O Lost!

Feeling that old ache come on him he grabbed some sad music, a beer, and his last cigar and went out on the porch to think. This what he did when that part of him that was empty, that ravenous lion started eating him from the inside out, and it helped, if only a little. He drank, he smoked, and he let the beast have its way with him. In an alcoholic haze he would dream of the day when it would all be over. Of the day when the beast was spent and he could think of other things – of love and peace and happiness. He wondered if that's what he really wanted. He knew he should be happy now. He knew that God would want him to be happy now, but what could he do?

O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost land-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? --Thomas Wolfe

When he felt the first surges of his drunkenness and the heady spin of the tobacco coiling in his stomach he thought, I could do something about it. He picked up the phone.

He called Julia first, even though he knew that was a mistake. She was reading a romance novel. He hung up on her. He called Emily next, remembering their night under the stars. “Do you ever dream in poetry?” he asked her. “Do you ever curse the sun so you can howl at the moon? Do you long for something that cannot be touched, heard or seen? That can only be tasted? Do you ever want to chase dreams? Are you sick to death because you've lost your way and you know you can never find home again, but only shadows, shadows, damned shadows? Have you ever ruined, murdered, something you loved because you wanted it so much? Have you ever stifled a lover's torch so that you could see the stars, only to find yourself in darkness?”

She didn't understand, asking “Are you drunk?” He hung up.

He called Cristina - Cristina with a slavic soul - but when she answered he didn't say anything. She was broken too, but she was too young. She was broken but not lost. She couldn't understand a man who reveled in the blackness, who drew the horror of the dark around him like a warm blanket, and cried because it was lion's skin and it's claws sank deep. He hung up.

In winter, he went down joyously into the dark howling wind, leaning his weight upon its advancing wall as it swept up a hill; and when in early Spring the small cold rain fell from the reeking sky he was content. He was alone.

He put down the phone, knowing that they couldn't help him. They weren't what he wanted – they were reflected smoke, diversions, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

He drank, and smoked, and listened to sad music, and thought dark thoughts. And it helped, if only a little.

Blogging

Blogging, much like idealistic versions of either Communism or Capitalism, is a great idea. In a splintered world, the internet provides a medium that is truly free from constraint - a great forum for the sharing of intellectual, cultural, spiritual, and economic ideas. A place of debate where all can discuss freely, without fear of reprecussion. Hundreds of thousands of people have taken this idea and run with it, writing blogs from around the world - providing real personal news and insight, giving people the chance to truly understand other human beings, not just through a medium that pretends objectivity, but by being able to put themselves in another person's shoes, to see the world how they see it, even if just for a while.

You would think, with millions of blogs being posted everyday, that something, SOMETHING, would be worth my time to fucking read. But everything on the internet is tainted. Everything degenerates into name calling. The great discussion of ideas turns into a racist brawl, with half the people fighting just accusing everyone else of being racist.

To quote my betters:
"Holden: If the buzz is any indicator, that movie's gonna make some huge bank.
Jay: What buzz?
Holden: The Internet buzz.
Jay: What the fuck is the Internet?
Holden: The Internet is a communication tool used the world over where people can come together to bitch about movies and share pornography with one another."

Seriously. And that pretty much goes for democracy in general. I'm not saying it's not better than the alternatives, I'm just saying it pretty much sucks that people take their freedom and destroy it with their own hands. Shit, we deserve the government we have.

Serial Fiction

So since I started work (all of 3 days ago) I haven't gotten anything else done. Yes, I know my track record wasn't that great before, but I really thought that working would structure my day and therefore make me more productive with the few hours that I did have. I was wrong. Mostly I've wasted them watching tv. I certainly haven't done any writing...I've found it diffcult even to reply to emails. I've got so little motivation, and I can't even think of any good ideas. So, in order to combat the brain killing lethargy, I've taken some steps. First, I've ordered a banjo. Perhaps a strange direction to take, but I like to come at problems sideways so they don't see it coming. Hopefully it'll get here soon - and it'll be something that I can play with for an hour or so which won't kill my soul.

The second thing I was thinking of doing was an idea I discussed with Jack a few weeks ago. We both are really into the webcomic Something Positive by Randy Milholland and I've wanted to do something like it for a long time. Unfortunately, neither one of us can draw, and the (rather amazing) artist that we know will be a senior and VCU and its going to be hard enough to get him to work on the real comic we're doing. (It's pretty bad ass actually - we'll definitely let everyone know when its finished). Anyway, the idea we struck on was that we'd collectively write a fiction version of the comic we wanted to do. There's alot of potential in serial fiction and I think you could do some creative things with different styles (or even different forms...one week fiction the next a play script, or pictures added in, sound files maybe). We need to sit down and hash out some characters and some general plot structure, but potentially this could come out weekly. It would definitely get me writing in general, which is what I need to do. The more writing I do generally, the more I want to do it, and the more creative motivation I have.

So anyway...if anyone still reads this (I know a certain someone bored at work probably will) then let me know what you think. Maybe I'll make you a character, and you can be immortalized in fiction that few people will ever read. On the plus side, if we can really do this, my brother will tell his friends about it, and he has more friends than I do. We could get a readership of almost 10! If we're lucky: cross your fingers.