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more fun with MS paint

posted by September @ 12:58 PM 0 Comments

I've been in a "mood" for the last couple of days. It's a bit of a retreat, I guess, where I just think I need sometime to myself. I don't get that very much anymore. When I was in camp, I'd spend lots of time alone, in my room, either reading or watching movies or plating video games. But since I left there, I've always been with someone, either at work, at home with Diane or in CL with Sonja and/or Barb. It's not a matter of not wanting to be with people, it's a matter of unwinding. I think, perhaps, this is the source of my blockage too. I don't spend enough time in quiet with myself.

Time's a tricky thing though. My weeks are so schedualed, so broken down into routine, that I trick myself into not making time for myself. I spend all of my "off" time with Diane, because I figure if I can get closer to her, repair our relationship that way. I spend my evenings with Sonja, because we have a lot to catch up on, and there's a lot to learn from one another. I make time for Barb, whenever she wants to talk because she's a friend. The people at work, well, they're unavoidable. Because my weeks are split, I'm living in two places with two lives, I try to cram as much of my time into everyone else's life.

I have been thinking about this, in regards to my creativity, and have decided that I am going to seperate myself a little bit. I figured out the difference between when I used to create and my modern sense of stunted creativity is the time I would spend just plotting, working the ideas in my head, rolling things around. I don't have too much of that anymore. I'm going to even try to stop thinking of my mind as a fractured thing. Perhaps my perception has inexplicably altered my sense of self, that in seperating the pieces of my personality and giving them names, I've brought about the end of who I really am.

I think also I need to revisit my rune reading, Sonja. I don't think hagalaz was the last of the four. It was the first.

posted by September @ 6:56 AM 2 Comments

My mind gets clouded when I’m in these moods. There’s a certain uneasiness in me when I’m like this, a trepidatious rage, a feeling that any minute now, I could tear right through my own flesh and morph into something else altogether. It’s hard to think straight sometimes, to focus. It’s not that I’m not in control, because I am, completely. It’s that wild thing inside me, I think, that thing that wants to be away, somewhere dark, to not have to be human anymore. Hmmm, there’s an interesting choice of words.

There’s a lot more to write about, a lot to tell. But as usual, I’ve lost my ambition and focus. I worry about not writing, and I shouldn’t. Everything comes to me in time, I just have to be prepared for when the time comes.

I think I might try another rune reading tonight, something for myself, to help me focus and burn off some of this excess energy. Maybe redirecting that energy will put me at ease.

posted by September @ 12:59 PM 1 Comments

I don't know what the hell is going on, but between my sister, my roomates, myself and the rest of the free world, no one seems to be sleeping. It might be just me, but there seems to be a strange restlessness with a very slight feeling of anxiety hanging in the air. It sucks.

There was a rant here about the neighbour kid, whose parents decided not to take him on holidays this year and the crappy music he insists on playing at 12:30am, but I lost it. My browser reset itself, and it disappeared. Needless to say, I'm getting old, I don't want music blasting through my walls at 1am because I have to get up in four hours. I'm one who needs sleep, it heals me, it makes me happy and it is my last real link to sanity. This shift has been a bad one for sleeping and I think it's starting to show.

posted by September @ 7:07 AM 1 Comments

I feel better today. Yesterday, being both extremely tired and hungry, I went on a search for sustenance. The day before we had pizza brought in for lunch as a bit of a reward for working safely, and I'd decided at 10:30am that cold pizza would be a good midmorning snack. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any cold pizza. What I found was warmish pizza, three boxes full, that was left out on the table in the lunchroom.

The pizza and I stared at each other for a few minutes, trying decide if it was worthy of eating, and I thought, what the hel, if it doesn't taste good, I won't eat it. Of course, I eat fast and was already finishing one piece when I decided it wasn't. I waited, and for most of the day I felt alright. Until about suppertime last night. Then it felt like a bubbly cactus was rolling around in my guts. I went to sleep last night feeling like shit. Sonja suggested I rub ginger oil on my stomach, which I did and drank my usual peppermint tea, and by the time I finally passed out, I felt a little better.

I'm not the only one feeling not good these days. Barb is struggling with something that she's keeping to herself. She told me she didn't sleep at all last night. I hate feeling unable to help the people around me, especially those that are friends. I'm a bit of a do-gooder, I guess, and tend to go to great lengths to make sure people are ok. I guess I just wish I could do more.

On an unrelated note, tomorrow I go home again. After having last weekend off, I feel like I just got back, but it's nice to have the work week broke up like that. I haven't worked less that 10 consecutive days in almost two years. Usually my shifts are much, much longer. So, this weekend the plan is:
Get a new tattoo on friday. #5, When does it end? Heh.
Go to Edmonton to see AFI and friends with Diane, Justin, Joe and Roni, and probably a bunch of people they know.
Go to the zoo.
And of course, shopping.

posted by September @ 7:19 AM 0 Comments

I'd like to say that today is about as uneventful as they come. It's a true statement, but I suspect any minute now, thinks are going to change. ...any....minute.....now.....

Hmm. So much for that theory. Truth is, I'm tired again and the day is incredibly slow. I'm actually struggling at my desk to keep my eyes open. What I need is something to keep me occupied.

-_-..zzzzz

posted by September @ 9:20 AM 2 Comments

I asked my sister this morning about the tree I visited on the weekend. The history of the tree is really unknown to me, just that it's a large poplar, with three trunks. It has been there as long as I can remember and I've always felt it was a place of power. There is a strong energy about the place, one that my sister once comment was dark, and overpowering. I told her that I didn't think the place was evil, just powerful. When I walked down there on the weekend, I found a statue of a fairy inbetween the trunks, and I assumed my sister had set up some sort of place for offering. Turns out it was my niece, who is currently 8. My sister said the story goes something like this (and I admit to taking great liberty here):

I walked in the woods the other day, as I do from time to time, to say hello to the trees and greet the green growing things. Some woods are different than others, and I’ve found that some are quite enchanted. I found one such grove sometime ago, but it wasn’t until recently I discovered why it was so magical.

I walked through the tall green grasses of the woods, hopped a very small stream and came to a tree that I had visited before. We were old acquaintances, she and I. She is actually three trees in one, three trunks that meet just above the ground and grow all from the same roots, fed by the same stream. We are both alike, in that regard, and this is why we’d become easy friends.

It was odd, this last visit, and my first one in a year or so. When I approached the tree and touched her rough bark, and squatted to sit in her shade, I saw a strange white statue. I knelt and examined the figure, one I’d not encountered before. It was a beautiful little fairy, smiling serenely at a butterfly on her elbow. I reached to pick up the statue, but thought differently about disturbing the statue. Instead, I quizzically rubbed my chin.

I sat there for a minute or two, and finally asked the tree aloud how long the fairy had been there. There was a low rustle of leaves, and I knew the tree was not going to give up her secret. I reached out again, gingerly running my finger along the length of the fairy’s nose and smiled to myself. I sat back again, and closed my eyes and listened to the wind in the leaves around me. Soon I imagined I could hear a sweet, soft humming in my ear, a light and blissful tune. I sat up to move, but hear a soft song that told me not to open my eyes.

I remained still, listening to the tune that moved like wind and honey, sweet and so smooth, so serene. It told me about the little statue; it sang about a sweet fairy that had come to this place and lived in that tree, which roamed the hills nearby and watched over the animals and insects and trees and plants. It told how she coaxed the grass to grow tall, the better for hiding away the smaller animals and feeding the taller ones. It told how she talks the leaves to bud from even the sleepiest tree every spring, and the flowers to grow from the stubborn ground. The song told me of how she flies to warn the animals of intruders, and hides them from hunters and predators, and about how she even helps to heal the wounded and sick creatures that come there.

Oh shaded wood, the shaded wood
Where waist high grasses grow,
She flits beneath the canopy
And wanders to and fro

At times she would, the fairy good,
So sooth the wounded deer,
And fly before the hunter comes
So creatures would not fear.

When Spring would come, and rabbits drum
And play they in the snow,
She’d sit among the leafless trees
And sing to them to grow.

And fly she’d down upon the ground
And breathe upon the snow,
So softly thus she’d free the sprouts,
And bid them too to grow.

A friend is she, to bug and tree,
But be it ever known
That should you spy with human eye
So she would turn to stone.

So in the wood, the shaded wood,
Come you with a care,
That nothing should befoul the glade,
Her warden is aware.

posted by September @ 10:44 AM 0 Comments

There are a few dark and haunted pieces of land in this province. I've been to three of them. Edson, pretty much the entire town, has a dark undercurrent, a flow that will sooner or later erode at you, tear down every bit of light in anyone. It's where I grew up, where I came to understand darkness, where I'd seen what people can become. I try not to go there anymore, because of this, and because of the history I have there. People tend to give me that look ("Oh, Trent's on another rant") when I flatly refuse, or when I speed through the place to get out, but I honestly feel that there is nothing good to be gained from staying there for any length of time.

I went to Edson on saturday, with Diane and my mom. I'd decided maybe it was time to give the place a try, to see if anything had changed for me. I felt good that morning, having visited a special tree at the farm, one which I'm possitive my sister has been to recently. I felt strong enough to gird myself against whatever it was that might assualt me in town. Turns out I was.

It was a short trip, but one I won't need to repeat for another few years. The place was oddly deserted for a saturday afternoon. I commented on the lack of people, which got me shrugs from the other two, but apart from the solitary shopkeepers, and two women sitting on a bench, there was not a person to be seen.

posted by September @ 5:50 AM 0 Comments

Well, I've been a more than a little mentally on holiday lately. No, that's not true. I have been thinking, just not expressing it. What I really mean is, I haven't been writing. So, let's see. What has been on my mind.....




Fuck it. Let's not start by going backwards. Today I'm going home, like all the way home. After work, I'm picking up Diane and we're on our way to visit my parents. I haven't seen them since christmas so Diane got the idea that since I was taking the time off of work that we should go. It's going to mean a 6 hour drive, give or take, but she said I could have a nap while she drives if I get too tired. I'll be nice to get back out to see the parent. And I can start working on my tree book. There's an ancient tree in the yard there that I've been meaning to take a few pictures of...

Fuck. I forgot my camera.

So much for that idea. So, the tree book. I've had an idea that I was going to use the photo album I got from Shelly on her trip to mexico to take pictures of interesting trees, take a sample of leaves and paste it all together. Because I need more projects.

I'm inspired today, I think. That or really tired. I also bought a 8MM video camera from a co-worker last week. I want to make some movies, of what I'm wasn't sure, but this morning I had the idea about doing something with Amos, Maury and maybe finally finishing Cap'n Skip. Good gods, I am tired. So, yeah, like a puppet show. I'm not sure about a premise though.

I've also got the buds of another story in my head. The one about angels, and the rise of man. I know, it's been done. I had an interesting thought on it, is all. Maybe a poem....

posted by September @ 6:48 AM 1 Comments

Blargh

I'm in a mood today, one I haven't had for a little while. I've been trying for the passed couple of months to not supress myself, to let what I'm feeling flow and just to experience it. That means sometimes I also have to accept the darker moods.

I've been kicking around MotM in my head lately. I want to write more, but I'm finding I write a little and lose where I'm going. Being me, once I lose focus, it's really hard to get it back. Air is like that, I guess. It dissappates quickly. I wrote this fragment this morning:

“Where is it?” Xanth asked. The land was dry, and seemed burned, broken and twisted remains of trees stood here and there. The pentagonal patterns in the splitting clay allowed nothing to grow. The place was barren and deserted.

Lan trotted ahead, looking nervously from onside to the other, scanning the horizon for some unseen threat. The wind blew, and though the air was hot, the sun high and bright, there was an unmistakable chill. “There,” he said, whispering. He tossed his head slightly to the left. “That’s where we’re going.” Xanth shaded his eyes and looked in the direction the fox had indicated. Far on the horizon, Xanth thought he could make out a shape, a small hill perhaps, but the blowing dust and sun in his eyes made it impossible to say for sure. Lan trotted ahead again, and Xanth jogged behind, neither speaking.

As they made their way across the plain, Xanth saw the shape take form. What he thought at first was a low hill turned out to be a small mountain. The red and orange rock rose up out of the ground and had apparently been worn by many years of dust storms and constant wind. Soon they pair stood at the foot of the mountain, and Xanth strained his neck back, looking up at the lonely monolith. “I don’t get it,” he said, “why would she come here? There’s nothing for miles.”

Lan looked up at the puzzled man and shook his head sadly. “I love her too, Xanth, but there are dark parts in all of us. This where she comes to be away from us.” Lan looked toward the sky again, as if waiting for something. Xanth followed his gaze.

“What are you looking for?”

“Shh,” Lan whispered again. “Here she is.” An enormous black shadow erupted from the side of the mountain high above their heads. A great black winged shape moved quickly through the sky, and turned to make a slow circle around the top of the mountain. “Quick,” Lan said, bolting to the left of Xanth, “there’s a way in over here. We have to hurry.”

Xanth followed, as Lan scrambled through the small cave at the base of the mountain. Dropping as he ran, the man frantically pulled himself on his belly through the opening and didn’t stop until he was sure no part of him could be seen from outside. “This is too strange, Lan, even for us. What the hell is this place?” Panic had started to settle in Xanth’s mind, his voice breaking slightly.

Lan hushed him again. “Xanth, you have to calm down. If she catches us here, there’s no telling what will happen. Just stay calm, keep quiet and follow me.” Lan walked ahead of his crawling companion, leading them down the dark, rough tunnel. Xanth winced as he continually scraped his hands on the sharp rocks. He had the feeling that if there was any light in the tunnel, the rocks would be stained with the blood of any who had been foolish enough to break in here before. “Just a little more,” Lan whispered. “We’ll be out soon”.

The pair shortly emerged into a large cavern. Xanth lifted himself and stared at his bleeding hands.


I don't know if I'll finish it or not. I need to do something, but I don't know what. I'm lazy, melancholic and frustrated. If you think it's hard to talk to me when I'm in this mood, you should try experiencing it. Hell, even Justin left.

It could be a general empathy I'm getting from everyone here. Things are slow and everyone is a little frustrated that the work just can't be done. Construction workers get pretty twitchy when there's no work to do. Maybe I'll go for a walk outside.

posted by September @ 12:07 PM 0 Comments

Mechanical Mind

It has been an enlightening couple of weeks for this part of me. I've tried a few times, in rather coded ways, to explain here how my mind actually works, with it's maze of gears and cogs. I think Sonja has started realize what I mean when I talk about it being a confusing place. Even this blog, I just realized, belongs completely to Trynn and Xanth. Tali's not a writer.

I've stopped subverting my personalities, opting instead for an observer approach. I hardly know myself, it seems. There is a lot that can be learned and gained from the Frankenstien's monster my mind has become. Once I stop the critics in my head, the clashing views that tell each other what they offer isn't worthy, I'll be able to bring more together. I feel like writing again, even if it's mostly nonsense.

I also caught myself on all fours sniffing the floor this morning.

There's a project I haven't started yet that I've been meaning to put together for a while. I want to create a pouch, a sachette that would contain the herbs and components I use regularly. I often find myself without something when I need it, and end up putting stuff off, rather than doing anything.

The pouch should contain:
peppermint
licorice root
feverfew
amethyst crystal
quartz
myrrh resin
camomile
cinnamon
my rune set & journal
string
candle

I'll have to think on this, figure out how I should put this together.

posted by September @ 5:52 AM 0 Comments

Too Little Sleep, Too Active Mind

Come on, Trent. Just write it. It doesn’t have to make sense, and you don’t always have to analyze it. That’s for the critics. Give it to them and let them sort it out. Just open your fists and let it out your head:

He stared down into the soupy, black coffee darkness, the faint foam from the coursing tide below giving some indication that the world below him wasn’t a void. He shivered again as a low howling wind blew both up the cliff face and across the empty, overgrown lot behind him. His hands trembled as he fumbled in his jacket to fish out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. The scratching flicks of the disposable lighter couldn’t bring the butane within to life. The wind was too strong. He stood there a moment, gritting his teeth over the cigarette, trying desperately to contain his rage, his frustration. He twisted his body a quarter turn and tried the lighter again. Twisted again, pulling the collar of his jacket up, he flicked the lighter. The flicking became frantic, sparks flew from the bic as he pumped his thumb up and down the steel wheel. Finally, the cigarette caught enough of the flame to cast his face in a faint orange glow as he breathed deep the harsh, thick smoke. He looked back over the cliff, pulling the misshapen cigarette from his lips and absently stuffed the lighter back into his hip pocket. Time ticked in his head, his thoughts as dark and shapeless as the vague surf below, pounded in his brain like water on the rocks. His breathing took the rhythm of the dark waves, inhaling and exhaling, putting the smoke in his mouth every third or fourth breath.

Black clouds rolled over his head, but they were as obscure in the darkness as the waterfront below. The heavy overcast blocked what would have been a quarter moon and the stars. The chill in the air hinted at winter, even though it was only September. Water is a liar, he thought. The water below and the pregnant clouds above chilled him as he shivered again. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, this time taking one long pull from it. As he exhaled a sigh, he flicked the smouldering butt over the edge and watched it drift on the wind currents until it disappeared into that blackness below.

He turned away from the cliff then, walked back across the empty lot. The lights of the city blinked hazily in the distance, as he dragged his feet across the gravel, kicking at the odd loose stone. He sighed again as he looked up and approached the pale green oldsmobile parked at the far end of the lot. He pulled the heavy door open, creaking loudly under it’s own weight and lack of maintenance and years of being driven in the humid city. In the glow of the overhead light, he sat down and propped his arm against the steering wheel. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket again and patted himself, looking for his lighter. One leg out of the vehicle, sitting limply in the driver’s seat, he stared back out at the cliff and squinted as he smoked the cigarette. His pulse was pounding in his head, his eyes seemed to throb in the sockets and he closed his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force out the pressure.

Opening the front of his coat, he reached inside the breast pocket and pulled out an old pair of glasses. They were too big for him, and any casual observer might have said they didn’t suit him. Never the less, he placed them across his face and stared out again at the cliff. Things didn’t come into focus for him, as he only squinted harder. “Fuck,” he said quietly to himself, dropping the cigarette out the door and pulling himself out of the car. He reached back to the wheel and pulled the tangle of keys from the ignition, shaking them to hear the sound of clinking; something other than the pounding of his head. Leaving the car door open, he walked around the body. He rubbed his eyes again, under his glasses and caught a loose rock with his toes. Stumbling and dropping the keys, he fell to one knee and cursed loudly. The profanity echoed back at his from somewhere, but only faintly above the wind. He put one hand against the rough gravel and braced the other against the car, retrieved the keys and pushed himself back up. He brushed his hand across his pant leg, shaking off the small rocks that embedded in his palm. He limped a little as he made his way to the back of the car, and put the key into the lock

The massive lid opened, and he stared into the trunk, stained carpet and the stink of mildew assaulted him. He reached in and pulled out a red jerry can. It sloshed unevenly in his grip, his arm straining as he pulled it from the trunk. He shivered again as he unscrewed the lid. His eyes stared to water slightly, his expression twisted into a bizarre grin. He started to sob, his shoulders rising and falling.

He took the jerry can in both hands and started to pour out the gasoline into the trunk, the strong fumes killing out the must of the car. He dropped the can into the trunk when he couldn’t hold it any longer, his body suddenly lost of all strength. He collapsed to his knees, put his hands to his face and cried out loud. Tears ran out under his palms, the glasses fell to the ground and he heaved and heaved. The wind blew around him as he knelt there until his legs finally went numb and his eyes went dry. He gritted his teeth again and forced himself to stand, pushing himself up from the rusted bumper. He picked up the oversized glasses and placed them in the trunk, next to the black bundle. He paused then, his hand pressed against the black plastic bundle, and his eyes began to tear again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He pulled out his lighter again, this time putting it to the gasoline in the trunk. Thick smoke poured out of the car as the back of it flamed. He backed away from the car and was only vaguely aware of the blue BMW that roared into the lot behind him.

He stood there, his body drooped, bathed in the light of the flames in front of him and the mechanical light of the headlights from behind. The door of the new car flew open as a taller man jumped out. “You son of a bitch!” The taller man ran across the gravel, his appearance still not noted by the other. “What the fuck did you do?” The newcomer shook him violently. He stood there, his eyes red and unfocussed, staring sadly at the taller man. “What did you fucking do? Answer me damn it!”

“It’s too late,” he said almost silently, looking back at the blazing car. “You’ll never see her again.” He cried again, and if not for the taller man holding him up, he would have collapsed completely. The taller man stared, his eyes wide as the car burned. Anger flashed across his face as he raised a fist and punched the weeping rag doll in his arms. Wind pushed out of his body, and no longer supported by the taller man, he fell on his side to the gravel.

“You crazy bastard, you have no idea, do you?” The taller man stood over him, his fists clenched and he kicked him hard in the stomach. “You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” The tall man kicked him again. He didn’t cry now, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even breathe. “You want her to yourself so bad, do you?”

Kick.

“You want to keep her from me so much?”

Kick.

“You’d rather see her destroyed than share her with anyone else?”

Kick. Kick. Kick.

He didn’t cry anymore. He didn’t even move. The fury of the taller man had finally finished him, having come so close to finishing himself. He died at the feet of the taller man.

The newcomer stopped kicking when he realized the man had died. The fury went out of his face and panic started to set in. It was only momentary. He crafted a plan in his head and quickly went to work. Pulling the limp body from the ground, he carried it to the flaming car, forcing himself to ignore the furnace-like heat and thick, chocking smoke. He flung the body of the dead man roughly toward the trunk, managing to only get the top half of the lifeless wretch into it. He reached out, straining to keep as far from the flames as possible, trying to push the body the rest of the way into the trunk. He gave up, unable to get close enough to the fire, and backed away, staring at the grotesque scene before him: the pale green oldsmobile blackening as the flames spread, black smoke and a dead body hanging from the torso out of the back.

The tall man went back to his car, taking out a pen and paper and began to write the other’s last words:

I take my life now, and the paintings my wife had done. No man will ever sell her vision.

posted by September @ 11:41 AM 0 Comments