Sentimental Picture

       The leaves are falling heavily this week around my world. Everything has lost it's color, turning a dull dead memory of the coloring contest I consider fall. I've been a bit mesmerized watching these leaves drift to the ground. Perhaps I have too much time on my hands, but my computer looks out a large window and they are hard to ignore.

       
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I think I've wrote down about 20 metaphors for falling leaves. The one that is floating through my thoughts today, is in the way photographs are like the leaves on a persons tree of life. My tree is fat full of photographs to illustrate where I've come from, what I've done, and in a real way, mirrors what I am all about..............

       The way I see it, there are four ways to capture history, past, memories and a persons life in a way others can also examine it. The first and foremost is through writing. I got that one down pat. The second way is through video, and I'm a complete failure in that department, I have a video camera and rarely, if ever, use it.  Third is through telling stories, campfire story, in person, to people who will actually listen and remember......... And Lastly, through ... photographs.

Photography compliments my nostalgic characteristics. 

       I'm a sentimental fool. There is no use in denying that. So for a sentimental heart such as mine, writing and photography makes my world go round and round, in a good way. I also love to view other peoples photo's, invite me over to your house and you'll likely have to pull out a photobook for me to examine. It's my thang. I love the visual poetry aspect to memories............

       I discovered this little RockYou website via pilfering the link off someone's journal. Damned if I can remember who's journal it was either.......sorry :o) It was interesting going through my files and files of photographs compiling some of my favorites. When I watched the finished product I was happy with the history I've captured. I believe in the notion that a snapshot really can be worth a thousand words. I like to think my snapshots tell a story of someone who spends an enormous amount of time outside and surrounded by children.

       If you have a vault of digital photo's saved on your computer I would love to see other people's photo history. A bit like me coming over for a visit, parking my butt on your sofa and requesting a photo album to stroll through. If you do the RockYou thang, please let me know and leave me a link to your journal so I can come watch a piece of your history~~~

Landing (Thankfully)

       On my way home from California this week I had a nice little jostle to the mind. Now, traveling by airplane requires the extremely careful practices I've established via thousands of air miles.

       First and foremost, I must sit on the right side of the airplane, against the window. Careful positioning is my only chance at being able to scribble, write and entertain myself. If I sit on the right side of the plane I can shield my writing from whoever sits shoulder to shoulder with me. If I sit on the left side, whomever sits on my right <which always happens> can sneak glances and peaks at my work. I don't appreciate that natural human tendency, peeking.

       Second, the minute I sit down I extract an arsenal of hints to display to anyone who sits next to me. The Ipod comes out and although I can't turn it on, I put the headphones in, a book on my lap, and a journal in my hands. I would like to think this screams, "I'm all set to fly for 2 hours, I have my entertainment and therefore no idle chit chat is required." I'm not sure if it makes me a flying snob, but I really don't want to engage in conversation on airplanes. Some people do not grasp my hints. The thing is, I'm far to hyper to be trapped in such tiny confinements for such torturous time frames. If I don't entertain myself via writing, music and window gazing, I'll go a bit nutso. Conversation, especially bad conversation, just drags the seconds out longer and longer.

       Now, typically I enjoy a bit of turbulence. It tickles my amusement ride mentality. It doesn't bother me in the least. I consider it a bonus usually, which either makes me twisted in the head or just proves how bored I am flying. This last trip home gave me loads of turbulence for my flying amusements. However, at one point it got worse then the normal bumps and jumps I'm accustomed too. I was attempting to write at the time and once I could no longer maintain a straight sentence I wrote (looking in my handwritten journal) "ok the airplane turbulence is getting a bit irritating here, Bye Bye Birdie" and closed up shop.

       But then.....as the bumps and jumps became all out jars and shimmies, I opened my journal up again. Visions of the plane going down by the head into a nice Mountainside flashed across the mind, I couldn't let my last sentence in life be "ok the airplane turbulence is getting a bit irritating here, Bye Bye Birdie"

       So I started to scribble again and my next sentence was "On the other hand, I should keep paper and notebook close in case we go down and I have 10 seconds of terrifying moments to leave remarkable last thoughts......."

       Last thoughts. Double Gulp. It was within that sentence I thought, holy shit, I have a lot of unresolved things. Coupled with another nasty hard bump by the plane I slightly panicked. The truth is my panic wasn't about dying, I've never, ever, been afraid of that. I've always pictured I would face death with a defiant bring it on attitude. My panic was about other people. Friends, family, the people I love. In hindsight I find it comforting to know that once I let myself think it was a possible in the moment, death, my entire thoughts were consumed with the love I felt towards others.

       I don't talk a lot about l.o.v.e. I think thats because although I embrace it, always have, to it's fullest, I haven't honored it the way love deserves. Hence my unresolved issues. That doesn't sit well with me. When I strip down all the nonsense in my life, I know the majority of my thoughts, my actions, my turmoil's, my choices, resolve directly around the great expanse of love. In my world, love trumps everything else. No matter how I role the dice, the love side always lands right side up. What is more real then love?

       If love really is a person last thoughts before taking their last breath in life then what could be more important? Today, I can't really think of anything. 

      
I suppose I'm just thinking out loud today..........it does a mind good to be jostled around a bit.

       The last words in my journal ended up being,
"Landing (thankfully) no dire writing required"

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner then recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall be unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

e.e. Cummings

Because I Can

       So I'm here again, a real banner week in the quantity count of entries. I realized my desire to escape here is in direct proportion to the amount of other writing I've been up too. Ya know, the writing that has the desire to be published prior to death if I'm lucky. The more I write over there in Microsoft word, the more I find minuscule excuses to defect from it.

       This is a real contradiction of priorities I face every day. All I want to do is write, which I do <journals, handwritten snail mail, handwritten journals, notebooks, book> , yet in the same stroke of the keyboard, I'm looking for every excuse I can find to avoid the writing that I should be doing. Now, I've gone and read the 'advice on writing' books several well known authors have graced us wannabe's with. Because what's better then actual writing? Reading how to do it <insert implied sarcasm please>

       What snakes around my neck like a noose is the schedules these people claim to maintain. So I wonder, does it just look good on paper to say they wake up each and every morning at 5:00 a.m., write for 2 hours, take Fido for a mind cleansing walk for 7 miles (each way), then return, eat breakfast, review notes, do a strict 30 minutes of business correspondence, then write until 3:00 p.m. Is anyone really that damn disciplined? I really need to find an author who comes clean, coughs up and writes something along the lines of  -this is my life as a writer called The Real <really> Deal. -

       In it I would expect to discover a parallel universe, soul searing kinship of the writing sister/brotherhood. I can't be the only person born with a serious addiction of writing who exhibit's one or more of the following routine downfalls:

1) If I can ekk out one single extra spare second in the morning worth of sleep I will do so gratefully and gracefully <hiding under the covers, hitting snooze 4, 5, 10 times in a row> 5:00 a.m. is a time I've heard of, I understand the dials on the clock spin past it's terrifying implications, but I have no desire to find out what 5:00 a.m. writing feels like.

2) After performing an exhausting relay race with the snooze button on the alarm clock, it takesatleast 2 full cups of pure caffeine jolt to pry my wicked heavy eyes open. Until the full impact of caffeine has seeped into each capillary of my body, no plausible thought, speech, or coherent writing can be experienced. Intense wall gazing can be observed at this time.

3) Push power button on laptop

4) More wall gazing while casually sipping 3rd cup of liquid inspiration. Turn on Bose stereo system with various artists singing for my current mood.

5) Open Microsoft Word. Reread prior days writing, fidget aimlessly, attempt to ignore the welcoming beacon of AOL icon distraction.......fail, click on AOL icon

6) Journal surf, favorite web site surf, waiting for a wave of conscious to wash me off my surf board straight back to Microsoft Word........whooosssssshhhhhhhhh back to work.

7) Write, write, write. Review, delete, correct, rewrite, reread. Progress made, one paragraph. It's all good in the alternate universe. Drink Diet Coke for extra caffeine boost.

8) Time goes VERY slowly in the alternate universe. It drags like a snail crossing a highway. Just once, I would love a day were I've written and written and oppss, discover 4 hours has passed. forrrggetttabbouuutttiiitttttttt...............

9) Go outside, throw ball for dogs, promise them a 1 mile <round trip> walk later on when all hope of words has fallen under a ton of mind bricks.

10) Return to computer, write some more on said book, become overcome with the need to defect again, go write entry in journal about absolutely nothing of importance.

Feel Better, go back to the jail of possibilities.
Bye.

Forward Thinking

""I had this thought the other day- Ignorance could have been bliss....or an empty excuse for a conscious..........

I thought this would be interesting to write about..the dynamics of not knowing and how easy it is to miss what is ugly...and yet...searching inward creates other problems..sight...has to have compassion...otherwise...the heart evolves with surprises.........What do you think?......""

Asked and inspired  By Raven of  RebukeTheWorld

Raven, you do know how to get the wheels turning in my mind. I've chewed this around, thought on it, pounded it with my jackhammer brain and I'm not sure if I surfaced a bit wiser or a bit mystified.

Although connected, your questions and thoughts have several different aspects that can leave a thinker like myself repeatedly pounding my head against a wall.  Toss the same question at 5 different people and you'll get 5 different ideas, so my opinion is the result of one possibility, one notion, one perspective and I'll have to assume you were looking for my specific ideas on your thoughts.

The breakdown: "Ignorance could have been bliss....or an empty excuse for a conscious.........."

I have a really hard time with ignorance as bliss or an excuse for anything. I have to believe on some level that if something is effecting a person, to some degree they feel it, perceive it, deny it, acknowledge it, ignore it, pick your poison, but they know it.....Pick an experience, any experience and with some poking and prodding we humans can retrace the files in our mind and find plenty of times, moments, where we either choose to ignore an issue, deny it's appearance or existence, and move along like nothing was there worth stopping for.

A conscious overshadows any form of ignorance. A conscious is a basic human trait not a single one of us can escape it's persistent voice. Ignore, yes, deny, yes, pretend all is well in fantasy land yes, but deep down or on the surface, we cannot escape our conscious mind.

Which brings me to: "the dynamics of not knowing and how easy it is to miss what is ugly.."

       Just as I find beauty in almost everything, there needs to be ugly to define that beauty. Without the contrast, a person can feel like a compass with no direction. There is no value on something unrecognized. I believe everyone has a level to which they reflect on things in life. From simple observation to deep exploration of a solitary or collective feeling, emotion or experience.

       If a person doesn't care, or isn't interested enough to seek out beauty not defined by conventional definition, they probably wouldn't notice ugly parading down the street. Thats personal and thats all right, it's a choice, or a desire exhibited by every individual. If I had a wish for humanity it would be that all people continue to reach for new levels of conscious, for within exploration comes discovery, more beauty, more ugly and more reaching.............

Which brings me to: "and yet...searching inward creates other problems..sight...has to have compassion..."

       In my humble opinion, searching inward is the only path to breaking free of the mediocrity of what is expected. Does it create problems? Yes, because we are all born with a box of expectations in life. When, if you do good, you will be rewarded, do bad and you will be punished is the driving force behind living. And protect our own and compliment others, works 80% of the time, why not? Which by the way, I believe is a superficial way to live life. A person can become disoriented and confused by seeking answers not found in conventional thinking.

       We all have our own innate sensory balance to life, influenced by every single stimuli we've come in contact with. How can we expect to provide true compassion to others if we don't even understand the power of our own inner mentality? The illusions of normalcy plagued my mind for many years, still does, and the inherent longing within me will continue to fight the confines of conventional. Responsibility to the world around us, within us, through us and between us, is a beautiful way to fuel compassion.

"otherwise...the heart evolves with surprises........"

Ah, the heart, the driving emotional fuel for which we all can measure our influence in life. As long as our hearts beat, we can love, as long as we can love, we will connect, as long as we connect, we can find meaning to everything. Heart/Love is capable of such extraordinary things. I could write for an entire day about what love means to me, but when it comes down to it, yes, love, the heart, takes my breath away with surprise. If there is one common thread to be coveted by humanity, it's our ability to need and provide love. Love is beauty and ugly and hope and desire and turmoil and connection and perfection all bound up, full of possibilities I cannot define. Love is the evolution of our very conscious nature and needs.

       You know, I'm just a thought, a notion and words behind an idea. I think what I think, and challenge everything I conclude. I have more questions then answers, I have answers without solution and I have solutions without conclusion. I could be right, I could be wrong, I could be close, and who's to say. My notions are no more important then the people I will touch shoulders with today..... I think peoples thoughts and idea's hold more power then I, or anyone else can comprehend. Evolution of thought process is something I find remarkable and frustrating. But I know this, all thoughts effect my life and the closer I move to the surface, the more I discover the contrast in this world.

Forward movement I will always seek..................is there anything else you would like to ask of my thoughts?

The Holy Motherload

Why couldn't I have been in Atlantic City, strolling along the ocean side, taking a break from sinful driven casino fun and have spotted the holy Mother load of messages in a plastic sack??? Good Gawd, some people have all the luck.

Article found here:Letters to God Found Dumped in Water - AOL News

Someday......someday I will find a message in a bottle, a scrap piece of paper, a note written on a napkin stuck in a Coke Bottle, it's a mathematical destiny. I spend an enormous amount of time on waterways. Then again, I probably stand an equal chance of finding a dead body during my flyfishing escapades too. It's occurred to me, that it's always a fisherman in the news who finds the corpses in the water. Personally, I'm holding out for the message in a bottle, I could do without the frightening death discovery.

I read the article with deep interest of course. Then I made the investigation move of clicking the message board to see what people had to say about these letters to God, Alter, and the Pastor they were addressed to. What surprised me the most was the horrible words about the man who found the letters, and placed them for sell on Ebay, which he later retracted.  Here are some examples of what I found.

"The people who wrote those letters wrote their private thoughts TO THEIR PRIVATE GOD - NOT to the pastor, NOT to AOL, and NOT FOR US TO READ. Publishing this story is akin to raping their privacy in my opinion."

"He NEVER even opened his mail!  He must have been one sorry excuse for a Pastor."

"Those letters were "prayers."  They were heard the moment they were poured from the heart; if they were sincere prayers they were heard.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God....It may even be part of His plan to bring them forth." ( I really liked this person thought process)

"This guy must really be a peice of crap. Selling someones hopes and dreams on ebay. I"ve heard it all now "

"The moral thing to do with these letters is have aceremony of prayer for the individuals who sought God in this manner.  It sounds alot like a type of confession between these individuals and God which should remain sacred.  After the prayer service these letters should be burned as an offering to God for these writers.  Despite anyone's faith these letters are like a personal diary and some bear the inner pains of humanity.  I pray for these authors and their intentions."

"I think God should get a good attorney and sue the bad bad person who did this.  I bet God can afford good attorneys."


There's over 1400 posts in regard to this discovery and the destiny of the letters. The thing is, I don't see that it was an atrocious example of a Pastor to not read those letters. I certainly don't think anyone should hunt down the writers and return the letters and I honestly don't think any harm will come by finding the letters.

These letters are the personal prayers, dreams, desires, and hopes of humans abound. Do I think they should be published for our rubber neck curiosity, not really. But I don't think the prayers of these people, their words and desires, have been diminished by the discovery of their letters.

Isn't a prayer but the affirmation of a persons needs? Whether it's said kneeling before your bed, at an alter, in church, on a letter, in our minds, or said out loud. In my humble opinion, a prayer is but influencing the mind to focus in a certain direction.

Whether it is sending a positive influence to someone in need, or focusing my attention on things that need changed in my life. I believe there is immense power in prayer, but do not rely or place credit of change to another (pick your avatar) , I give the power of affirmation <prayer> to myself.

Prayer is a forward motion. Placing our desires in writing is a concrete form of forward motion. The writers of those letters were able to assert their desires and send them away to someone they trusted.

This isn't a bad thing. Does it matter if he read them? I suppose it depends on the individual. If a person believes their desires, hopes, needs rest in the hands of another person, then I imagine they feel neglected. Ifthe person felt better, more focused and empowered by their own forward motion, then I wager they will not be let down to discover their letter may not have been read.

Of course, one of the main furors over the found letters is privacy. Since I hold my privacy on a priceless level, I can understand the sentiment. However, one cannot assume anything written in solid form will remain private, ever. I'm of the opinion that if you don't want anyone in the world to know about something, for godsakes don't write it down. 

Basic writing 101, Lesson #1, if you write it, it will be read, and you cannot control who will possibly read it. If I died today, who knows, my writing could end up on Ebay, I would hope it wouldn't.........but it could happen and if that possibility didn't settle well with me, then I would need to burn it all, bonfire style.

Speaking of Ebay. After reading the article I did a quick search and to my personal delights I found letters for sale, old diary's, and other pieces of history, thoughts, peoples handwritten words for sale there! I am a voyeur of humanity and for me this was a fantastic discovery. Just yesterday I commented to Kate over at  An Analysis of Life  that I have desperately searched for books in diary form. My new discovery has lead me straight to the real deal. I'm hooked already, I created an Ebay account, and have every intention of spending loads of money on my new collection of old handwritten letters and journals.

So I thought about it, would I have been a person who would have bid on the letters that man found? I'll bite my lower lip and answer honestly, the answer is absolutely. Obviously the man doesn't hold his discovery as the treasure it really is and is willing to let the letters go. He chose at first to sell them, and honestly, that was his choice to make. I would have been a buyer, because I would be somone who would honor and cherish such a treasure. According to the majority of the message board posters that would make me monster.

In my eye's, it is a collection of humanity in a rare and beautiful raw form. An example of life and the power of thought that should be cherished. Would I have said a prayer for each of the people, yes. Would it honor their wishes and desires? I suppose thats a matter of opinion. It does appear the right thing will indeed happen. The man has decided to donate the letters to a church. Good for him, and the letters. Everything always has a way of turning out beautiful..........

RandomNothingNessOfTheIrrelevantKind

I have nothing but everything to write. No direction, no inspiration, nadda, zilch, blank. So, in spite of that, I will type until something breaks through the red tape of my mental blockage.  Sometimes that mentality works, other times it's just an example of pure crap. (Kinda like what I've just written) Does anyone else wander around with a million thoughts, ideas, stories, yet are unable to form a simple sentence to wrap everything into one destination? Yes? No? Freaky? Oh help me, I'm in a mood........
~~
       So I've seen various mentions for the VIVI awards. I read hints and such about controversy, but haven't read anything with specifics. Which is fine, I've never mingled in the political agenda that is sometimes found within this community. So this morning I thought I would visit nominated journals and exercise my journalgivenrightsofvoting. I suppose the issue I'm having would be like going to the voting booths on the 7th and blindly punching chads without knowing what any of the politicians stood for. For the most part I know nadda, zilch, a tiny example of those journal writers. Ok, fine, I got time and some writer blockage, I'll visit, gather some inspiration, bask in the writing of others and gleefully go vote for my newfound favorite journals. Starting with what would be my natural favorite categories. Yes, well, allrighty then....aren't personal tastes a bitch sometimes. Moving on. (ok, I just don't get it on some certain things, just does not compute, ekk this does not sound good) 

       Last year I knew the majority of the journals. Does that mean back then I was in the 'group' and this year I am a nobody, a social outcast, who's completely outta the loop? Did an entire population of new writers come along, start a new school and I've been left back in grade school, clueless like? I think I really need to get up to speed. I just need to find a few extra hours in the day to investigate the new school.

       I was happy to see a few journals I know in a few of the catagories, journals that are really good ones at that.....yessss...I get to vote. And what's the deal with private journals in this mix? Isn't the point of private being the definition of no access unless invited? Doesn't that kinda exclude alotta peeps, like me? Are we supposed to askfor invites? Hell, if thats the case, I would like an invitation to each and every private journal out there. Yep, that would be very cool............in the name of investigation of course.

If your here, reading my words, and you've been nominated for somethin' let me know k, leave a brochure on my doorstep, list your qualifications, party affiliations and your promises I'll expect to see while you hold office. Alittle bribery always helps, so I've heard. I like paper, pens, stamps, books, and slush money always works, non-sequential order please.

~~

      If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Or more importantly, if someone remains silent and doesn't choke out their truths, are they lying to those who ask to hear the truth? Guilt by silent omission style?

~~

       Jehovah's Witness peeps came to my home yesterday to explain the phenomenon of 'false religion' to me. I was bored, needed distraction and let them come in, a pop quiz style of debate (is how I looked at it) I'm not sure if their God was keeping score, but I believe I held my own. I've been in a bit of a confrontational mood this week, God shoulda warned em.' 45 minutes later it was deemed I was a hopeless heathen and I deemed them courageous messengers. It was jolly good fun.      

~~

       The squirrels in my backyard are winning the war on my outdoor furniture. So far, they've ripped open 2 more cushions and padded up their winter nests like cozy cotton mansions. I'm not amused. Retaliation: I will withhold their nut smorgasbord for exactly one week. The neighbor will have to make up for my depravation tactics. I left my Jehovah's' Witness pamphlets in their food box, they can pad their nests with 'true religion.'

~~

       My Mother always said, "If your (you're) in a bad mood, don't take it out on everyone else" I'm certain she meant voice.....she never mentioned writing.................

~~

       I'm thoroughly irritated with the book choices I've chosen lately. I need heart. I need connection. I need writing that delights my reading senses instead of creating a yawn of frustration. I need something that makes me laugh out loud and cry in all the right places. I need something..........anything.........that makes me stay up until 3:00 a.m. because I simply cannot stand the thought of putting it down for the evening. Is there NO book out there that can do this for me???????? Anyone? Suggestions? Reviews? Hell, I'll take a bodice ripping, Fabio influenced, pulsating crush of words if it has the ability to entertain me at this point in time. Yes, I'm that desperate for decent literature. If anyone suggests the Bible I may toss you on the food box with the pamphlets and rats with fluffy fur coats.

~~
       LordyLordy, I'mInAMoodyMoody

~~

       I was trying to solve the meaning of life the other day. I'll have to get back to you on that one.

~~

       I'm ready for that slush money now. Unmarked of course.

(P.S. Congrats to Dan, Raven, Kate, Gerry, Fred for your nominations!!!! A twenty will do, or a stamp or two) There is no doubt I believe you deserve the awards~~ If I missed any of my other friends who have been nominated let me know!)
      
~~

 

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e.e. Cummings