Mothballed,

Mothballed,
IN bits and pieces, memories,
I WISH were forgotten. Cast into
Estuaries outward flowing. Outward
Bound, these boxes filled with knicks
and knacks and bits and bytes of some
Clackings of another time.

I created them, marked them once, tags
OF color, of importance. This IN hope
That the stagnancy with it has GONE.
Drawn away, eschewed sideways in
To the bins of disregard. Dumped,
To: Be Forgotten. Like broken bodies
Post disaster, tagged in order of importance
Or. Tagged as lost causes.

Until, unexpected,
Sun bright morning awakened, I
Realize to keep the fog from welling up,
Again, I need them. The knicks and knacks,
The tracks of the cotton balls, the dusty
Wings of moths flown away, unnested.
Tagged for oblivion.

I,
Had thought my plan superb. How
Laughable I find it now. That the
Faint clarity of fog lifting attained through
Shoving garbage downstream was Fear
And not strength.

Now, I need them. My lonely castaways.
My fogged burden bearers.
To reconcile that which I am from that
Which I had imagined,
Which I had forgotten.

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Day 29: The Clockmaster

The Story of the Clockmaster

There was once a girl who said to herself, I want to quit the world. I give up. It’s hopeless you see to make heads or tails of anything. Right or left, wrong or right, everything is arbitrary, inconclusive. Everyone, it seems, is just milling about, filling in the mold. And so, would it not be easier to simply drop from that role? Out of this hole? Out from this game? Give up on this obtuse world? And with a laugh and a smile, she went off to sleep, head filled with thoughts swimming about and a heart in confusion.

Such a sad and lonely girl. The unwanted child. The silent injuries, the invisible tears overflowed into a pool of liquid silver light. Silvery strands bestrew its surface, wavering to a non-existant breeze as if to say come. It is safe. All will be well. So come. So she fell into the silence. The pool of sadness, of her sadness, embracing her chilled skin in frozen waters that burned like fire. And so she fell, for so long she fell.  Blind to the world, unnoticing of times passing of the distance spreading, she fell.  Continue reading “Day 29: The Clockmaster”

Electric Shocks to the Head

For the few (I only know of a few?) that read this blog of mine.  I do want to express that I am hardly upset/depressed/some other negative emotional state all the time.  Writing is just one of those things that I do when I am upset.  So what I tend to write is sad/depressing/etc.  If anything, that I am capable of writing them out, is usually a good thing.  From experience, there is a level worse than angsty writing and that is internalized, debilitating angst kept to oneself.

I shall see what I can do about writing down some of the non-upset in-between moments.  It is sad to look over past writing of mine and just see a plain of saddening thoughts.  I do have one journal, at the start, I had decided that I would not allow any direct negativity to be written into it.  But is that just pretending too hard?  Pretending works though, to a possibly limiting degree.  Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be. – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

If I pretended to be Not-Myself, would then one day Not-Myself be Myself and this Myself then become Not-Myself?

Just thoughts, no worries.  I have promised not to directly mess with myself anymore.  Or should I say Myself.

Strange, the fog lifted and I could see the sky bridged by beautiful columns of clouds reaching across, and now it is back again.  Misty edges blanking out the mountains, white-shading out trees in the not-so-distant.

Title.  Sorry, my thoughts have become more sporadically tangential of late.  Probably did not help that I got shocked to the head several times on Tuesday.  Was careful yesterday to prevent a repeat experience.  Getting shocked hurts.  Like getting hit, hard, at a very small, precise location.  Like getting shocked by static electricity, except imagine that times ten and the shock shooting into your brain.  If you should ever desire to build an EEG or just ever hook up electrodes to a circuit with live current/+20 volts running through it, do not pull out any wire connecting the electrodes to your head/brain.  You will get shocked.  Every single time.  Sadly, the only consistent characteristic of our circuit as of now still is that it can send electrical shocks to the brain.  That is not the goal of my project, just for the record.

I have decided and shall keep reiterating to myself, but I will be writing a story over winter break.  It shall be my own independent post-NaNo NaNo.  DeNoWriMo?  I will also start editing/releasing parts of my first (not-near-completed) NaNo novel from all those years ago.  Partially in the hopes that it will further cement my resolve to continue working on it/finishing it.  *grin* We shall see!

Here is the first… segment?  It is extremely short for a chapter, but it comes before the first/next real chapter, so let us just call it the first chapter.  Chapters can be short. Right?

From NaNo 2008: Departure

The mistaken taps of mice running was actually the rain falling, in bullets and pleats.  Soft, sporadic interruptions in my not so quiet dreams.  This living farce, I play today a man with a peacock’s tail, strutting for all to see, my long-nosed boasts.  Tomorrow, I am demure, the doe-eyed youth, hair billowing like sails on an ocean.  The day after, the day before, the next one coming, a thousands plays, a thousand farces. Who shall I play, who shall I be.  Day after day, this dragging life fails to garner my own attention, until I am green with envy, filled to the brim with jealousy, of the little white mice running so energetically in an attic above my mind.

NANOWRIMO BEGINS!!!

Yes, it does deserve three exclamations AND all-caps.  For those who still are unfamiliar with NaNoWriMo, it is the National Novel Writing Month (aka November).  Where thousands of people across the nation and, nay, across the world write together, encourage one another, and compete (in good spirit) to reach the goal of 50,000 words.

I won in 2008 and did not aim to win in 2009 but did reach my personal goal which was to actually complete a (not so short) short story.  And this year, I do not intend to aim to win (academics needs to be priority #1 right now), but I do intend to participate.

And for a non-serious participant, I think I am doing quite alright: 2488 words first day/night.  At the same time I do realize that it was/is easier for me to just write this one because I ended up deciding to do a story that I really don’t care that much about.  Well, I suppose we shall see what comes out of this in ~30 days!

Shall there be… writing? (NaNoWriMo ALERT)

a random place of writing two years agoReally, I shouldn’t.  I really really shouldn’t.  But you know what I realized a few days ago?

It is truly ridiculous how little I have been writing this past year.  Really.

It seems the data-logging of my stream of consciousness or perhaps it is the source of the stream itself has become stagnant and quite diminutive in that span.  And that is a consequence that I cannot abide by.  Writing should not be this sporadic.  Should not be this hard.  Writing should be, well, like breathing.  Words rolling off, one into the next, flowering into some sort of coherency… perhaps.  Thus, I shall write!

No idea what exactly my goal should be.  The proposed 50k I do concede to myself, as much as I would like to ‘win’ again, I really should not even consider it to be a goal.  Finish a novel?  My last one was not even a tenth of the way through even over 60k.  A friend proposed a maximum word goal per day.  Not a bad idea perhaps, but also not great as I tend to write in spurts.

Let us just proceed under the assumption that I will be joining my fellow writers or writers-to-be in a month of writing in some potentially-more-strictly-limited-capacity.

For the potential many who do not know me on the nanowrimo website, I go by aurialis, though you can also find me at : http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/431929

Squirrel who kept me company as I wrote

Now onto the important part: whatever shall I write?

My first attempt (which I did win, word count wise, story yet to be finished) was a sci-
fi/philosophical/discourse on development theory. My second (last year) was a short(-ish) story that might be classified as psychological horror (it did not begin with that intention?), but perhaps it is really too short to tell.

One of my agreements with myself is that I will count side projects within my own word count (a.k.a. writing for non-school-related projects that need to get done but cannot be ‘the novel’).  Thus under this, movie/video scripts for winter break filming projects can and will be allowed, as additional motivation to myself to do them (since I expect none of them to reach novel-length proportions).  However there will be one and one novel only.  So ideas!
(* are storylines that have been in my storybank for some time/years now)

The Babylon Complex: sci-fi/historical recreation/psychological*
– new kid in a town that specializes in historical recreation, except what is the ‘real’ reality when everyone works in making believe in make believe?  Historical recreation will either be the Salem Witch Trials or more likely a variant of it.

Untitled: fantasy/sci-fi/adventure*
– girl discovers a chest containing texts on the study of magic, books that were meant for her.  There are many worlds parallel to this one and those of the arts are able to slide between them, living multiple lives at the same time if they so wish.  (Sorry kind of stereotypical, but nevertheless…) There are shadows at work, worlds are dissolving, their time-link with the others going out of sync.

Children of War:  sci-fi/adventure*

Dreamwalkers: sci-fi/psychological/adventure*

– something based more in… this reality
– something about dragons!
– observing existence and absence
– a story of quarks and pions
– a story about love and romance(?)
– Ophiocus
– not sleeping… 😛

Not sure if I deserve my stories (old storylines*) right now.  I was reading over some of my old writing and I miss writing like that.  Perhaps it will all just come back with a bit of practice and setting my mind right.

To another year of writing!  Who’s with me‽

My 2008 NaNoWriMo!

Cassini Flies (from great heights)

My history with blogs has been a long yet splintered path. Traversing across all sorts of engines and domains, criss-crossing back and forth, as if I were Goldilocks searching for the one that is just right.

In between periods where I don’t write at all.  I have discovered, I write when I am upset, when I am disturbed, when I am otherwise emotionally unbalanced.  When not an out but an OUT is in need.  But why bother with blogs at all?  Why not a diary or their more demure twins, journals?

In response, I have a quote:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
from Percy Brysshe Shelley’s poem Ozymandias

One of my favorite poems of all time.

Man, with his need to carve his own image upon the world, as if without such an object one would not be able to prove one’s existence, the sands of the desert about Ozymandias’ once colossal monolith to the power of time to scour away… practically everything.  What once was important, once monolithic, now diminished to leftover soap chips of its former self.  But what remains?  Beneath the soapsuds, among the leftovers, that has carried over?  Ensue despair.

But when is despair ever an acceptable answer?

So I say I shall settle down here once again. Pick up the digital pen to power and make my own mark upon the virtual lands. Again.

I suppose, once again, we shall see.

For anyone who wishes to know where the inception for this blog’s name/theme, read further. It’s a short. Of sorts. Well, either a short or mid-sized prose.

Continue reading “Cassini Flies (from great heights)”