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Dark Living

Along neon lines in the lights above, reflected in the metal, there’s a space I find myself going to. In my mind, as I grind along this rail, I try to catch my reflection in it’s damp rust and peel of gray paint colored a dull pink from the light. It is a simple guard rail for stairs, and one that I grind my blades on with a screaming whine as the wheels move between them, like the teeth of some glorious orange cartoon monster. Gravity pulls me down but I feel the overshirt loosely constricting my elbows and I do not care. I am sliding towards disaster and this is where I want to be.

Like loose springs I hit the pavement at the end, knees dropping low but holding me up with lazy abandon as I swerve around a sign; I’ve been down this route all my life, there’s no way in hell I’d fall - but it’s not confidence, more like sloth reluctance. I cut a turn around a corner to feel the cool breeze on my face, the papers and fast food fry container smack over my head as I pull myself up to full height and feel that blast of smelly, dank air. Shitty city smell. At least that’s always different.

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Willful Ignorance

A glimmer of hope is better than nothing. If we strive for conscious efforts in our writing then what is the point of what we have to say making it into the mainstream? Whereas the continual flood of information is practiced with a steady hand, the patterns from which the pain contorts within you is a substantial amount. There is nothing that needs to be checked, nothing that remains in a sacred space of your mind but the needs of your push, the push outward of the soul and mind and voice that permeates within you on your day to day existence. It’s a flow that isn’t comfortable but needs to be punctured from your body, purged like a sick boil inside of the self, the need to express the injustices of the world and the effect that your life has on others is a thing that cannot be ignored. I find myself increasingly disgusted by the actions of the current president, a blip on this despicable nation that encourages it’s people to plant flags and signs in their yards that prominently display his name, and also encourage those who do so to espouse upon that dwelling that “I GOT MINE FUCK THE REST,” is kind of contrary to what your children are taught in elementary school, or in the teachings of Jesus Christ in your own churches. There are wolves hiding with us sheep, on twitter, on Facebook, in YouTube, and there are people out there that are much wealthier, cleverer, and more educated than ourselves who have got this “information” thing figured out in a terrible, persuasive way, and as Mr. Waters says, “What do you get for pretending the dangers not real?” It’s not something that you can just shrug off - when you make executive orders, those things affect people. They affect our lives. They affect our jobs. They affect our incomes, our livelihoods, our taxes, everything, and the fact that you just toss out whatever the hell you feel your lobbyists feel is the best thing to force the country to do shows a complete and utter disregard of everything that we do here to eke out an existence.

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rrRRrrRRrrRRrrRRrr

Today I started to unravel. I think my interview went swell but I felt strongly negative about the entire thing because, as a receptionist job at a retinal doctor’s office, I would expect them to not only not hire me because I’m a dude, but also because the position would most likely be given to someone who would be much more inclined towards ophthalmology - like a student or something, hoping to get experience working for the doctors they will soon become as they work at school. 

Getting to work everyone complimented me on my bow-tie. I felt pretty good but like, too good. I became practically manic an hour or two later. Then it was full blown panic and depression because I was freaking the fuck out over the rent, even though I wasn’t being paid until tomorrow, and it wouldn’t (potentially) be due until 4 days from now, but still I wanted to make sure that I made it - so I stress the fuck out about it. I didn’t at all relax until I called State Farm and told them to suspend my account until I could pay it on Thursday of next week. Then I started to calm down because then I wouldn’t be starving for the rest of this week. Maria told me about her friend who tried to attempt suicide, and my shirt felt super uncomfy in the hot building. Also I had a disgusting sandwich at arbys.

Okay that’s enough bad things - time for the three good things for each :P

In the interview, I did a fantastic job telling her how much everything that I do at my current job can easily be transitioned into this one, and despite my doubts I need to understand that this was a great experience in figuring out what I do, how I feel, and how I think when it comes to “before the interview, after the arrival” kind of thoughts. I thought I was going to go in unprepared so I kept reading notes but the thing that I really had to do that helped the most was to calm myself the fuck down and not be terrified of where I was and fight my self-doubt about me not belonging there. I did belong there - I wanted this job and despite what I think those people in that lobby didn’t give a flying fuck who I was or what I was doing there. I wrote that app she handed me all the way out, and did my best to get that information in there, and it doesn’t matter if they don’t give me the job, I know that I can at least do this easily. I can impress others with aplomb, and I believe that I can convince others that I am more than capable of handling most situations. So what if I’m not a perfect fit for the position, I’m sure the other candidates are going to have a harder time speaking as well as I did during the interview - and they will remember me easily because of my bow-tie! So, when I call back, I’ll be remembered!

Also why should I doubt that they would want to talk to me again, the damn interviewer even fucking asked me if I would be interested in a second interview at a later time and what days would be good for me. The negativity is real! She was very receptive and smiled a lot at me, and we had a lot of casual discourse between the two of us - she seemed to enjoy my company not only professionally, but socially, which is a really good sign because obviously people are always looking for those they can get along with.

Why the heck do I feel “too good” at work? I wasn’t overdressed, and this outfit was handpicked by someone I love. I should feel proud and happy to let her know that everyone enjoyed my outfit very much. It was totally my imagination that the smiles I got for my dress were not in finding me clownish, but in finding me appealing. I received several compliments along the lines of “sharp” “nice” and “professional.” Taking them at face value, these are nice things compared to the whole lot of nothing I receive from everyone when I normally dress for work. I was annoyed with everyone asking about my interview, but in retrospect they are all interested in me doing something different. Something new and interesting being brought into their lives - someone dressing up for work, trying to better themselves, and of course the young ladies said they liked it as well <.< but don tell maria that. Besides, I personally felt attractive just by myself, and let out a lot of my stress today not only through music singing as well…so much so that I was hoarse when I got to work today. Woo rock music.

Superbrothers music by Jim Guthrie almost made me cry because I started to look at screenshots from the game and it made me feel really good inside to tear up at that amazing piece of artwork. I really would love to get Maria to play that sometime, possibly after we are finished with Psychonauts. It makes me really happy that she wants to play a game I enjoyed, though I know the rage is real lol. The music is mostly what makes Superbrothers incredible - it’s neither positive nor negative, it’s just there. But the part that made me tear up was when they started playing the music with those sprite things - it was a good kind of tear because that game makes you feel really good inside for some reason, it’s disarmingly-charming. Disarmcharm.

As for the rent, no one is dying of starvation. I postponed two bills that are coming up due, and I will be able to make them in on time with no penalties. State Farm told me that they are only allowed to permit this kind of suspension twice a year, so this is the first one, and I get one more and no more for the rest of the year - so I think I’ll be fine, unless I have to make major expenses again. Essentially everything will be fine, I’ll budget and things will be ok. If they start to not be I can always opt to turn off the internet and save an extra $28, because my 2GB Data, all the books I have to read, and the videogames on my computer/Wii/PSP will keep me well entertained. I couldn’t say the same for Ethan though - he loves his Netflix. As for the rent the positives are I am not in the red - I postponed two bills which were under no penalty and totally allowed to save myself $50 in the green - which means I can get groceries that will last me until the 4th of May…on top of this Tiffany told me she wouldn’t let me starve and would go with me, which prompted me to bring that up later as a thing I could do with her as a normal thing one day. I can learn how to better save money, make that a new skill. Also there’s no way in he’ll Gary is going to do my check first out of Allllllllllllll of the fucking tenants he has first thing in the morning at 9:05 am before Ethan and I get there. But he will be there early to begin, so what I can do in the meantime is get up at 9am (which is when Huntington opens) tomorrow, and tell them that I would like my account unlocked from the emergency overdraft thinger so that if, on Monday, Gary cashes the check and IF he cashes it before Ethan gives me the money, I will know the overdraft limit (I’m sure $200 is okay, but I’ll double check because the website says it has to do with your “account history,” and I was a FirstMerit person before I was a Huntington person, so they had better know how much I can overdraft and it better be $200 - I’ll just explain to them the situation) as long as I make sure that money is in there within a 24-hour period, which it will be, because Ethan had better get that fucking money to me before the bank closes. I know he will because he normally doesn’t work Mondays and I work at 12 so, he can get up with me. I just set my alarm to wake me up that early so I can get down there and ask, and I’ll be sure to ask for all the rules and such so I can now TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND JUST CHILL BECAUSE THE RENT IS GOING TO BE OOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH KAYYYYYYYYYYY because I just set all of the alarms and calendar notifications that the most autistic person would never forget - besides you won’t forget because you stress the fuck out way too fucking hard about this shit. To top it all off Ryan, it’s 4 days away - if shit goes wrong, parents and friends will bail you out because they know you are doing everything in your power to make sure it all works out. You’re going to be okay. You just need to worry about grocery shopping this weekend. Text Tiffany asking her to go with you this Friday after work maybe.

Maria’s friend doesn’t ruin her life, but you stressed out sure will. Chill, you being yourself is the cure for her and that it will make her feel better too :P The shirt isn’t the coolest and comfiest around but it sure will get you a job, make you look sexy, and works really well with 3 of your pants and your bow tie. And I think that one tie, but I’m not entirely sure. The silver one.

Finally, Arby’s sandwich was gross (pork belly, *vomit*) but your stomach stopped feeling massively in pain and alleviated that stress. Also you are going home now. To Maria apparently. Yay!

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Rogue: I need healing!

Paladin: You boutta catch these hands

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Respecting yourself

1. Take your time.

When you first meet someone, take it slow and keep some part of yourself to yourself, you can be polite and friendly but don’t give access to your vulnerability and inner self too quickly. Think before opening up completely and if confronted, you can refuse to answer certain questions. This is not about lying or pretending but about protecting yourself.

2. Be attentive to your needs.

Listen to your inner self, your own needs and desires have to be recognized and respected. Before concerning yourself with being supportive, kind and pleasing to others, make sure your personal power and space are not invaded or put on the back burner.

3. Be less open and receptive.

If you are around a rude or intrusive person and feel discomfort then withdraw your energy away from the situation by changing your posture, eye contact and tone of voice; you want to appear less receptive, less warmth and less open.

4. Plan prior to setting boundaries

Make a list of people who drain your energy and take your time without permission. Identify which boundaries you need to set. Acknowledge that you have a right to set boundaries, even if some will be disappointed in the short term, standing up for yourself will bring you more respect in the long run. Decide what you are going to say, rehearse in front of the mirror and put in practice!

5. Know where to draw the line.

It’s difficult to set good boundaries if you don’t know where are your emotional, physical, spiritual and mental limits. Be sure of where you stand, what you can accept and tolerate and what can make you feel stressed or uncomfortable.

6. Self awareness.

Review the roles you held in past relationships to find out the root cause of the obstacles that prevent you from setting healthy boundaries in the present. Think about how you were raised and consider the dynamic of all your relationships, did you focus on others to the point of being drain emotionally and physically? Has ignoring your own needs become the norm for you? Have your relationships been reciprocal with a healthy give and take?

7. Put yourself first.

Giving yourself permission to put yourself first has nothing to do with being selfish. Self love is the basis of any relationships because if you don’t love yourself, how are you going to love anyone else? Prioritise your self care by staying true to your feelings and honoring them and your motivation and need to set boundaries will become stronger.

8. Ask for help.

If you really are having a hard time with boundaries, seeking help is a courageous things to do so there is no shame in doing so. In some situations establishing boundaries can’t wait and for example if you are dealing with a bully or a mind trickster then involving someone you trust is a smart thing to do.

9. Be direct and assertive

Creating boundaries is not enough without following through, people aren’t mind readers so it’s important to confidently and respectfully communicate what crosses you and what you won’t tolerate.

10. Let go of guilt

When setting boundaries, the potential pitfalls are self doubt, fear and guilt but there is no need to worry about the other person’s response. Saying no and speaking up your truth is required to avoid feeling taken advantage of or drained. Self respect is nothing to feel guilty about, self respect helps you at preserving and maintaining your boundaries.

11. Take small steps.

It takes practice to learn and master any new skill and setting boundaries is no different. To not overwhelm yourself, start by setting small boundaries and build upon your success then incrementally increase the difficulty of the boundaries you set.

Setting healthy boundaries and enforcing them is part of being confident and stepping into your authentic self. You deserve to put the above ideas in practice so that you can be loved, liked and respected for who you are, not for who others want you to be.

from http://infoselfdevelopment.com/respect-yourself-11-ways-to-set-and-keep-healthy-boundaries/

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Suspending the Self Interest

“When it’s genuine, listening demands taking an interest in the speaker and what he/she has to say. Sincerity and caring are certainly fine characteristics, but listening isn’t a matter of character, nor is it something that good people do automatically. To take an interest in someone else, we must suspend the interests of the self.” - Michael Nichols, PhD

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The Passive One

“Being assertive” is something we hear a lot about, and always want to attain. It’s like that unreachable goal for those who are aggressive or passive. It’s the best of the 3 main communication styles, because it’s something that helps with most things. Just because it’s ideal though doesn’t mean that there is never a good reason to be aggressive, or passive in your communication. There are downsides and upsides to using either one, but typically people have a default of one of these three.

For me it’s definitely passive. “The primary advantage to passive communication is that you don’t have to take responsibility for your feelings or needs. Others can make decisions for you, take care of you, and protect you. That sounds pretty nice, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, it’s coupled with some significant disadvantages: loss of independence and repressed needs and feelings.”

I usually do this as a way to prevent conflicts, because of course I’d like people to like me, but this isn’t necessarily an advantage because typically it creates it. My friends and family become frustrated with the way I am unable to communicate correctly - I’ll get passive aggressive when I’m not getting my needs met, quietly stewing my frustrations inside of myself until eventually something happens or I let it out and explode. If I try to get my needs met in a more covert way, then I end up just manipulating people in the end, and that’s not right at all. I’ve done this before when interacting with my friends and my girlfriend. It’s not a fun time :/

This irritates me incessantly because this shit should have been worked out years ago, when I was a teenager. It’s funny, kind of, since I’m reading this communication book that’s made for teens. It at least conveys the information in very easy to understand ways, and tries to illicit some of these kind of droll and boring subjects into ways that I as an adult find interesting. To be quite honest, if I was given this book as a teenager I would have definitely glanced through the pages and skipped loads of stuff that would have applied to me exactly, but would have returned it in my naive thinking that I knew enough already about myself to not have to learn anything that was “remedial” in my personal development. Which is typical, seeing as how we all thought we were hot shit back in those days.

The questions you have to ask yourself when it comes to the decision of becoming an assertive communicator, instead of a passive one, are:

“What do I get out of being passive?”

Safety, reassurance that I’m not doing anything wrong. Not hurting others’ feelings, or my image.

“What would I have to give up if I behaved assertively rather than passively?”

I would give up the safety, reassurance, I would end up doing wrong but that would be okay - everyone screws up. Hurting others just comes with the territory, and my image would look much better I think.

“What would I gain from being assertive?”

Confidence, which I need terribly. And drive, possibly. Mostly integrity, which is more valuable then the drive thing.

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The Man-Baby

People with the “I know it all” agenda lecture, advise, and have answers for everything. Their opinions are strong and seldom influenced by others. If you disagree with them, they tend to make you feel stupid. Their knowledge sometimes impresses, but after a while it feels oppressive. It seems like there’s no room for your thoughts or beliefs. The function of this is to ward off feelings of shame or inadequacy. And it works pretty well - for a while. The problem is, people become annoyed when their opinions are always discounted, and they withdraw when they’re made to feel stupid or wrong. While this agenda is usually motivated by a desire to get positive attention and admiration from others, it can end up being more isolating than helpful. Even though it protects, it also limits the growth and depth of relationships. - Matthew McKay, PhD

I was always told my exes that they were put off by me and my tendency to lecture instead of just communicating with them. It puts you on a higher elevation then them, and makes them feel like what they say isn’t at all that important, compared to the message you desperately need them to understand. 

I remember being told, “You aren’t talking to me, you’re talking at me.” It’s as if I feel the need to impart this incredible, crucial wisdom upon someone else as if it’s a life or death type of situation. You need to take this with you for the rest of your life, heed these words and what I say or else you are doomed to be stupid and culled like the rest of the sheepy masses. There is nothing more worth knowing then learning for yourself. And although that statement sounded lecture-y, I find that I’m not imparting any knowledge to anyone except to just prove to them that there are ignorant people in the world who are intelligent. They just listen to themselves too much.

I need to understand that communication is about level playing fields. One can easily mistake themselves and provide a statement, and then that statement ends up being a lecture. It’s very easy to interchange the two. This is a thing that puts people off, and makes them feel stupid. Or they see that you consider them and their opinions/thoughts to be inferior to yours. I think it really affects my relationships is a negative way, and typically it’s not always great.

Last week I watched a film with friends that I felt would enthrall them. I think what ended up happening was that I ended up enjoying it more than they did - the movie hit me like a ton of bricks, but the other two seemed to be just enjoying it, which is fine. Yet it was breaking me, deeply. I have a lot in common with Dan Harmon - he’s incredibly obsessed with himself and yet at the same time, he publicly displays his mistakes and flaws, much like I do. I consider him much more brave though, because he does it in front of a live audience. 

My favorite scene was when he was in the bathtub, putting the bubbles on his head and exasperates that he is a “man-baby.” As hilarious as that is, I totally think like that...and I’m learning the hard way that the ways in which I do things, in the long term, end up fucking things up for me. He’s also super hard on himself, which I am too, and so really I need to treat myself with a lot more respect and care - my therapist had a name for it but I can’t remember - where you essentially treat yourself as if you are that friend, or a significant other that you strongly love and respect.

So in order to fix these things about myself I’ve been doing my best to do what doctor McKay says, which is doing the opposite. If I want to have a close, trusting, supporting relationship in my life, then this is the way to do it. Part of the practice has had to do with mindfulness, and fully embracing the person who is here - me. Before mindfulness though, I have to be at peace within myself.

This isn’t from the book, this is just my own list that I made up.:

1. Peace. Focusing on my breathing in my lungs and out tends to help me pretty well.

2. Mindfulness. Opening those sense, take it all in...oh god the smell! *throws up*

3. Noticing. Things that you do that you are trying to break the habit of doing. “Stop that thing you just did!” Or “Damnit there I go again.” A good way to really impede it is to confess to the one you are communicating to that you just did that thing. That part helps a lot, especially if you are neurotic like me.

4. Reflect. That’s what I do on here. Writing, or talking about it to someone, like a friend or your therapist.

The book itself simply just asks me to: “Plan to listen and ask questions about the other person’s opinion or experience. Find out where the other person is coming from before saying what you know or believe.

Of course I’m going to forget or not do all these things all the time. But as long as I am attempting (and I will be due to anxiety fueling my neurosis) I think that’s at least good enough.

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Enrichment in brief; or, how to not bore your readers/listeners to death

One of the hardest lines to navigate, and it’s part of the reason why editors exist. It’s also why writers like me and Dan Harmon have trouble with, going off on tangents. It’s why we need to hire full-time editors for everything we write and say.

Or, how about I just do it myself? This is the thing that separates me from him, obviously. The guy has a number of years on me, and professional experience. Also a lot of experience hearing from the professionals the words “No, that’s not going to work.”

The book that’s helping me listen states that, “Of course not every interaction requires a whole message.” What they mean by a whole message is what I like to refer to as ‘tangents,’ or better yet, what my stepmother likes to call, “Your incredible ability to say in 100 words what could have been said in 10.” Word-vomit. Stream of consciousness (which is what I’d like to refer to this blog, but I digress).

The point I’m trying to make here is that the next line in the book states: “A librarian doesn’t need a summary of your hopes and dreams to help you find a book for your research project.”  The “bare facts,” as it were, are sometimes much more succinct in conveying the message better than going into a diatribe about every detail. I tend to do this with stories, or my personal experiences. I always start at the beginning, and detail really innocuous things that I found interesting or hilarious. Usually they were the things I dwell on. But that takes you off the main path a bit and ends up being a missed point, or a red herring for the listener. I also do it in my writing, but I try really hard no to.

And yet this is a double edged sword: “On the other hand, it’s good practice to sometimes to provide whole messages even in these kinds of casual interactions. When you say more, it enriches the experience, sometimes resulting in an engaging conversation rather than the boring small talk you might have anticipated.”

Or in the case of most writers, and myself: saying so much with so much rich content, that the two things coalesce together into a “moment.” And a moment is something that makes you stop thinking. It makes you think, that shit just changed my life! Everyone needs to hear this!

So finding that sweet spot, the brief enriching narrative, is hella important. It’s insanely important. By default though, writers tend to send the “whole message” by default always.

Real life public speaking requires some wit. Or lots and lots of patience. Which also just happens to be the name of every composer’s editor.

I won’t go into detail on how to acquire patience. That’s not something that’s hard to accomplish. There are tons of self-help books or mentors that could teach you how to be more patient. It’s wit that takes more time to accomplish (or practice), which comes from studying and learning. From witty people. People you know, people in the media, etc.

So yeah...that’s how you do it. Not too hard I suppose. Just gotta hunker down and reread that writing. Or practice that wit. Or both.

Oh, and never forget the other thing that helps you get better at this: Never stopping. Stopping is death.

#danharmon #writing #enrichment #wit #patience #listening

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wake up and you’re like "is the roller coaster over yet?”

Do your part. Part of what? Well the part. The part that’s important. That part of you that is also a part of the world. Like, not just letting things sit in your head or your heart (figuratively speaking), but also connecting them everyday and every way with those outside of that consciousness. Take it to them. Right to the forefront, right to the face. Let them see your face, let them see who you really are and let them be touched by that.

Because some of those thoughts and feelings are potentially important to someone else. Potentially. Meaning that they will or might someday be crucial. It may be stupid, and fucking ridiculous, and just whining and to you absolute garbage, but, it’s your garbage. It has your name on it. It’s that thing that you made, as opposed to a stone. As opposed to a thing that God created, because as the character Janek played by Idris Elba says, God doesn’t create in straight lines, and your lines will never be straight. They will be messy. They will be awful. They will lame and horrible and terrible and fat, greasy, smelly and that’s exactly what I’m listening to now when I hear Dan Harmon rap with these guys on stage, where they are just rapping about shit, and Dan raps about fucking your mama, and I’m thinking, “Wow, usually their raps aren’t all that good but always funny, but, this one, with the beat and everything they are rapping about, is actually pretty damn good.”

That’s the fun thing about creating stuff. You just keep doing it until something good and beautiful comes alone. Like the old man in Whisper of the Heart who says you gotta polish your stones. You gotta just keep polishing shit until it shines. Go back, re-write, don’t get discouraged.

The only enemy is stopping, right guys?

#danharmon #theonlyenemyisstopping #harmontown #prometheus #idriselba #whisperoftheheart #don'tworryaboutit

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My brother is donating plasma on the side to pay the bills

My brother stands in the doorway Mr. Miyagi-ing me. Essentially everyone views all of the advice that others give as some secondary thing. It’s not something that we take for granted, I think, more so that there is a glut of incredible information out there and it’s very, very easy for us in conversation to just set it down with all the other bajillion things that we hear everyday. Because we hear these things constantly everyday, we have a hard time distinguishing the difference between what is important and what is not because it all seems important. We are bombarded with messages of sentimentality, and ethics, and modes of safety and understanding. And sometimes it just drives you mad, because you can’t seem to decide what mode or method of living is right for you?

What mode of career is right for you? I don’t even think career applies anymore.

I believe it’s gotten to point where “jobs” and “careers” are just representations of something that don’t even fucking exist anymore. It’s more like a thing that you “do” more than anything else. So when someone fucking asks you, “What do you do?” that’s it. That’s all it is. That’s all it’s called. He does this. She is doing this. Nothing else.

There’s no 401k’s anymore, no more social security, no more healthcare apparently? Something we’re all worrying about, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s something we should even be worrying about and instead be getting used to? I might be stretching that too far but, I think that change is a thing that’s constantly going to affect us. It’s going to be something that’s going to pressure us because as a community, we are becoming closer and much more communicative.

Sometimes the best thing to do is communicate with someone and tell them exactly what you are feeling and thinking. I’ve learned a lot about listening and realize that one of my biggest flaws is that I have a crap ton of things to talk about, yet the best way I can let it out is from writing. I can listen to a podcast and write and wrap myself up in the comfort of my words. I guess that’s something that helps me fight other mentalities and not go insane.

Part of what I was doing as a child was preparing me for this generation. I should probably tell my coworker Lisa about this. Just say to her, “Hey, it’s good that we read all these books because it’s really helping us understand how we can percieve the world and understand what and where it is going, as opposed to most of the boomers who continually say around us when we are working, “I just have no idea where this world is going, I just can’t understand what is going to happen, I just really want to read these devotionals all day because I think doomsday is coming and pray to God that somehow or some way he will take care of everything so that I and the rest of the boomers will not have to deal with it. Or clean up any messes. We just want God back into this country. We want that mystery back.”

And you know what? I miss that mystery too! I miss the mystery of Harry Potter. I miss the mystery I felt when I would take a walk in the woods with my brothers in my grandparents backyard, like I was Leslie Burke in Terabithia, and handing your friend a book that you loved and immersed you, and that made your friend Josh Hutcherson. Except no one died (unless they did, then I am sorry), and the mysticism faded. That’s what’s kind of sad when you get older. You spend time wondering where it all went, and then think that maybe becoming an adult was what made it disappear.

How terrible and horrible, you think. Until something comes along and brings it right back again.

It did for me. In this.

But that’s where we are. It’s okay to self-destruct. Be okay with your internal thoughts and crisis's. Blow up, if need be, quit the job, hit reset. Do something ridiculous.

And if I got you to read this whole thing because you read the title, then I guess I succeeded in my practice.

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Real Listening

Reading a book about listening, I’m troubled by the part that says “To enjoy your interaction and appreciate that the person is sharing a part of himself or herself with you. The expectation of enjoyment helps you engage and focus.” This is something I have a hard time with typically, because one of the hardest things I have issues with is accepting myself and enjoying myself.

One of the things that I notice that is brought up in the book is that I like to compare myself to others when I talk. Less of a compare really, and more of an intimidating self-critique of myself as I speak to these people. I am constantly at odds with my own confidence when speaking with these people, because mostly they are people I respect and admire - friends, family, coworkers. And as soon as I speak with them, I do so with this constant feeling of vulnerability. As if I can see through their eyes all the cracks in my being; the faults I see in myself, the fact that my hair isn’t groomed, or the shit that I am saying is utterly trite and disposable. Or that I don’t have enough wit or bravado that this person I am speaking to clearly has. I truly, personally believe that I have no right to be speaking yet here I am, currently feeling like I am digging myself a grave because I am speaking. The things that I perceive as funny are really not, etc. etc.

Regardless of this, the point is, when I do this I am not hearing the other person. I’m just listening to myself. Which is kind of part of the problem. Essentially I am making the problem for myself. Making your own problems is kind of stupid.

Mind reading is the second thing I do, where you pay too much attention to body language, and the tone of voice the person is using. When you do this, you stop listening to the actual words that people are saying, and focus too much on where their hands are, or the feelings they are having, and inferring what those things mean more than the words that they are actually saying.

The worst part is the prediction. That one isn’t in the book but I think it should be. It’s the one where you think you know what someone is going to say, or at least the rest of what they are trying to convey to you before they say it. It happens a lot when someone gives me an incomplete thought, or mostly when I have to usually guess what they are getting at because the information I am receiving wasn’t detailed enough for me to understand.

But the problem with reading and learning a lot about the world is that you have a tendency to “fill in” when other people are speaking with what you predict they are about to say. And that’s not a pleasant way to have a conversation with someone - that’s damn near intimidating, and rude. Despite your cognitive ideas about your intelligence verses theirs, you shouldn’t be rude and interrupt someone with what you are sure they are about to say. And this is something that I do on a daily basis, especially where I work.

The last one, very common one for me, is rehearsing, where you think about what you are going to say next while the other person is speaking. I really miss out on important information that the person is trying to communicate to me when I do this.

I think possibly it could be a problem of engagement. This isn’t a term from the book itself, this is just my own thoughts. I think that the issue here is that there is a lack of engagement on my part when it comes to speaking with others. I have to be fully engaged, or immersed in what the other person has to say, and my internal devices end up creating a disconnect when I’m communicating with someone. It’s like treating someone as if they are a boring television show that you can just overlook, or at least, give less patience or engagement in.

...later...

I just now talked to someone I don’t talk to often and one of the biggest things I had to put down was fear. I am afraid, and full of anxiety when I started to talk to this person who was almost a stranger to me, even though they were a coworker. It’s easier to deal with strangers who come to the desk, because they mostly want something, so I just find it for them and that’s the main goal of the conversation. Once that’s complete we just have the departure. What it is really is the casual conversation, and my inability to sit still and patiently wait for someone to finish their story. Even though I can guess exactly where the moral, meaning, or point of their story is going to be. And it’s as if there is this unrelenting impatience inside of me, just insurmountable automatic frustration. And I let it out by interrupting others. So mindfulness is a huge component of this, and something that will help me on the road to becoming much more receptive. It is a complex thing when I not at peace within myself internally and having a conversation with someone. The hyperactivity drowns my mind.

...much later...

There was another box that opened up while I was watching myself and practicing this, which has me returning to the fear thing. It reminded me of another book I read called No More Mr. Nice Guy, and the part about doing things that you don’t want to do:

If it terrifies you to do something, then do it.

[auqre]

“Chained to the Archipelago” a Clouds Over the Dale fic

Harda Ardwulf’s eyes widened as the foresail’s rigging whipped into his gut.

It had all happened so fast. Harda was drenched and blind, his muscles aching as he bailed the freezing wash over the side of the slick side of the ship. Harda had spread his feet expertly apart, making sure that he had a good grip on the dipping and diving starboard end of the ship that he was posted at, to make sure he didn’t lose his balance and fall over as the next freezing wave of salty water drenched him continuously. Thunder raged overhead as if Tempest himself had plotted revenge upon the poor vessel that was at the mercy of this hellish typhoon. Winds made the cloth on his tunic snap roughly against his skin as he turned to drag his cracked oak bucket into the sea foam that washed over the deck, and as he did he caught the end of what sounded like a cry from Berhito. And that’s when he was pummeled, like a giant had struck him in the gut, and behind him he thought an enormous wave had crashed onto the deck…but he was no longer on the deck, and it had not been a wave. He had been swallowed up by the angry sea, he realized, as all of the air had been knocked out of him, and his world went dark. The green eyes of the blue skinned were being wiped clean of salt when he heard shipmate Berhito’ s cry from the main deck, and moved towards that direction immediately as the ground beneath him dipped him and his guts southward with the hill of the sea. ‘The muscles of Ishtishia are glorious in their strength,’ he thought, gripping a rope tide to the main mast. One of several meant to be tied to the crew during storms, but arrogance and a sense of professional masculinity always left men of the sea vulnerable to the Water Lord. Despite their varying faiths aboard, tolerated by the captain, Jorman didn’t believe any ignorance towards his god caused this, or wrath. To the men aboard, the sea seemed wrathful, but to Jorman it was only the part of the body that was all that encompassed Ishtishia. And as part of any thing’s body, especially a body of water, it needed to move. Sometimes, to small beings as they, these innocent movements were quite violent. You just had to find a way around the movement...

With expert maneuvering upon the wet deck, Jorman practically slid upon the slick deck, gliding while the rest of the crew were gripping their ropes or with their legs apart in a horse-riding stance to keep from falling. He stopped himself before he slammed into the main deck’s wall, and climbed the short stairs up to the top. A soggy looking monstrosity of a man, shaped like a pear, with the face almost like coral, shouted loudly into his ear through broken, green-brown teeth.

“WOLF’S OVERBOARD MAN OVERBOARD OFF THE STARBOARD-”

CRACK-KOOM! went the thunderous boom of Ishtishia’s body from the sky, his watery flesh so eager to meet the ocean that it would ride the light of the sun to complete it’s wholeness and celebrate it’s massive momentum. Jorman didn’t wait for the end of the rumble to hear the rest of Berhito’s cry. As the next wave bumped the vessel into the air, Jorman slipped into the sea like a thin blue fish.

Such joy! Deafening, enveloping, and deep dark aquamarine. He could feel the power in himself tied to the power of sea. Jorman’s green eyes almost glowed in the darkness of the water, widening to take in the experience. Yet he fought the need to let the peaceful tug of the large waves above move him, and began swimming towards the starboard end of the large wooden bulk that rocked above.

He moved through the darkness effortlessly, and as his lithe yet toned limbs pulled himself through the roils of sea, he slipped through the and between the force of Ishtishia and spotted the body of Harda Ardwulf, limp and sinking. Sinking was bad; more than likely his lungs had already filled with water. He had the route already planned through his mind and his muscles as he swam under the roped rigging, roughly 60 feet out from their vessel, The Kortian.

And suddenly, he was trapped. Part of his vision blurred as he swam against some invisible force that refused his motion. His immediate response was to thrash - as a child, he had always kicked and fought his parents and the bullies of their town when they tried to take hold of him. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, one instance of Ishtishia’s nature that was burned in him since the night he was born from that storm of chaos, it was to reject containment. He swam southward, and found it again. Going back frustrated him endlessly, as the invisible net held him back. After a minute of thrashing endlessly, he watched the limp body that was Harda sinking into the darkness.

“Why?” he asked, even though he knew the wave’s reply as it crashed into the tiny vessel to far above him, the wind and thunder above muffled under the great expanse of shiny coal black, and deep blue.

Because.

***

The Kortian was gone after an hour. From far below, Jorman watched her sail away, pushed and almost rolling, but she would hold. Despite her crew, she was a tough bitch, and would hold her own upon the Water Lord. She was built to match much of his strength.

As he watched the ship, and glanced back to face the absence of his shipmate to the deep, Jorman saw through the stillness of the water his captor. Through the dim amount of light granted by his strange birth, he noticed the thin lines that wove in front of his eyes. It was thick, but translucent, like a woven blanket made from the flesh of a jellyfish. He pressed against it, and it disappeared, but he could feel it in front of him. He looked down, and above, and realized that it was like a funnel, having closed in close to his body, but enough for him to keep himself aloft. Even swimming down, he could not move through without touching the silky, stretching net. What magic was this?

He eventually tired of swimming, keeping himself up through his hands and slightly webbed feet. Jorman let himself sink, sitting upon the bottom of the net, and thought. He thought of the life of the man he was unable to save. He thought of The Kortian, sailing without him. Most importantly, he thought about his captors, whoever they might be. He took in a large amount of water through the slits in his neck that opened to the oxygen that the water lord allowed him to breathe, and waited.

A day and a half had passed before a ship came by. From the look of it, it was of a make and quality that far surpassed The Kortian. He could see a mark on the side of the hull, dipping into the water as it slowed above him. Leaping up from his nap, he swam up to get a better look, his dark blue hair blinding him as he swam against the narrow encasement of the net above.

Pulling hair out of his face, he stared through the darkness of the water, and tried to see it. His eyes adjusted, and he saw...

...a wave...

Jorman stopped swimming, and his mind went empty like a bowl. He let the water fill it, taking it deep inside of him. The light around him, from in the closed space of his eyelids, went dark.

And then it was light again. Strange men, strange voices. Was that man or beast that gripped him as he was hauled over the deck of what must have been the ship. The cold, dry air chilling him, but the bright warm sun striking him all at the same time. He was tied, or chained. Time was moving so fast he couldn’t think. Was this Ishtishia, speaking to him? Was he dreaming? A hallucination? The people, the beasts, the ocean, the ship’s sails, the wave symbol, the talking at high pitched speed. The whole of it was a winding blur, pulling and grabbing him, thrusting and even kicking him, moving him about and he let it. ‘Path of least resistance leads nowhere but Ish’s arms.’

***

His eyes opened as a clang of metal crashed near him. The sun was beating down upon him and there were men holding him up by his aching arms. Looking round, he noticed they were dark black armor, and some were dwarven, and others had the pointed ears of elves. He spoke in his native tongue.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

He was hit in the face by the nearest one who held him on his right. “Shut it.”

Even though the pain wracked his skull from the blow, he began struggling. And after a time, they had finished pummeling him in the gut, he could struggle no more. “Remember this,” said an elf afterwards. “It’s all you’re going to feel the more you fight us.” And then he waited, waiting to see if Jorman would try to struggle again. He didn’t. He didn’t have the strength left in him to.

“Please...” he pleaded. “Just tell me where I am. Why have I been brought here-” A dwarf kicked him in the back of the head, and his lights went out.

***

He awoke again with his head throbbing, and dirt in his mouth. He spit it out, and coughed, his gills on fire from the dust of this dirty place. Not only did his mind ache horribly from the bruise that was beginning to form at the base of his skull, but also from the surrounding sound of cheers and cries that seemed to envelop him like the sea. His head pounding, he looked up and saw the crowds of people in seats of what looked like an arena. And standing there, in the center of it all, was him.

He and another.

A very tall, hulking man with a scraggly beard and blonde hair glared at him from underneath his grizzled and greasy looking hair. He wore furs, probably from some small or average sized land mammals that roamed some forest. Suffice to say, he looked like a wild animal caught in a cage. Jorman could sympathize with him.

Among the crowds there was a dais. On it were monsters dressed in fine clothing, and one such creature he had never seen before. They were looking down upon them in the dirty pit, watching with amber and green eyes. They pointed down at him and the rugged giant, and Jorman could hardly hear over the din until silence came over the thousands of spectators in the seats. Then the creature spoke clearly.

“Welcome all to the...” and then he couldn’t hear anymore. Something was roiling inside of him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in ages. In his chest he could feel a pressure building, and his neck had a feeling of tiny pinpricks that were traveling up the base of his skull, and over his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as it pulsed through him, and muscles twitched all over. ‘What is happening to me?’

And when he looked up, the barbarian was swinging at him.

He jumped back, dodging the blow of his axe, and without thinking, picked up some sand and threw it in his face...yet as he did, he uttered something, and he could feel the pulse move out of his fingers and into the sand as it left his fingers. The sand floated, as if it had become light as a feather, and flew into the scraggly man’s eyes. He blinked in defense, and then, didn’t open them again. He immediately collapsed, like a marionette with it’s strings cut, his ax dropping from his hand.

Jorman was shocked.

He looked up at the crowds.

They were completely silent.

Some were standing. Others were sitting. All eyes were looking at him.

He said aloud, slowly, his voice weak. “I guess...I win? You’ll let me go now?”

The creatures whispered among themselves. The strange one, with horns and dark red skin, was listening as the beast spoke in her ear. She had her eyes on him, with a look of business and emotionless resolve on her face. He sent her a message with his mind then, something he didn’t even know he was capable of until now. ‘Why am I here?’ The strange creatures eyes narrowed at him, and her face remained unchanged.

Distracted, he hadn’t noticed the armored hands that grasped his wrists, and pulled him back. He looked over to see the man he had put to sleep being dragged along with him towards a tunnel in the arena. Jorman kicked and fought as before, and like before, continued to be beaten down. By now he was beginning to feel quite bruised, and was dragged almost limping. He was brought before a large squadron of men who surrounded the beasts who wore fine clothing. Jorman spit at their feet. As far as he was concerned, if these people would treat him as filth he would do nothing but return the acknowledgement.

The strange feminine creature before him was speaking to one of the beasts in a different tongue he did not understand. The man he had put to sleep was awake, and angry at him. Jorman tried to calm him, but the guards hit him for speaking, and he was put in arm bands of a strange make. The large scraggly man was too, and Jorman decided that it was best to converse with the tall man with his mind, as he had done before. Reassuring him that he meant the man no harm, he told him that at the first chance they got, they would try to escape. The man agreed, thinking this was a great idea.

Jorman, and the man whose name was Geth, were placed in the custody of the strange horned creature, who spoke to them both in their language. She had introduced herself as Makaria, and had introduced them to their new service in servitude. They were to be her slaves, and in her charge.

[that’s all I’ve got so far :P]

#dungeonsanddragons #watergenasi #fiction #fantasy

[auqre]

...if I could start again...

Trying to watch yourself is hard to do. It’s so easy to slip out of your mind. Mindfulness, mindfulness, mindfulness...it’s a bit stressful. It’s so easy to just slip away into your mindless thoughts, and that center-of-the-universe mentality. Just shut it off.

An incredible amount of time wasted in my own internal cell. My mind. I spend so much time thinking of the ins and outs of every tiny thing, little things, big things, the micro/macro instances of how this thing will effect the economy in the long run and look at it, it’s such an insignificant little thing but perhaps it can be a big thing. So many maybes, shoulds, coulds, fears, introspections, discoveries, internal dialogues into the recesses of what this means in relation to my past...these constant, default exercises that should exhaust me, but I’ve worked that muscle in the mind so much that I can do it for an indefinite amount of time...it’s a hardship. A painful sting in my life, always constantly there, chronic in how I am always inside of it.

So, how to shut it off, as mentioned above? Turn the interior dialogue off by being here. Trying to ground myself, as it were, in the present, and not in the passive voice internally. Thinking, a novel pastime of mine, has traversed from passive activity to passively active all the time. Since I was a teenager this has been so. I told my girlfriend last night that I was certain it stems from my relationship with my mother but, it also comes from spending far too much time alone. I observe and take in information that influences me, nothing else. I don’t have blinders on, but there are spots that are missing from my perception.

This is where the problems come.

Despite the stress, mindfulness is the only way. And trying is another. Continuing to try will get my habits changed. And if I could start again, I would open up my awareness. Stop thinking I can fill in what someone else is going to say with what I think they are going to say. Just because I am a personal graduate of my own experience, the things I read/watch/listened to, does not mean I am allowed to predict what others are thinking or about to say. This is false. It is incorrect. Sure 80-90% I am confident in my ability to do so, but that is grounds for issues. That is grounds for personal failure, and internal crucifixion. It is a mistake to take your friends, family, and acquaintances for granted that way. To stop, and wait, and allow the bullet of perception bounce around in your skull until the momentum slows to a stop, eventually, is the goal I wish to obtain. I want Henry David Thoreau’s ability to listen to others; it’s not just listening, it’s comprehending. He wanted to go far beyond the ability to understand. He wanted to be inside of that person’s understanding. He wanted to notice everything and take everything about them in, their face, their voice, their eyes, their inflection, their words all at face value. He cherished their speech, their thoughts right at what they were. He didn’t try to over-analyze, he only took what was given, eliminating himself internally and only allowing the person’s conversation until there was a pause, a break, and then slowly he would un-eliminate that self. And process and digest the information. And then, finally, reply.

This doesn’t just require patience inside of myself. This requires peace. A peace I find hard to acquire internally. Yet I can acquire peace easily through writing, because writing is such a passive, slow, deliberate activity.

So, hopefully, this helps.

#mindfulness #writing #life #understanding

[auqre]

Dark Over the Wood, Tazriem

Just a little fic for a 5e D&D game that I run for friends, I’ll get back to writing other stuff soon:

Taz trudged through the muck and mud of last night’s rain, keeping himself preoccupied with the trivial conversation of his companions. Makaria kept him from feeling too out of place from the elves and human, their past history and her devilish heritage notwithstanding. Zealots and followers of strict faiths typically didn’t usually welcome his kind; indoctrination, and institutions (except for the occasional seedy type) typically didn’t admire his appearance, but there was always some natural form of respect. This could be built out of fear, other times a draconian lineage was believed to be deserved a distance, and mythical reverence.

The same could not be said inasmuch for Makaria’s kin. It quite typically created a sense of unease in others. That was part of the reason Taz enjoyed her company; they both ended up making others feel quite uncomfortable. But for the first time in his life, Taz was feeling the sharp end of that fear, much due to the elven princess Gypsinda. He understood that her lover Hal swore that he had her lycanthropy under control, his silver chain always within reach upon his back. But that didn’t reassure him. It didn’t reassure the slaves, or Balthazaar for that matter, back at the cave. Not after the attack on the ferry.

An arc of blood trailing over the sun, the head of the goblin rolling in the air.

That monster’s strength is insurmountable inside her, Taz thought. He would keep his distance at the first sign of her transformation. None of his technique would work against a force of nature like that, save for hiding. I could strike from a distance. A strategy he had always told Makaria, if she had to do what needed done. Only when needed. Do not let them know you are there. Even as your blade sinks into the back of their neck, never let them think they are not alone. Your eyes will never meet theirs until they glaze. Remain in shadow, regardless if you must strike or not.

Hal didn’t need teaching like that. He could slip into the shadows as if he were putting on that disgusting drow cloak of his. Which is why Taz was worried that he was the only one who could stop Gypsinda’s inner beast; he could just as easily slip away when things turned to dragon shit.

He thought of Tomi’s death, then, which was unfortunate. Taz was shocked at the incredible brutality that Brother Alexander had dealt in executing him. It didn’t surprise him that much; those of justice dispensed excuses for the violence enacted in the name of justice. Killing feels better, and sounds nicer to those who dress it up in causes and just ideals. In the streets of Daggerford, those without want of grief from the uncouth that roamed the streets killed only when necessary, not in the name of idols or ideas. And it only cemented his opinion of followers of faith, and of Brother Alexander.

Then again, where was Taz? With these folk. Who was he becoming? What about Makaria? Were they now killers? Adventurers? Friends? No.

Never let them see your eyes. Taz closed his amber eyes, then opened them again, watching the dust of the dirt-tan trail they were on pick up from the wind. 

The trees of the forest were coming into view, and about a mile and a half off, there stood a stark grey structure that was contrasted dully from the dark green of the High Forest. He could see, this far off, that the blades of the windmill twirled very slowly in the lazy breeze that came down from the eastern mountains.

What madness will we find next? Some old woman they said. There were some mutterings of old women who lived near or in the High Forest. A windmill sounded familiar, but he couldn’t for Bahamut’s sake remember the tale. He wondered if Gypsinda, or Hal knew. They seemed convinced that old women in ruined windmills were the answer to having a bloodthirsty beast banished from an elven curse. One would have expected a solution to be somewhat more…devout. He thought this as he chanced a glance over at Alexander again, and his face was instead wrapped in the thing that had at that moment bumped into him. Looking down, he saw it was the little gnome girl, Runa. Bumping into Taz was like bumping an ox laying in the mud; he weighed almost 280 pounds, average for his heritage. Her head had cracked into a large grin. Taz’s response that smile was to grunt, and take an extra stride or two farther forward. He ended up shoulder to shoulder with Makaria.

No little one, he thought. I’d rather not end up like Tomi. Taz is smarter than him. And your guardian. And his god.

They continued traveling through the tall grass, towards the dwelling of the old woman known as Glenda Selene.

#5e #dungeonsandragons #darkoverthewood