Month: October 2010

Part-E.

The tentacles of their gaze wrap around me. I look away to escape the entanglement. My thoughts are reluctant to turn with my head: they are transfixed on the motioning masses. Huddled in clusters, they divide themselves evenly throughout the room.  Every so often bodies will detach and absorb into another cluster, near or far, like a firing neuron. They maintain a hum, a gentle hum, a hum that cackles and keeps the insipid look in their eyes alive. They pour more of the intoxicant down their throats, trying to consume it with coolness, not realizing it is them being consumed.

I avoid their eyes. I don’t want to stir their mind. I want to see them as they are: complacent automatons molded and shaped by self fulfilling events. A glint of metal whirrs above me and a cool malted fragrance mists the air and settles on my brow. It smacks against the wall with an empty crack. Deep cheer and laughter erupt from one of the clusters. A boy stands with his spine erect, like a conquering hero; a rapacious smile hangs on his face as glistening liquid drips off his lips and soaks into his curling facial hair. I watch as their dull eyes reflect admiration, but I cannot make out their praises. I examine the once whirring metal, now motionless on the ground: an empty beer can. A hole punctured in its lower quarter. Shot-gunning.

I force myself to look around. My eyes return. I do my best to maintain casual eye contact. Do they see the fear in me? Are they afraid it is I that sees the fear in them? I want to be alone, but I stay. I have roles to fulfill; people to please. I pull a smile across my face. I feel my lips tighten and mimic the expression of a voluptuary. I tell myself I am pleased. I continue to scan the room. Make eye contact. My lust admires the youthful figures shifting in front of me: Boys and girls, courting one another with self-conscious precision. They have practiced this routine, this dance, these gestures: The alluring batting eyes; the coy retreats that indicate bashful vulnerability. They beg to be swooned. To be noticed. They don’t want to be taken a fool. They are ready to play this game.

The boys stand tall, proud, chests out, chin erect, like adolescent steeds. Their loud gestures fill the room, sweeping motions, legs spread, trying their best to dominate as much space as possible.

 

Part-E.

The tentacles of their gaze wrap around me. I look away to escape the entanglement. My thoughts are reluctant to turn with my head: they are transfixed on the motioning masses. Huddled in clusters, they divide themselves evenly throughout the room.  Every so often bodies will detach and absorb into another cluster, near or far, like a firing neuron. They maintain a hum, a gentle hum, a hum that cackles and keeps the insipid look in their eyes alive. They pour more of the intoxicant down their throats, trying to consume it with coolness, not realizing it is them being consumed.

I avoid their eyes. I don’t want to stir their mind. I want to see them as they are: complacent automatons molded and shaped by self fulfilling events. A glint of metal whirrs above me and a cool malted fragrance mists the air and settles on my brow. It smacks against the wall with an empty crack. Deep cheer and laughter erupt from one of the clusters. A boy stands with his spine erect, like a conquering hero; a rapacious smile hangs on his face as glistening liquid drips off his lips and soaks into his curling facial hair. I watch as their dull eyes reflect admiration, but I cannot make out their praises. I examine the once whirring metal, now motionless on the ground: an empty beer can. A hole punctured in its lower quarter. Shot-gunning.

I force myself to look around. My eyes return. I do my best to maintain casual eye contact. Do they see the fear in me? Are they afraid it is I that sees the fear in them? I want to be alone, but I stay. I have roles to fulfill; people to please. I pull a smile across my face. I feel my lips tighten and mimic the expression of a voluptuary. I tell myself I am pleased. I continue to scan the room. Make eye contact. My lust admires the youthful figures shifting in front of me: Boys and girls, courting one another with self-conscious precision. They have practiced this routine, this dance, these gestures: The alluring batting eyes; the coy retreats that indicate bashful vulnerability. They beg to be swooned. To be noticed. They don’t want to be taken a fool. They are ready to play this game.

The boys stand tall, proud, chests out, chin erect, like adolescent steeds. Their loud gestures fill the room, sweeping motions, legs spread, trying their best to dominate as much space as possible.

Novel

There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.  ~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith

In five days time I’ll be pounding away at my keyboard constructing my first novel. I’m extremely anxious to get started. While I have a general plot with a twelve page outline to refer to, I am overwhelmed by the possibilities of capturing everything. I’ve decided that my first and foremost priority will be to expunge thoughts. Expunge and expel every last iota of thought I can muster. While it may be true that I can’t write, I know for a fact that I can rewrite: and rewrite I will. I have to remind myself that this process will serve only as the initial draft. It is the gathering of amorphous clay before adroit hands give it form; the faint black and white outline that dons the canvas before it is filled with the melodies of color. Nevermind perfection. I need material to shape and mold and hew and hone.

While I have a friend who has decided to join me in this undertaking by writing his own novel in a months time, I know that I will need much than his support if I’m going to see this endeavor through. I’ve been cogitating some strategies for aiding the writing process: outlines, character sketches, perusing old journals for quaint situations and duologue I hope to recapitulate with necessary and profound precision. I’m thankful I’ve journaled consistently over the past decade. With 1700 words a day, translating to three single spaced pages of writing, I can’t be naive to think I won’t hit a wall. When I do, I know I have a trove of notes over the years to draw inspiration from.

So this novel. Writing, every day, hours a day, for thirty days. The very idea gets me giddy.

So I’ve thought about my plot quite a bit. I have concluded that I might very well go mad trying to come up with the perfect plot. Instead, my plot will be internal, and revolve around a boy’s development of his consciousness. Essentially: “The story of a boy’s pursuit to reconcile existence and meaning in the 21st century. Born with a burning curiosity to garner experience and uncover truth, he embarks on a mission to shake free from the familiar foundations that vie for his mind and explore foreign and unknown worlds filled with new adventure.”

I’ll be honest, as someone who has never written a book before, the task is a little daunting. I figured the best way for me to achieve my goal of fifty-thousand words in a month is to write about what’s most familiar. I just so happen to be most familiar with myself. My life has been less than normal, and my childhood progressed with almost predictable unpredictability. I remember thinking at various times in my life, “When will I get a break?”. Problems seemed to afflict me like the plague. Thankfully, I rebounded time after time, and with a new perspective. My goal is to some how weave those transformative experiences into characters and a story that appeals to the universality of humanity.

Whatever happens, I will write, I will finish, I will see it through, 1700 words a day, everyday for the upcoming month. When the deadline comes, I will be proudly fit to call myself a novelist.

I am a man, and alive…. For this reason I am a novelist.  And being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher, and the poet, who are all great masters of different bits of man alive, but never get the whole hog.  ~D.H. Lawrence, preface to Shestov, All Things Are Possible, 1938

Novel

There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.  ~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith

In five days time I’ll be pounding away at my keyboard constructing my first novel. I’m extremely anxious to get started. While I have a general plot with a twelve page outline to refer to, I am overwhelmed by the possibilities of capturing everything. I’ve decided that my first and foremost priority with be to expunge. Expunge and expel every last iota of thought I can muster. While it may be true that I can’t write, I know for a fact that I can rewrite: and rewrite I will. I have to remind myself that this process will serve only as the initial draft. It is the gathering of amorphous clay before adroit hands it form; the faint black and white outline that dons the canvas before it is filled with the melodies of color. Nevermind perfection. I need material to shape and mold and hew and hone.

While I have a friend who has decided to join me in this undertaking by writing his own novel in a months time, I know that I will need much than his support if I’m going to see this endeavor through. I’ve been cogitating some strategies for aiding the writing process: outlines, character sketches, perusing old journals for quaint situations and duologue I hope to recapitulate with necessary and profound precision. I’m thankful I’ve journaled consistently over the past decade. With 1700 words a day, translating to three single spaced pages of writing, I can’t be naive to think I won’t hit a wall. When I do, I know I have a trove of notes over the years to draw inspiration from.

So this novel. Writing, every day, hours a day, for thirty days. The thought gets me giddy.

So I’ve thought about my plot quite a bit. I concluded that I would will go mad trying to come up with the perfect plot. Instead, my plot will be internal, and revolve around a boy’s development of conscience. Essentially: “The story of a boy’s pursuit to reconcile existence and meaning in the 21st century. Born with a burning curiosity to garner experience and uncover truth, he embarks on a mission to shake free from the familiar foundations that vie for his mind and explore foreign and unknown worlds filled with new adventure.”

I’ll be honest, as someone who has never written a book before, the task is a little daunting. I figured the best way for me to achieve my goal of fifty-thousand words in a month is to write about what’s most familiar. I just so happen to be most familiar with myself. My life has been less than normal, and my childhood progressed almost predictably unpredictable. I remember thinking at various times in my life, “When will I get a break?”. Problems seemed to afflict me like the plague. Thankfully, I rebounded time after time, and with a new perspective. My goal is to some home weave those transformative experiences into characters and a story that appeals to the universality of humanity.

Whatever happens, I will write, I will finish, I will see it through, 1700 words a day, everyday for the upcoming month. When the deadline comes, I will be proudly fit to call myself a novelist.

I am a man, and alive…. For this reason I am a novelist.  And being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher, and the poet, who are all great masters of different bits of man alive, but never get the whole hog.  ~D.H. Lawrence, preface to Shestov, All Things Are Possible, 1938

Homecoming Weekend.

Thursday night began the onslaught of abuse that my body endured for the next several days. The past week I had restrained impulsive thoughts and focused my energies on my studies.

I drank at the house Thursday. I can’t seem to remember that night very well. Thursday and Friday seemed to have blurred together. I do recall going down town with some alumni. I didn’t go out very late. I was back by two. I remember I stayed up, as usual and against my better judgement, till three before going to bed. I believe we went to rippey’s. I had class that morning so I didn’t stay very long. It was a decent night.

Friday night I raged. I got to the house relatively late, I believe 1045, and caught up with all the alumni. I brought about ten beers. I remember thinking that was probably way too much, but decided that I could always give them away. We headed downtown around one in the morning. Paradise park was on the agenda but after finally waiting thirty minutes to get in, it turned out the scene was pretty lame. Drunk musicians equal poor music. Additionally, it was packed beyond measure. I decided to dip out so I found a friend and we walked across the street to second fiddle. More friends were there, and you could actually breath, which was comfortable. Somehow I managed to find the group of guys I rode downtown with. We commiserated and decided to go to a strip club. Classy.

We tell the cabby to take us to the best club in down. Bad idea. He takes us to probably the shittest place we could possible stumble into. These scenes are always less than becoming. The girls were probably all post 40 years old and most had several kids, at best.

One girl was particularly memorable. She was on stage, acting like a maniac, not a sensual performer. Completely out of her mind, she made comments like “can you see my tampon”. Completely foul. She was pretty hung up on me, continually batting her eyes, and trying to play these bizzare flirtatious games. I was just nauseas. She was literally dancing and jumping on stage, naked, like some one who just freebased several hits of angel dust. Totally out of her mind. when we was done she came down and began assaulting us. I kept to myself, but my friend was having a ball. She kept telling me how handsome I was, and how she had a kid my age. Not quite the turn on. She also confessed she was a grandmother. I’m not sure where they learned to turn guys on, but that’s typically not how you do it.  At that point she asked if we wanted to hang out afterwards. My friend was all about it. I was less than enthusiastic. She took my phone out of my hand and proceeded to insert her cell number. Wow. Anyway. The place shut down at three and made up pay an extra ten bucks cover to go next door where they shows resumed, but ladies remained clothed. My friend had a buddy come into town and he pulled out a few hundred. He was making it rain. At one point a group of them got this girl to give them lap dances. I vaguely remember one making out with this girl, and witnessed another getting his genitals massaged under his pants. So lovely.

We headed home but stopped at cafe coco on the way. I remember going to bed around six a.m. or so. Long night. I woke on the couch at my friends a few hours later around eleven.  A friend rallied my atrophied enthusiasm and reminded me that homecoming festivities were underway. I pulled myself up and we walked to the house. I quickly regained my strength after downing some orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a few beers. It was game on from there on out.

It was a great day. Parades, bands, music, girls. I enjoyed it. I caught up with a lot of brothers and got significantly intoxicated. I was feeling happy and wonderful.  Considering how drunk I got, there isn’t much to say about it all. I encouraged a brother of my to shotgun a four loco, which he did with his usual aggressive frat-like zeal. I witnessed him several minutes later consume several more beers in the same shotgun fashion, which astounded me. He later told me we blacked out within the hour, which didn’t leave me surprised in the least.

At one point a group of us ventured to chili’s to get some much needed food. I spent time with two girls who I know am fond of. We ate, joked, carried on, drank some more. I ended up getting a ride home and passing out for an hour. I was woken by my room mates who were declaring their excitement for the night. I needed to get up, they said, the party is just getting started. I managed to get dressed and pull myself together. The house was empty when I arrived. I wasn’t feeling the same energy I was when the night began. A 90’s band played. An impressive crowd of people showed up despite it not being a dance party. Some alumni verbally accosted my sister a few times, as well as other girls and brothers, and it got me enraged. I wanted to rip his throat out, simply on grounds of principle and justice. I didn’t and my good friends assuaged the aggression. They communicated to him that I was about to lose my shit if he continued acting like a fool and treating people like shit. He came up and apologized. I explained how I felt, pretty bluntly, and thanked him for taking the effort to see me before I received his apology.

It was late and by the time that entire thing unfolded it was already pretty late and I was feeling the sleep deprivation take hold. I ended up going home around two, and passing out around three while watching ninja assassin.

Anyway.

Homecoming Weekend.

Thursday night began the onslaught of abuse that my body endured for the next several days. The past week I had restrained impulsive thoughts and focused my energies on my studies.

I drank at the house Thursday. I can’t seem to remember that night very well. Thursday and Friday seemed to have blurred together. I do recall going down town with some alumni. I didn’t go out very late. I was back by two. I remember I stayed up, as usual and against my better judgement, till three before going to bed. I believe we went to rippey’s. I had class that morning so I didn’t stay very long. It was a decent night.

Friday night I raged. I got to the house relatively late, I believe 1045, and caught up with all the alumni. I brought about ten beers. I remember thinking that was probably way too much, but decided that I could always give them away. We headed downtown around one in the morning. Paradise park was on the agenda but after finally waiting thirty minutes to get in, it turned out the scene was pretty lame. Drunk musicians equal poor music. Additionally, it was packed beyond measure. I decided to dip out so I found a friend and we walked across the street to second fiddle. More friends were there, and you could actually breath, which was comfortable. Somehow I managed to find the group of guys I rode downtown with. We commiserated and decided to go to a strip club. Classy. We tell the cabby to take us to the best club in down. Bad idea. He takes us to probably the shittest place we could possible stumble into. These scenes are always less than becoming. The girls were probably all post 40 years old and most had several kids, at best. One girl was particularly memorable. She was on stage, acting like a maniac, not a sensual performer. Completely out of her mind, she made comments like “can you see my tampon”. Completely foul. She was pretty hung up on me, continually batting her eyes, and trying to play these bizzare flirtatious games. I was just nauseas. She was literally dancing and jumping on stage, naked, like some one who just freebased several hits of angel dust. Totally out of her mind. when we was done she came down and began assaulting us. I kept to myself, but my friend was having a ball. She kept telling me how handsome I was, and how she had a kid my age. Not quite the turn on. She also confessed she was a grandmother. I’m not sure where they learned to turn guys on, but that’s typically not how you do it.  At that point she asked if we wanted to hang out afterwards. My friend was all about it. I was less than enthusiastic. She took my phone out of my hand and proceeded to insert her cell number. Wow. Anyway. The place shut down at three and made up pay an extra ten bucks cover to go next door where they shows resumed, but ladies remained clothed. My friend had a buddy come into town and he pulled out a few hundred. He was making it rain. At one point a group of them got this girl to give them lap dances. I vaguely remember one making out with this girl, and witnessed another getting his genitals massaged under his pants. So lovely.

We headed home but stopped at cafe coco on the way. I remember going to bed around six a.m. or so. Long night. I woke on the couch at my friends a few hours later around eleven.  A friend rallied my atrophied enthusiasm and reminded me that homecoming festivities were underway. I pulled myself up and we walked to the house. I quickly regained my strength after downing some orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a few beers. It was game on from there on out.

It was a great day. Parades, bands, music, girls. I enjoyed it. I caught up with a lot of brothers and got significantly intoxicated. I was feeling happy and wonderful.  Considering how drunk I got, there isn’t much to say about it all. I encouraged a brother of my to shotgun a four loco, which he did with his usual aggressive frat-like zeal. I witnessed him several minutes later consume several more beers in the same shotgun fashion, which astounded me. He later told me we blacked out within the hour, which didn’t leave me surprised in the least.

At one point a group of us ventured to chili’s to get some much needed food. I spent time with two girls who I know am fond of. We ate, joked, carried on, drank some more. I ended up getting a ride home and passing out for an hour. I was woken by my room mates who were declaring their excitement for the night. I needed to get up, they said, the party is just getting started. I managed to get dressed and pull myself together. The house was empty when I arrived. I wasn’t feeling the same energy I was when the night began. A 90′s band played. An impressive crowd of people showed up despite it not being a dance party. Some alumni verbally accosted my sister a few times, as well as other girls and brothers, and it got me enraged. I wanted to rip his throat out, simply on grounds of principle and justice. I didn’t and my good friends assuaged the aggression. They communicated to him that I was about to lose my shit if he continued acting like a fool and treating people like shit. He came up and apologized. I explained how I felt, pretty bluntly, and thanked him for taking the effort to see me before I received his apology.

It was late and by the time that entire thing unfolded it was already pretty late and I was feeling the sleep deprivation take hold. I ended up going home around two, and passing out around three while watching ninja assassin.

Anyway.

 

Girl

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Last week I ran an errand for the office to deliver some time-sheets to the medical payroll office. My director told me to make sure they were time stamped before I submitted them. When I arrived, there was no one at the window so I was a little confused as to how to do this. I lingered for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant by time-stamping. The next moment a girl walked up with a stack of envelopes. With my attention was elsewhere, I watched as she began processing her documents. I casually asked her if she knew how to time-stamp a time sheet. She showed me with thoughtful instruction and I proceeded to process and submit the time sheets before walking away. As I walked, my thoughts returned and it struck me: that girl was breathtaking. Although I didn’t take time to appreciate it in my busied state, her beauty was instantly apparent the moment I looked into her eyes. I walked down the hall and reflected. Beauty moves. It tugs at something deep inside you. Whether it’s art, nature, complexity or simplicity, it transports you to a better place. Her physiognomy held a child like innocence. Her blonde hair was wispy and pure, streaming and sun kissed. She was tall, but not overwhelmingly so. There was a delicacy in her figure, womanly yet youthful. Her eyes seemed to capture the simplicity of life. As I was reflecting, I felt compelled to do something, to obey those unwieldy passions. Her presence incited an irrational passion within me. I wanted to recapture that. I had the urge to turn, walk up to her with a decisive confidence, and ask for her name. I wanted to revel in another moment of her presence and ask if she was free that evening for dinner. While my reserved judgement told me to tame such responses, my youthful zeal demanded that I act now, that the opportunities of love beg not to be overlooked. Hume said that reason must be a slave to the passions. Since when did I begin believing otherwise?

As I walked, I continued to think about our exchange. I held her image in mind and let the pleasant and uplifting emotions it generated pour over me. I told myself that I would see her again, that I would not forget such a face and that I would work to find her again. I believe, and life has taught me truly, that we attract what we think about. I know from experience that what the heart desires most, if we act honestly, it attains. As predicted, I did find her again.

I write this because it’s not often that a girl has this kind of affect on me. I admit that there are many beautiful girls out there, but it’s rare that I’m left with a longing that lingers after such an encounter.

Focus. Manage.

Focus. You are what you think. Where ever you cast your gaze, that’s what you’ll see. When we see, we can make better judgements about our situations, surroundings, what we want, and where we want to go. We don’t travel to destinations with our eyes closed. We have them open, aware, alert, surveying, looking for signs that indicate we’re going the right way.

It works the same way for your thoughts and goals. You must concentrate and visualize and preoccupy your mind with where you want to be- and then act on those thoughts. When opportunities present themselves to carry you there, you will see them as signs that point to your end goals, and you will seize them up. You will take notice and they will not be overlooked.

There is a principle called the 80/20 rule. It says that 20% of our efforts achieve 80% of our results, and the other 80% of our efforts accomplish 20% of our results. Most people (like myself) can’t seem to find enough time in a day, but the truth is, the time is there, it’s just how they are using it. Rearrange your priorities so that you are spending your efforts accomplishing the results of only the most important activities and tasks. How you spend your time defines who you are. Manage it well.

Will.Power.

The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack in will.

-Vince Lombardi

I just read an article in the New York Times that delineated the qualities of mental prowess possessed by elite athletes. Their mental stamina, their ability to push beyond the mental limits where physical pain and psychological torture reside, is a hallmark of every successful person.

I believe that the principles of success are learned and acquired through any undertaking that requires a great deal of struggle. Without the struggle, without embracing the hardship, there is no virtue to be gleaned. As an athlete, there is no way around this struggle. When the time comes for competition, the corollary of your daily perseverance will shine for all to see. Whereas one can get by doing the minimum and appearing to excel in more relative matters such as business and school, there is no escaping the public eyes of the arena in athletic competition. You cannot hide the deficiencies you failed to confront and develop. Come time for competition, all your short-cuts, all your breaks, all your excuses and rational for stopping short are exposed for all to see. When the competition is over, a competitor can look on his performance in one of two ways: they can hold their head high, proud of their unfailing allegiance to the will;  or they can shirk and shrink inward and displace the blame, not on their own failures and lack of will, but on things outside their control. Only one of these two competitors will continue succeeding.

“I was given a body that could train every single day.” Tom said, “and a mind, a mentality, that believed that if I trained every day — and I could train every day — I’ll beat you.”

“The mentality was I will do whatever it takes to win,” he added. “I was totally willing to have the worst pain. I was totally willing to do whatever it takes to win the race.”

This is why elite athletes have such a developed sense of will. They recognize that there is no escaping responsibility. They refuse to make excuses. Their only refuge is knowing that will conquers all. It is the starting point for all capacities of human development.

The article discussed visualization. As a firm believer in visualization, I was intrigued by the contrast between amateur competitors and elite athletes.

In studies of college runners, [Raglin] found that less accomplished athletes tended to dissociate, to think of something other than their running to distract themselves.“Sometimes dissociation allows runners to speed up, because they are not attending to their pain and effort,” he said. “But what often happens is they hit a sort of physiological wall that forces them to slow down, so they end up racing inefficiently in a sort of oscillating pace.” But association, Dr. Raglin says, is difficult, which may be why most don’t do it.

When I read this, I think of a responsibility avoidance. There is a fear that prevents these athletes from embracing the pain and struggle. They fail to size-up the challenge and accept the burden of responsibility for its attainment. By contrast:

“Our hypothesis is that elite athletes are able to motivate themselves continuously and are able to run the gantlet between pushing too hard — and failing to finish — and underperforming,” Dr. Swart said

To find this motivation, the athletes must resist the feeling that they are too tired and have to slow down, he added. Instead, they have to concentrate on increasing the intensity of their effort. That, Dr. Swart said, takes “mental strength,” but “allows them to perform close to their maximal ability.”

Elite athletes find the boundary where their limitations reside. They practice reaching that boundary, that fluid limitation, on a routine basis. They know it well by inspecting its character and uncovering its various strongholds on potential. They become comfortable and familiar with its discomforts, continually dancing the line of what their current capacities can handle, and what their will demands of potential and possibility. When the time for competition arrives, this boundary of limitation will whiz by in the periphery, acting as nothing more than a reminder that all boundaries are meant to be crossed. Success, and traversing the limits that lead you there, are a matter of will.

Conceive. Believe. Achieve.

You must see where you want to be, visualize its nature, its pains and joys. You must conceive a world where you are already there, a world of possibility where time is your only enemy. You must believe that your potential is limitless, that you will win, that you will not lose. Only then will you gravitate toward this vision of success and achieve your ends. If you cannot conceive possibility, if you cannot believe in yourself and your ability to inevitably succeed, you will never achieve.

Idea.

I’ve been feeling inspired lately. There are a few goals I’ve been thinking about lately (as if I don’t have enough to think about).

Writing. I want to write more often. Not necessarily thoughts and musings, but story, journalism, and other types of descriptive narrative. This November I’ve decided to compete in the National Novel Writing Month’s competition to author a 50,000 word novel. It’s not as much a competition as much as it’s an opportunity to force myself to write copiously and every day for a month straight. Research indicates that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Well now I’ll have thirty. 50,000 words in month comes out to roughly 1,667 words per day. I’m estimating that will come out to be about 200 pages of writing in a months time.

I also want to come up with twenty-five ideas per day. Preferably business ideas, or technological ideas, or design ideas. Ideas that improve upon the world in some way. Or ideas that allow us to engage with the world differently, be it in mind or matter. It doesn’t matter what they are, how they work, or if it’s technologically reasonable or feasible. The point is to exercise the mind’s imaginative faculties. I want to explore the realm of possibility. Twenty-five ideas a day, for a year straight, comes out to 9125 ideas in a years time. Even if 1% of them are worthy to pursue, that’s 91 ideas! Even if .1% were reasonable, that almost 10 ideas!

If you’ve read anything about intelligence, genius, nature, and genetics the past decade, you would know by now that genetics is a marginal factor for developing a person’s potential.

The people who succeed are the people who do the small things, day in and day out, when no one’s looking. It’s repetition. Repetition. Over and over. Writers write all day long, on any subject, whenever the opportunity presents itself. Inventors think ideas incessantly. Musicians practice perpetually. Olympians train the mind and body longer, harder, and more regularly than any other competitor.

Greatness is trained in the wee hours of the morning, and late hours of the evening, whatever the inclement might be. Greatness locates the limits, the ramparts where discomfort lives, only so it might push itself beyond familiar mediocrity. It elevates the conscious and transports its mind where it longs to be. When it wakes from the racing struggle, with the pain and exhaustion still gripping its senses, it finds that the world has become exactly what it was envisioned to be, and the pain becomes a marginal price when compared to the infinite joy of truly being.

Exclaim

Hark! Inspiration! Where art thou? Hast thy muses departed? Lend your gracious gift of peace! Rescue me from the hollow echo of my timid thoughts! From the empty reverberations that beat against my insides! Save me from the dry, contemptuous familiarity that desiccates my vision! Offer me your warm embrace! Engulf me with the fiery flames of passion! Alight the heart, swallow me whole! Save nothing! I would forfeit the world to savor the sweet allure, the bleeding refuge, of passion!

Swoon my desires! Capture the innocence of dreams! Instill in me once more the care of possibility! Let the wanderlust of worldly wonderings take flight! Seize courage! Outstretch my clasps! Spread my gaze onto the world! Lift my crown! Beckon me to the horizon of now! Let the fusion of possibility and moment give rise to my true being! I will leap onward into the unknown depths where opportunity awaits! I will catch the rushing currents of time! Let it fill my sails, envelope my wings, and elevate the majesties of my mind!

Gravity tightens its grip. Silence falls. The candle hesitates and draws its light in, holding the wick ever so gently. The world is feeling this weight. I will not draw in. I will not succumb to the deafening quietude of a trembling conscious. Fear will not keep me bound in slumbering shackles. I will bear life’s lacerations with dignity, wring pain from this corporeal body, from all its bones and brawn, and wake every last breath of freedom within me.

Anywho.

Thinking about the next big thing

To make significant headway towards a legitimate start-up idea, I need to think about the next big, up-and-coming demands of future industries.

To distill the gyst of this post, I want to consider business ideas that leverage and cater to:
1) the creation of social capital
2) the redesign of necessary goods that could use a great emotional appeal
3)  increasing the userability of products and technology that are currently too difficult to use, but would only improve the lives if it weren’t so complicated.

So,
I was giving some thought to the progression of past big-industry booms in an effort to project future industry needs and demands.

If we just look at the past twenty five years or so, and just off the top of my mind, a couple booms come to mind:
Late 70’s airline industry
Early 80’s the computer industry
Mid 80’s financial industry and investment banking
Mid-late 90’s internet and *.com boom
Mid 90’s early 00’s health and wellness industry
Early 00’s web 2.0 and social networking platforms
Early 00’s Genetic engineering and GMO’s
Early 00’s nano-technology
Early 00’s Green technology
Early 00’s- Current Microfinancing and Social entrepreneurship
Currently- Healthcare

And I’m sure we can find plenty of other booms within specific industries.
So,I was online digging around and doing some research and this article struck me, particularly because I did an independent research project last spring: Social Capital

It deals with this elusive term “social capital’ which was recently coined, and still being understood and defined, as a type of capital that forms as a result of trust between individuals. The definition I recall that most accurately describes social capital is: An instantiated informal norm that promotes cooperation between two or more individuals; or the good-will/ trust between individuals that fosters cooperative exchanges. Some examples of social entrepreneurs actively leveraging social capital include companies such as Tom’s shoes, socialvibe.com, and other businesses that emphasize the fostering of social relations within communities, be it local or oversees.

For his marketing class, a friend visited a social entrepreneurial startup called the Nashville Entrepreneur Center that provides a location for fledgling entrepreneurs to share and develop ideas for a small price. This business provides a location in the community where entrepreneurs can get their start-ups off the ground. They make money off a premium they charge for the use of their facilities and resources, and by taking a percentage of ownership in the company. This is a perfect example of businesses leveraging social capital as a means to generate profit because it is a win-win for everyone involved.

Another possible emerging market is the design and userability industry.
I’ve read a few books that discuss a trend towards connecting people emotionally to the vast quantities of information generated the past two dozen years as a result of the information age. Most notable, “A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future”  by Daniel Pink and “The 8th Habit” by Stephen Covey. They discuss the various technological ages and industry revolutions throughout the past two hundred years, mentioning the scientific revolution, the industrial, the green (Advances in agriculture which eliminated food shortages), the current information age. The trend points to connecting people with the most recent information age which has left people overwhelmed and detached from the enormous amount of technology and information it generated. They argue what we need more of is not necessarily more lawyers, accountants, engineers and the like, but people who create meaning from the mass of information they generate. What we need are Artists and designers: innovative people with vision.

They highlight a current trend that points to connecting people with this technology.  It means making sense of the new technology and information by making it easy to use and understand, and creating an emotional component that people can identify and relate to. Web 2.0 and social networking is an example of satisfying that demand. Apple has does this geniusly with its products that are designed to emotionally appeal to people and are easy to use, not just in their design (Apple’s product designs are hypnotically beautiful), but in their products. What appeals more to the emotions than music? IPod? Target has also recognized this demand by innovating even the simplest products with designs that appeal to people (just look at their toilet scrubbers. They scream sensuality).

Anyway. To recap on the gyst of all this:
Lets consider business ideas that leverage and cater to:
1) the creation of social capital
2) the redesign of necessary goods that could use a great emotional appeal
3)  increasing the userability of products and technology that are currently too difficult to use, but would only improve the lives if it weren’t so complicated.

Lost Love

10-10-10

This is one of those letters that you send only because the unwieldy passions of youth come back to get the better of you.

Six years ago I looked you in the eye, and with all the earnest zeal in my body, I swore that I would come back for you on October 10th 2010, and we would reconvene no matter where we were in life. Do you remember that? Since then we’ve fallen distant over the years and lead vastly different lives. I figured I could commemorate that pact, at least with myself, in a letter.  I hope you receive it well.

I’d like you to know that you’ve had an enormous impact on my life. You found me at a moment when my life had picked up only briefly, only before spiraling downward and out of control once more. During our tryst you provided me with some powerful memories, feelings, and experiences that afforded me with some of the most precious fuel for my recovery. When I was homeless and strung out and bitter with the world, which I often was, I could recall few glimmers of joy in the world that were powerful enough to lift my spirits and thoughts to loftier dreams. What joys I do remember, however puerile they seem now, were the memories of an indescribable, irrational, brilliant love for you. What pained me most was the thought of damaging that love, which I most definitely and often did.

There was a day that I made a decision to put the past behind me, embrace responsibility for my success and failures, and dream brilliantly. I made a commitment to become someone who was worthy of the love I had for you. I told myself, ‘I know I will love someone like this again, and when I find them, I want to love them with all that I am, with all that I am capable of being.’ From then on I began to see life in possibility and I began to dream wildly. While there were other motivators that I chose to lift me up, such as a renewed appreciation for my family and all the people who believed in me, I specifically remembered my acute feelings for you. They provided the fuel for action. When difficulties and hardship arose, I thought of the love I once felt for you and the pain I believe I caused you. Slowly, I have brought myself closer to my ideals.

It’s not often that I think of our time together anymore. Every once and awhile I’ll catch myself reminiscing with nostalgia, and look back on our teenage love; it is then that all its private joys come to mind. I can still manage to seek solace in such superannuated memories. While I like to think I’ll always know you, I know that we’re different people now. We haven’t talked in years. When we do talk it seems the intimacy I believed we once knew so deeply has been lost to time.

I’d like to say I never knew how to apologize for any pain I caused you. I was too ashamed and guilty. Most of all I didn’t want to rehash any pain, any memories or resentment I may have caused you. I want you to know now, that I am truly sorry for my reckless years. I pained many people, and it still pains me. I seek every day to overcome the demons of the past.

I also want to thank you. If I hadn’t met you, if you hadn’t found me, I may have never known a love so powerful as ours. I attribute it as a large part of my success as a person today.

I recall an evening on the phone with you, late 2006. It was late in the evening, and you phoned me on a random chance occurrence. Who knows why? I remember telling you, against my biting conscience, that I was going to be successful, and that I was going to do it as a tribute you, not as an attempt to recapture what was lost, but as a tribute to the power of love.

I could go on with stories or thoughts, but I’m afraid I have been overly sentimental as it is. I do hope the absolute best for you, ******. I once told you I’d always love you. I still do.

Love always,

Michael

Jenn

A message I sent to Jennifer:

Hey Jen,

I was going to send you a letter, but you’ve fallen off the map recently and I haven’t a clue where I’d mail it. For all it’s worth, I decided to send it via facebook. My intention is only to say hello and thank you. I hope it finds you well.

Michael

10-10-10

This is one of those letters that you send only because the unwieldy passions of youth come back to get the better of you.

Six years ago I looked you in the eye, and with all the earnest zeal in my body, I swore that I would come back for you on October 10th 2010, and we would reconvene no matter where we were in life. Do you remember that? Since then, we have fallen distant over the years, and lead vastly different lives. I figured I could commemorate that pact, at least with myself, in a letter.  I hope you receive it well.

I’d like you to know that you’ve had an enormous impact on my life. You found me at a moment when my life had picked up only briefly, only before spiraling downward and out of control once more. During our tryst, you provided me with some powerful memories, feelings, and experiences that afforded me with some of the most precious fuel for my recovery. When I was homeless and strung out and bitter with the world, which I often was, I could recall few glimmers of joy in the world that were powerful enough to lift my spirits and thoughts to loftier dreams. What joys I do remember, however puerile they seem now, were the memories of an indescribable, irrational, brilliant love for you. What pained me most was the thought of damaging that love, which I most definitely and often did.

There was a day that I made a decision to put the past behind me, embrace responsibility for my success and failures, and dream brilliantly. I made a commitment to become someone who was worthy of the love I had for you. I told myself, ‘I know I will love someone like this again, and when I find them, I want to love them with all that I am, with all that I am capable of being.’ From then on, I began to see life in possibility, and I began to dream wildly. While there were other motivators that I chose to lift me up, such as a renewed appreciation for my family and all the people who believed in me, I specifically remembered my acute feelings for you. They provided the fuel for action. When difficulties and hardship arose, I thought of the love I once felt for you and the pain I believe I caused you. Slowly, I have brought myself closer to my ideals.

It’s not often that I think of our time together anymore. Every once and awhile I’ll catch myself reminiscing with nostalgia, and look back on our teenage love; it is then that all its private joys come to mind. I can still manage to seek solace in such superannuated memories. While I like to think I’ll always know you, I know that we’re different people now. We haven’t talked in years. When we do talk, it seems the intimacy I believed we once knew so deeply has been lost to time.

I’d like to say, I never knew how to apologize for any pain I caused you. I was too ashamed and guilty. Most of all, I didn’t want to rehash any pain, any memories or resentment I may have caused you. I want you to know now, that I am truly sorry for my reckless years. I pained many people, and it still pains me. I seek every day to overcome the demons of the past.

I also want to thank you. If I hadn’t met you, if you hadn’t found me, I may have never known a love so powerful as ours. I attribute it as a large part of my success as a person today.

I recall an evening on the phone with you, late 2006. It was late in the evening, and you phoned me on a random chance occurrence. Who knows why? I remember telling you, against my biting conscience, that I was going to be successful, and that I was going to do it as a tribute you, not as an attempt to recapture what was lost, but as a tribute to the power of love.

I could go on with stories or thoughts, but I’m afraid I have been overly sentimental as it is. I do hope the absolute best for you, Jennifer. I once told you I’d always love you. I still do.

Love always,

Michael

Expunging thoughts

I studied philosophy of language all day.  Prior to today I had only a vague understanding of the material. It seemed too abstract and intuitive to take seriously. I’m looking forward to learning about the significant consequences that the philosophy of language has on the subjects of metaphysics, hermeneutics, phenomenology, and logic made by the contributions of these philosophers.

I’m pretty fried at the moment. While I went out briefly last night, I didn’t drink. I also stayed in all day today and missed out on tailgating and partying with all the families that came to visit for parents weekend.

My mind is hypersensitive. Whatever stimulation I throw at it inevitably consumes me; I get lost in preoccupation and lose sight of anything that isn’t immediate. Juggling too many tasks and responsibilities causes me to lose focus of the significance of each priority.  I have a problem saying no to commitments, be it people or other perceived or real responsibilities. As a result, I have to limit my exposure to  multifarious demands. That typically means locking myself away for awhile to attend to only the most pressing obligations so the demands and stimulation are concentrated and consistent.

If I stimulate myself with enough specific information, I become consumed in its depth. I hyperfocus. Pulling me out of that state is almost impossible. It becomes my all engrossing world. It could be lifting, or a specific discipline or even a person. I spend my attention and energy exploring the limits of the object or subject until it is exhausted, or I am exhausted. I have to remind myself that college was a choice to focus my attention on cultivating my knowledge and skills in specific areas that would leave me more valuable than before. If I fail to give it my all I would be no better than when I started.

Learning styles

My learning style requires that I have a context in which I operate in order to assimilate new facts. Without a context, memorization is nearly impossible. Information floats aimlessly without any anchor to significance and meaning. Most new studies don’t present an understandable context at the start. They present a vague, unfamiliar direction and proceed with facts. While it is effortless to absorb facts when a context is known, it requires a great deal of effort to establish a context from facts. The latter builds a totally new paradigm while the former simply adds facts to existing paradigms. New paradigms are essentially the rise of new perceptions. While the facts remain objectively the same, they are seen in a different light and can be functionally used differently. The construction of new paradigms is a creative act. It is the essence of creativity. There is nothing knew in the world, only new ways of looking at things. When you see things differently, the world becomes different, and previously unknown facts become salient.

For those with super efficient memories, context doesn’t seem to play a tremendous role in learning. Often times they may be extremely proficient at representing the facts, but fail to see the larger interconnectedness of their significance. They are expertly trained in giving the right answers, but fail to ask questions that relate to their significance. They don’t wonder ‘why?’ as much as they wonder ‘what?’ given a why. I’m under the opinion that learning to ask the questions ‘why?’ provides much more adaptivity when addressing new challenges or problems and difficult situations. It allows for a starting point for gathering new facts unique to that situation or dilemma, Those only trained for providing ‘what’ are given up to using preexisiting knowledge or out dated answers not appropriate within the context of the new challenge. They say: “A well trained man knows how to give the right answers. A well educated man knows how to ask the right questions.”

People and experience

Exposing yourself to new experiences reinforces your ability to relate to people. Experiences allows you to connect to a greater number of people by creating bridges that facilitate similarities. The more experiences you have, the greater number of people you can potentially connect to. We are attracted to people most like us. It’s comforting. It’s familiar. Most people fear the unknown. It’s unnatural and disorienting to venture into unknowns. We lose sense of ourselves and our ability to navigate. As a result, most people stick to that which they know. We have confidence in ourselves in those situations and with those people we are most familiar.

The people that spend all their time studying or pursuing activities in solitary have trouble relating to people. They have poor interpersonal skills. I love sharing experiences with people; be it new experiences, new people or both. It’s fresh. It’s exciting. You learn from them and they learn from you. That’s why adventure is always so exciting. Adventure is inherently novel and filled with exciting unknowns.

Radical rejection and self-mastery

We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us. -JP Sartre

Culture has programmed us. Everything that composes a culture- family, local community, school, media- has implanted a viral program within our mind which constitutes our belief system. We are limited by our beliefs. Our limitations are our beliefs.

Those who are the masters of themselves realize this and choose their programs. They are conscientious of the external influences vying to take control of the mind. These masters erase and overwrite existing, outdated programs plagued with unoriginality, in favor of more deliberate beliefs, more effective and efficient at accomplishing our uniquely cognized and freely chosen ends.

We do not see things are they are, we see things as we are. These inherited beliefs poison our potential and wring any opportunity of escaping the circumstances we were born into. Those who succeed violently reject social norms.

Our minds are a product of our environment. Those who wish to be gods among men realize the susceptibility of our nature to becoming another mindless product. These men do not meddle with such a precious and fragile life, so they act swiftly and decisively. They dictate and justify whatever belief is necessary for the accomplishment of a desire or goal. Whatever limitations you perceive, realize they are there to keep you from accomplishing more, being more, and having more. They are perpetuated by those keen on preserving the inequality that makes their influence reign. The have not’s facilitate and perpetuate  these limitations as a means of comfort. As they say, ignorance is bliss. The perpetuation of this veil of ignorance keeps them from ever being responsible to the latent, known potential residing within them. Being at the top is unique because there is only one top, and it is shared by few. If it was any other way, it would not be so.

Your mind is a computer. Program yourself with the set of beliefs that best suit your ends. No Olympian questioned their destiny for greatness. They expect it. Limitations exist only for the ignorant, lazy and uncreative. As a master of your fate, you have the choice to unveil these insidious ignorances, act decisively with purpose, and cultivate a creative vision for the life you’ve always dreamed and desired.

You do not need to discard excuses. You need only to make excuses why you will win, why you will succeed, why you will not ever fail. Make these excuses with the same conviction that the mindless masses make for their failures, and you will not fail.

If you cannot see the world with a new set of eyes, gouge them out. Reject it all. Start a new. Throw yourself into chaos. Contradict yourself. Hurl yourself into relativity. When these tumultuous storms pass, gaze intently at life with a divine vision. We are gods when we make it so. Otherwise we would not be so.

The importance of writing

I’ve read a few articles recently that emphasized the monumental importance of proficient oral and written communication. Companies and businesses have found themselves with employees who lack the ability to articulate themselves clearly. One of the most sought after attributes of an applicant is the ability to write and speak with articulation and depth in order to convey message and idea. These are fundamental qualities of any interpersonal transaction, and business does, after all, rely almost entirely on these transactions for success. Our contemporary education model has deemphasized the importance of communication skills in favor of a more technically skilled labor force. The tradeoff has left businesses with brilliant employees with brilliant ideas that go uncommunicated, or ineffective or inefficiently so.

A recent article I read highlighted the importance of writing as paramount to becoming a better communicator. The habit of routine writing, be it journaling or any other task that requires the articulation of thoughts to paper, not only hones and refines your ability to write well, it improves your reading and speaking abilities. It expands your vocabulary and familiarizes you with the proper articulation of ideas. Writing is structured, logical and linear, following grammatically rules and syntax that capture meaning otherwise present in spoken words through gestures, intonation, and other context clues typically present with an interlocutor. The established structures of written communication translate as a major role in the clarity of ideas and thoughts in spoken communication. This translation does not work the same way for spoken communication when translated to written word. While good writers can articulate clear thoughts in spoken word, being a good speaker does not necessitate the clarity of your written word.

It’s late. Lots more on mind mind. Wish I could get it all out tonight.

Pain and gain

If there’s no pain, it’s probably not worth it.

If it hurts, chances are its worth it. Pain and struggle indicate your current threshold of potential. Either you adapt and overcome and grow to be stronger, or you don’t and abandon the pursuit. When you abandon it, you flee its demands, physically and/or psychologically. If you want something really bad, and you are psychologically set on its attainment, and you can’t have it, there is a disconnect that leaves you empty until its fulfillment. It requires you put energy and work into achieving it. Typically this is accompanied with struggle and discomfort. If it doesn’t, that your desire is within your means and probably indicates a goal that is less than worthy of your potential.

When I think about these struggles I relate them to personal goals that involve physical accomplishment like lifting or some other sporting achievement, or character based goals relating to education or the development of virtues, or goals pertaining to relationships and feeling such as friendship and love. Anything worth having is worth working for. If you don’t have to work for it, it probably isn’t worth having, or at least, not to you. No pain, no gain. If it doesn’t hurt, it’s not love. I realize that there are a lot of caveats to this whole theory of pain and value, but it seems to hold true in general. Anytime you invest time or energy into a person, whether you loved them or not, there is a void or pain that accompanies their loss. Chances are, though, they played some kind of important role in your life; otherwise you wouldn’t have shared it with them.

Long day

Just studied from 4-10. 2x 30 min breaks. I could barely do basic math the last hour. Long day. Went to bed at 2am last night, woke up at 730am this morning for work. Got out of class at 3pm. Exam tomorrow. Early bed time tonight.

Here’s an idea for facebook: When you’re online, you have the option to turn you profile picture into a live webcam shot of you.  Not sure I like this idea (its pretty creepy) but it seems like it’d be cutting edge.

Of recent

Recently I’ve been much more focused. My birthday acted as a catalyst for the reexamination of my priorities. I’m 24 now. Usually birthdays are a cause for celebration. When that day came, I realized there would be nothing unique about another celebration. Sure I’m 24. How should we celebrate? Socializing with food and alcohol? The past month my drinking (partying) habits have been uncharacteristically desultory and unrestrained. If celebration is characterized as rejoicing in life through indulgent festivities, I feel like that’s been all I’ve been doing as of late. A birthday celebration of that sort would be no different.

Instead, I chose to study and work, and I found it to be much more fulfilling, much more of a celebration of life and progress than any other activity.

I decided to reframe my approach to fulfillment. Its easy to get sucked into the tyrannical approval of the masses. They say: happiness is derived through partying. Im a slow learner and I continually have to remind myself that those gratifications are no investment in my life. They yield no long term value or pride, only fleeting memories that we desperately hope to recapture.

Anyway. I’m happy. Focused. Life is great. I’ve got my eye on the ball, as they say.

The dilemma  I find myself continually facing time and time again is the value I derive from relationships and people. Why is that a problem? Well, it just so happens that many of the people who I cherish spend the majority of their past times indulging in ephemeral glories and menial activities, i.e. binge drinking and other bacchanal activities . I need to seek out people who value similar passions. Passions that include personal development, the pursuit of truth and knowledge, creative thinking, quality discourse, new adventure and an overall interest in improving their value as a person.

Anyway… Study time.

Jobs

Smart people don’t find jobs; they create jobs. Smart people create the jobs that other people find. If you have a choice to be a slave to others or a slave to yourself, which would you choose? To me, the answer seems obvious. However, if this applies to jobs in the market place, I find my conclusion to be misleading.

In reality, so long as we’re talking about earning money in the marketplace, you are always a slave to others. The market demands goods and services, and you supply those goods and services in exchange for money according to their market value. If you’re a business owner, you are a slave to marketplace demands. If you’re an employee, you are a slave to the businesses’ demands. The difference is, there is much more of a reward for those who cater directly to the market as a business owner. The catch is there is a two fold responsibility for satisfying market demands as well as managing the labor that facilitates that satisfaction. Hence, while there is more responsibility, there is a much larger payoff.

I suppose one could be a slave to himself by laboring for sustenance alone, tilling his own land while maintaining a keep within his means; but then again, so long as you are subject to paying monetary taxes as a citizen, you a bound as a slave to the market. Eh. No escape.