Category Archives: Random Thoughts

Epitaph

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Life. A Beginning and An End. People claimed that neither mattered. What mattered was The Story in between.

He had no Story. Just endless pages filled with nonsense and punctuations; questions, exclamations, semi colons and commas.

He had turned 50 two years ago. Seven years to catch his mother. Nine years to catch his father. If he was lucky he would reach 65. He did not believe in luck. Or fate. Or destiny.

What did he believe in? G-d. Yes. Yet what that mattered in the long or short of it, he had no idea.

Death. The End. No more scribblings on the wall. The last page, a PERIOD, then nothing.

That did not scare him. Either there was a grand new adventure meeting him beyond the last page or there was nothing, not even a Yod.

Regrets. Nah. He had done what he had done because it had been before him at every turn, and he must pass through, whether he liked it or not.

Most he had not liked. What he had liked had been brief and soon lost to the inevitable conclusions of events. Looking back he thought of a shadow moving between dim lanterns through Darkness.

There were no maps in Darkness. No Landmarks to navigate by. No Stars to give even the semblance of a Universe. Still he had navigated there. The dim lanterns had never been visible at a distance. Out of nowhere there they were, in his face, and then they were not. Like fireflies.

Here and there along the way there had been small campfires and bonfires. He had even had a few campfires and bonfires of his own.

His wedding. That had glowed for miles, and it still glinted in his mind.

The first time he had sex after his transition. His first shot of T.

But that had been it. The rest had been probing and picking at Darkness from lantern to lantern. A shadow moving through Darkness. Just a speck of dark greyness against the blurred and undefined landscape.

Who had he been? Had he left behind splotches of himself behind at the campfires he had visited? Part of him wanted that to be the case. Another part of him wanted to be just a shadow passing through Darkness unnoticed. That way no one would grieve once he stepped off the road at The End.

The question kept nagging him: Who had he been? If he had been the sum of his own memories, he had been nothing to write about.

Perhaps who he had been was not for him to decide? Maybe who he had been was the sum of of the memories of the others around the campfires?

Perhaps he had been both at the same time?

Like someone drifting into a black hole. In 3rd-person view incinerated at the event horizon; in 1st-person view floating calmly in toward the singularity.

Would that be an accurate metaphor for Death?

To others his cessation in fire at the rim of the black hole at the end. To him a silent drifting beyond the rim into the black hole at the end. Into the singularity at the center of the the black hole. Was that what G-d Was? The singularity at the center of his existence?

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Filed under Literary Lint, Philosophy

literature…

Bookandglasses

who decides what is literature? the writers sure don’t. the critics think they do, but they only decide what is literature in their corner of the Library. that leaves one category: the reader.

“writings in which expression and form, in connection with ideas of permanent and universal interest, are characteristic or essential features, as poetry, novels, history, biography, and essays.” (Dictionary.com)

much of what is still considered ‘literature’ by the ‘establishment’ (critics, publishers, professors and copyright holders) has ceased to be of ‘universal interest’. meaning that the readers (i.e those who pick up a book to be abducted into an imaginary world) are no longer reading it. at the same time the reader is picking up books that the ‘establishment’ (critics, publishers, professors and copyright holders) look down their noses at – despite the fact that in 100 years such books will be ‘literature’ in the eyes of the future establishment.

funny, don’t you think?

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Filed under General, Random Thoughts

Writing Focus

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it is hard to maintain three creative blogs simultaneously. still, i really want to keep each of them in a creative focus.

painting is not writing and writing is not social. they all deserve a focused effort.

then again, as long as i do write SOMETHING on each of them, and it touches on the topic of the individual blog, brevity is not a bad thing, i think.

i am still struggling with my ideas and my ASPIRING WRITER unit. he still  claims that he cannot write anything  beyond the 100 character mark. i do not care. i still write.

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Filed under Blogging, Random Thoughts, Writing

Monster Digs

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remember this post? well i have been mulling over a continuation on the theme of monsters under my bed.

“When you were little, you could swear there was a monster under your bed–but no one believed you. On the eve of your 30th birthday, you hear noises coming from under your bed once again. The monster is back and has an important message to deliver to you.”

it is actually an excellent subject.  think about it – there are all those pretentious books out there, written by people claiming to have dialogs with G-d. what if there were books full of messages from the monsters living under beds, in closets, drawers, cupboards, basements, attics… and what if those messages are just as important as any celestial communications?

there’s a thought, huh?

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Filed under Random Thoughts, Writing

How come…

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writing seems to be much like a bottle of ketchup. i shake it and shake it and nothing happens, and then all of a sudden half the bottle lands on my plate.

i don’t get it. for 2 years in a row i have managed to write 50.000+ words in 30 days  – and basically nothing in between. it’s not that i do not want to, i do. it’s just that somehow words elude me december-october.

it is a puzzle.

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Filed under Random Thoughts, Writing