Now, quite obviously, you don’t know me.  It may be hard to catch my humor which fades in and out between a charming sincerity and insufferable dishonesty.  I feel that language is something to be handled, so much so that words almost become physical toys to arrange, to play with, and obsess over (a healthy obsession).  That’s the trouble with text though; especially text online—that the engagement is rather limited.  The only sense involved in reading from a screen is sight, even if you follow the words with your mouse that’s what, centimeter of motion, total?  Not that reading a book or magazine is a rough workout at all, but there is something enticing about holding a book in your hands, feeling the raised text on the page, closing the cover of a book when you’ve finally finished…  When reading online, I find it a bit harder to engage with the text; therefore, I find it a bit harder to connect with the author of that text, making it hard to care about someone’s silly blog.  So more or less what I’m saying is, ‘don’t read my blog, I understand, it’s cool.’  But that’s too nihilistic, so read on my soon-to-be loyal lovers and minions!

Now of course, spoken language suffers the same ultimate fate as written language (the limitations of verbal communication), but there are more context clues to hint at the specific meaning of words when they are spoken.  But, I digress, it may be difficult at times to decipher the supreme meaning behind my words and then it may be even harder to judge the honesty of those words.  But remember the insincerity and multitudinous nature of the symbols themselves, the words, and abide in the endless potentiality of the meaning of language.

Tune in next week for Fun Sins, and Cartoons! (I just thought that sounded funny, I’ll renounce it later)

As you can hopefully tell by this point, I fancy myself a writer.  However true or false this fancy is in reality, this site is meant for just that sort of delusion, people who fancy themselves writers or expressionists.  When I was very young I wanted to be the next Stephen King.  I have never, to this day, read a Stephen King novel, not even a short story, nothing.  That should tell you something…  Anyway I wanted to write novels but over the years my attention span has shortened (damn digital media) and I began writing short stories and then poetry.  My creative writing professor recently told me that I’m too vague and I need to let people in more.  My response is, figure it out yourself, I’m not going to lay it all out there for you.  Just appreciate the sounds of the words, let them slink around in your mouth for a bit; enjoy the simple pleasures of the tongue.  You don’t have to understand everything precisely.  Language theory and philosophy will one day be the death of me, as I mentioned before, I only have a healthy obsession.  Anyway, here’s a poem.

All incest and wisdom birth Ashless earth.

We are reincarnations of the same force, molecularly split beneath

the seams of a darkling wave.

fanning conscious, tripping balls

Take comfort in the contradictions-

We are, after all, born through contrast.

Doubt the relevancy and worth of Man’s law.

Derive tranquility in the absolute meaninglessness of the world and thoughts of it

I’ve reached a minimal state and placed my mind there to rest

Inner Spiritual Alchemy

Concentration. Meditation. Breathing

Refine bodies/minds to immortal selves

Become the changed being.

 

I wish I could read this out loud to you; the lines have a lilty, floating sound, something like calm water.  Anyway I hope you’re at least intrigued a little.  I guess I should have some pictures in here too, to grab your eyeballs and brainwaves.  Here you go.