one hundred eleven

Alone with my music and thoughts, but the strings and keys don’t fill me like they used to.

End of semester blues, ya dig? It happens in lieu of anxiety when i’ve lots of business looming.

Anyrate, seem to be getting beat bad at this story of the month thing, so if you’ve not voted yet, go here and maybe i can pull out a win. Disappointed, really, because i’m getting beat by a story that i think is quite bad. Whatever, though.

one hundred ten

My story First Breath is available today at Bartleby Snopes, which is so very cool and i’m proud to find myself over there, because it’s a great magazine. Further, if you want to see me rise like the phoenix, you can vote for my story to be Story of the Month, which puts me in the biannual print magazine there, which would be even cooler. Voting can be done here.

Good Man Alex Martin described my writing as painting, which i think is quite fitting, because i’m much more about images than i am about plot. I fell in love with silence, with stillness, and i’ve never been able to get away from it. Really, i think i write two kinds of stories: ones like this, which are paintings, and the other kind is more of a fable or a myth or some such thing, like a bit of magic.

Oh, and it looks like my microfiction The Fall is up over at Short, Fast, and Deadly, as well. They do stories that fit within a facebook status update, which is to say >420 characters. Very cool.

Anyway, remember to vote for me for the Story of the Month at Bartleby Snopes and check out Short, Fast, and Deadly.

Thank ye, Starchild.

one hundred nine

I’ve been watching The Hills all day. Yeah, it’s one of those days.

Anyway, violence. It disgusts me. Just repulses me at an atomic level and the thought of such, hurting something, be it human or animal, makes me nauseous. In all forms, violence is incorrect. Always. I’m not one for morality or prescribing action, but i firmly believe that violence is always inherently cruel and unusual and far too base for humans to deal with it. Leave it for the animals, for whom it is necessary. Even passive violence disgusts me, allowing torture to occur or passing legislation that absolves responsibility from people and allowing executions to take place.

I do not understand violence.

one hundred eight

All nostalgic like, i remember watching that video as a wee lad when i’d stay home from school when i was, say, six[?] because mother was lenient with us and we could stay home as often as we liked.

Anyrate, that’s a great pop song and if you don’t like it, you can grow a stye in your ugly eye.

one hundred seven

There was this thing on television today about people whose lives are taken over by the digital aspects of their life, like facebook, cell phones, and the like. It disturbed me. Deeply. What it means to be human is certainly going to change or is in the process of changing with the development of these technologies. Society is no longer just the people you meet and interact with, but also the ones you can digitally interact with and never actually lay naked eyes upon. Whether that’s better or worse is not important to me, because that’s the wrong kind of question. It’s just a difference.

But i think about these things and it troubles me a bit. Like how my cousins are growing up with facebook and cell phones. They’ll never know what it’s like to go to someone’s house, ring their doorbell, and ask their parents if they’re home. Their identities are forming and now they’re forming under the public eye, all digitised. I guess it’ll allow for a more congruous digital identity and real life identity, but i’m glad i didn’t need to form my identity under the watchful eyes of the world, all happening online, viewable, savable, retrievable. Their identities are forming in the public sphere and will exist on their under cache forever. I don’t know, it’s weird.

But this show–there were two actually–the internet was ruining their lives. It’s frightening and it filled me with a deep sense of revulsion. I feel terrible for them, even. There’s some sense of agency lost, a depersonalisation, an alienation, even the loss of actualisation. I don’t feel like defining those words in the way i mean them, but maybe you know what i mean. I hope so. Whatever.

It reminded me of this documentary the BBC ran about chaps who buy and fall in love with their Real Girls, which are, apparently, realistic sex dolls. It was essentially Lars and the Real Girl without any catharsis or character arc, just sad men falling in love with inanimate objects. Deeply in love. I don’t know, the digital world is scary, and this alienation that Dostoevsky and then Camus talked about is getting worse and heavier. People are losing touch with the world they inhabit, with other people, and people aren’t meant to exist in isolation, as it makes them something else, something resembling human but distinctly not. An inability to relate, to sympathise, to empathise, to exist as an actualised person.

I use the internet quite a bit and have a life that exists in the digital world, but that’s not unhealthy. I even conducted a study on this subject, and, for some people, it’s actually quite beneficial to one’s social life. There’s a balance, though. You can’t be too digital or your life starts to be eaten by it. I reckon i’ve a good balance.

Anyway, gonna go outside and reconnect by disconnecting.