It's story time, and I rarely break out story time for reasons unknown to me. Which is odd for me because I know myself, the nice truths and the disgusting truths about me. Everybody has those. Mostly I let my mind and imagination wander on this page and I splurge out some shit about whatever it is that I'm thinking about lately. Which is helpful for me, and I hope, interesting for people to read. I intend it to be so anyway.

But never story time. I am on the whole reluctant to reveal much about myself, because quite frankly there are some things I just don't want out there. A dude needs to have his secrets. Mostly I avoid story time, and revealing myself on the whole because at some level I thrive on being detached and separated from people. Layers of onion and mystery make me more interesting, and I like to let people know that I am in fact so.

My ego aside, here is the story.

The first album I ever listened to that really challenged me and made me go wow is A Change of Seasons by Dream Theater. A Change of Seasons is basically a twenty three minute song that's split up into so many parts. I have struggled for a long time to achieve, and the irony of this really amuses me, a serene state of mind. My mind has always been a beehive of activity and crazy, like there's a storm raging in my head, but it doesn't stop. My undivided attention is difficult to attain and I've always had trouble focusing on any one thing. My many solaces are books, video games, engrossing television and music.

My books are my salvation. They've kept me from losing my grip on sanity more than once, and that's been something of a struggle. I'm not a music man like my old man. My dad can learn how to play an instrument by listening to it. If he hears a song enough times he can just figure out how to play it. As far as I'm aware he wouldn't know a treblecleff from a bar of soap. But I have a kind of ear for it, I can hear things other people can't. Melodies can catch my undivided attention when so precious little does, and can provide me with an amount of pleasure that the Thou Shalt Nots would call amoral.

Quite frankly those naysayers should be fucked, shot and then fucked again.

A Change of Seasons when I heard it, and really a lot of the Dream Theaters music struck an amazingly strong chord with me. Dream Theater's latest album Systematic Chaos is about how those guys make their songs. Their music in a way encapsulates what I am, and how I think. My ability to master myself and the raging storm in my head is really something I can credit to this band. I can hear myself when I listen to these songs.

When I heard A Change of Seasons was many years ago when I found myself flailing in the water. I didn't understand what I was, what I wanted, how I wanted it, and what my place in this existence was all about. And I hear this song about the life, death and rebirth of nature, each season falling into the next and completing that great circle of life the Lion King taught us about. And I was angry, very angry. My ego demands that I exert control over my life and my surroundings, but I lacked the tools that I have now. And I suffered in the meantime.

But A Change of Seasons, it broke all the rules. It's twenty three minutes long! Songs can't be that long! How could you listen to a song for that long? This is why I loathe the Thou Shalt Nots. The Limiters, the deniers, the stunted. Life is an endless tomorrow, an undiscovered country that is not bound by any rules or designations except that which we invent and create for ourselves. Teenagers didn't exist until the fifties when people invented them. In some cultures breasts aren't considered amazingly attractive, whereas I am in a state of bliss when I have my face buried in them. Ahh tits.

But lets not let me get distracted (long pause as I continue to think about lovely, glorious tits). BACK TO MY BRAIN. What A Change of Seasons did for me was kick start a joyous love affair I have with Dream Theater and Progressive music, to demolish the walls set upon me by the will of society. To place my hand against the wall and annihilate it. To meet every successive wall I met and deny it's existence and laugh upon the guardians society put in my path, many of my peers and some of my friends. Each guardian was met with my fury, and my unending desire to explore each boundary and tear down each wall of ignorance.

A purely cerebral experience I assure you, but much of my enjoyment of this world is cerebral. It's a little ridiculous that something like this sparked such growth in me, really this was stuff I'd always been thinking but A Change of Seasons gave it sound, tone, a reality I could submerge my mind and allow the gears of my mind work without distraction. And so I've come to be who I am today.

I hope you've enjoyed my story.

I am in a really good place in my life right now. I've got all these writing plans for my immediate future, and I'm working. Things are good. I'm happy with my progress. For the longest time I've been in that middle place doing Okay, not bad but not good either. And I think that, that sort of middle ground to live in can be a real rough patch in your life. Almost worse than being bad. You've gotten so far you feel but you're not the whole way there, and you feel as if you can't get to that great place in your life. I'm finally feeling good, and quite predictably, it feels good.

I don't feel so great because my heads pounding and my stomach lurches and growls, and painses but this place I am in life is good. I feel apprehensive and anxious because I know I've only recently crawled out of my slump because I've put the effort in and started doing work on all my plans. The creation process has begun. While the abilities and potential have always been here, and I've known it, it's been quite frankly my crippling lazyness that have held me back. But that's a lie. A dirty, dirty lie.

It was my refusal to let myself feel good. A refusal to do do the work was not because that video game called to me, or that manga would rather be read than my writing be done. Fuck that. Your passion is EASY, it flows out of your soul as naturally as breathing. As I live and breathe I write; this is a fact, my denying myself to write was me denying myself to live. I wanted to punish myself. And every single person knows this is the truth. For me it's writing, for you its knitting, or dog breeding or whatever. We've all done this, or do this in our lives at some point or another (not counting those constantly will of champions people. Fuckers ).

Let yourself live.

Storytime!

[May. 9th, 2007|03:35 pm]

Look now, dear readers, behold the fruits of my labor! I have a short story for you all. Read it and tell me what you think. * * * Theodore was supposed to behave he was told. The nuns told him every day, that If he behaved and smiled, and said nice things to the people that came to see him that they might take him home with them. Theodore hoped they did, it would be nice to finally have a mummy and a daddy. His were gone now. They loved him very much the nuns always used to say when he would wake up crying every night. But god called them and they had to leave him behind. He’d asked, being the child of 8 years old that he was, that why hadn’t god taken him as well during the car wreck. What could she say besides it wasn’t his time yet? Sister Mary helped Theodore into his coat. She was always doing nice things like that. Making sure his hair was combed neatly, and his collar was folded down properly. Theodore liked Sister Mary. She was young, and pretty and nice and never lied. Theodore knew she didn’t lie, because he could tell when people lied. He never told anybody, not even Sister Mary that he knew. His father had said once that you should always keep an ace up your sleeve, and would promptly pull a flask from his jacket pocket take a sip and wink when he thought mum wasn’t looking. Theo didn’t quite understand why his father had gotten so thirsty all the time, but he’d gotten the point. “Come on Theo,” Sister Mary called. “They’re waiting for you.” Theo followed Sister Mary out of the dormitory, into the hallway. The windows and the curtains were closed. His mother always left them open he remembered, so they could see or hear if the air raid sirens were going. The Germans were coming in those days, he knew this really from being told rather than memory. Sister Mary had told him when he had asked. Theo hadn’t really understood what was happening at the time. He still found the War rather perplexing. “Don’t dawdle now Theodore,” Sister Mary called back holding the door open for him. She only called him Theodore when she meant hurry up, boy or something like that. And Theodore had enough sense to hurry. When Theo finally caught up to Sister Mary she was speaking to Mother Superior. Mother Superior smiled when Theo entered the room. “Hello Theodore,” she said kindly. Mother Superior was nice but a different kind of nice to Sister Mary. Mother Superior was…old. “You have some very special guests that are very excited to see you.” There were not two as Theodore had been so accustomed to seeing, a husband and his wife, but a third man also. The husband and wife smiled, full of nervous excitement as Theo had come through the door, but Theo’s gaze was locked on the third man. He was tall, taller than the husband, and not as finely dressed. Unshaven tufts of beard sprouted from his face, and his hair only roughly hewn by a comb. What struck Theodore about this man was how rough and uneven he was, there was nothing impeccable about him, and Theodore knew he knew it. Theo was sure this man savoured it, Theo could tell these things. Still smiling Mother Superior said, “There’s no need to be nervous Theodore, say hello.” “Oh it’s quite alright, he can’t remember us,” the wife said. Theodore could feel the excitement brimming inside her. The rough mans lips turned to a smile as he motioned toward the wife. Theodore turned to look at them. “Hello,” he managed to say, though his confusion must have been terribly evident for pity filled the faces of all around. Except, Theodore’s peripheral vision showed, the rough mans. “Oh dear, you must be quite confused,” the wife said again. She clasped his hand between hers. “Theodore,” the husband said. “Our names are William and Henrietta Swan. Your mother was Henrietta’s sister.” Silence was the order of the moment for Theodore, he was quite too shocked to feel discomfort or displeasure of being called Theodore. This wasn’t a question of if they would take him anymore, he knew. He looked to the husband and then to the rough man. “Oh,” Theo managed to pull himself out of his stupor. Still looking at the rough man he asked. “So who are you then?” “Theodore!” Sister Mary reproachful voice echoed out from behind him, and yet now it didn’t seem to matter so much. “It’s alright. He has a right to know who is tearing him from everything he’s known for the past three years,” the rough man said. Mother Superior gave the rough man a look of knowing no change of expression. That’s what Theo called it anyway. Mother Superior had this way of showing thought and opinion without changing her expression. The older you get the more aces you have up your sleeve, Theo figured. But Mother Superior didn’t have a hipflask. As far as Theo knew anyway. The rough man continued, “My name is Alexander, I worked with your father during the war. I am here to bear witness, and certify that William and Henrietta are really who they say they are.” Theo didn’t quite know what to make of that. So, Theo played the only ace he had. “Are they?” Theo asked. Theo learned that day, that shock was as wonderful a medium for silence as awkwardness and confusion. “Yes they are,” Alexander replies. And Theo knew that he was lying. * * * And that's what I got done at work today.

No I haven't died. But I have forgotten.

I am feeling an increasing need and desire to flex my muscles. And I mean this in every physical and metaphoric sense of the word. I've been floating for way too long, and I rarely choose to of my own will, plant my feet in the ground and show what I've really got. I'd like to say I do this because if I do I'll blow peoples minds and people would have to wash brain matter off their shirts, and de-cream their jeans but the truth of the matter is.

I'm lazy. And somewhat afraid that people won't appreciate my fully flexed muscles as much as I would like them to.

And I know that so many people are like that. It's fucked and I'm getting a little tired of it. But. I have not been idle. I am twenty-two years old and while much of that time has been spent being a kid, and playing and riding my bike, and playing games, I have also been refining my jutsu. A silly and perhaps unclear reference to the Japanese word that means "techniques" but perhaps skills, or abilities is also appropriate. I've just know that it's supposed to mean all three wrapped up into one word, which is why it's easier to use jutsu.

Work has surprisingly had an exponential effect in the development of my jutsu. Working in an office environment has increased my abilities to work with and interact with people, which is perhaps one of my best skills.

I know how to work people. How to work with them. And how to make a freaking problem site function like a well oiled machine. So well oiled that I can spend my mornings reading up on the news and current affairs and pay attention to politics and drink coffee and have jam doughnuts. While coffee and doughnuts is a bonus, greater awareness of how the world spins has also improved my jutsu.

Becoming more adultlike in general has had a wisening effect on me, and keeping my childish sense of expression and humour has also had a somewhat tempering effect. It's like I got the best of both worlds. Especially since I don't want to shoot myself every morning because there's always something to laugh about. Blocking Emo from ever existing in your life is a sign of advanced jutsu.

More to come, and here it is!

The time is now to stop being afraid, and blow peoples minds. To see how far I can really go.

Are you ready? ...I hope I am.

And so it was that our narrator, the illustrious Soul Eater, was sitting in front of his computer typing away at his latest and greatest writing project to date. A novel in the works he had dubbed thus far, 'The Wheel of Punishment', I sincerely hope you can spot his influences. Yes, dear readers our narrator was typing when he suddenly became aware of a very odd sound.

Tap.
Tap.

Resisting the urge to quote the raven our narrator began to look around and he asked himself, 'What the flying fuck is making that noise?' He searched high, and he searched low yet the source of the damnable noise could not be found until he reached his window. He heard the sound once again, but this time with understanding. The noise came again.

Drip.
Drip.

Our narrator flung open his windows and cursed violently at the desperately needed rain. And so it was that the Soul Eater beheld the hazy shade of winter.

Greetings one and all friends, bloggers, countrymen. Welcome once again to...THE SOUL EATERS LAIR! Bwahahahahhaahahahahaa...Ahahahahahahaa...AHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAAHAAAAAA!!!!!

I practice writing those mad scientist cackles a lot, I find inserting an elipsis is an effective way of conveying the gasps for air without interrupting the flow of the sentence. So few people know how to convey that sort of thing correctly. So, yes it's winter in Australia and we are finally begining to see the hazy shade of winter. A strange stigma surrounds death, I personally don't see what the big deal is so long as your death isn't horribly violent, rapine, and or agonizingly slow and painful. Personally, since I am of the belief that once we dead we fucken stay dead, like a big long sleep, that it's quite a peaceful thing. I mean have you ever seen a coffin? Those things are plush, comfortable, even when you're wearing your sunday best! Now don't tell me that's not a sweet deal.

Now since we all know I am rather comfortable with the subject of death I want to talk about it's twin brother Life and their mutual friend Despair. The problem with a lot of people nowadays isn't that their incredibly afraid of death - it's that they're incredibly afraid of life. I know SO many people who are afraid of living that it sickens me. Then it slowly faded to disgust, disappointment until it reached apathetic proportions. If you sad fucks don't know how to enjoy life then that's your fucking problem (not to mention not really my business).

But hey let's not say the Soul Eater isn't a critic. I hate critics. They make a living out of complaining about shit without offering a counter-arguement or solution. Fucking wankers. Anyway, LOOK AROUND YOU PEOPLE! Life is full of good things! Bite into an apple that tastes nice, that should make think - hey life ain't so bad. Every time you eat a banana (I mean those things are just plain badass, plus a great source of potassium) you should be thinking, 'Life is awesome!'

I personally think people have misunderstood the concept behind the phrase of 'Life's a bitch' or 'Shit happens'. Simply they use it and things like it as an excuse. A cop out. The real meaning behind those two phrases is:

Shit happens that I can't control. Oh well, I'll just act on what I can control, move on, and eat a banana...mmm what a tasty source of potassium and other nutrients. I think I'll go for a fun bike ride with my friends.

Lifes a bitch. Oh well no use complaining, I'll just eat an apple and get on with it. Oh hey, Lucy. Want to go on a date followed by a few hours of shagging? Great! I'll bring the rubbers and you bring the K-Y jelly. See you at eight.

Life is good ladies and gents, isn't it about time you stopped making excuses?