| This is the end... is it? |
[19 Nov 2008|11:45am] |
Well, I maintained and updated in this livejournal (really just a name we use to justify having such self-absorbed blogs) for six years. It's been a good ride, but I believe that it's come to its end. I can't guarantee that I won't return, but I feel the chapter of my life which this LJ chronicled in such detail has been resolved.
That said, I wouldn't presume to suggest that my blogging days are over. Though I recently read an article saying that the blogosphere is dying... perhaps I'll wait for the blog-hypercube. I'll be on the forefront of the Web 3.0 Cublers -- a new source of information and news for the technorati!
Adieu, for now, my dear vacuum.
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| ramblin' man. |
[30 Oct 2007|02:28pm] |
The following was written nonstop over the course of about forty minutes, so apologise if it is unintelligible and/or gravely uninteresting. But then, this is my journal, so sod off!
Well, here I am, going to try to write for the remainder of my type in the computer lab before I have my maths class. I was wracking my brain for some story, some glimmer -- so many come to you in the night-time hours, drifting off to sleep, that you feel you should have a great store of them locked away, but like dreams they're forgotten and lost in the morning fog, only to be uncovered if you should happen to touch them with a hand groping in the unlit corners of your memory -- that I could write during this time. Some proper fiction, you know? Get my foot in the door, up my discipline, and start to write in earnest in hopes of pursuing my dream career of novelist. Well, there will be no such follies today. Instead, I have decided that rather than postpone my appointment with wordiness until I have meaning behind the words to thrust them into brilliance, I would simply start with rambling. If I were to get in the habit of writing -- just POURING, really -- whatever thoughts come into my mind, then perhaps it is a step in the right direction. If not honing my literary skills, then certainly it will hone my disciplinary skills and tone my forearm muscles. It is a curious thing, writing. It fascinates me so, and I love reading. But I sometimes wonder if loving to read is too far removed from loving to write. The only hope I have is my body of poetry from days gone by. Thousands of stupid poems that were written because what my soul was screaming as a maladjusted adolescent could only be written in tiny, clever text. Perhaps that this need to write has manifested itself within me once is cause enough for hope that through careful regime this need to write can be nurtured into an all-consuming, all-conquering beast of industry for art's sake. That's what it boils down to: art. Writing is art, and art is something you can approach in several ways. You can approach it casually, doodling on notepads while on the phone and while in lectures. You can approach it as an outlet, when creativity is riding high you make frenetic love to the canvas and end up washed out, emotionally drained, smoking a post-coital cigarette in the bedsheets next to your colourful lover. Or, you can -- having fostered an interest in art -- approach it methodically, not exactly as though it was a chore, but certainly as though it is a difficult act of self improvement. I'm not saying this last approach is mutually exclusive to overwhelming bursts of creativity or absent minded frippary, but rather that it is a more disciplined route with more stringent goals in mind. This is the way I wish to force myself to go about writing. I already know I write the doodles, I have already experienced the orgasmic bloodletting of creativity, and now I wish to take it upon myself to instill structure and discipline. I want to draw from the dried well of creativity and have what comes up not taste as sweet as the waters of manic genius, but at least quench my thirst until muse ends this drought. It is very hard for me to be disciplined about anything. I find I'm a consistently lazy bugger who accomplishes very little. I often wonder if this is somehow related to my diet or lifestyle, if by eating fish and going jogging I might be more motivated to excel beyond myself. Still, these are excuses. Determination and force of will comes from inner resolve regardless of supplement, and that I do not succeed is a mark against my inner resolve and nothing else. I envy my brothers who, while they have not achieved success by any conventional benchmark, at least get long-lasting bouts of passion and interest. They will find themselves fascinated by something and devote the next ten months of their lives pursuing it. This is why they play piano well, this is why my eldest brother golfs well, this is how you become adequate at any activity or competent in any area of knowledge. I do not possess that same driving inner resolve, and here is where my lifestyle cop-out falls to pieces for there can be no illusions that Trev leads a lifestyle conducive to these activities. So I'm on the cop-out route. I'm in university, keeping my head above water. Not making any truly grave errors, but not putting in the effort to truly soar. Most importantly, I suspect, I'm not steeling my self to seek out opportunity and occasion to harness my interest. I am merely subsisting, little more than a cultured mould on the bread and meat of enlightenment. Yet now, starting today, I've taken it upon myself to end that. I intend to branch out, become a mould on the fruits of my labours at the very least. Unfortunately, I've made this step on a Tuesday. I do not have this hour break on Wednesdays, and I suspect I will find myself lax on merely the second day of the new regime. Should that be the case, it is only my sincerest hope that I get my act together on Thursday and continue with it until it becomes habit. Maybe habits are what it boils down to. I've always thought I had an addictive personality, but perhaps my problem is an utter lack of an addictive personality. I fall out of habits, good or bad, and addictions too easily. I always revert to the path of least resistence and least excitement. If I were more likely to get addicted, I could develop these habits and garnish them into productivity. To be fair, all the things I have had addictions to in the past, I have had zero trouble dropping once they became difficult to maintain -- a regular sleep pattern, caffeine, various inebriants. Perhaps I only do these things when circumstances dictate I should do these things, and thus there might be a way I could cheat. If I were able to put myself in an environment where the easiest path is one of self-improving strife and healthiness, then I would default to that. Mon dieu! I think I've just developed, over the course of the last half hour, a line of reason which ultimately suggests that what would be best for me would be to be drafted into a military/academic hybrid institution, where my every move is engineered toward low-grade success. Not ideal, but success nonetheless. Perhaps there should be an academic draft. I wonder: Say there was an absolute rip-roaring genius who wanted nothing more out of life than to be a gas pumper at a petrol station. Would it be socially selfish and morally irreprehensible of him follow that dream when he could put his natural talents toward endeavours to profit the breadth of humanity? I realise that in today's "a person is an individual that should follow their heart" wishy-washy gold-star-for-the-day society there would be shouts of protest at the notion of denying someone their dream. But really, the advancement of the species should be our genetic and cultural imperative, no matter how drastic the measures necessary are. (Also, however, perhaps we've developed into this "go for your dream" mode because people doing what they want to do encourages an environment of inventiveness and is really the impetus of advancement). Anyway, just a thought. Time for class!
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