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Getting this down before the forgetfulness of morning washes the dream away.
The dream starts off with a “Perfect Storm” terrorist scenario where terrorists capture a large middle school and immediately kill 20 children to prove their intent. Of course panic ensues as TV crews and parents flock to the school and a Mexican stand off begins. In my dream I am told that groups of people are mostly sheep and are relatively easily manipulated as a group If an individual’s life within that group feels threatened or if a person within that group feels that an action of his own will threaten another life. The default reaction is therefore no-action. Again I was told in my dream that the Gestapo used similar tactics to herd millions to their death by a relatively small forces of men.
In the dream I am told that the intent of the terrorists is to symptomatically kill as many children as possible, one or two at a time, for as long as they can, until the inevitable charge by the military forces their hand where they kill off the remaining children and themselves.
I am also told in my dream of a thing called a “breaking point.” This a a psychological point where madness buries group fear and the group mind splinters; doing unpredictable things. This breaking point must be attained by shock. atrocities to men are easily swallowed a bite at a time. as a group, people will accept anything with inaction if they are given time to expect it and think it over.
In my dream while this terrorist threat continues at the middle school, I am shown a map of the cascade mountains. A mountain explodes with a fierce eruption that, unlike Saint Helen’s, forces material up into the atmosphere. Large boulders are tossed like ballistic missiles into the air and rain down across the country as far away as the pan handle of Texas. In CDA, we are buried in ash and pellet sized debris. But at this school, large boulders start to impact and explode creating a breaking point in which the parents storm the school, and the terrorists in confusion over the natural disaster outside of their control are subdued.
As my pencil skids across the he white field of potential, it turns the surface black. Again and again in endless stroking patterns my mind melts into the surface; into a time dilation of past present and future. It absorbs me, soothes me, and sometimes it mocks me. but always it enthralls me, this exercise of creating something from nothing.
It is not something I think about or at least not think about directly. Thinking would kill it. I may from time to time look out of the peripheral vision of what I am doing and wonder about it, but direct examining thought about it unties the knot that holds the process in place, it destroys the bridge of the moment. No, It is not thought out, this process of creation, it is ridden. If it were calculated, a formulaic answer to an quantified equation, no one would do it. I am not looking for an answer, I could care less about the answer. When I create, I am lost in a power that is greater than the end result could ever communicate rationally. When I look at the expression 2 + 2 = 4 I feel sorry for the people who see the four as the sum.
The bi-product of this experience is what people call art. When the art is good, people will praise you. There is satisfaction in this, but it is only the afterglow or echo of an event that is pure.
I think I need some serious phycological help. (Big surprise right?) I have spent the afternoon updating my blogs. Not to be confused with adding new posts, this particular kind of updating involves downloading the newest service release of WordPress and bringing the code up to date. It is not a complex process, but it is time consuming. Why might you ask? (Waiting …) I’m glad you asked, because it brings up an important point.
I have far too many blogs to keep up with (both WordPress.com blogs and .org blogs). I have deep dark secret blogs with circular email forwarding and revolving public IP address that I post from. I also have writing blogs, and Art blogs and business blogs and character blogs. I have blogs based on humor (or what I consider to be humorous.) I even have a blog of conspiracies that I make up. This is just sad in the extreme. What am I looking for in all these postings?
The end result for today was a paring down. I killed a number of my blogs, backed up entries of worth, and I will be consolidating the rest. It all comes back to the axiom, “Just because you can do a thing, does not mean you should.”
Question on blog: Review your own life up to this point; if you could give yourself a letter-grade, what would it be and why?
D. To quote my second grade teacher. “your child has so much to give, but fails to live up to his potential.” Does that mean that kids with lesser potential got better grades? And where is this potential, because I’ve never seen it? I swear it is some modern day version of the Emperors new clothes. I’m going to convince myself someday it exists and walk down the middle of town naked exclaiming “see my new clothes they are made from the finest potential.” Everyone will point stare and laugh. Yeppers! I give my self a D, maybe a D-.
Follow up question on Blog: review your own life once again, only now think of how others must see you; being unbiased in this sense, if you could give yourself a letter-grade, what would it be and why?
B+ He’s talented, but he has so much wasted potential.
Primoptican Assassins
Optican Prime is a planet populated by a race of people with a visual acuity that borders on superhuman. That is assuming of course that “human” is the standard in the universe by which all things are measured, which it isn’t, and “superhuman” is therefore the pinnacle of sentient development, which would also be a fallacy. In fact there is race of Fangorean gas-passing maggots that are the hosts of a parasitic tick that holds the position just ahead of humans in the category of sentient development. It is a piece of information that they are quite proud of and will bring up endlessly in cocktail conversation if given the chance.
The peoples of Optican Prime, however, are at the top of this universal list of distinction for their uncanny and startling ability to see for miles, over horizons and through dense jungles, to focus on a distant object with deadly precision. This ability coupled with a high powered rifle has made them very rich and very busy as galactic assassins.
The training for this odd but profitable global commodity begins very early in the life of Primoptican children. It is a military training steeped in tradition, built on devotion to planetary pride and instilled with a strict order of discipline. It is this discipline that gives Primoptican assassins their distinctiveness.
One of the first things that a child learns is to salute. It is a basic form of respect often employed by military minds and dissembled to recruits wherever bones are fashioned into weapons and bone bearing soldiers are taught to blindly follow the orders of their non-bone bearing superiors.
The Primoptican salute is altogether forgettable and mundane in its galactic uniformity save for the thumb which is extended in a crisp 90° angle from the palm. A properly executed Primoptican salute will predictably drive an eyeball from its socket, effectively rendering this unique visual gift useless.
Since it is held as a sacred and eternal truth on Optical Prime that there is no reason to solve a simple problem when you can just as easily engineer a complicated way around it; Primoptican elders and bureaucrats developed a solution. A training regime was inaugurated that kept military tradition and discipline intact while restoring the damaged depth perception, ensuring a healthy income for generations to come.Is for this singular reason that when and if you should ever meet one Primoptical assassin you will undoubtedly meet their partner. For Primoptical assassins always travel in mated pairs. (It is also the source of the insensitive aspersion: it takes two asses to make an assassin.)
Cultural note: While on Earth it may pass as the universal sign of well being, one should never give the “thumbs up” while in the presence of a Primoptican. It is received much like the “bird” finger is here, which curiously enough is how you express your gratitude on Prime Optical to a conscientious hostess, as in “Yes, your war eax tea was wonderful, (point at her with your middle finger) may I have please have another? (Raise the finger to its flag bearing position and smile.)”
As I have already stated here … and in my illustration blog, I am writing (and illustrating) a children’s book. The working title is “Persistence Merriweather tries again.” I can’t tell you how much fun it has been getting this started. It has been a challenge as well, of course. But I feel like I am finally making headway into the deep waters of actually crossing the ocean of work that is involved in completing this task.
I am not known for following through on things in my life. Unless it is work or something associated with a deadline, I tend to let things linger in a slow agonizing death by neglect. It is like watching fruit dry. Not rot, which would be a quiet mercy compared to what I do. No, I desiccate projects until they are hard, weatherworn, time twisted reflections of what they once were. Somebody once called this kind of action a “self defeating behavior.” Which is like comparing a pair of barber’s shears with a guillotine. An understatement that falls sodden and heavy. “Just a little off the top, my good man.”
Regardless of the SDB implied by this confession, I have steeled myself for the journey and I am going to finish the course.
It is a book of verse in associated vignettes that follows through Persistence’ day. I am trying to write this in rhyme, but without a structured form. I do not know if this will be successful or not, but so far it reads well, and has a fun if somewhat unpredictable rhythm. It is deliberately set to keep the reader off balance but hopefully not uncomfortably so.
A sample:
Persistence’ not lucky, she’s not apt to win.
But one thing’s for certain. She will try again.
Best two out of three, three times is a charm,
Four is not bad and can do you no harm,
The one that can stop you
In the end if you let it,
Is to finish the first time,
If you really don’t get it.
Another sample:
She walks and she dreams, her head in the air.
She watches the birds and the sun unaware
That her feet take a course contrary and rare
And trips on a root in the way.
Her arms turn to oars to steady her course, they swing in great circles about.
Her feet follow left, her body pulls right, she is twisted and listed and spun out of site.
She lands on her back and exclaims
“That aint right!”
She stands and straightens, reverses the frown.
She closes her eyes and calms herself down.
Both feet planted firm, she stares at the ground, a foot moves forward in gait
The school within sight, she steps towards her goal
Persistence has set her path straight.
Yes, there are a world of edits to punch my way through, but I have decided to just get it out of my head first, and then when it is “done” to go back for rounds of sanding and polishing. Otherwise I am faced with my tendency to edit to death (see desiccation description above.) It will then turn into the best children’s book that never was — a library of dreams shared by millions, but read by nobody.
My lovable 3 year old and walking petri dish has given me a cold, which I have in turn given to the rest of the family. I am to the point where I have slept soooo much that I can no longer seek solace in slumber. I must now sit and sniffle and feel miserable. I tried to use this bit of time to do some writing, but nothing seems to be working. Over all I am making great progress on my work load and project list. I think I may be up to speed by Thanksgiving break. With everything back in balance I will be more open to work on my children’s book. My goal is a little bit everyday. This is possible. I can do this.
Sniffle, wheeze, snort, cough … yep … it’s all good.
I am not sure I am cut out for balance. I seem to be more productive when things are insane. I have been working on my new children’s book and I am making good progress. Of course this means I am behind on a website I am working on for a client and I am also behind on a sculpt that is due Monday. The main character for the book is a little girl named Persistence Merriweather. I normally post excerpts of stuff I am writing, but this is coming together a little different than what I write normally. So when I get a few pages that are settled I will post those. I am creating this book in verse. Which is why it is a bit different. Instead of creating paragraphs of exposition and dialog, which flows sort of naturally almost taking on a life of its own, this is more sculpted and crafted, with layers of movement set into the rhythm of the words that also move the story forward.
It an attempt to simplify my life I have dumped a lot of baggage and barnacles that slow me down and I have streamlined the process of living. Hmmm. Even that sounds overly complicated. OK, another stab; I am focusing on what I really want to accomplish in this life before I die. (We all die right? Some sooner than later, but it happens.) There is so much distraction in modern society that we forget to experience the sweet choices that make life worth living and instead accept the chaotic panicked pace that is served to us as indications of life. Must I be out of breath to prove I am alive? Can I choose to slow things down, savour the flavor of life and experience a measure of joy in the process? In the past I have treated life as a rotating buffet table that I feel compelled to sit in front of and eat everything that comes by, less I miss anything. I am bloated and sick of the relentless progress that creeps towards me and the pressure I feel to keep up.
I have chosen to stand up and walk away.
For instance I REALLY want to write and illustrate my own children’s book. It does not have to be fancy, nor does it need to be trade published. I want an echo of myself that brings joy to others as other people’s work has brought joy to me. I need to finish this goal. In order to do that, I have given up a few things that added weight but contributed nothing to the journey and replaced them with articles of real worth.
Although I have a few stories in my head and a seemingly unending supply of manuscripts backed up in various forms in squirrel tight chambers on my computer, I have chosen to create something new. Today I started on my book. I have created a character that I love and I have written the first creative wanderings of her world. I have given myself a year to write and illustrate the book.
I still have a lot of work. But it is work that contributes to the ultimate goal. After all I cannot stop providing for my family. As I whittle down the list of jobs I am currently involved in I am acutely aware of how much work I have that is “busy” work. Stuff that fills in the gaps. This is an indication of other problems. A fear perhaps of having nothing to do? An excuse NOT to do what brings me joy and blame it on all the “work” that gets in the way? In conjunction with this new beginning, I am choosing to work smarter as well.
After reading all of this it still seems complicated. But take my word for it, for the first time in a long time I feel like I am making choices and progress towards a horizon of peace.
In eating a soy chip I can’t help but make comparisons. It is unfair to the soy chip and unfair to the potato which it tries to emulate. It’s like dating Brittany Spears Twin sister. She might be beautiful in all her own ways, and as equally beautiful as her twin, yet despite all of this One can’t help but notice all the places she falls short.
Will I ever be able to eat soy chips and accept them for what they are? I doubt it. I will forever be kissing the impostor while dreaming of the soft languid embrace of the original.
