More republishing
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #13: On the act of scribbling frenetically"
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date: 2017-12-14
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Photo by [Eugene Zaycev](https://unsplash.com/photos/FT0sspZRF-I?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)Thirteen days in, and I’m still not sure exactly what it is I’m achieving with this series. The splashes of fiction I tossed into the original few are gone. Maybe they’ll come back sometimes. Some days I write in a blog sort of way about my experiences. Others I just write about something that the day’s reading sparked off in my head, with no real mention of my life at all.
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It feels, a little, like I’m just slapping the ‘Frenetic Scribblings’ label on my first and often only piece of writing for the day and calling it good. I am achieving my goal of writing every day, the one thing that I’m certain about what this series is intended to achieve. But I don’t know if I’m making anything more from it. I’m writing for the joy of it, which is the key thing, but I still struggle with what should be a Scribblings, and what should be a piece in its own right.
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Adding ‘Frenetic Scribblings’ to the title of piece feels as if it should have some special meaning, and it often doesn’t. The crux of the issue, I think, is that Scribblings is more a format than a true series. Occasional fiction interwoven with the non-fiction thinkpiece, and a thought for the day to finish. So there’s nothing making that a daily thing. It is my thoughts on that day, but not necessarily *about* that day. Perhaps that’s what it needs to be to keep it special.
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But I am only a little over two weeks into this project. The bare minimum goal for me to consider this a success is if I write a Scribblings every day for a year. That’s a lot of words. So I think it’s okay if it takes me a while to figure out exactly what Scribblings is, and what I want it to be.
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Today’s original Scribblings was going to be on time and its value, but I’m going to release that as a standalone piece alongside this one.
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Yours thoughtfully, until tomorrow.
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> Thought for the day: Terry Pratchett — “It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.”
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #14: The odd attraction of anachronism"
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date: 2017-12-15
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Yesterday I wrote a letter. An actual physical letter. My handwriting being as terrible as it is, I typewrote it.
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I acquired a 1937 Smith Premier ‘portable’ typewriter a little while ago. Best charity shop find ever! It could use a little renovation, which I intend to do…. Eventually. For the time being it works quite nicely.
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It’s interesting to see that it’s missing some symbols. Notably, the exclamation mark, though the question mark is present. It also doesn’t have a 0 key, capital O is used interchangeably.
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I can, however, write emoji with it. There’s something about that… making 21st century symbols on a 20th century machine, that is… Pleasing.
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It’s a lovely bit of kit. Don’t get me wrong, I love computers and the ability to edit and revise my writings. The restriction of being unable to delete can be a blessing as well as a curse.
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I love it for letter writing because it keeps me honest — allows me to write in a true stream of consciousness style. Straight from the heart, as it were. Immortalising my spelling mistakes is no fun though!
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In a practical sense, a word processor is better than a typewriter. But there’s something a little magical about using one. And in specific situations, like letter writing, perhaps it can even be better. It certainly feels more personal.
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And the ‘thwack’ of hammer on paper is just gloriously satisfying. No mechanical keyboard can quite replace it.
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> Thought for the day: “True alchemists don’t change lead into gold; they change the world into worlds” — Willam H. Gass
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #15: Lessons in better life outlook"
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date: 2017-12-16
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Nothing in life comes free. Nor, if it is worth having, does it come easy.
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Not all cost is necessarily financial, nor immediately apparent.
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My point is that perseverance and tenacity is worth more than talent. Talent gives you a head start, but won’t stop you from being overtaken by someone committed and determined. Talent helps, practice doubly so.
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It is said that it takes seven years to master any particular thing. As a rule of thumb that sounds about right — there are naturally some things easier or, more often, harder to truly master. But considering this, I.. And you… Have the opportunity to master a great many things in our comparatively lengthy (but still criminally short) lifespans. All it takes is a lot… **A metric ton**… of dedication.
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Tangentially, positivity is infectious. More so than I realised. If you have no reason not to… smile. If you make an effort to radiate positive energy (ugh, the cynical streak in me hated writing that) you’ll be surprised how much of it is reflected back at you. On that note, I have a duty to thank the person that managed to make a realist and cynic like myself realise this at last. You know who you are. Tangent over.
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I am having a great deal of difficulty deciding where I want to go next in life. But reminding myself of the time available helps remind me that the decision doesn’t carry as much weight as it sometimes feels as if it does.
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Choosing one path over another in life does not necessitate the other paths become closed to you. Sometimes, they are. Decisions still matter, are still worth thinking about. Thinking hard.
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But nothing is forever. That’s life’s greatest blessing. And its greatest curse.
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Over and out.
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> Thought for the day: We will either find a way or make one.
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #16: Kitchen life!"
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date: 2017-12-17
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Working in a commercial kitchen is a more difficult job than I think most of the general public realise.
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The hours are long, the pressure is intense and the pay is terrible. I often joke that kitchens run on foul language, caffeine, cigarettes and (post shift!) alcohol. Though I only say it jokingly, my Kitchen Manager has a saying of her own — every joke hides a kernel of truth. In this case, my ‘joke’ has more than a kernel. Almost without fail any kitchen worker abuses caffeine, nicotine and/or alcohol just to get through the week. More often than it’s all three.
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I myself am far too dependent on coffee and energy drinks. I’m going to try to limit the damage by going cold turkey on caffeine in the New Year. That’ll soon tell me if I’ve developed a full blown dependency as I suspect I have!
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The industry sorely needs a change, but I don’t see it happening in the near future. It’s largely outside of the power of individual pubs and restaurants to change conditions in kitchens without committing financial suicide.
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Fairer pay and more staff (of which the former feeds into the latter) which are most needed, can’t happen without raised prices that would have to be passed onto consumers. Which would drive business away. Consumers would have to be made aware of conditions, and there would need to be a coordinated effort of businesses to raise prices tougher. Unlikely to happen. But writing this is my own (small) way of pushing towards that.
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Nevertheless, in a more positive light, kitchens don’t just run on substance abuse. Good kitchens also run on individual work and smooth teamwork fueled by camaraderie.
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Bearing under the stress of a busy service demands from you a level of focus that will make you a calmer person outside of the kitchen.
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Bonds forged — in the semi-literal fire of the ovens and grills — are incredibly strong.
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So despite the poor conditions and worse pay, I’m immensely grateful for the chance to be part of such a strong team. It’s teaching me many life lessons that I have no doubt will continue to be valuable in the years to come.
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Perhaps if everyone had to work retail or food service, everyone would treat those people a little better!
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Over and out.
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> Thought for the day: Pressure can burst a pipe, or pressure can make a diamond
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #17: Out with the poison!"
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date: 2017-12-18
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Photo by [Jez Timms](https://unsplash.com/photos/jIejftgdU3w?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)There’s something in human nature that makes us inherently self destructive. The foremost being a collective desire to intentionally poison ourselves. I am, if it wasn’t already given away by the choice of image, referring to alcohol.
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Yes, I did have too much to drink recently. Yes, it was the inspiration to finally write this piece. But no, I don’t write this *just *because* *of a hangover. I’ve been contemplating this for a while, actually.
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Maybe the idea of too much to drink is ridiculous. Because maybe any is too much.
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I’m not the first to realise it, and I won’t be the last. Nevertheless, I find it important to share my thoughts irrespective of how generic they might be.
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Society makes drinking not only acceptable, but in fact encouraged. However, if you take an outsider’s perspective, as I have done most recently, alcohol, pubs and the like are…quite insane.
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Spending an hour’s wages *per drink *([That’s foodservice for you!](https://medium.com/@aronajones/frenetic-scribblings-16-kitchen-life-e6c0e2324094)) just to get a bit of a buzz doesn’t seem like such a good idea in the cold light of day. It seems like even less of a good idea when your head is spinning and you’re trying to make sure someone you care about, who’s also had too much, is safe. That was the moment that was the real wake up call. I was angry. Angry at myself because I was powerless. Trapped inside my own body, almost. That’s an awful feeling.
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So I say again. Maybe any is too much.
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Alcohol is destructive. Sure, it makes you feel good, and gives you (false) confidence. But the reason it does this is it is **literally poisoning you**.
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Don’t even get me started on drinking and driving. Not even drunk driving, drinking at all. Personally I feel the law should be zero tolerance on that — forget the ‘safe limit’. Particularly as a motorcyclist — in which I refer you to my open statement about self-destructive nature — I’m vulnerable enough without impairing my judgment. Or god forbid (but more likely), being hit by someone else who’s impaired their judgment. It has more of an effect than you think. Just don’t do it. Tangent over.
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Don’t get me wrong, drinking — or not — is entirely a personal choice. I’m by no means going to become a militant teetotalitarian. But regardless I’d encourage you to step back as I have.
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No doubt I’ll have to fight society on this. That’s the worst part of it, in fact. If someone doesn’t want to drink, for whatever reason, they’re often peer pressured into it. As in all things, ‘No’ should be an acceptable answer. **No explanation required.**
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Call me a ‘fun sponge’ or whatever if you like. But if you find yourself thinking you ‘need’ alcohol to have fun, maybe you need better hobbies. Or better friends.
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I’m not going completely teetotal, mainly because there are some drinks I enjoy a glass of for the flavour, not the effect. You won’t catch me doing shots anytime in the foreseeable future, though.
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With a clear head, signing off.
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> Thought for the day: Mary Pettibone Poole — Alcohol is a good preservative for everything but brains
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #18: Living in the moment"
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date: 2017-12-19
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Photo by [Gabriel Barletta](https://unsplash.com/photos/XNb5Jtx2Yl8?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)As outlined in [a previous piece](https://medium.com/@aronajones/minds-eye-blind-93509e102fe), I have a blind mind’s eye.
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> I don’t see mental images. It’s incredibly difficult to describe what I do see, but certainly not the vivid mental imagery that I’m told others experience.Something I idly wonder about fairly often is what it would be like to see life from someone else’s eyes. It sounds crazy to me that people see *in their head* in even a similar way to how they see reality — as it no doubt sounds crazy to those of you that can see…that I can’t. Nevertheless, I will attempt to describe the experience of seeing from my perspective.
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When I close my eyes I don’t see anything.
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Just blackness.
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If that sounds terrifying to you, that’s because it kinda is.
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I don’t have memories in the same way other people do. I have incredibly poor recall to begin with — I often half joke that if a fact doesn’t stick the first time it never will. In particular I’m notorious for forgetting where I put things. I can’t retrace my steps to find whatever it is I’ve lost because I can’t picture them in my head.
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So yeah, it sucks. Sometimes it sucks hard. Good memories fading away into a haze or being unable to recall scenes in the first place, is a genuinely soul crushing feeling.
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But it’s also an opportunity.
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I live moment to moment. Spontaneity wasn’t in my nature, but it’s grown on me over time from the fact I don’t really have…a memory. Not in the same way other people have described theirs anyway. It’s difficult to truly know. But it’s shaped my life philosophy more than I usually realise.
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I can’t look back longingly at the past, because it’s lost.
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I can’t look speculatively in the future, because I can’t picture what it might be like.
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I can only look at what’s right in front of me. The here and now.
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Like many things in life, it’s both a blessing and a curse.
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Either way, there’s nothing I can do to change it, so all I can do is make the best of it.
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**I do this by wringing every ounce of experience out of every damn moment that I breath. I’d vehemently encourage you to do the same.** Even the overwhelming majority of you out there with unclouded minds eyes.
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> Thought for the day: Charles R. Swindoll — **Life** is 10% what happens **to you** and **90% how you react** to it
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #19: Fun on two wheels"
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date: 2017-12-20
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Heads up — This’ll be a much more informal and ‘bloggy’ post than usual because I actually have stuff to talk about for once.
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Passed my motorcycle theory test this morning, though I’m not sure how. If I hadn’t had one of the craziest rides of my life on the way there, I might have failed Hazard Perception what from still being asleep!
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My body clock is totally out of whack now from a 6am start. That might not sound early to you, but as someone used to 10am get ups… its really thrown me off. It’s almost like jet lag!
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Anyway… The ride. Mostly on National Limit back roads, which for those of you not English, means a roughly one and a half (!) car wide road full of twists and turns. With a 60 mile an hour speed limit.
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Since people often treat speed limits more as speed targets, that makes these kind of roads kind of insane as a new rider getting used to the finer points of cornering. (I.e finding the balls to *really* lean over)
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These roads are mad enough in perfect conditions. The darkness, fog and drizzle this morning doesn’t qualify as perfect!
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Drizzle is a real pain in the arse as a motorcyclist, since we don’t have windscreen wipers for visors! Doubly worse for me since I wear glasses under my helmet, so opening the visor means they get wet and I get blind.
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Dazzle from light diffused by the water is a serious problem… But I’d rather be dazzled than not see the vehicle at all! As soon as it got light, even though it was still drizzling and misty… some people switched off their lights. Making them almost invisible from my point of view.
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Just because you can see doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have your headlights on! They also help others see you. It’s the same logic that means I ride with dipped headlights at all times. Every little helps with idiots on the roads. Idiots that apparently want to be invisible…
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Anyway, rant over. One of the reasons cornering is such a black art on a motorcycle is you have to fight instinct every step of the way to do it properly. Leaning over being the prime example, but also that you should never close the throttle in a corner. Which is something I’ve done instinctually several times.
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Even if you’re going wide you should only lean harder and if you must touch the rear brake. Speed and stability are directly connected on a bike. And when you’re leaning hard…. Stability is quite important!
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I know the theory, as I just demonstrated. But applying it is quite different. Particularly since it is so against instinct.
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God does taking a perfect line through a corner feel great though.
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> Thought for the day: Antoine Predock - The connection to place…the visceral experience of motion, of moving through time on some amazing machine
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #20: Another day, another life"
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date: 2017-12-21
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---
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Photo by [Clayton Caldwell](https://unsplash.com/photos/nFAKTXxah1Q?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)*Another ‘bloggy’ one today. Maybe these will become the new format. Alternatively, I’ll just keep flitting like a butterfly from one style to another. That sounds much more like me…*
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Alcohol [may be poison](https://medium.com/@aronajones/frenetic-scribblings-17-out-with-the-poison-39163ec3309f), but it’s also an effective ‘social lubricant’. Had a drink or two tonight, purely because I was in an unfamiliar environment. It’s a convenient crutch that will take me a little while to forget (ironically enough). I’m convinced that doing so, despite the painful awkwardness, will be worth it. I know that I could have had fun without it, it was just a shortcut to avoid awkwardness. A cheat, not necessary.
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Finally got done (except from a couple ‘presents in bottles’ I need to grab tomorrow) with Christmas shopping today and as a bonus a special package that had a 50/50 chance of arriving in time for Christmas turned up today. It’s definitely an expensive time of year, even though I’ve cut back significantly on the list of people I originally intended to buy for. I cringe a little bit when I see my ‘spend for the month’ — way over budget! I’m not too annoyed though, since Christmas is Christmas. I’ve been feeling unusually festive, after all.
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And it’s payday tomorrow, which means I should be able to book my Motorcycle practical test for the New Year. If I can find a moment to sit down and figure out dates, anyway. Can’t wait to get a bigger bike. My next bike is going to be a naked style — a mate has a KTM naked in slate grey and neon orange and I’m quite jealous. Should be an nice change, and a new set of challenges. Learning to use the rear brake a *lot* less will be…interesting. On a related note, as I was happily explaining while chatting about bikes to cagers (car drivers) today, biking is very dangerous. The trouble is, its just too damn fun to give up.
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Gonna be a busy week coming up, I’m not sure how I’m going to find time to write, particularly on the 24–26th. But it’d be a shame to break my streak so early, so I’ll do my damnedest to get a piece up, even if it may be incredibly brief.
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Until tomorrow.
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> Thought for the day: Unknown — “Commitment means staying loyal to what you said you were going to do long after the mood you said it in has left you.”
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #21: Why I don’t swear online, and why I’ve decided fuck that"
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date: 2017-12-22
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---
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Those that know me will be well aware that I swear like a sailor. Working in a commercial kitchen *really *hasn’t helped that. I can now swear in several new languages though!
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But until now I’ve kept profanity away from my public Internet presence. The reason I’m more cautious to swear on the Internet is the indelible nature of anything written on here.
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A vital rule of thumb is ‘nothing is ever deleted from the Internet.’ I urge you to be cautious about what it is that you post, lest it come back to bite you. Hence the PG language policy I’ve held until now.
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It wasn’t about being kid friendly, since control of a child’s Internet usage and the language they are exposed to is up to the parents. It was more about being… cautious.
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Particularly about future employment. But I’ve realised — and I don’t know why it took me this long — that anywhere that wouldn’t hire me based on (justified!) profanity is a place I wouldn’t have wanted to work at anyway.
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Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to become foul mouthed for the sake of it. But I’ve decided that using the full breadth of language is important. Sometimes emotive language is necessary to get a point across — and profanity is one of the foremost forms of emotive language.
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Maybe I’ll come to regret this decision. Regardless, I’ll enjoy my freedom to use the full breadth of language. Sometimes it’s necessary.
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Out.
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> Thought for the day: You are pretty fucking awesome. Keep that shit up.
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layout: post
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title: "Frenetic Scribblings #22: Skipping a beat"
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date: 2017-12-23
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---
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Photo by [Daniel Jensen](https://unsplash.com/photos/Hfg3xK7KDDk?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)As I begin this piece, it is 11:44pm. To keep my daily writing streak intact, even if in the most technical of senses, I must hit publish before midnight. Let’s see how that works out for me. This will be not just frenetic, but frantic scribbling!
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Today was quite uneventful. Right up until the journey home. I had time to write earlier, but inspiration wasn’t flowing. Now…it is.
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I almost crashed my motorcycle. Leaning hard over into a corner, I saw myself going too wide. Rather than gently apply the rear brake, I reflexively closed the throttle. The rear wheel skidded out, heralded by a grinding crunch of metal meeting asphalt. My heart stopped. In the same instant I wobbled upright again and rolled back on the throttle to regain stability. The same instincts that almost caused a crash saved me from it. A beat skipped, but my heart restarted.
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It’s a wonder I didn’t high-side from it in all honesty. High-siding, for those unfamiliar, is where the back wheel loses traction then suddenly regains it. In the wrong circumstances, this can catapult you over the bike like an ejection seat. This is as opposed to low-siding, where you ‘only’ lose traction and wipe out. (Been there, got the dents and bruises)
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Apart from the evergreen point that motorcycling is insanely dangerous and yet somehow magnetic in its attraction, this is a timely reminder of mortality.
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Do.
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Do **now**, because tomorrow is not guaranteed.
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Live.
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Live **now**, there is no ‘later’.
|
||||
|
||||
(And you can forget about the afterlife, though that is a point for another day)
|
||||
|
||||
Until tomorrow, ride safe if you do (you should, regardless). And remember to live.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Eckhart Tolle — It is not too uncommon for people to spend their whole life waiting to start living
|
||||
@@ -1,22 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #23: Another slice of life"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-24
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
*Another bloggy one today*
|
||||
|
||||
I’ve been working all day today. Same tommorow and Boxing Day. That’s pub life, I suppose. Good money, though —double pay tomorrow!
|
||||
|
||||
We work hard to make other peoples’ Christmas go smoothly. My ‘Christmas’ will be on the 30th. It doesn’t much bother me, since I’ve always been a bit of a grinch (less so lately though) but it’s a perfect example of how the general public don’t realise the retail and food service industries *really* suck to work in. That and it’s an excuse to give people things, something I always take to with gusto. An expensive but worthy tendency.
|
||||
|
||||
I’m looking forward to January, wherein I should have time to take my A2 bike test and get my hands on that bigger bike. I am also jetting off to America at some point for a welding course at Lincoln Electric.
|
||||
|
||||
Haven’t even had a moment to sit down and and figure out when I’m doing that. I also need to put in a uni application as soon as I can — but I’m struggling to write these every day nevermind other stuff.
|
||||
|
||||
Still not sure on this ‘slice of life’ format, but nevertheless I will persist. Expect a very short post tommorow.
|
||||
|
||||
Until then.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Be a fountain not a drain
|
||||
@@ -1,32 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #24: Fight, damn you, fight"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-25
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
[*Inspired by this piece*](https://medium.com/@krisgage/read-this-if-you-only-sort-of-have-your-shit-together-b2c1daa3715a)
|
||||
|
||||
‘Not giving a damn’ might be one of the greatest skills it is possible to develop. (I’m still working on it myself.)
|
||||
|
||||
When I say not giving a damn, I don’t mean stop caring full stop. Far from it. I mean caring *intensely *about* *what matters and not giving a damn about the rest. Particularly about other people trying to tell you what’s important.
|
||||
|
||||
Don’t let anyone else dictate what you want. Because only you can see that for certain. You have a duty to yourself. A duty to reflect and figure out what matters to you.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe you don’t know what you want in the future, or where your life is going. I certainly don’t. It doesn’t matter.
|
||||
|
||||
Find what you value *right at this moment. *Everyone has something or somethings. Maybe someone(s).
|
||||
|
||||
Then dig in your heels and **fight** for it.
|
||||
|
||||
Fight, damn you, fight.
|
||||
|
||||
Focus on the little things that aren’t so little. Anything and everything that makes your mind or heart sing.
|
||||
|
||||
Some things are worth fighting for. And maybe definitely they’re the only things worth anything.
|
||||
|
||||
The rest will figure itself out.
|
||||
|
||||
Until tommorow.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: F. Scott Fitzgerald — You don’t write because want to say something, you write because you have something to say
|
||||
@@ -1,28 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #25: Easy, tiger"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-26
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Kristopher Roller](https://unsplash.com/photos/PC_lbSSxCZE?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)Allow me, if you will, to teach you a anecdotal lesson. That you probably already know. But don’t like to know that you know.
|
||||
|
||||
I’m riding home on a dual carriageway in pouring rain. Because of the conditions I slowed down to allow the gap to the vehicle in front to widen to about twice the norm. Almost immediately, the vehicle behind me overtakes and fills the gap. I drop back some more…same thing happens. Rinse repeat three or four times until my exit.
|
||||
|
||||
Saving seconds by risking lives.
|
||||
|
||||
Put like that, it doesn’t sound like a good deal, does it? Sure as hell doesn’t to me.
|
||||
|
||||
But to be entirely fair it doesn’t feel like that at the time. Humans are by nature impatient. When we have a destination in mind — we want to get where we are going. Half the time, if we stepped back to think about actions we take while journeying, we’d think ourselves crazy. I for one have made several maneuvers that have surprised me, nevermind others.
|
||||
|
||||
Stupid. Reckless. But only in hindsight.
|
||||
|
||||
It genuinely took an effort of will to maintain a safe stopping distance gap as rain seeped into my ‘waterproof’ (nothing ever is) boots. It was truly an exercise in patience — something I need to apply more often.
|
||||
|
||||
However, patience is only a virtue in moderation. Don’t spend your whole life being patient, moving slowly and surely. Not every opportunity will be served up to you. Sometimes…often, even…risk is necessary. But eliminate the unnecessary risks first. Spend your risk wisely, as it were. There is no perfect moment to strike. An average opportunity becomes the perfect moment the instant you decide it is **the** moment, and grab for it.
|
||||
|
||||
Be the eye’s calm *and* the storm’s force. Seek the balance between immovable patience and unstoppable motion.
|
||||
|
||||
Until next time, signing off.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Ralph W. Emerson — Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience
|
||||
@@ -1,33 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #26: Fear, philosophy and (in)consistency"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-27
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Leio McLaren](https://unsplash.com/photos/flEStjHTY14?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)Forge your own path. You are unique, you are powerful.
|
||||
|
||||
Use fear as guide when you burn your path.
|
||||
|
||||
If you are afraid, if you are uncertain — it means you’re doing something right. If you are uncertain of a decision, it means that you care enough about the outcome.
|
||||
|
||||
Use fear as a guide, but don’t let it consume and paralyse you. Don’t let it stop you from living.
|
||||
|
||||
This is something I am still working on. But that’s ok. Life and self are works in progress. Things like ‘perfect’ and ‘complete’ don’t exist. Contextual perfection, however, is possible.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Strive for progress, not perfection — UnknownI once again feel torn. My life philosophy is back-and-forth. Often contradictory. I’ll advise [patience](https://medium.com/@aronajones/frenetic-scribblings-25-easy-tiger-d130c68c8057) one moment and explosive action the next. A large part of what Scribblings and my other writings are is my trying to figure out the big questions (and the little ones too). Sharing my journey of simultaneous self-discovery and world exploration.
|
||||
|
||||
But more and more I’m coming to the conclusion that trying to define ‘my view’ is like trying to [define love](https://medium.com/@aronajones/the-science-of-love-5845aa40a031). My view…isn’t. It’s one thing one moment, and another the next. It’s one thing on one hand, and something different another.
|
||||
|
||||
In other words, I find it near impossible to have a cohesive and consistent view. And maybe that’s just fine. **Because since when has life been cohesive and consistent?**
|
||||
|
||||
Damn the past. It’s got nothing new to say.
|
||||
|
||||
Damn the future. It hasn’t happened yet. Might not.
|
||||
|
||||
There is only this moment and the next.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. Figure out life…and everything. I doubt it. Dealing in absolutes isn’t my thing. Either way, signing off.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Atticus Finch — [Courage is] when you know that you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.
|
||||
@@ -1,32 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #27: Hammers and Ink"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-28
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
I'm drafting this with an actual pen and paper in a borrowed notebook. Because my phone died on the Underground. An excercise in poor planning, typical of me. It's a wonder I've made it this far with my writing streak, to be honest!
|
||||
|
||||
Now, to today's actual topic...
|
||||
|
||||
As I've mentioned in Scribblings past, I'm a little bit of a Norse obsessive.
|
||||
|
||||
I wear a Mjolnir pendant almost 24/7, I want to learn Icelandic despite the fact I suck at languages and Vikings is maybe my favourite TV show ever. For a history buff like myself the fact accuracy is not sacrificed in dramatisation is very pleasing.
|
||||
|
||||
The root of my mild obsession is that the Norse mythos is just so damn cool. From Ygddrasil to the World Serpent, from Hel to Valhalla, it’s incredibly... Metal. And I do love me some metal. (not screamo though… Just the heavy drum, bass and guitar lines)
|
||||
|
||||
I don’t just wear the Mjolnir pendant because it’s neat looking and metal as hell though. There’s an element of superstition behind it too.
|
||||
|
||||
Only superstition, though. Not belief, and certainly not faith. I don’t believe in Odin or Thor (much as I think they’re awesome), just the same as I don’t believe in any god. But I do wear the pendant like a talisman. A good luck charm as it were.
|
||||
|
||||
Perhaps that’s all it takes. Half believing that the pendant brings me luck — even if I don’t *truly* think so — changes my mindset enough that things work out better and I perceive it as luck.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe I just ruined that effect for myself by thinking too hard about it. A placebo effect as it were. It remains to be seen.
|
||||
|
||||
Sometimes a little magic is nice. But not in the face of facts. Somehow show me evidence of Odin and I’ll happily pray to him.
|
||||
|
||||
Phew… that was hard work. Massive respect to anyone who slogs through NaNoWriMo using pen and paper!
|
||||
|
||||
Until next time — Skál!
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Though for the day: Rune of Perthro — “The beginning and end are set. What’s in between is yours. Nothing is in vain, all is remembered.”
|
||||
@@ -1,32 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #28: Space in between spaces"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-29
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Time in between times. The period between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve is an odd one. Business hours return to normal, but people don’t. It is a time filled with sleep and food, a time of quiet. Of contemplation.
|
||||
|
||||
I keep drafting stories but never quite getting them to a place where I’m happy to hit publish. Even though I know each piece will never be perfect, I keep re-editing them. Just as time is caught in an odd limbo in this period, so is my writing. Stuck in revision hell.
|
||||
|
||||
Clicking publish always feels very final. Mistakes otherwise unseen suddenly jump out at you the moment you’ve unleashed it on the world. It shouldn’t feel like that. Each piece is only a fragment of thought. A splinter off an overarching work. A work that is a search for meaning, and understanding.
|
||||
|
||||
I write first and foremost for myself. I write because I’m trying to figure out what the world is, and who I am within it.
|
||||
|
||||
A (relatively) long time ago now, I was taught to question. Particularly, to question the whys and hows of things.
|
||||
|
||||
Why is the sky blue?
|
||||
|
||||
How does gravity work?
|
||||
|
||||
Why isn’t life fair?
|
||||
|
||||
How do I find purpose? How does anyone?
|
||||
|
||||
Being taught to question, rather than accept ‘I don’t know’ or ‘Because it is’ was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me.
|
||||
|
||||
Not for anyone that has to field my questions, though! Fortunately for my family, these days that’s mostly introspection and the Internet. Who knows, maybe I’ll even find some answers eventually.
|
||||
|
||||
Until tommorow, keep questioning!
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Stephen Hawking — The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge.
|
||||
@@ -1,35 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "All you do is sit down… And bleed"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-30
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Joel Filipe](https://unsplash.com/photos/99neAF8kqhg?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)My best writing goes unpublished.
|
||||
|
||||
Some is written down physically, and sent away.
|
||||
|
||||
Some is locked away. Consigned to eternal draft hell.
|
||||
|
||||
Some is published under an anonymous pen name.
|
||||
|
||||
Reading that work back occasionally feels as if it was written by someone else. Written by the Frenetic Scribbler within me.
|
||||
|
||||
The Bleeding Writer within me.
|
||||
|
||||
It’s my best work and yet I take no pride in it.
|
||||
|
||||
Because my best is also my worst.
|
||||
|
||||
Writing is at its best when backed by strong emotion.
|
||||
|
||||
Perhaps the strongest emotion of all is pain.
|
||||
|
||||
Writing is not pain. But it flows from it.
|
||||
|
||||
All writers bleed, in a way.
|
||||
|
||||
But writing also lets you control the pain. Control it…and yet unleash it.
|
||||
|
||||
Let the words flow like blood!
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,88 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #29: Anchorpoint in the eye of chaos"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-30
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
One of the few things in my life that I treat in an absolute manner are my rules.
|
||||
|
||||
Gibbs from the TV show NCIS was the original idea behind my writing down of life rules. Indeed, I have shamelessly stolen some of his rules.
|
||||
|
||||
It is key to clarify that these are not rules I would ever dream of applying to others. These are created by myself (and Gibbs) and apply to myself alone.
|
||||
|
||||
Just like my pendant, they are a constant. One of few Life is a constant flux, and in particular the past few years have been a whirlpool of change for me. The rules have been an invaluable guide in my darkest hours.
|
||||
|
||||
The rules have changed too, but not much. Refined, a couple added. Twice a single one removed, each time accompanying a massive shift in my life outlook.
|
||||
|
||||
They are semi-private, shared with a select few. Or, I should say, were. Because I’ve decided to share them. To wear my life code like a badge, in no small part to aid me in staying true to them.
|
||||
|
||||
It’s why I consider them absolute. The rules can be bent, but they should not be broken. As the rules themselves reference. Any time I have broken my rules, it hasn’t worked out well for me. Once, it almost killed me.
|
||||
|
||||
So here is my life code. An incomplete window into my life philosophy. Refined gradually over time, but staying true at the core. Transcribed as an odd collection of wisdom splinters.
|
||||
|
||||
Perhaps these, as Gibbs did for me, will inspire you to write out your own previously unwritten rules. It’s a worthy exercise.
|
||||
|
||||
In no particular order, except for the fact rules 0-2 are considered central.
|
||||
|
||||
0. Question. Always.
|
||||
|
||||
1. Live to the benefit of others.
|
||||
2. Mean what you say and say what you mean.
|
||||
3. Don't believe what you're told. Double check. [G]
|
||||
4. If you have a secret, the best thing is to keep it to yourself. The second-best is to tell one other person if you must. There is no third best. [G]
|
||||
5. You don't waste good. [G]
|
||||
6. Judge people on their actions alone.
|
||||
7. Always be specific when you lie [G]
|
||||
8. Never take anything for granted. [G]
|
||||
9. Aim for the best
|
||||
10. Plan for the worst
|
||||
11. You never really realise what you have, until it's taken away.
|
||||
12. Words are a weapon like any other. Use them as such.
|
||||
13. [REDACTED]
|
||||
14. Bend the line, don't break it. [G]
|
||||
15. You don’t need a reason to say thanks.
|
||||
16. If someone thinks they have the upper hand, break it. [G]
|
||||
17. There are no third chances.
|
||||
18. It's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission. [G]
|
||||
19. Be ruled by head not heart.
|
||||
20. You can’t make rules for the heart. Only guidelines.
|
||||
21. [REDACTED]
|
||||
22. Practice may not actually make perfect, but it certainly bloody helps!
|
||||
23. Look to the future, but not too far.
|
||||
24. Hope is the one thing this bastard universe cannot take from you.
|
||||
25. You gotta take the bad with the good.
|
||||
26. Both bad and good are finite.
|
||||
27. Sometimes preparation is as good as seeing the future
|
||||
28. If you need help, ask! [G]
|
||||
29. Live in the present. The past is past, the future is uncertain, but the now is yours to shape.
|
||||
30. Today you...tomorrow me.
|
||||
31. Life's too short to live in fear.
|
||||
32. Never say never
|
||||
33. Information is power.
|
||||
34. Always expect the unexpected.
|
||||
35. Be unpredictable.
|
||||
36. If it feels like you're being played, you probably are. [G]
|
||||
37. Sometimes, you have to allow yourself to be weak in order to grow stronger
|
||||
38. Philosophising never actually helped anybody.
|
||||
39. There is no such thing as coincidence. [G]
|
||||
40. Never leave a debt unpaid.
|
||||
41. A man’s honour is his life.
|
||||
42. Don't ever accept an apology from someone that just sucker-punched you. [G]
|
||||
43. Never make a promise you can’t (don’t) keep.
|
||||
44. Sometimes...less is more. Or says more.
|
||||
45. Clean up your messes. [G]
|
||||
46. Just because things are, doesn’t mean they ought to be so.
|
||||
47. Don’t ask why. Ask why not.
|
||||
48. Life ain’t. fair. Don’t settle for the hand you’re dealt. When you can, stack the deck.
|
||||
49. [MERGED]
|
||||
50. Would it help?
|
||||
51. Sometimes - you're wrong [G]
|
||||
52. Nothing comes free. Not all cost is financial.
|
||||
53. Hold lightly, do not strangle
|
||||
54. If something is worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.
|
||||
Interesting that throughout all the tumultuous change of what I suppose are my ‘formative years’ these rules ring as true for me as they always did. Here’s to being better at following them.
|
||||
|
||||
Until tommorow, there you have it.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Robert Frost — I took the [road] less traveled by, and that has made all the difference
|
||||
@@ -1,42 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #30: Betwixt past and future"
|
||||
date: 2017-12-31
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
And so we stand. Astride the years.
|
||||
|
||||
For this day and this day alone. The time between two days is the time between two years.
|
||||
|
||||
New Year’s Eve is special because it signals a divide. Between past and present, between present and future. It is also associated with death of the old and birth anew.
|
||||
|
||||
If there is any time for reflection, it is now. Look forward, look back. Stand astride the years and look each way.
|
||||
|
||||
Then leap.
|
||||
|
||||
Dive into the future. Into new adventures.
|
||||
|
||||
Go forth with all your heart. I’m a firm believer in the principle of what you put in being returned to you.
|
||||
|
||||
So put in everything.
|
||||
|
||||
Reflect, but don’t let it tie you down.
|
||||
|
||||
Drink deeply, from life and all its experiences.
|
||||
|
||||
Tonight will be my last night devil-dancing with alcohol. I know myself and I know I’ve been but a small step away from addiction. Better to stop myself now than to attempt to wring myself out later.
|
||||
|
||||
I also intend to join a gym going into the New Year. My resolutions couldn’t get more stereotypical, except for the fact they are not resolutions.
|
||||
|
||||
The root of New Year’s Resolutions being notoriously difficult to stick to is [the mindset around them](https://medium.com/@krisgage/how-to-keep-resolutions-and-do-2018-right-db3610658409). You can’t change something in your life just by thinking you ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’.
|
||||
|
||||
You have to want the change. To embrace it. For me, giving up alcohol is something I have been considering for a long time. It’s not a resolution in the traditional sense, resolution just happens to be a good word for it. And New Year’s happens to be a symbolic time.
|
||||
|
||||
If you want to change with the turning over of the years, you have to truly want to change. Desire it, set your resolve. Change is a fight, so dig in for it.
|
||||
|
||||
After that, all begins to fall into place.
|
||||
|
||||
I make no apologies for the following cliche… Until next year!
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: You’re always one decision away from a totally different life
|
||||
@@ -1,33 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Burn fierce, burn bright"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-01
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Crimson like full lusty lips, beckoning you into a kiss. The flame of passion.
|
||||
|
||||
Electric blue like the roar of a blowtorch, the crackle and snap of lightning sparks. The flame of drive.
|
||||
|
||||
Clear like open air, shimmering on a hot summers day. The flame of spirit.
|
||||
|
||||
White like a melded rainbow, colours melted together into searing snow. The flame of hope.
|
||||
|
||||
Yellow like gilt leaf wrought defiant on crisp white page, glowing against. The flame of optimism.
|
||||
|
||||
Cherry red like the core of a star, the roaring celestial furnace. The flame of strength.
|
||||
|
||||
Blood red like the torrential force pumping through your veins, the rush of power and vitality. The flame of life.
|
||||
|
||||
Pink like petals on the most delicate of roses, wafer thin and dancing to the breeze. The flame of love.
|
||||
|
||||
Crimson, Electric blue, Clear, White, Yellow, Cherry red, Blood red, Pink.
|
||||
|
||||
These are the flames.
|
||||
|
||||
Passion, drive, spirit, hope, optimism, strength, life, love.
|
||||
|
||||
These are **your** flames.
|
||||
|
||||
Let them burn bright.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,38 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #31: Don’t look back"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-01
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Fab Lentz](https://unsplash.com/photos/mRMQwK513hY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)Every writer is different. Not just in their particular turn of phrase. Not just in their writing style, though that is often the difference most apparent.
|
||||
|
||||
Writers are different because writing is different. Writing flows from experience, it is intrinsically personal.
|
||||
|
||||
Everyone writes differently.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe you plan, maybe the words just stream from you without thinking.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe you edit obsessively. Or maybe you do the barest of checks before tossing the piece into the wild.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe you write frenetically when the mood takes you, and then suddenly stop. Maybe you write at a set time each day.
|
||||
|
||||
Personally, I don’t know how I write. I just kind of…think onto paper. Inspiration particles strike me at random, setting off a web of lightning within my brain. Then the words stream forth, without thought. Or sometimes the words have to be coaxed out, dragged from the darkest recesses.
|
||||
|
||||
The reason I sometimes have a massive coalescence in my draft hell is because I suffer from editor’s block. Sometimes, I write a piece, but hitting publish then and there doesn’t feel right. For one reason or another, the words that flowed out . So it sits, and I inevitably return to it. Edit and re-edit, but something still doesn’t feel right.
|
||||
|
||||
I get caught in the trap of desire. Desire for perfection. A perfection impossible to achieve, so it becomes a cyclical death spiral. The only solution is to say ‘to hell with it’ and hit publish anyway. Spend too long looking backwards and you’ll inevitably trip over. Keep moving forward, keep publishing. It won’t be perfect — but is anything?
|
||||
|
||||
That’s how I break out of editor’s block. Just hitting publish.
|
||||
|
||||
Infinitely easier said than done. I have to stop myself obsessing over stats. I have to remind myself that each piece is an imperfect fragment in a still more imperfect overarching work. Writing is not easy, publishing is not easy. But it **is** worth it.
|
||||
|
||||
How you write doesn’t matter.
|
||||
|
||||
The important thing is that it is written.
|
||||
|
||||
Tell your story, **yell it loud**. Nobody else will.
|
||||
|
||||
Because nobody else can.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: Making mistakes is better than faking perfections
|
||||
@@ -1,23 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Some things stick"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-02
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Evan Kirby](https://unsplash.com/photos/D_TxRcAH7DY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)My blind mind’s eye pretty effectively neuters my memory. Because I can’t recall the image of a situation, I often can’t recall it at all. Forgetting where I put things is the rule, not the exception, for me.
|
||||
|
||||
Cruel joke of the gods, that. Give a man who’s greatest fear is loss a memory that deprecates rapidly. Moments come and go. Memories mostly go. It is the way of things, and there isn’t a great deal I can do about it. So I bear it.
|
||||
|
||||
Some things stick, though.
|
||||
|
||||
A moment with a sufficient degree of emotional resonance will stick with me, even if I remain unable to recall the image of it in my head.
|
||||
|
||||
Moments like the splintering of an innocent heart. Theirs, or mine.
|
||||
|
||||
Moments like the ignition of passion. Spark striking flame, a mushroom fireball.
|
||||
|
||||
Moments like those of greatest gain. And of greatest loss.
|
||||
|
||||
My mind is like a sieve, selecting if not the particularly good or bad, but the significant of all kinds. Mostly, though, the sand of time streams through. Always a blessing and a curse.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,32 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "To be immortal"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-02
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Jordi Ganduxe](https://unsplash.com/photos/TyIQPn00XQY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)There are two paths to immortality.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. — Benjamin FranklinWhich will you choose?
|
||||
|
||||
I admit to cheating a little. Life’s unfair, after all, so why should we be fair back? I choose both.
|
||||
|
||||
I will do. I will do crazy things, just because I can. Better to ask ‘why not?’ than ‘why?’. And I will strive to touch the lives of others, in the most positive way that I can. Make the biggest splash, so that it may take the longest to fade away.
|
||||
|
||||
I will write and write. Write with fury, attack with definite quantity and hopeful quality. In this I hope to produce something worth reading. In this I hope to produce a work that carries my name into immortality.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken? — Terry PratchettFor I fear death above all things.
|
||||
|
||||
But, I’ll not spend (waste) my whole life waiting to start living. Instead I’ll spend it living as hard as I can.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> If you don’t turn your life into a story, you just become part of someone else’s story. — Terry PratchettI fear death. It is human nature to fear change, to cling to what we know. More than that, I fear loss. Fear the changing of the guard. The out with the old, even if it brings in the new. And death is the ultimate among losses, so it stands to reason that it is the ultimate of my many fears.
|
||||
|
||||
Perhaps not the best driving force, the fear of death. It sure as hell lights a fire under me, though. For that I am oddly grateful.
|
||||
|
||||
Live hard so that you may be immortal, even if only in name.
|
||||
|
||||
GNU Terry Pratchett
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,24 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Frenetic Scribblings #33: Dropping of the hammer"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-03
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
I believe I wrote a few Scribblings ago about my observed law of good chasing bad and vica versa.
|
||||
|
||||
This idea tends to taint good times since I am expecting something bad around every corner. Always a few clouds in the sky as it were. I don’t hate it, though. It makes me better prepared for the inevitably of when those clouds roll across the sun.
|
||||
|
||||
The storm always hits in the end.
|
||||
|
||||
But it also always passes in the end.
|
||||
|
||||
Just as good times always end, so must the bad.
|
||||
|
||||
The storm always breaks, eventually.
|
||||
|
||||
This knowledge makes weathering the storm easier.
|
||||
|
||||
Circumstances mean I must cut this short. The storm has just begun, after all.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
> Thought for the day: There are some things you can only learn in a storm.
|
||||
@@ -1,33 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "The backhanded blessing of bearing an unusual name"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-10
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Pineapple Supply Co.](https://unsplash.com/photos/6y3rpppgtdI?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)So many times have I been asked ‘how do you spell that?’ I reflexively suffix ‘My name is Arona’ with ‘spelt A..R…’.
|
||||
|
||||
Having an unusual name is both a blessing and a curse. It singles you out from the crowd.
|
||||
|
||||
To be singled out from the crowd is itself a double edged sword. Throughout my school years I was subject to torment with rhyming nicknames. Each group seemed to delight in discovering a particular schoolyard slang that rhymes nicely with Arona. Each thinking they were the first, and each wrong.
|
||||
|
||||
The ‘rhyming thing’ still follows me, though these days it is rhymed with more adult things. Like Corona (with lime please!). Sometimes I wish I could change it — and I suppose I could now, if I wanted to. But I don’t wish to anymore.
|
||||
|
||||
I’ve come to love the uniqueness it lends, to wear it with pride. My name is my brand, one of the few constants in a life of flux as I persist in trying to figure out *what* and *who* I am.
|
||||
|
||||
It is a conversation starter, one that makes it difficult to hide. Searching my name on the Internet is incredibly effective — SEO? Never needed it! A blessing when I myself am trying to be heard. A curse if — as I often do — I’d prefer to go unseen, to slip into the crowd. A blessing and a curse.
|
||||
|
||||
The story of of my name is by now well worn. I understand people’s curiosity, but it doesn’t make it any less…well…boring…to retread why I — a young white Briton — bear a name in the ancient Maori tongue.
|
||||
|
||||
It’s also not a story I’ll tell now. Partly because I don’t care for telling it, but mostly because *my *name isn’t the point.
|
||||
|
||||
Second only to appearance, a name is the foremost that you learn about a person.
|
||||
|
||||
It is a part of who we are, and yet we did not choose it.
|
||||
|
||||
We may be able to change ‘what we would like to be called’, but we cannot change *what others call us*.
|
||||
|
||||
There are names in the sense of names that we possess, that are ours and used to identify us to others. And then there are names that others use to identify us. These are not always the same.
|
||||
|
||||
If words are weapons — and they must be, if the pen truly is mightier than the sword — names are thermonuclear warheads.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,33 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "I don’t want"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-12
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Tony Webster](https://unsplash.com/photos/F9o7u-CnDJk?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/past?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)**I don’t want the future**, bright** but** so uncertain
|
||||
|
||||
**If** only it weren’t so, but it is.
|
||||
|
||||
**I** want the warmth of the past
|
||||
|
||||
Time I **spend** is gone, forever
|
||||
|
||||
If only there were **any** way to wind back the clock
|
||||
|
||||
Bright memory fades as time grows **longer**
|
||||
|
||||
**Looking** for you, always
|
||||
|
||||
Looking **back**, always
|
||||
|
||||
**My** heart yearns
|
||||
|
||||
My **neck** twisted to face you
|
||||
|
||||
My **will** not enough
|
||||
|
||||
Past torn away, present **snap**s back
|
||||
|
||||
*Now read only the bold.*
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,45 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Four Horsemen of Humanity"
|
||||
date: 2018-01-15
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Elti Meshau](https://unsplash.com/photos/moK7ZiiquG8?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/darkness?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)*Foreword: My fiction muscle is horribly rusty. This is the first step towards knocking the rust off and as a result I am not proud of it. The fact it was written with minutes to spare before the deadline does not help. Regardless, I’ll publish it anyway. I might come back and rework the concept. Equally I might not. I am at the mercy of my Muse (she too rides a horse)*
|
||||
|
||||
Hoofbeats rolling like thunder. The sun blotted out by a rising swell of strangling darkness. Other sounds rise to accompany the thunder: metal clashing frantically, a great gnashing of teeth; a sonorous tolling of bells and an eerie buzzing as if gigantic flies swirled in the foul clouds that covered the sun.
|
||||
|
||||
Four mounted figures rose over the horizon. Despite the rolling gallop that deafened all around, the shapes glided through the murk.
|
||||
|
||||
War sat astride a mountainous horse, steaming masses of rolling muscle and dark flesh. Both figure and beast were clad in obsidian black armor. Behind the shadowed eyeslit of the imposing helmet danced a red flicker.
|
||||
|
||||
Famine was dwarfed in comparison to this great bulk of armour and muscle. Her horse skeletal, barest slivers of tendons articulating the faded bones, she herself is gaunt, sunken eyes bottomless pits that in turn draw the eye of the unfortunate observer.
|
||||
|
||||
The horse of Pestilence, huge swaths of rotting skin cling to the exposed bone, blood and foul black rot dripping constantly, a cloud of flies envelopng horse and rider, masking any distinguishing features of the pustulent bulk that sits astride the decaying nag.
|
||||
|
||||
The fourth hourseman, by contrast indistinct, a whisper of clouded air, the hint of leg here, suggestion of skull there, the illusion completed by the impossibility of looking directly at the figure, the eye slips, refusing to look. Refusing to see. Refusing to acknowledge the manifestation of Death
|
||||
|
||||
Suddenly, the clamor died away. The riders stopped their rapid and murderous advance, halted as if they had run…no…glided…headlong into a solid wall. The black mist roiled angrily, as if frustrated.
|
||||
|
||||
The sound of bells came again. But not deep and ominous any longer. High and angelic.
|
||||
|
||||
War’s horse reared, letting out a great bellow. The mist shifted, and recoiled. In its retreat it revealed four new figures. Four more horsemen.
|
||||
|
||||
Peace, Plenty, Health and Life.
|
||||
|
||||
Four white horses, and four perfect men and woman astride them. Skin like painted porcelain, clad only in silky robes that billowed joyfully. White for peace, yellow for plenty, green for health and red for life.
|
||||
|
||||
“Ugh, such goddamn killjoys” growled the spiked helmet that rode between War’s shoulders.
|
||||
|
||||
Famine agreed in a voice as thin and reedy as her figure. Barely audible. Pestilence just laughed,a great thundering gurgle punctuated by explosive coughs.
|
||||
|
||||
Death did not speak. But what Death *said *was, “Poor fools. Chaos *always* wins.”
|
||||
|
||||
The Horsemen of Humanity heard. They heard, and knew it was true. But nevertheless, they fought. Moving as one, all withdrew shining blades flickering with the white flame of hope.
|
||||
|
||||
They fought, lost, fought again. Never giving up. A metaphor for humanity’s struggle against darkness. Ultimately futile, but meaningful despite this.
|
||||
|
||||
[*Original inspiration — [WP] Everyone knows the story of The Four Horsemen. What most people don’t realize is that the reason The Horsemen haven’t destroyed the world yet is they have brothers; Peace, Plenty, Health, and Life. But don’t let their hippy names fool you, they’re just as badass. Tell us their story.*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7qixjy/wp_everyone_knows_the_story_of_the_four_horsemen/)
|
||||
|
||||
*Thanks to *[*Where Angels Fear*](https://medium.com/u/6c8bcd0d1a65)* for catching my tense mishaps.*
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,33 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Prising open a deathgrip"
|
||||
date: 2018-07-24
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Oladimeji Odunsi](https://unsplash.com/photos/e-TuK4z2LhY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/grip?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)I live in the present. What else can I do, when[ I have no memory](https://medium.com/frenetic-scribblings/flickering-like-candle-flame-in-the-wind-3ac0c9537402).
|
||||
|
||||
Look to the future? Psh. I am indeed prone to daydreaming about what *might be *but there’s no inherent danger in that. Not while I keep it in check.
|
||||
|
||||
No. My problem is clinging to the present. Not to the past, to the present.
|
||||
|
||||
I do not give up that which I have. Not without a fight. Not without deep [clawmarks on every fading memory](https://medium.com/frenetic-scribblings/clawmarks-on-my-memories-4bcb9cdf49c5).
|
||||
|
||||
As a result…I take loss badly. I flat out fear it. I don’t like to look forward too far, and I can’t look back so…I hold tight to what I have. There’s a damn good reason I fear death so bad. This is a — large — part of it.
|
||||
|
||||
The thing about holding tightly is that it smothers…
|
||||
|
||||
By nature, I death grip at slivers of life. It makes me possessive. It makes me…intense. It makes me suffocating.
|
||||
|
||||
But without a memory, I don’t know how to let go. I’ve got to though, otherwise I always kill that which I’m trying to preserve.
|
||||
|
||||
I refuse to let myself love like this. I don’t know how to love lightly. And anything else isn’t really love. Not the crushing fake-image attachment that I previously labelled love. I struggle with the ‘L word’ in general at the moment. Not least because [I’ve had it subverted before.](https://medium.com/myfuckingfeelings/an-acidic-introduction-to-hate-love-c275655eb869)
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe I’ve learnt enough lessons…maybe I’m lucky in that regard…but that’s a story for another time…
|
||||
|
||||
Now, a note that my insufferably sincere side refuses to let me omit. This is a public self reflection (standalone piece on the whys of that coming whenever it frees from draft hell) made while mildly tipsy. Caution advised.
|
||||
|
||||
But I suppose, isn’t honesty the best policy in writing? I don’t know. I don’t know if I know anything anymore…Maybe that’s okay.
|
||||
|
||||
Well, rambling now. Goodnight!
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
@@ -1,67 +0,0 @@
|
||||
---
|
||||
layout: post
|
||||
title: "Indebted to hate"
|
||||
date: 2018-08-16
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
Photo by [Alex Iby](https://unsplash.com/photos/5cTvUcsrzLU?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/hate?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)I previously described in [my *fucking* feelings](https://medium.com/myfuckingfeelings/an-acidic-introduction-to-hate-love-c275655eb869) the pivot point of my life to date.
|
||||
|
||||
The knife through the heart about which I spin, if you will.
|
||||
|
||||
Whether discovery or reformation, that experience and those adjacent changed me fundamentally. It was a exemplar case of what is becoming, for better or worse³, my brand. Perfectly Awful.
|
||||
|
||||
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong person.
|
||||
|
||||
Wrong relationship.
|
||||
|
||||
So very wrong that…
|
||||
|
||||
…
|
||||
|
||||
…
|
||||
|
||||
You thought I might say so many wrongs made a right, didn’t you.
|
||||
|
||||
Hell no. Life Is Shit. All the wrongs made a worse. I skipped right along into [the minefield](https://medium.com/@aronajones/they-are-supposed-to-be-minefield-warning-flags-not-mile-markers-note-to-self-remember-that-f9748ced9286). I even had the audacity to be *surprised* when it blew up in my face!
|
||||
|
||||
But, those wrongs did make a write. *(Sorry!¹)*
|
||||
|
||||
Without all of that, all of that raucous emotion, I’d have nothing to write about. But I also wouldn’t have thought to write to begin with.
|
||||
|
||||
That is what I mean when I say indebted to hate. I am who I am *because* of what She did. No. What We did.
|
||||
|
||||
You see, while we flew we dreamed. There it is again… Flew.
|
||||
|
||||
Together we built a beautiful fantasy. Doomed — as all fantasies are — to [shattering](https://medium.com/frenetic-scribblings/we-fell-too-hard-too-fast-83d79fb4680c) on slightest brush with reality…but bear with me a moment.
|
||||
|
||||
A fantasy in which we found our wings. Flew together, slew our daemons together. On wings of fire we fought and won. Ever together.
|
||||
|
||||
A fantasy we dreamed together. The very best writing ever to flow from my fingers. The very **very** best.
|
||||
|
||||
That’s why it hurt so damn much when we crashed.
|
||||
|
||||
Because in reality we never had… Anything. We were two people dating a little bit, then it didn’t work out. Happens all the time. Just a part of life. What we lost in reality… Ain’t shit.
|
||||
|
||||
It was the collapse of the skies that hurt. The burning out of the flame that we’d mutually kindled. We’d lived a thousand lives in our words.
|
||||
|
||||
A fundamentally unsustainable thing to do. Deeply toxic even. And I see that now. But at the time it was Perfect.
|
||||
|
||||
Maybe she didn’t even realise how much the world we built meant to me. Means to me. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.
|
||||
|
||||
I may have lost what we had together but I have not lost what we created. I still remember. How could I hope to forget.
|
||||
|
||||
I suppose, if I wanted to be optimistic, it means I could remember how to fly.
|
||||
|
||||
I shall leave you with word of Hers. Words I, for better or worse³, will always carry with me.
|
||||
|
||||
*The best way out is always through. Angels got their halos walking through the fires of hell.*
|
||||
|
||||
¹ Am I ever⸮²
|
||||
|
||||
² [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony\_punctuation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony_punctuation)
|
||||
|
||||
³ All⁴ swords must have their two edges, after all…
|
||||
|
||||
⁴ Yes I know about katanas and the various others. Don’t get pedantic with me here. It’s *metaphor*, see.
|
||||
|
||||
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||||
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layout: post
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title: "Mission Echo returns"
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date: 2018-10-24
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---
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Photo by [John Jason](https://unsplash.com/photos/99cl-_hPa-0?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/future?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) (The most ‘spacey’ one I could find!)#### **Writing Prompt: A colony mission sent from Earth loses contact, discouraging further missions. Hundreds of years later, the colony has established a powerful interstellar frontier and has regained contact with Earth, pledging their allegiance to the world’s leaders.**
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Surprisingly quietly, the dropship’s landing legs settled into the dust, under the shadow of the gigantic ex-colony ship hanging in low-Earth orbit. Scarcely had the dust settled when the ship’s belly split open, a battered metal ramp crashing to the dirt. Another heartbeat of silence came and went, as if it itself were afraid. Then a rush of movement and humanoid figures filed out, sweeping the area with the glowing weapons clasped in their gloved hands. Each figure had an expressionless mirrored visor and wore a streamlined but tough looking exosuit. When the metallic creatures had established a perimeter, a new figure stepped from the ship.
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Piercing red eyes glowed from within the figure’s metal visage, points of light blazing from sunken sockets. A fixed and malicious grin was carved into the mask under arching cheekbones. Light glinted off it, then scurried away as fast as it could manage. Several of the members of the welcoming committee that Earth had sent out to meet this unknown force recoiled at the grim sight. Other than the visor, the ironclad form was much the same as any of the other figures. So deeply black was their armour it seemed to absorb light from around them — though this was surely a mere illusion. Here and there bright metal shone through fresh scars in the compact plate. For a minute that dragged, kicking and screaming, into forever, nobody moved.
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Then the skull-masked figure’s face opened — almost seeming to dissolve. It revealed, not some blue-skinned sharp-faced alien, not some steely robot — but a human. The woman’s face was tough and craggy with a lingering hint of something alien — but definitely, undoubtedly human. Well, all human except for her left eye, which shone just as the sockets of her mask had — a blood jewel set into shining metal that merged seamlessly into her worn flesh. A long, raised scar ran across her face, interrupted by the metal. Clearly from the wound that had taken her eye. Her mouth was set in a distinct grimace that too, almost matched her mask. Moments later, her gravelly voice boomed out, “Which among you is of the highest rank?” The words were uttered with an inflection foreign to Earth, but carried absolute authority. This woman was used to giving orders. Orders that were promptly obeyed.
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“I suppose that would be me” replied a short, grey haired man sandwiched between two gnarled men whose muscles strained at the seams of their traditional dress suits.
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“I am technically in command of this planet’s armed forces, what remains of them at least” he said, quietly. Inwardly, he wondered about the assumption that the planet would be governed under military rule.
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“I am Captain Octavius of PDF Special Forces. I headed Colony Mission Echo that left Earth in 2036. Now we return.” The Earth Delegation had so far been doing well at maintaining their composure — they had been training for this much of their lives after all. But these words caused visible shock to pass across every member of the Earth Delegation’s faces. “How…”, the aged man began to mutter, but was curtly interrupted.
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“The original mission parameters: self-substantiating colonisation of the worlds orbiting Epsilon Eridani, and establishment of a forward base. Accomplished within a decade. Then *they *struck…” The inflection on the word they carried an ominous meaning, and once again questions began to bubble up from the earthers.
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The Captain raised a hand for silence, and it fell like a cast stone. “The attack was swift and merciless, and most importantly cut off our contact with the outside world. With High Command. With Earth.” At that, the faintest crack in her marble facade could be seen, a slight hoarseness to her voice. Directing a statement at the Earth leader as if she were sighting a shot she asked, “Can we continue this briefing somewhere else? Somewhere more secure?” While not a military man at heart, he understood the gravitas of the situation and thus nodded once, then spun on his heel, his aides swarming around him. The space marines closed up into a tight formation around their own leader, and the group moved off in quick flawlessly synchronised lockstep. The crowd of reporters that had gathered around the ship were left standing in the dust, cameras panning to cover the disappearing backs of the two groups.
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Not long later, the groups were seated at each side of a long, dark mahogany table, facing each other. The Earthers reclined into the plush chairs, while the soldiers sat ramrod straight. Octavius reached up and smoothly removed her helmet, shaking out a cascade of raven-black hair. As one, the rest of the squad made the same maneuver, revealing a host of faces each as battle-scarred as their leader’s. Here and there, metal shone where flesh should have sweated — these warriors clearly could not afford to have their fighting ability compromised. Visible shock and more than a hint of disgust scrawled itself across the faces of the soft men and women that reclined away from these looming warriors.
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No doubt Octavius noticed the emotion on display. She displayed none of her own. Instead, her impassive gaze swept once again to the short man, now seated opposite her. He squirmed almost imperceptibly under the concentrated, attentive stare as if he could feel her eyes reading him.
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Stiffening a little, the man spoke before Octavius could get a chance. As he did so, the flicker of a smile tugged at Octavius’s mouth, as if she were pleasantly surprised and amused by the man’s sudden growth of a spine.
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“Before you continue your…report, I must ask a question. When you arrived, you carried with you the assumption that this planet would be governed militarily, correct?”
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“Absolutely. How could it not be?”
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“The last soldier on this planet laid down arms almost thirty years ago.”
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“Ah, so the squabbling petty disputes were resolved at last. But, by laid down arms you surely mean ceased to actively fight, not ceased to train in the event of war…?”
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“I mean that people like you…soldiers, no longer exist. Globally. The concept of war is scarcely remembered. We are at peace.”
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This crashed through Octavius’s expressionless facade like a hammer, her shock laid bare for all to see. Then in a second the walls were back up, the face neutral once more.
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“I…see. The situation is far worse than I had imagined. Time is now absolutely of the essence”
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“What do you…”
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“Of the essence. That means no time for interruptions” Octavius cut in
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“Yes, M’am.” The man tilted his head to imply deference. Now it was the turn of several of the Earth Delegation to look visibly shocked, clearly not anticipating the leader of Earth to treat the commander of a colony mission this way.
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Several hours passed before Octavius had managed to fill the world leaders in on what precisely had transpired several star systems away. She spoke slowly and deliberately, “Missions Alpha and Bravo failed, the seed-ship unable to reach its destination. Charlie was initially successful, but the colony’s governance structure collapsed rapidly. The inhabitants of Ship Delta simply never woke up. I now understand that the missions ceased after Echo, as we suspected they might after being unable to establish contact with Earth, to tell of our success. We thought this contact failure was simply technical problems. This turned out to be a grave error of judgement.”
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A veritable barrage of questions followed and then a rather pregnant silence.
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Octavius had no qualms breaking the silence, “The population of Earth needs to be told. Everyone must prepare.” Instantly objections came from across the room, some dissent even sourced from within Octavius’s own contingent, although these were quickly silenced with a laser glare. Her gaze had such intensity one might wonder if a look from that glowing bionic eye might actually kill.
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“That will cause mass panic!” shouted one particularly bold Earther. Murmurs of agreement followed, almost unanimous.
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“She is right” The leader that Octavius had first addressed spoke conversationally, not raising his voice. And yet somehow the authority that permeated and those deployed words allowed their message to slice through the clamour, and silenced the room.
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Octavius nodded her thanks to the man, as casual as if they had just agreed on where to eat dinner rather than a decision that could change the lives of literal billions of people.
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Now it was all a matter of logistics. Something Earth fortunately remained quite good at, despite the total lack of military capability. There was already a system in place to allow the man now revealed to be titled The President of Earth to address the entire population through every one of the unanimous screens scattered through the population, portable and otherwise. The camera was prepared, the room deathly silent. All Octavius had to do was give the signal, and her words would be instantly broadcast to the entire planet. A technological marvel. She signalled her readiness, still maintaining her casual demeanor but sitting stiffly and staring squarely into the gleaming lens of the waiting camera.
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“I am Captain Octavius of Colony Mission Echo.” She paused here, aware of the shocking effects her words would be having.
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“Few among you will be familiar with the history of the Colony Missions. None among you will know why they lost contact. Until now.
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Mission Echo have been engaged in a fight for survival since moments after landing. And not just against inhospitable conditions and severely limited resources, although those certainly played their part.
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Not just against that. Against hostile beings. Aliens.
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Aliens that seem to want us erased from existence.
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We are faced with a choice. Submit and be annihilated, or fight. Petty differences have been put aside, humanity living in peace with one another at last. Wars forgotten. Now we must re-learn the art of war.
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This is about the fate of a species. Our species. I have battled to survive for years, and am not about to give up now. Who is with me?“
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The camera panned across to Earth’s leader seated beside her.
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“I am.”
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Across the world, old embers sparked, fresh defiant flame licking upwards triumphantly. Old spirits, old warlike natures reignited by the rousing, heartfelt words spilling from Octavius’ battle-worn form.
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Be it whispered, spoken or screamed, humanity in unison said “I am.”
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This was on /r/WritingPrompts a loooong while ago. I’ll try and find the link if I can. This draft has been sitting in my folder almost as long. Finally decided to clean it up and publish it, even if I’m still not quite happy with it. Medium is a silly place to publish fiction anyway!
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@@ -2,8 +2,11 @@
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layout: post
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title: "Damn Kris."
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date: 2018-03-24
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categories = ["responses"]
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---
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In Response To:
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Damn Kris. Over and over again my reaction to your stuff is “Yep, me too”…but also “Well said!”. Half the time I didn’t realise I agreed until I did, too.[1]
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I’ve had the same experience as you, actually[2]. Always worn my hair long[3] mostly because I could never be bothered to get it cut. Neon green been and gone later[4], went practically high and tight on my last cut[5] and I really do love it.
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@@ -20,4 +23,4 @@ Here’s to hair we don’t have to care about…unless we (for some reason) wan
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[5] Not by free choice, but that’s *another* another story
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Reference in New Issue
Block a user