertaking. Depending wholly on the person and their need to understand, failing in that attempt will prove to be an empty life. With the realization though that you can never hope to understand life to any final degree, you can learn to balance your evolving comprehension with the rest of your human instincts. With this in mind, you can avoid the fate of some of the greatest thinkers in history.

Holding Hands: A Short Fiction

{ "Have fun tonight sweetie, make some friends!", his mother said as he stepped out of the car. With a bland smirk he glanced at her and said, "I'll try, mom". He gently closed the door and made his way over the side entrance of the church. The other kids were doing the same, but they were running. When he got to the door, he looked back and waved as his mother drove away. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered the last place he'd prefer to be on a beautiful Sunday evening.

Through the first door way with his hands in his pockets, he strolled over to the meeting room where everyone was. Amongst the chatter, he squeezed through the crowd and sat down on one of the benches. After about five minutes, one of the grown ups in charge walked to the center of the room and starting calling out names by age, and sorted the children into groups of ten or so with an appointed instructor. Hearing his name, he quickly popped off the bench and shuffled over to his group. Two boys in front of him where whispering to each other. A moment later one of them sneaked up behind a girl in front of the group, knelt down and peaked up her skirt. Not wanting to be caught, he moved fast and got back to his friend as soon as he could. Having slightly too much momentum, he could not stop himself soon enough before bumping into the boy who caught him in the act. "Hey man, sorry about that. What's your name? I'm Mark". Red in the face, he gulped hard and replied hesitantly."My name is Alex, nice to meet you".

All the groups were sorted by now, so each instructor lead each of them into the nearest hallway, further into the building to their designated classrooms. Holding his right hand out, he felt the studded paneling as he walked and noticed the many photographs equally spaced out on the wall. Each one was of an elderly man dressed up in white Alex assumed were past Priests and Bishops of the church. Less than half of them were smiling.

Walking in the back of the group, he had the last choice of a seat when they entered the room. Luckily there was a seat open to the right of Mark. The room was very small, white, and confining with a circular table in the middle. There was one window, but the blinds were closed. Up on the walls there were pictures of nature with passages from the bible written on them as well as a calender of various church-related events.

After taking attendance and introducing herself, the instructor stood up and said, "Let us begin with a prayer". She held out her arms and instructed everyone to hold hands. Alex took hers in right hand and Mark's in his left. "Since this is our first day, it's OK if you don't know the words; but I expect all of you learn them for next week". Alex knew the words, but pretended he didn't. The prayer started and everyone stared down at the table as they spoke in a monotone. Alex did the same but he kept glancing up around the room in a counter-clockwise motion to see if anyone else remained silent. To his surprise, everyone was speaking. He turned his head slightly to the left at Mark and his eyes slowly traveled from his eyes, shoulder, arm, and finally to his side where their hands were clasped together.

He felt completely at ease. All his nervousness and tension leading up to this point had suddenly disappeared. He was in another world. The walls of the room floated away revealing the beautiful autumn sky. The table was no longer there and all was serene. There were trees around them and grass at their feet. Hands together, the two of them floated there together as if nothing else mattered in the world. His vision not budging from the connection they made, he expressed a melancholic smile and his tear ducts began to swell.

"Let go of my hand fag!". The whole class burst out in laughter. Coming to, Alex quickly released his grip from Mark's hand. Eyes wide, breathing fast, he sat down with a thump, moved his chair over the right a little, stared down at the white table and let out a weak, "I'm sorry". The instructor looked at Alex oddly for a few seconds, and then as if nothing had happened, continued the class. Alex spent the next forty minutes pretending he didn't exist.

On the way home, he tried his best to look as cheerful as possible. Alex loved his mother very much and he knew she had high hopes for him. "How was your first day honey?" "Oh, it was OK" "Did you meet any new friends?" "Yeah, a few" "You know, I still remember my first day. I was very shy like you are; I was a nervous wreck. It might sound silly, but as soon as we all held hands for our first prayer, I felt like I fit in. After that, I was fine. Do they still do that?" "Yes, they do."

Alone in is bed later that night, he was finally able to let go. Soaking his pillow with a steady and silent flow of tears, he was able to drift away to a place where he felt most comfortable. } - A short story by the Blog creator

Walking Cliches

Have you ever imagined yourself as nothing more than a blip on a radar screen, drifting to-and-fro among millions of others? Perhaps as a flower in a field of daisies as they sway back and forth together as the wind blows, or a random color in a box of crayons? Are we content with the idea that we are just like everyone else? I'm guessing the general answer would probably be no. What it seems like is that most folks make every effort possible to be different. Makes you wonder why.

Many of us are raised with the idea that we are special and unique, and that there's one thing we can do better than anyone else. To me, this simply is not true. But I would imagine that it is this teaching that promotes growth in many people and leads them to successful careers. It urges us to find this one thing that is special about us, to find a direction, and to feel like an individual. While this may not be the only factor that contributes to how we live ours lives, it certainly has a large effect.

I think that most people hate the idea of being slaves to their genes. Our bodies are just a robotic shell, whose actions are dictated by our DNA and the endless instructions carried out by the brain. From a scientific standpoint, humans are 99.9% alike. That last 0.1% refers to an ever so slight difference in a section of double helix, which contributes to our slight difference of appearance and personality. In a sense, this difference is what makes us unique from each other. Even though this difference isn't really very significant, our strong urge to be different actually contributes to many benefits including variety, which generally give more options, and as a result makes the human race more prosperous.

As well as our strong desire to feel like a separate and unique entity, our competitive society also forces us to live and act beyond our normal persona. While I'd like to think that this superficial obligation only exists in a business environment, I think maybe it also has quite a large role in our personal lives. In order to be noticed, you must take special measures; whether it be for a potential job or a mate. It may even be that by doing this, we've conditioned our brains to act this way automatically without actually being aware of it. I've always felt comfortable with the idea though that we are constantly aware of acting outside of who we are.

For the longest time, I tried very hard to not fall into the category of any cliche. Along with my personal need to feel different, I always took anything that was considered 'normal' with a grain of salt. While it may be a bit depressing at first, I've realized that I am just like everyone else; and the more I try to be different, the more I am cheating myself. I am slowly learning to embrace my subtle differences, and while doing this may disallow me to obtain some of things I long for, nothing is worth being fake.

The Art of Fiction

{ Swinging his arms with the natural movement of his body; putting one foot in front of that other as if each step would add another day to his life, he continued his steady jog down the sidewalk on main street towards the bridge that leads into the city. With his eyes transfixed on the lights of the sun as they bounced off he moon and streamed their way through the earth's atmosphere to illuminate his path, he trudged on through the night's cool air.

Navigating himself across the street before the bridge and through the enclosed entrance, he continued on to the separated walk area on the left side. Having a slight incline, he strained a bit to keep up his pace, but tried his best to ignore the pain as he approached the plateau. Having no real destination, he used the moon as his compass and continued to make his way across this man-made structure with a spherical glow in his sights.

He chose the left side so that he could see the oncoming traffic. While there was a divider, it was only waste-high and he felt more secure knowing what was coming. Deep in his thoughts though, who knows if anything could have caused him to break out of his trance. Shuffling through the chaotic memories, one in particular he concentrated on for five, six, seven steps, and like a light beam had burned right through the back of eye and continued to pass through his brain and out of the back of his head and down to the earth, anchoring him to the ground, everything became still.

A moment later, what seemed like an eternity to him, the beam shattered and his head reverberated, producing a mind-numbing ring. He mistook it for a horn, and not seeing anything in front him he whipped his head around his shoulder. Such a sudden movement threw him off balance and as he tried to turn straight ahead, he tripped over his own feet causing his body to be thrown right into the divider. Being exceptionally agile, while his feet were all tangled, he was able to catch himself somewhat without actually topping over into the road. Slouching over the cement wedge staring at the ground, he heard the distinct sound of a car horn. Looking to where the sound was coming from, his left, two miniature moons were coming his way, and fast. Pushing off as hard as he could, he launched himself backward onto the sidewalk, landing first on his ass and having no choice but to stabilize himself with his elbows.

Not wanting to think about the pain, he lay down and looked up at what comforted him the most, the night sky. Two tears streaming down the sides of his face, the moon was now oblong and he found this strangely comforting. Embracing himself and closing his eyes, he continue to lay there as a part of the bridge. As cars traversed the bridge, it would shake, and with his hands on his chest, he would match the rumbles to the beats of his heart.

After a while, he glanced to the right to see that there was a small opening to allow water to pass through at the bottom of the divider to his right. He watched several cars pass, although all he could see were the tires and bottom portion of the frame. From his sideways perspective, three cars traveled North and four cars traveled South. Looking down the sidewalk itself, he saw an army of ants marching North, with huge amounts of dirt on their back. Just the fact that he witnessed more cars traveling in the opposite direction of the ants made him smile. He would finish his run while clinging on to this very thought. } - A short story

Fluid Emotion

Imagine a big bowl of liquid happiness. You can't simply use your hand and scoop it out as you please, but instead you must use two fingers and pinch together as much as you can before it evaporates. Slowly I'm coming to the realization that happiness and fulfillment are extremely temporary and fleeting. You don't simply find it; you must constantly work to hold onto it. You often see in the movies someone who becomes happy and blurts out something along the lines of, "I'm so happy, I could die right now". This might lead you to believe that once you achieve it, you won't ever lose it. This might be why I have trouble with Buddhism and the "enlightenment" process. Like most of my posts, I have done no research prior to writing them. I am under the assumption that once you become enlightened, you are indefinitely fulfilled. It all seems like a final destination, and of course I have huge issues with anything that's considered to be final.

A friend was once described to me as never being happy. This didn't strike me as being odd, because, well, who is every really happy? I suppose maybe this person has higher standards than most people, and so it is that much harder for them to find whatever it is they want. The point I want to get across though is that happiness isn't constant and only occurs in short bursts. So in a sense, we are all essentially wistful by nature. While it is possible to come to a point in your life where happiness occurs more often, it's virtually impossible for it to be constant.

When thinking about the millions of connections that are made in the brain every second, it's hard to believe all of them would contain thoughts of happiness. Longing for example is something most experience every single day. It's quite unavoidable and is just one instance that detracts from our happiness. We all yearn for something, and have incessant needs that do not dissipate over time. We all changed psychologically over time as well and those needs change.

Much like plucking a fly out of the air with a pair of tweezers, we have to learn how to obtain what we want and maintain a strict effort to make it last. I might sound like I'm contradicting my earlier post about free will and determinism if I say it's completely up to us and our efforts to obtain happiness, so I will say this: Human are whimsical beings. We may never understand what exactly makes us happy, but we have a general idea. While our happiness may be entirely deterministic, if you throw enough darts, sooner or later, you'll hit the center. Eventually, while you may never get the exact muscle memory to do it every time, you can learn to hit it much more often. We make whimsical changes to our lives out of pure curiosity and we learn to harness these changes so that have a higher chances of hitting the bulls-eye. Avoiding any conflictions with my strong devotion to determinism, all of these are indirect changes. Not entirely a shot in the dark, much like quantum mechanics, but an educated guess.

The Wistful Author

I'm not sure if it's just the authors I have been reading, but beneath all of the stories there seems to be an underlying tone of melancholy integrated into each sentence. I went to a museum of art yesterday with my father and stepmother and we took a small tour in which they explained how they used an x-ray to authenticate each painting. By scanning through each layer, you can see how the painting was produced, step by step. By doing this you can better imagine what the artist was thinking while they worked. The first layer of one painting contained a sketch of a woman's face, and the complete product was that of a flower garden.

If only this were possible with literature. I remember watching an interview on television of an author of a book about her family. The interviewer brought up that while reading her book, even though it wasn't written from a third person perspective, he felt as if she was doing just that. Mind you this was several years ago, so I'm not exactly sure what they said. But when he questioned her about how he felt that her writing seemed to be somewhat detached, she didn't wholly refute it. He then asked her if she felt that most authors were introverts and actually prefer to observe and write about their surroundings instead of actually being involved. A few details aside, I believe she agreed with his assertion. From her tone of voice and body language, she was a little hesitant in admitting it, but you could tell that's how she felt.

I certainly can't assign this home-made stereotype to every author who ever existed, but perhaps a big chunk of them. Of course the one that pops into my head first is Jane Austin. I've never read any biographies of her, but I did see the movie Becoming Jane; from what I've heard, it's pretty accurate. Her real-life romance did not endure, but she vowed that women in her novels would not share the same fate. These authors yearn for something incredible, something of great value to them, and after coming to the realization that these things are very rarely obtained in real-life, they've devoted themselves to creating this special something in their own writing. This is why they write. This is why I write.

Relating to the comics in my last post, for some folks it just isn't enough to experience something. By writing their thoughts down, they are either making more sense of past events (non-fiction), or morphing experiences into an alternate reality (fiction) which tells a story that encompasses a more complete and fulfilling experience; or it could be a mixture of the two. Either way, it seems to me that these authors aren't content until they get the contents of their mind on paper. So I wonder if we were all to become content with our lives as is, would there be any more literature? I suppose science-related work would be exempt here. I believe they say that most art (including novels) stem from extreme emotion generated from some sort of tragedy. Imagine if you could somehow examine every single penny in every single fountain in the world and trace it back to the wish of the person who made it. "World Peace", would be in the majority. Imagine if that were to come true.

The Blogsphere

After a little early spring cleaning, I came across a comic strip my mother cut out for me a few years ago, as seen above. I was always very quiet and I used to blog often because writing was my strong form of communication. So you can see why my mother thought this comic was funny. I found a similar one on the internet, which can be seen below. I think the purpose that they were created was to poke fun at some people's need to jot down every detail of their life and post it on the internet.

Especially nowadays, communication between parties such as child and parent is reduced to light chit chat, while most emotions and feelings get expressed through a vast social network known as the internet. It's no longer enough to just experience something and share it with a few close friends. By posting your thoughts on the internet, you're exposing yourself to many more people, and so you're likely to get much more feedback. And we all love feedback.

Limits of Human Kind

I was at a party a few days ago and I found myself playing the ever popular Guitar Hero with some friends. I was a bit drunk at the time so I wasn't playing as well as I could have if I were sober, but I wasn't doing too bad. On the song selection screen, I paused on one of the songs towards the bottom that sparked a memory. A few summers ago I played this game non-stop for weeks. I mastered the lower levels quite fast. As the songs got progressively harder, I spent more and more time trying to get the technique right. When I got to that one song though, I hit a brick wall. After a few hours of playing the same song over and over again and becoming increasingly frustrated, I shut the game off and went for a jog. I would come back to that one song the next day, the day after that, and so on until after about a week when I finally was able to complete it. I did a little celebration dance and then continued on to the next song. I did worse on this song than I did my first attempt on the previous one. Figuring it would take me 2 weeks this time, I decided to find something else to do with my time.

You start to wonder, is there a point at which there is no hope for improvement? On my jog I thought back to a concept I learned about back in high school algebra. You have a distance you have to travel, but you can only go half way each step. You get considerably closer with each step, but you'll never actually get there. You might never get there, but you'll also never stop getting closer. This is the idea of a limit. Putting this in real-life terms, the idea of that limit would equivalent to absolute truth, which is the goal of science.

I personally have a hard to time believing humans have the capacity to uncover such a truth. Perhaps such a truth doesn't actually exist. Maybe instead of the first example of cutting something in half indefinitely, think of the graph of X squared. It doesn't have a limit, but at the same time the rate at which it(X) increases decreases over time forever. It could be said that the limit is infinity.

It would seem that generally, for things to make most sense to us, everything has a beginning and ending. Thinking about the theory to the beginning of the universe: the big bang, something is essentially created from nothing. At least that's how most folks understand it. According to the theory, the universe was initially infinitely condensed. Now, I'm not even sure what that means, but it would seem to me that according to the theory, the universe was not created from nothing. Now, if there was something at the beginning of time, then that really wasn't the begging at all. Anyway, I've since adopted the idea of the infinite. I don't believe there was a beginning, and I don't believe there will be an end.

Getting back to my pessimistic view that humans are extremely limited to how much they can discover about the universe, I'd like to bring up the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. I first encountered this idea in the book by Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time. It describes in great detail the observer effect, which states that in order to measure something, you must touch it. By touching it, you are moving it, therefore rendering the measurement inaccurate. Related to particle physics, the uncertainty principle suggests that it is impossible to know both the exact location and momentum of a particle at any given moment.

This then gave way to quantum mechanics, which attempts to describe and predict the movements of subatomic particles, which appear to be random. Now, I have absolutely no knowledge of quantum mechanics, or even particle physics for that matter, but from what I know, I believe their movements only appear random because we don't have any real way of measuring them accurately. And no matter how sophisticated our equipment gets, I don't believe there's any real way of avoiding the observer effect. Our human measurements will forever be inaccurate. With our current problems of measurement, there might still exist even smaller particles that we aren't aware of, smaller than that of electrons, protons, and their constituents, a vast variety of quarks. Perhaps matter is infinitely small.

There's a saying that the journey is more important than the destination, which I think might have been Einstein. To me this is true because absolute destination doesn't really exist. The idea of a destination is important though because it provides us with a direction. Living day to day with the idea that you may never reach the end-all goal of a destination, you can find comfort in the evidence that you can continuously improve.

Criminal Justice

First off I would like to thank Jennifer, the author of the blog Cozy Toes for her recommendations. The lecture by Daniel C. Dennett led me to a cute little comic strip that illustrates the issue with free will.

The Dilbert comic along with parts of the lecture left me wondering about the law and criminal justice. Being inherently passive, I've never been too concerned about the law. I figure if I'm content enough with the way things are, there's really no reason for me to get involved. I do watch the news and read up on articles from time to time, but it's just not all that interesting to me.

I've always been very humble in the fact that I could never really know anything for sure. Terms such as right, wrong, good, evil, and morality have meant nothing more to me than just words whose meanings were fabricated and linked to religions and other belief systems. So naturally I've never felt any sort of need to become involved with politics. From my point of view, many politicians or even folks who join the police force or organizations such as the FBI are very passionate people who have a strong sense of what they believe to be right and wrong.

It is for this very reason I could never be a cop, or a judge for that matter. I was watching COPS on television a few weeks ago and they were setting up traps for prostitutes. An undercover cop would pose a civilian who would lure women into their car and eventually get them to name their price. It's at this point when she is arrested. I was just sitting there wondering what was going through these people's minds. Maybe something along the lines of, "yes, we've successfully captured another dirty hooker, we did the right thing" or "this scum is polluting our society, she deserves to be behind bars", or maybe "whoohoo, I did my job, I will most certainly get a raise for this". I felt bad for the woman. I did some light research on the subject, but I could find nothing substantial to convince me that prostitution should be illegal.

While I may disagree with many people's beliefs, I won't deny that in order to live peacefully, we need some sort of government. We then also need people to enforce the laws instituted, no matter their personal beliefs. In my early teenage years I used to go around spray-painting various objects with the symbol for anarchy. I didn't quite grasp the full implications of such a society, but I realized that whatever it was, it would be fair. A free for all, survival of the fittest, as described by one of the villains from The Dark Knight (can't remember if it was the Joker or Two-Face).

So getting back to what I originally planned on discussing, the issue of free will and the law, in regards to how we should treat criminals. In the first part of his lecture, Dennett describes how psychologists suggest how new discoveries in neuroscience will change the way we treat criminals. This puzzles me a bit. I'm not exactly sure how the law treats criminals today, but in my opinion, our understanding of consciousness and free will should not alter the punishment. If you break the law, regardless of whether or not you had the capacity of choosing between one option or another, you will be dealt with accordingly. If you break the law, you are liable to do it again.

Thinking about the Dilbert comic, the little dog questions our ability to 'blame' people for their actions with the idea that all of our actions are controlled by our brain. This somehow suggests that the brain and the person are separate entities. Blame the person. Blame the brain. They are one in the same. And I think that pretty wraps up what I wanted to get across. I meant for this to be a short post.

Look what Dilbert does to me!

Secular Marriage

I always thought marriage was founded by religion. So I never really understood why atheists and gay couples ever felt the need to get married, except maybe for the benefits. Perhaps marriage was strongly tied to religion in the past, which might be why religious folks fought so strongly to prevent same-sex marriages, but after a quick Miriam-Webster visit, there is no mention of religion in the definition.

From a religious point of view, marriage is the symbol of god's plan to match two people up together. I would imagine that most religious folks believe in soul mates, so this ritual would serve a dual purpose. So what does marriage mean to everyone else? Maybe it was just invented by the government as incentive to the rest of us to get married, have a family, and further perpetuate the ideal American dream.

Going along with my most recent blogs, perhaps marriage is simply a communication from one person to another that states both parties are ready to stop the search for their ideal mate; not because they found this person, but because they are ready to compromise. Obviously though from recent divorce rates, this doesn't often last long. Which makes you wonder why.

My grandparents are still married, on both my mother's and father's side. When they got married, I believe they were very religious, but I don't think that was the reason they decided to get married. I'm not sure what their religions are today, but they got married because of their situations. The biggest reason being children, which I'm sure is the reason for 90% of the marriages even today. And they stayed married. This doesn't anymore. I'm assuming it has to do with the slow evaporation of traditional 'gender roles'. The women used to be very depended on their husband and just couldn't afford to leave him. I'm almost positive if I asked either of my grandparents if they believed they were married to their soul mates, they would laugh in my face. The idea that there is probably a better match for you somewhere in the world I'm sure is not my invention.

The one thing I can also say about my grandparents is that they love each other. There's just no doubt in my mind. Whatever love is, they have it. They argue constantly. Sometimes it even seems that they might hate each other from time to time, but they can always find something to laugh about during dinner. This makes it all worth it.

Connecting to my previous blog about attraction, and thinking about the unique personalities of the woman form Sex and the City, it all depends on the person. Samantha for example is on a vigorous search for the perfect man, going through them like candy. Her three friends Miranda, Charlotte, and Carrie on the other hand are a bit more selective and careful. As an end to the series(the movie), while her friends end up with the guy everyone knew they would end up with, she leaves a seemingly perfect relationship because of her unwillingness to compromise. This is just the kind of person she is.

Coming to the realization that it is impossible to search the entire world for the person who comes closer than anyone else to your ideal, how do you know when it's time to stop searching and settle down with a person you feel comfortable compromising with? I suppose it all depends on how ambitious you are, and your standards in general. Some people will search forever, like Samantha Jones, while others are content to settle. Much like finding a soul mate, I wonder if it's equally as difficult to find another person willing to settle. Everyone feels comfort in knowing that something or someone will always be there. Unfortunately there are many deciding factors constantly in flux, there's no way to know for sure. I cannot dwell on these thoughts though, as they are beyond my control. What I can control is my smile. And it will be in use every single day of my life.

Fading Attraction

Yet another interesting conversation with my psychology-major friend leaves me feeling somewhat conflicted. We were talking about past relationships and whether or not people kept in touch after a break-up. I ask her if she talks to her ex-boyfriends at all, and she says no for the most part. Being very naive on the subject, I couldn't wrap my head around why. She then tells me about a psychology study that suggests that after about three years, a certain sort of attractiveness for another fades. From what she tells me, this has been linked to why most marriages fail after an average of three years. So according to this study, even if you date someone for a few years, break up, wait three years for the feelings to go away, you are able to forget about this person altogether. Perhaps this is the reason they say, 'time heals all wounds'. Just wait three years, and just like that you rid yourself of the pain and longing for another. But is it that simple? I suppose its just the way she told me, but from her tone it sounded like an absolute. And if you've read any of my earlier blogs, you'll notice that absolutes and I don't get along very well.

I wouldn't say it's impossible, but highly situational. People change, both physically and mentally. So I suppose it's not hard to believe how attractiveness would also change. But what really gets me is people's ability to cast away experiences and memories so easily. My cynical view leads me to believe that all people really care about is the here and now. The past is the past, who can hold my attention today? Then again I have a pretty limited view and understanding of my peers. Maybe people do silently cry in the rain.

Relationships

Perfection and ideals are purely conceptual by nature, so compromise is essential. This applies to many things, including a careers and relationships. Everyone carries around in their mind an idea of a perfect world. Some concept of an ideal is formed and used as a scale to measure potential real-life situations. As they go through their lives, they choose options closest to their ideal as possible, thus lessening the need for compromise. As better options become available, things are often replaced. Now, unless you believe in soul mates, this includes romantic partners. Compromise is what makes this world go around. When it is absent or has not been established, conflicts occur. Perfection does not exist, and there will always be a gap in people's ideals.

Here's a small excerpt of something I wrote a while ago after scrutinizing the film Before Sunset:

"In a sense, we all have that one person who we compare everyone else to. It may not be your ideal mate, but it is a person in your life you have either dated or befriended who you've identified with on a deeper level than anyone else. It may be a collection of people, a handful, or even just a few. We use this as to gauge new people we encounter. If you're lucky, you'll find someone who goes off the scale. Hell, you're lucky even if someone comes close. This may or may not be true, but from what I know... and from personal experience, we spend an abundant amount of time thinking about this person. Even if you are in a relationship... you might even be somewhat happy with it, but if this person rates even a 9/10 on your mental scale, you can't help but fall victim to the constant flood of thoughts of what could have been, what could be, and if you're willing to repress these thoughts for the sake of your current relationship. "

In my opinion, all attraction is quantitative. Whether you're willing to admit it or not, we measure people, consciously and unconsciously. While objectively, the color of a person's hair or the way they smell are qualitative, they are quantitative to an individual with opinions. Naturally, the person who rates the highest in all categories is usually the one pursued.

Depending on your state of mind, the idea that there will always be someone better than you, can be slightly depressing. The idea that one day you might be replaced can put enough fear and worry in anyone and deter them from starting any sort of relationship.

This cannot stop you from living though. Understand it. Accept it. The important thing is to keep moving while maintaining and embracing the connections you make throughout your life. Despite who you may be with, the connections you make with people should always matter. These are the things that will get you through the day. Keep them close, as they will fulfil you.

At the Bookstore

After my third visit this week, I was finally able to finish my book. I'm surprised I wasn't kicked out. I was there for over three hours today; I actually used the bathroom twice. In my little nook, on the most uncomfortable wooden chair, I devoured one of their books, for free no doubt. I wonder if they secretly keep track of how long people stay there. Every time one of their employees walked by to straighten out the books, I wondered if they were checking on me. I never really looked up though. I'd see people pass me, but only glance at their shoes. I'd take a brief millisecond break from my book and wonder what kind of person they were.

I did look up though when I noticed they worked there. I was curious what sort people they hired. Most of them were women, a mixture of ages. I think I only saw two men there, out of about ten. After chapter 42 or so, I stood up to stretch. I glanced around the corners of the bookcase where I was sitting and noticed an employee heading towards me as she put some books up on the shelves. I stood there sort of transfixed for a second. Long, dark and wavy hair, piercing eyes, a gentle face, classy and professional, yet sexy outfit, and prescription glasses. The look of a librarian. I sat down quickly in my chair and took a breath. I shoved my head back into my book and hovered over the words as I waited for her to pass. Even though she was only a foot away from me, I could barely hear her say, "Excuse me", as she squeezed by; her voice was soft and kind. "I think I'm in love", I told myself.

After I finished my book though, I found I was gravely mistaken.

Follow Your Passion

Whenever contemplating a career path, you always get someone who tells you to follow your passion or dreams, while others will say to stick with what you're good at. What if you don't really have a passion, any special dreams, or anything you're particularly good at?

When you think of the word passion, you think of a strong feeling. When someone has a strong passion for something, they spend an abundant amount of time and thought on it. It should be abundantly obvious to a person what their passion is. I'm hesitant in admitting I have any real passion though, because nothing really sticks out. Everyone's passion levels are different, so it's safe to say that even a person with a 1/10 on the passion-o-meter, it's still a passion. I suppose the one interest that stands out from the rest would be considered the person's passion, the one thing that gives that the person the most pleasure.

This world is run by passionate people. I'd say the more passionate you are with the right amount of intelligence, the much more likely you are to succeed, at least financially. If you happen to share the same passion with someone who is either more passionate or intelligent than you are, the less likely you are to succeed. There's even a chance you wouldn't be able to make a living off your passion.

This is where compromise comes in. I remember in the film Adrift In Manhattan, a intelligent man worked a mediocre job as a mail sorter to pursue his passion of painting. This something I definitely admire. I suppose the reason for my stagnancy, is my unwillingness to compromise. Perhaps also, finding a job in which that compromise would be as small as possible.

One last note on passion: If someone is flirting with you and you aren't particularly fond of them, tell them that you have absolutely no passion. I guarantee that'll do the trick.

February 14th

Two and a half beers in, floating on the last hour of the day, I'm an emotional mess and I have no idea why. I don't really celebrate or even follow holidays, but naturally all the fuss leading up to today coaxed me into feeling this way. Falling asleep the previous night, I imagined my perfect day. Despite how cliche it might have been, it still felt right, and I fell asleep while clinging to the most comfortable image.

I accomplished most of what I wanted to today, but not without lasting afterthoughts. I visited my great grandmother of 86 years. I was hit with an emotional spark a few nights ago, which gave way to a feeling I hadn't experienced in a while. A split-second change of thought, and I suddenly felt the need to become closer to everyone I knew. The first face that popped into my head was that of my great grandmother's. I imagined giving her a hug and asking if she'd like to play scrabble sometime. So that's what I did today. I ended up visiting for upwards of an hour. It was nice, and I could tell she appreciated the visit. I couldn't help but feel for her though as she described her day-to-day difficulties of growing older. She wasn't crying, but I could see from her expression that she was either on the verge, or had been earlier. This is what was imprinted on me.

Believe it or not though, I couldn't think of a better way of spending my valentines day.

The Illusion of Free Will

While struggling to fall asleep the other night, I found myself pondering the idea of free will. Like all moments, day or night, whenever I get a free moment to let my mind wander, I always begin by asking myself, "what do you believe?". This happens quite a few times during the day. I'm not sure why it's so important, but I'm constantly in a state of questioning myself. I'm at a point in my own personal philosophy in which I will refrain from calling anything a fact. I'm a human. I'm faulted. How could I possibly know anything for sure? By always using the verbs to think or believe, I'm implying a theory, to the best of my knowledge.

So I'm staring up at my bland white ceiling wondering why the hell I can't put myself to sleep, and then I start wandering, keeping myself awake for another couple of hours. I then ask myself what I believe. Reverting back to a conclusion I came to several years ago, I reiterate to myself that we're just a bunch of complex particles. Reading a biography on Einstein, I remember that he said we were all nothing but interacting blobs of energy. Energy, atoms, molecules, matter, we're just a bunch of stuff that by chance interacted and coalesced. After billions upon billions of years of chemical reactions and evolution, here we are.

Now when I say, by chance, I don't mean out of thin air. As a logical sort of individual, I have a strong affinity towards the idea of cause and effect. This leads me to a term I have casually researched: Determinism. This philosophy states that everything that happens is determined by prior events. It contains both the ideas of Materialism(everything contained the universe is nothing but a bunch of material), and Causality(cause and effect).

This then brings me to many aspects of Existentialism. Over the years, I've become a pretty big fan of the ideas postulated within this philosophy. Putting it in a nutshell, one of the most attractive ideas is that we are totally free and individually responsible for our own happiness. Thinking about the idea of being free while believing in deterministic variables naturally leads to some contradictions.

According to determinism, everything including thoughts and actions are determined by prior events, or prior configurations of the molecules in the brain. With this in mind, freedom or free will seem to be nothing more than an illusion. While I think and make decisions of my own accord, it is nothing more than the effect of the firing neurons in my brain. To me, claiming that we do have absolute free will is the same as saying that we have a soul that acts independent of the laws of nature.

I suppose it also depends on the semantics.
- Mirriam Webster: "freedom of humans to make choices that are not determined by prior causes or by divine intervention"
- Standford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: "“Free Will” is a philosophical term of art for a particular sort of capacity of rational agents to choose a course of action from among various alternatives."

With the first definition, I would argue against the idea of free will because it's required that prior causes be absent. With the latter though it would seem that determinism and free will could coexist. The choice of the alternatives though, is deterministic.

Putting more thought into the subject, things start getting a bit fuzzy. Thinking back to existentialism, every person is responsible for their own happiness. Determinism denotes that even happiness is deterministic. This is where it gets fuzzy, at least for me. While happiness may be deterministic, the issue of whether we end up happy or sad is not fated. There is a lot that goes into human emotion, and I won't even attempt to explain it here and now.

If I write any more, I'm going to start confusing myself again so I'll stop here.

A Mute Story

The other day I was watching the tail-end of a news cast and when it was over I decided to flip the channels to see if anything interesting was on. I very much despise television as a whole, but I do enjoy many shows on the travel channel such as No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain or Samantha Brown. Neither of those shows were on unfortunately, so I stopped on a decent movie I had already seen and pressed the mute button because I needed to make a phone call. After the call I had forgotten I had the t.v. on and decided to check my email. I stuck on my headphones, selected shuffle on my music player, and carried on my daily Internet habits.

After a quick stop by Lifehacker, I noticed a flash out of the corner of my eye beyond my computer screen and realized the what is was. I sat there and watched the remainder of the movie without sound. In combination with the lyrics and gentle tones of the music that was playing, I created my own set of stories by observing the ever changing facial expressions the characters in the movie displayed. As the songs changed, the stories changed. They say most of our communication is non-verbal, but I would definitely say that words are required to gain the most understanding of what is being said. Otherwise, we are left with a dried-out piece of clay left unsculpted.

This can make for some interesting inventions, but you have to be careful in social environments, especially when someone is talking to you. I sometimes find myself concentrating too much on the expressions and loose track of what is being said. Mastering both visual and verbal forms of expression will help in the overall understanding from one person to another.