October 31, 2010
October 28, 2010
Shower Inspiration (With Help)
There once was a man who had ideas. People would listen to him for inspiration. Every idea that he had he would write down because an idea is a terrible thing to waste and an idea without action is just as bad.
You have a problem? He has an idea to help you.
Have trouble with parking space?
He has a solution
Have a bad GPA?
He knows what to do
Need an idea for a date?
Woman vow he knows their inner soul
In class, he would always answer the questions. That is, unless he gave the answer to another student.
Every day, he would fill up pages upon pages of inspiring ideas. Some ideas were better than others. He had to be very careful as too who which idea he gave to which person because, to every mind, inspiration takes on different meaning.
If he gave the wrong idea to the wrong person. They might interpret it the wrong way and be take the wrong action linked to the inspiration. He had no control over their actions revolving around the inspiration.
If he told someone to think about elephants that person would think about elephants. Their action, however, could turn into something nonreturnable.
The people to whom he gave inspiration too lacked the ability to make up ideas for themselves. They could never get inspired. He knew that inspiration is not black and white but rather, inspiration is the uprising of the soul. It sits, deep in the recesses of the mind, waiting for the soul to prompt it to come out. Giving up on inspiration is like giving up on one's dreams because once inspiration leaves, it rarely comes back. This leaves a haunting scar on the soul. These people, the people he gave inspiration to, were not taught to reach into their mind.
They could not wake up from the slumber of their soul.
Inspiration is an idea gleaned from an outside source and he was the only source.
Did he enjoy this? Of course he did! He was the most popular person on campus. He found worth in his ability to inspire, to create ideas.
Of course, things weren't always smooth and steady with his life.
He would often become tired, worn out, fatigued. So many ideas running through one persons head all day can be dangerous.
He was sick of this singular inspiration source. So he did what he knew he had to do. What had to happen in order to eliminate the world in which he lived.
He wrote the most inspiring idea ever known. He wrote and wrote, making sure nobody was around to read it.
He wrote down a solution to save the world.
After his miraculous inspiring idea of inception interpretation his ideas to people became boring. He did not like giving away his inspirations. Sure, people gave him worth by always wanting his ideas. Who doesn't want to be wanted? Eventually, this led him to tell the people that he was no longer giving away ideas.
The people turned against him, disgracing his name and were uninterested in seeing him.
He felt like a tool.
He was alone.
A mental battle prepared in his mind. Give away ideas for the rest of his life, feel popular and worthy to society, or unleash the beast of his ultimate inspiration and be unable to give away ideas ever again. For he knew that releasing this idea would cause him to lose his own inspirations.
The battle raged on, it took him over.
He had to control it, he had to act. Because inspiration involves action.
There he stood, his book of ideas in his hand and standing before him, a bottomless smelly dumpster. He knew that only one idea inside of it mattered and that this idea would make this book unnecessary. So, with quivering hands, he throws it into the dumpster. And prepares for the final battle, where he will surrender.
The next day he stood up and announced to everyone that he wanted to say something. And he unleashed his beast.
He said, "Inspiration does not come from my mouth, ideas do not come from my mind. Inspiration comes from you. Ideas come from your soul. Open your eyes, open your ears, open your mind, and feel your senses. Ideas are not just for the socially labeled 'creative.' You are the artist of your own mind. You are beautiful because you choose to be not because someone says you are. You are free-thinkers, singular bodies bursting with inspiration, souls waiting to be unchained, and a mind ready to create ideas."
Silence.
He stood there, panting from his speech, shifting his eyes scared that his idea didn't work.
Silence.
Then, slowly, they got it. The people got it. Inspiration exploded like a bomb.
As time went on, he no longer answered every question in class and he was no longer asked to give away ideas. He just sat there in silence, some say he always had a little smirk after that day.
In fact, you don't see much of him around anymore. Some say he left to go inspire in another place, some say he died right after his speech, and some say he never existed but was just inspiration in a physical form while others say that he is just taking a well deserved nap. Nobody really knows, their imaginations run wild thinking of ideas.
All they needed was to know this. That they can inspire themselves. That ideas are made within.
There is more of this to come later, (hint hint, wink wink). I came up with most of the story idea in the shower, hence the title. The (With Help) part comes from my friend Krista, who wrote a large majority of the stuff about inspiration above in a paper for a class.
You have a problem? He has an idea to help you.
Have trouble with parking space?
He has a solution
Have a bad GPA?
He knows what to do
Need an idea for a date?
Woman vow he knows their inner soul
In class, he would always answer the questions. That is, unless he gave the answer to another student.
Every day, he would fill up pages upon pages of inspiring ideas. Some ideas were better than others. He had to be very careful as too who which idea he gave to which person because, to every mind, inspiration takes on different meaning.
If he gave the wrong idea to the wrong person. They might interpret it the wrong way and be take the wrong action linked to the inspiration. He had no control over their actions revolving around the inspiration.
If he told someone to think about elephants that person would think about elephants. Their action, however, could turn into something nonreturnable.
The people to whom he gave inspiration too lacked the ability to make up ideas for themselves. They could never get inspired. He knew that inspiration is not black and white but rather, inspiration is the uprising of the soul. It sits, deep in the recesses of the mind, waiting for the soul to prompt it to come out. Giving up on inspiration is like giving up on one's dreams because once inspiration leaves, it rarely comes back. This leaves a haunting scar on the soul. These people, the people he gave inspiration to, were not taught to reach into their mind.
They could not wake up from the slumber of their soul.
Inspiration is an idea gleaned from an outside source and he was the only source.
Did he enjoy this? Of course he did! He was the most popular person on campus. He found worth in his ability to inspire, to create ideas.
Of course, things weren't always smooth and steady with his life.
He would often become tired, worn out, fatigued. So many ideas running through one persons head all day can be dangerous.
He was sick of this singular inspiration source. So he did what he knew he had to do. What had to happen in order to eliminate the world in which he lived.
He wrote the most inspiring idea ever known. He wrote and wrote, making sure nobody was around to read it.
He wrote down a solution to save the world.
After his miraculous inspiring idea of inception interpretation his ideas to people became boring. He did not like giving away his inspirations. Sure, people gave him worth by always wanting his ideas. Who doesn't want to be wanted? Eventually, this led him to tell the people that he was no longer giving away ideas.
The people turned against him, disgracing his name and were uninterested in seeing him.
He felt like a tool.
He was alone.
A mental battle prepared in his mind. Give away ideas for the rest of his life, feel popular and worthy to society, or unleash the beast of his ultimate inspiration and be unable to give away ideas ever again. For he knew that releasing this idea would cause him to lose his own inspirations.
The battle raged on, it took him over.
He had to control it, he had to act. Because inspiration involves action.
There he stood, his book of ideas in his hand and standing before him, a bottomless smelly dumpster. He knew that only one idea inside of it mattered and that this idea would make this book unnecessary. So, with quivering hands, he throws it into the dumpster. And prepares for the final battle, where he will surrender.
The next day he stood up and announced to everyone that he wanted to say something. And he unleashed his beast.
He said, "Inspiration does not come from my mouth, ideas do not come from my mind. Inspiration comes from you. Ideas come from your soul. Open your eyes, open your ears, open your mind, and feel your senses. Ideas are not just for the socially labeled 'creative.' You are the artist of your own mind. You are beautiful because you choose to be not because someone says you are. You are free-thinkers, singular bodies bursting with inspiration, souls waiting to be unchained, and a mind ready to create ideas."
Silence.
He stood there, panting from his speech, shifting his eyes scared that his idea didn't work.
Silence.
Then, slowly, they got it. The people got it. Inspiration exploded like a bomb.
As time went on, he no longer answered every question in class and he was no longer asked to give away ideas. He just sat there in silence, some say he always had a little smirk after that day.
In fact, you don't see much of him around anymore. Some say he left to go inspire in another place, some say he died right after his speech, and some say he never existed but was just inspiration in a physical form while others say that he is just taking a well deserved nap. Nobody really knows, their imaginations run wild thinking of ideas.
All they needed was to know this. That they can inspire themselves. That ideas are made within.
There is more of this to come later, (hint hint, wink wink). I came up with most of the story idea in the shower, hence the title. The (With Help) part comes from my friend Krista, who wrote a large majority of the stuff about inspiration above in a paper for a class.
October 23, 2010
October 21, 2010
What I Learn From My Cat
On occasion, I am home alone with my cat.
For those of you who have met my cat who know how she is. Friendly when you walk in the door, rubs herself against your leg and then when you go in for the pet, she runs away and hisses at you. This is my cat.
But back to being home alone with my cat. When you are the only human in contact with my cat, you can tell. She is meowing at you or around you for most of the day. When you sit down to eat, or when you lie down to watch tv, she hops up and either tries to eat your food and get you to pet her.
You can tell that she is lonely. That she wants attention.
I think humanity is like this. When we are not around people for an extended amount of time, we get lonely, desperate for attention, for a touch, for interaction.
Why do we take pictures of landscapes?
When you look at a pretty picture of a mountain on a postcard, you think nothing of it, or at least I don't. When my professor shows me pictures of a mountain in Alaska where he did research for ten years I don't really care for the picture. I'd rather see a picture of him standing there next to the mountain.
I think we take pictures of landscapes because it is an interaction between us and the sense of "this is what I saw" and "this is what I did." It's a personal reminder of the place we were. It's not just about that mountain range you saw, but about what you did to see that mountain range, who you saw that mountain range with, and the story associated with it. A story to tell other people.
It's a tool for connection. Something to give you meaning and worth.
Pictures are tools.
I acknowledge, sometimes people need time to themselves. You notice whenever rappers come out of jail they always have a brand new song? It's probably because they had time to themselves.
I don't care whether you are introverted or extroverted. Everyone gets lonely, it is all just a matter of time. If ever hear someone say that they would prefer to be alone for the rest of their life, they're lying. Call them on it.
The main reason I never want to go to jail is because of how lonely it will be.
In Blue Like Jazz it mentions how a forest ranger stumbled upon the authors campsite. He mentions how hard it seemed for the forest ranger, who had been alone for two months, to even hold a conversation with them. (If you have the book, page 152-153)
Loneliness kills.
I think the worst thing about hell won't be the furnace of fire, the heat, or the forced labor.(This is how I imagine hell, I blame Hollywood) I think the worst thing about hell will be the loneliness. Could you imagine eternity without talking to or seeing a single soul? Never getting touched? How cold that makes me feel.
My cat gets lonely.
She doesn't say it out loud because, well, she can't speak a language I understand. I can tell she is lonely though. Her non-verbals give it all away. She hops up on the couch with you, goes straight for your face and forces you to pay attention to her, to pet her, to have you recognize her. I would tell her she is high-maintenance but she can't understand me either.
As mean, nasty, and diabetic as my cat is, I feel for her, which I never thought I would, because she is a mean, nasty, diabetic cat. This is what my cat teaches me though.
That loneliness is a sickness we all can suffer from.
For those of you who have met my cat who know how she is. Friendly when you walk in the door, rubs herself against your leg and then when you go in for the pet, she runs away and hisses at you. This is my cat.
But back to being home alone with my cat. When you are the only human in contact with my cat, you can tell. She is meowing at you or around you for most of the day. When you sit down to eat, or when you lie down to watch tv, she hops up and either tries to eat your food and get you to pet her.
You can tell that she is lonely. That she wants attention.
I think humanity is like this. When we are not around people for an extended amount of time, we get lonely, desperate for attention, for a touch, for interaction.
Why do we take pictures of landscapes?
When you look at a pretty picture of a mountain on a postcard, you think nothing of it, or at least I don't. When my professor shows me pictures of a mountain in Alaska where he did research for ten years I don't really care for the picture. I'd rather see a picture of him standing there next to the mountain.
I think we take pictures of landscapes because it is an interaction between us and the sense of "this is what I saw" and "this is what I did." It's a personal reminder of the place we were. It's not just about that mountain range you saw, but about what you did to see that mountain range, who you saw that mountain range with, and the story associated with it. A story to tell other people.
It's a tool for connection. Something to give you meaning and worth.
Pictures are tools.
I acknowledge, sometimes people need time to themselves. You notice whenever rappers come out of jail they always have a brand new song? It's probably because they had time to themselves.
I don't care whether you are introverted or extroverted. Everyone gets lonely, it is all just a matter of time. If ever hear someone say that they would prefer to be alone for the rest of their life, they're lying. Call them on it.
The main reason I never want to go to jail is because of how lonely it will be.
In Blue Like Jazz it mentions how a forest ranger stumbled upon the authors campsite. He mentions how hard it seemed for the forest ranger, who had been alone for two months, to even hold a conversation with them. (If you have the book, page 152-153)
Loneliness kills.
I think the worst thing about hell won't be the furnace of fire, the heat, or the forced labor.(This is how I imagine hell, I blame Hollywood) I think the worst thing about hell will be the loneliness. Could you imagine eternity without talking to or seeing a single soul? Never getting touched? How cold that makes me feel.
My cat gets lonely.
She doesn't say it out loud because, well, she can't speak a language I understand. I can tell she is lonely though. Her non-verbals give it all away. She hops up on the couch with you, goes straight for your face and forces you to pay attention to her, to pet her, to have you recognize her. I would tell her she is high-maintenance but she can't understand me either.
As mean, nasty, and diabetic as my cat is, I feel for her, which I never thought I would, because she is a mean, nasty, diabetic cat. This is what my cat teaches me though.
That loneliness is a sickness we all can suffer from.
October 16, 2010
October 12, 2010
Heartbeats
I once knew a man who thought he had meaning
A man whose life he thought he was leading
He thought he knew what had meaning
Until he found out what is real, a sort of feeling
Cause he knew the lies from which he was feeding
Then this mans heart was beating
I once knew a man who cared about nothing
everything about life, it was just hunching
He lacked intimacy, and friendship, and meaning
and for that, he took the beating
But one day he opened up to what he was dealing
and now a new life, he seems to be leading
He found what has truth, value, and worth
and he held onto them forever
and to those he held, they witnessed a re-birth
A relationship never to be severed
This man I knew looked back and saw his life
From the past he saw it as a darkened mess
And realized who paid the price
Meaning said he had much, but he knew he had less
From looking back he then looked forward
And with support from above he found meaning
Meaning that was refreshed and new
He found something to live for
Someone to live for
With a beating heart
A man whose life he thought he was leading
He thought he knew what had meaning
Until he found out what is real, a sort of feeling
Cause he knew the lies from which he was feeding
Then this mans heart was beating
I once knew a man who cared about nothing
everything about life, it was just hunching
He lacked intimacy, and friendship, and meaning
and for that, he took the beating
But one day he opened up to what he was dealing
and now a new life, he seems to be leading
He found what has truth, value, and worth
and he held onto them forever
and to those he held, they witnessed a re-birth
A relationship never to be severed
This man I knew looked back and saw his life
From the past he saw it as a darkened mess
And realized who paid the price
Meaning said he had much, but he knew he had less
From looking back he then looked forward
And with support from above he found meaning
Meaning that was refreshed and new
He found something to live for
Someone to live for
With a beating heart
October 09, 2010
What Went Through My Head While Squished In A Van
I spy
With my little eye
A guy
Who is shy
But not afraid to cry
Never wonders if they're a gemini
Or questions the hair on his thigh
(Not to pry)
They occasionally enjoys ties
Always waves, but never says his, "Hi's"
Also does the same with his, "Bye's"
Who doesn't enjoy a lie
But really enjoys pie
Who dreams of someday calling a woman my
Maybe someday they'll give it a try
So they close their eyes and gives a sigh
And imagines a different love-high
Which is like imagining how to fly
Up in the sky
And for that, you don't ask why
Because to not experience love, they'd rather die
And that is what I spy
With my little eye
With my little eye
A guy
Who is shy
But not afraid to cry
Never wonders if they're a gemini
Or questions the hair on his thigh
(Not to pry)
They occasionally enjoys ties
Always waves, but never says his, "Hi's"
Also does the same with his, "Bye's"
Who doesn't enjoy a lie
But really enjoys pie
Who dreams of someday calling a woman my
Maybe someday they'll give it a try
So they close their eyes and gives a sigh
And imagines a different love-high
Which is like imagining how to fly
Up in the sky
And for that, you don't ask why
Because to not experience love, they'd rather die
And that is what I spy
With my little eye
October 02, 2010
Song of the Week 10-2-10
Hopefully I keep up with this every week and hopefully I find a YouTube video that doesn't get removed really fast like they usually do or that sounds semi-decent. Anyways, here you go.
October 01, 2010
Friday | TGIF
It's Friday. I like Fridays. When I get out of class on Friday it's such a relief to be done. So since you might be reading this on Friday, go do something Friday-like.
Stop reading now. Go. TGIF.
Stop reading now. Go. TGIF.
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