Have you ever felt that the bland, drab, and boring try to push their lifestyle on you?
The uninteresting, safe guys who never tried to take a chance. Those guys who pat themselves on the back because they "just know" that eventually everyone around them will slow down to their pace and that they, the beige and neutral background players, will be rewarded for life of staying at home and making the "smart, safe decisions." And, like the borg, they want to assimilate you into their lifestyle.
You can start to fight the current of the river of blandness by reading the work of Dylan Thomas and Hunter S. Thompson. As you fight the dying of the light, think about what a day with fun entails. Don't think about the army of drones and zombies that shuffle in and out of your life. Think about adventure around the next corner. Is all the money in the world worth twilight years spent contemplating a life spent in idle waste? Life is best experienced through all of its peaks and valleys.
Live a life of poet, and feel every extreme emotion pulse through your body. Fall in love with every girl you meet, and lament on how short our time on earth is. Feel fear fill your body as you face ever terror that lurks behind each corner. Enjoy the feeling of safety as you walk out of the situation untouched. Enjoy depression, and remember that no matter how alone you feel, the world is filled with people who share that loneliness.
During your journey, walk down the dark paths with no maps. I guarantee your stories will be interesting, and your character will be better. And at the end of it all, if there is someone on the other side, you can look the creator in the eye and say "That is one hell of a ride you built."
Friday, June 28, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
What, What! It's WEDNESDAY!
It's Wednesday, and I'm insecure. It's those little things that make me, me.I think i's a time for a change though when it comes to advice Let me ask you something; when was the last time you typed your stories naked and uploaded the videos to youtube? Being naked is quiet liberating, you know. As you walk down the streets letting the breeze brush your skin, you'll find your insecurities float away in the wind.When was the last time you sent your short stories into playboy? Sure, that's the bug time, but your words will grace the same pages as Shel Silverstein and Ray Bradbury once did.
If your still insecuring, try making out with a stranger on main street in the daylight. Show the world you don't care and you won't play by their rules!
Maybe your writers block or insecurities come from the fact that you haven't lived the life of a suffering writer. When I'm faced with this problem, I look to my idols, Oscar Wilde, Vincent Van Gogh, and the Buddhist monks from the 1960's. Following their example, I proceed to cut off my year, contract syphilis, and light myself on fire. Honestly, I don't know how others spend their Saturdays.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Surreal Shapes in the Sunday Shade.
Hey there blog land. How's your Sunday? Can you believe it's June? We're almost halfway through the year. In another month, I'll have done this for a year. It's been a while since I've just written some quiet and low key. No talk of romance and math. No talk of dogs. Just a chance to put fingers on keys and type.
What would you do for a Klondike bar, and is there a wrong way to eat one? Ever had a perfect line you wanted to use for something, but found it was the equivalent of a dead end? Long cat sure is long.
There is no feeling like the one you get when you wake up in a strange place. The trees stretch miles high and the people are strange. The field you wake up in stretches miles in front of you in sea of blue. There's someone next to you, but you can't think with the fog in your brain. I feel 15 again as I try to make her clothes come off with the power of mind. Hell, I could go with a nipple slip.
The world and it's perspective changes. Sometimes I see him, or you, or sometimes he and you are me. We stand and we walk, because something is controlling our legs. As we move forward in the world, the grass grows up around us and wraps around the trees. It crisses and crosses and merge into beautiful patterns. But they quickly fade from your mind as we journey forward. You look to your right and ask the girl walking next to you where you're going.
Мы идем к месту, где улицы не имеют названия. She says.
What?
Мы вечные. Мы бессмертны.
We nod our head at the gibberish. I turn as you, he and she keep walking. I stop for a drink at the bar. A man with a familiar face stands there.
당신은 무엇을 하시겠습니까? He asks.
Два пива.
He spins. There's a shoe in his hand. You thank him and walk out the door.
Outside, on the sidewalk, we wrap ourselves in our jacket as the wind goes past our skin. The streets are empty, and the city makes no sound. A police officer walks up to you and pushes you over. We fall, and protest. The cop kicks me. A sharp pain builds in our body as we feel the force. Hours go by. You see feet going by your face and wonder why no one stops him. And then it stops. You stand up, but the field is empty. It stretches in all sides like a blue ocean. A girl lays sleeping on the ground, and you wonder if maybe the world is different in a different direction.
What would you do for a Klondike bar, and is there a wrong way to eat one? Ever had a perfect line you wanted to use for something, but found it was the equivalent of a dead end? Long cat sure is long.
There is no feeling like the one you get when you wake up in a strange place. The trees stretch miles high and the people are strange. The field you wake up in stretches miles in front of you in sea of blue. There's someone next to you, but you can't think with the fog in your brain. I feel 15 again as I try to make her clothes come off with the power of mind. Hell, I could go with a nipple slip.
The world and it's perspective changes. Sometimes I see him, or you, or sometimes he and you are me. We stand and we walk, because something is controlling our legs. As we move forward in the world, the grass grows up around us and wraps around the trees. It crisses and crosses and merge into beautiful patterns. But they quickly fade from your mind as we journey forward. You look to your right and ask the girl walking next to you where you're going.
Мы идем к месту, где улицы не имеют названия. She says.
What?
Мы вечные. Мы бессмертны.
We nod our head at the gibberish. I turn as you, he and she keep walking. I stop for a drink at the bar. A man with a familiar face stands there.
당신은 무엇을 하시겠습니까? He asks.
Два пива.
He spins. There's a shoe in his hand. You thank him and walk out the door.
Outside, on the sidewalk, we wrap ourselves in our jacket as the wind goes past our skin. The streets are empty, and the city makes no sound. A police officer walks up to you and pushes you over. We fall, and protest. The cop kicks me. A sharp pain builds in our body as we feel the force. Hours go by. You see feet going by your face and wonder why no one stops him. And then it stops. You stand up, but the field is empty. It stretches in all sides like a blue ocean. A girl lays sleeping on the ground, and you wonder if maybe the world is different in a different direction.
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