Moooooore republishing
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title: "Normal is boring"
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date: 2018-01-05
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---
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Photo by [Hermes Rivera](https://unsplash.com/photos/OX_en7CXMj4?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)Nobody is normal.
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At its heart the idea of normal is a farcical concept, but a thousand times more so when applied to people. Everyone is different, there is no ‘average person’.
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Even if one takes normal to mean ‘mentally stable’ it remains ridiculous. Nobody is 100% stable 100% of the time. In fact, it appears that people in general are less and less stable, more and more often (or maybe its just finally getting talked about more). Myself included.
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Either way, being 100% of anything — if that is normal — sounds a lot like perfection. And,
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**Perfection. Is. Boring.**
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Conflict.
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Pain.
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Mistakes.
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Resolution.
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Healing.
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Learning.
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*These *are the things that make life interesting. Perfect leaves no room for any of these, and more besides, and therefore, **perfect sucks**.
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People seem to insist that they desire to be normal. Desiring mental stability is fair enough. But I don’t think anyone wants to be average. And aren’t normal and average just two sides of the same coin? They’re really saying that they want to fit in. Because standing out from the crowd is inconvenient. It draws attention.
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But it’s also a hell of a lot of fun.
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Speak your mind, say your piece, regardless of how incendiary.
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Be abnormal.
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Be spontaneous.
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Be the spanner in the Order of Things.
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That’s life. That’s ***living***.
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Stay *away from *perfect*. *It’s a (flawless) trap.
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layout: post
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title: "How not to achieve ‘flow’"
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date: 2018-01-08
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---
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Multitasking is overrated.
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> “The word priority… was singular…the very first or prior thing…. Only in the 1900s did we pluralize the term… Illogically, we reasoned that by changing the word we could bend reality. Somehow we would now be able to have multiple “first” things.” — McKeown, EssentialismEither: do several things simultaneously to an average standard, or do a single thing with excellence.
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I’d choose excellence every time. [1]
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The thing is — that choice **is **yours to make.
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Say no to opportunities that are anything less than ‘exciting’. Have a single priority at a time — in fact, erase the idea of ‘priorities’. One thing at a time, all the time.
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Stop pretending to yourself that you can focus on multiple things. Focus on one thing, and throw yourself into it. To do otherwise is doing yourself and your creativity a disservice.
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In doing so, you will improve your access to the mysterious, magical flow. Lots is written about ‘flow state’. I won’t claim to understand how to achieve flow, or even what it is and how it works. Because **I don’t know.[2]**
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I may not understand it, but I have been *in flow*. Duly, I *do *know* *how* not to* achieve flow. And that’s multitasking. Flow necessitates unwavering focus. Alongside a hefty splash of passion and a bunch of other things I don’t quite understand. But mostly laser focus.
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Sure, you can produce average work though multitasking, and good work through plain old focus.
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But in my experience the best work is produced in flow state.[3] Some might call it inspiration from their Muse. As far as I’m concerned, it’s damn near magic.
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> Illogically, we reasoned that by changing the word we could bend reality.Eliminate distraction. Eliminate things that are ‘good enough’. Find focus and you will find the magic of flow.
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Eliminate that which doesn’t light you on fire and you will never burn out.
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[1] In practice it never quite works out that way, but I do always aim for focus.
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[2] Not something I admit to readily, but to pretend otherwise would be dishonest.
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[3] ‘Rivers flow, writing doesn’t’ was drilled into me during English. Maybe you heard it too. In any case, maybe writing doesn’t ‘flow’. But *writers do*.
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title: "Bikers’ club of… Philosophy?"
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date: 2018-01-09
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---
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Its seems to me that bikers share more than just fun, speed and recklessness.
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That is to say, to ride a motorcycle is one thing, to *be a biker *is quite another.
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Biking is more than just a mode of transport in ways I haven’t yet quite put my finger on. It’s a way of life to a degree.
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Whether or not a particular life outlook gives you a desire to ride, or whether it is more that being a rider leads to a changed life outlook is nuts and bolts. Either way, there’s *something…*
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Maybe it’s related to the constant and consistent reminders of your own mortality. It certainly helps me to take chances *off* the bike that I might not otherwise. Keeps me grounded and living in the moment, as it were.
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Maybe it’s something about the way that throwing a bike through twisting corners sets soul and mind on fire all at once.
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Actually, yes. Perhaps that’s it. Riding a bike makes the rider come alive in a way that’s difficult to match. It requires focus and a lot of confidence.
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Taking a quick and smooth line through a corner, though, is a feeling of elation unlike no other.
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So… there’s something about biking. Something about biking that changes riders.
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Riders are an exclusive club, and not just because of how we get around. We share a particular view of life that unites us, on and off the road.
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No doubt this idea will reappear in the future as I give it more thought.
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layout: post
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title: "To live a hundred thousand lives"
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date: 2018-01-14
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---
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Photo by [Alex Block](https://unsplash.com/photos/PdDBTrkGYLo?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/library?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)
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> “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies…The man who never reads lives only one.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Dance with DragonsWhy settle for just one life. Why settle for just one world. When you can live lives, explore worlds that you might not otherwise ever have imagined.
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If I can make just one person pick up a book who might not otherwise have done so, then all this writing — all this *Scribbling — *was not for naught. Maybe I won’t. It certainly seems unlikely on Medium, where it seems everyone is a reader, if not often a writer too.
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And that’s the crux of a tangential but related matter. All writers read. For reading the work of others is what fuels our own creative flame. It seems obvious when you say it — but I think it bears repeating regardless.
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There’s only one thing better than living a thousand lives, treading a thousand paths.
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And that’s burning your own path. Not just in life material — for that is truly wonderful in its freedom.
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To forge your own world among the multitude. Craft characters, spin stories. Perhaps…probably…it isn’t for everyone[1].
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But to me, it is nothing short of awesome. Writing my story — my own story — both in life and in ink.
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The ink and the life intertwined. Life inspires writing…and writing guides life. Inextricable. I write to live, and I live to write.
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Overly dramatic, but there’s truth in it.
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[1] Reading however, surely must be. Anyone who ‘doesn’t like to read’ must not have found the right story, the right format. Or maybe that’s just me blinded by bias.
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title: "This one’s broken"
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date: 2018-01-18
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---
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Photo by [Pablo Heimplatz](https://unsplash.com/photos/an3qaxZ-2bY?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/new?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)I had a heart
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First a flutter,
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a false first love
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Then a taste of reality,
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or so I thought
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Lies exposed soon after
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Heart shattered once
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Then someone to help me pick up the pieces
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A someone of brutal honesty
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The only antidote to the assassination of trust
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But just not quite meant to be
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Heart shattered twice
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I had a heart
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Now I need a new one
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This one’s broken
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layout: post
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title: "Hindsight, fired by delirium"
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date: 2018-01-22
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---
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#### Days lost to the fire
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Where am I? What day is it? *Why* is it?
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My annual illness has struck early, this year. As always it strikes hard.
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I’ve forgotten quite what it feels like to be well. Hopefully all will be remembered soon…
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As usual the main object of this piece is *not* looking for sympathy. I’m using my inconvenience as a lesson once again.
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The lesson this time is you *cannot* predict the future. Preparation may be almost as good as a crystal ball… But it is only ever almost.
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Right now, I am thoroughly regretting setting the rules of my daily writing challenge as harshly as I did.
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Because the challenge isn’t just to write every day for a year. It’s to *publish* a piece near enough from scratch, every day.
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At first it seemed easy. Of course it did. Of *course*.
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That led to overconfidence. If I had seen this illness coming, I would perhaps have set the rules a little looser.
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Now that I’m in the grips of it, the challenge seems almost impossible. But nevertheless I persist, just barely.
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Perhaps I’m keeping the challenge going by token only. Certainly this piece, if not others, are not on par with many of the others. Maybe it would be better just to write every day, and not worry about publishing.
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Naturally, now I have set the rules i am reluctant to change them. That and I know a relaxation risks editors block setting in. Maybe that’s a good thing — maybe I should allow myself to sort the wheat from the chaff *prior* to publishing.
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I’m not sure — your thoughts would be appreciated.
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Normal (as much as that word applies) service to be resumed as soon as the damn illness subsides. This includes responses to responses, which I have been thoroughly neglecting. My apologies.
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I’ll still publish a piece daily, no promises as to its quality… (is there ever?)
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layout: post
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title: "For the love of blood"
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date: 2018-02-14
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---
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#### Semifictional pain
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Photo by [Jack B](https://unsplash.com/photos/o1radglopDA?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/dark?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)He warned her. Warned her that he was dangerous. She laughed it off. How could someone so perfect be dangerous? She didn’t realise her foolishness. *Of course.*
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Ignored the rumbling of her gut. Her gut knew the bitter truth in his words. Chewed on that kernel, shouted a warning. Kept shouting, but was overruled. She was blinkered by lust. *Of course.*
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She should have known better. Should have seen what was in front of her. *Of course.*
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For a time it was good. *Of course.*
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They fell. Fell together, laughing. Brushed the dust from their wings and flew together. *Of course.*
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They burnt bright together. *Of course.*
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Sometimes, he found he could not fly. Found himself encircled by daemons she tried to help him fight. This was what his afterthought of a warning had been about. *Of course.*
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The daemons cut him. Shredded at his skin, hot blood rivers. *Of course.*
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Sometimes they flew still, cinders trailing from flaming wings. More often, they fought daemons in the dark. Her fight, her fight as his shield soon drew the ire of the darkness that ate at him. *Of course.*
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Soon the daemons slashed at her too. The daemons were his, and now hers. His, *hers*, **theirs**. Mine, *yours*, **ours**. *Of course.*
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Her eyes snapped open, and she understood. From that first scar, she knew. The pain was pleasure. Release. Escape. That was why the daemons seemed to grow stronger with each new fight. Armed with this knowledge she fought anew. And failed anew. *Of course.*
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It didn’t matter in the end. Where there is fire, someone must burn. *Of course.*
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They burnt fierce. And then they burnt **out**. *Of course.*
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Nobody knows what happened to the daemons.
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Nobody knows? Lies. Like the flames of their passion. Deep down she knows. He knows. *Of course. *They still prowl in the shadows. *Of course. *Only now he and her do not fight at each others backs. *Of course.*
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So pray that the shadows hold their grip. *Of course, ****they won’t.***
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---
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layout: post
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title: "A page in the Snow Book by the Frenetic Scribbler"
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date: 2018-03-14
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---
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[Credit: https://medium.com/@shneider2010](https://medium.com/@shneider2010)Snow reduces even as its drifts piles up. It shaves everything down to* white*…and **black:**
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*Crisp white blanket* / **Crushing icy shroud**
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*Soothing snow* / **Freezing snow**
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*Smooth, a blank canvas* / **Featureless, a sterile waste**
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*A softening silence* / **A stillborn silence**
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*Enduring like love despite* / **Fleeting like life’s gasp**
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[**Snow Book (Книга Снега)…**
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*Writing Prompt Inspired By Michail Shneider’s Photographs*medium.com](https://medium.com/@GoatGoat/snow-book-%D0%BA%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B3%D0%B0-%D1%81%D0%BD%D0%B5%D0%B3%D0%B0-178734c199c5 "https://medium.com/@GoatGoat/snow-book-%D0%BA%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B3%D0%B0-%D1%81%D0%BD%D0%B5%D0%B3%D0%B0-178734c199c5")[](https://medium.com/@GoatGoat/snow-book-%D0%BA%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B3%D0%B0-%D1%81%D0%BD%D0%B5%D0%B3%D0%B0-178734c199c5)
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layout: post
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title: "Ten track mind, dangerous when focused"
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date: 2018-03-17
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---
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#### Wanderings of a currently diffuse consciousness
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Photo by [Todd Diemer](https://unsplash.com/photos/0wdPEt-ufqs?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/split-train?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)To paraphrase [Where Angels Fear](https://medium.com/u/6c8bcd0d1a65)[1]: ‘I don’t get the hype over multitasking - you mean there are people who *don’t* think about ten things at once?’
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My mind is exactly the same. I never stop thinking. About everything and nothing and all in between. And sometimes it feels like I’m thinking about it all at once.
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The way I think is naturally reflected in life. I am, by nature, a jack of all trades and master of none. A butterfly, always seeking new things. Sometimes even returning to them.
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And so like many things in my life — and in Life at large — it is a blessing and a curse.[4] Beside my butterfly nature, getting my brain to shut down is always a fight.
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Sometimes a fight I lose. Occasionally bordering on often I get hit with an idea that has to get out or it will dissolve. Like this article.
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How I think is something I plan to explore in more depth in the near future. But it’s not the point of this article…
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For someone used to thinking about a thousand things at once…
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For someone used to an incessant background clamour of ideas…
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For someone used to the inescapable company of their own mind and its myriad facets…
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**Thinking about *only one thing* is (near enough literally) *mind-blowing.***
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For a ten track mind, the opportunity to enjoy the nuance of just one song — less the infuriating interference of the others played simultaneously — is unmissable.
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It is dangerous, too. The relative peace of a solitary focus becomes addictive.
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Though that’s not dangerous, not inherently.
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The danger lies in wait where that focus isn’t something but some*one*.
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It by nature encourages you to become dependent on that someone who is more than someone. Both mind and heart. Splits you wide. Vulnerable.
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On that note, I am interested as to if WAR had the same or similar experience with *Her*. Or maybe it is just me…
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[1] I commit paraphrasing only since he is so productive[2] that I can’t for the life of me find where he mentioned it…
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[2] I’m not sure if productive is the right word[3] Maybe prolific… perhaps *excessive*
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[3] I actually get the feeling WAR might be quite* offended* by it!
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[4] A blessing and a curse is a double edged sword, and a great deal of swords are indeed double edged…I find that poetic though it may just be me being too clever by half
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---
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layout: post
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title: "Instant Gratification Obsession"
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date: 2018-06-04
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---
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#### Or is it?
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I have a bit of a reputation for near instant replies. It’s another of the double edged swords that besides Perfectly Awful Timing provides the cornerstone to my ‘brand’ for want of a better word.
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Fast replies demonstrate ‘I have nothing better to do’. And that can certainly be a good or a bad thing…
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To a degree it is because I have nothing better to do. But I’m not obsessed with my phone in the same way others might be.
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It’s not the dopamine rush of notifications I crave, at least not exactly.
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I think it’s more that I have a craving for connection.
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Text is a bad mimic of real conversation. Real time replies are the basis of verbal communication… And yet are somehow sometimes frowned upon in text.
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I hate small talk. Always have always will. I’d much rather open with ‘How is your heart’ than ‘How are you’. Comes across a bit intense in text, though.
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Checking in often is something I’ve been working on in the hopes it will be returned. So far it hasn’t exactly worked.
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Anyway, looping back to the original track…
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My unnaturally quick speed of response leads me to subconsciously expect the same from the other person.
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Fine in real conversation.
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Toxic when applied to texting.
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I’m working on it.
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---
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layout: post
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title: "Rock ’n’ Mother Fucking Roll"
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date: 2018-06-25
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---
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Photo by [Anton Mislawsky](https://unsplash.com/photos/Hrub79gOSwQ?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/heavy-metal?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)I love Rock’n’Roll. I love its its younger darker sibling Heavy Metal. I am something of a closeted metalhead. No longer!
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> It ain’t real music without guitar — Hey Ho, HinderFrom a ‘pure music’ standpoint, I love the guitar riffs and frantic drumlines. I have a particular soft spot for female vocalists (Halestorm, In This Moment) for the contrast they provide to the heavy instrumental.
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> Shove your kiss straight through my chest — In This MomentFrom an entertainment perspective there’s nothing more wild than a metal concert. The energy of everyone involved is off the charts. The gratuitous pyrotechnics are just the icing on the cake.
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But it’s not about the actual *music*. Music never is, is it?
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It’s about the meaning behind the sound. The lyrics most obviously, but also the ‘shape of the song’.[1] Rock speaks to my soul.
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> Life’s too short to run it like a race. So it’s never gonna matter if you win first place — special, ShinedownI find aggressive music weirdly uplifting. Dark songs can lift me into a good mood and keep me there. It doesn’t make sense, but *neither do I*.
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> We won’t surrender
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> Till we get what we’re lookin’ for — Daughters of Darkness, HalestormAnyway. Let me loop back to the concert point for a minute.
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Metalheads are *nice people*.
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Obviously, not *all* of them[2]. Every group has its own fair share of arseholes. But for the most part metalheads are just…chill. After all, you can never understand the idea of ‘friendly violence’ until you’ve witnessed — or indeed joined — a mosh pit. If nothing else they’re[3] certainly the least judgemental crowd I’ve found.
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My point being rockers understand music more than most. They understand the power it holds. The power to bring people together.
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||||
Seas of raised horns are evidence enough for that.
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Rock sees no race, no religion, no colour, no creed. Just humans**.**
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Humans *rockin’ out*. I don’t know about you, but I think this world could use a bit[4] more humanity. If that happens to come wrapped in epic shredding? All the bloody *better*!
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[1] Look, I don’t know. It makes sense in my head, okay :c
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||||
[2] us
|
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||||
[3] *we’re*
|
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||||
[4]*fuckton
|
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|
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Reference in New Issue
Block a user