Poem Experiment

I did something interesting with a friend of mine, where I wrote a line, and then she, till we had between us a whole poem.

It's unusual, in that it doesn't sound like one of mine, or one of hers. Fascinating.

I reached out for the light
Mezmerised by its rays
and held some in my hand
watching it fade away.

I was sad to see it go
the dark left me feeling alone
i turned and walked the other way
On my way back home

my heart felt cold like stone
i knew something was amiss
there was an aching in my soul
a sense too far from bliss

there was a throbbing in my skull
a result of too much thought
There was no place i wanted to go
there was nothing that i sought

I made my decision then
I'll adapt to feeling so alone
I'll always have myself
I'll look for the truth within

Dragon Ball Z

I've done it! I've watched all 291 episodes in the space of one month. It sounds, bad, I know, but I have no regrets. I've no idea why I've binged so much on a story. Perhaps I could have rationed it so that I watched an episode a day, and so make it last nearly 10 months, but that's not in keeping with the character of the story, which is remarkably similar to the kind of book which keeps you up all night, as your mind constantly wants to know what happens next. (As an aside, I think this happens because of a sort of emotional bond you form with the characters.)

At its very core, its about friendship, struggle, and victory, and these, I guess, are universals. Change the plot, change the characters, change anything you want, these three should always permeate the story, in the same way that they are woven into the very fabric of human existence. Art should reflect life, and in this case, it definitely reflects that particular aspect.

I do feel that the plots sometimes are cyclical, and that sometimes there are too many loopholes, but overall I don't feel it detracts too much from the story. And the action sequences are beautiful. They make me want to take up martial arts.

Right now I've started the original series that preceded it (Dragon Ball), and will soon after be following that with the sequel series (Dragon Ball GT). I might do this in the next month, or over the next year, or even longer, but I know I have to. Now that I'm hooked, I really do want to find out what happens next.

[Fiction] The Dream Duel

Inside, I felt the darkness of the creature I faced, and struggled with my own darkness within, which wanted to join it. For a few seconds, the possibility that I would not fight, but would simply give up and join the dark side remained very, very real. I don't know how I managed to achieve it, but the feeling subsided, and I was in control of my body again. For now, at least. I didn't know it then, but it was a gift, and it saved me in more ways than one.

I prepared to fight, but even the most optimistic of people would have said my chances of success were slim to none. I wasn't even armed. But it didn't matter to me. I had been too close to succumbing before to consider any thoughts of loss. I would fight, no matter what. That was all there was to it.

It was then that something amazing happened. I felt an intense sensation. It was so intense that I had to shut my eyes for a few seconds. I was flooded... I think I may have glowed in those few moments, but I can't be sure. I think describing it as a sort of mixture of communion and meditation is the best I can do. And, as I experienced it, I knew that I only got to experience it once I had resigned to fighting, without any care for whether I won or not. Retrospectively, it seems, that was the correct choice.

I gained some knowledge at that point that I knew was crucial to my win, and got gifted with a tremendous amount of energy, and heightened awareness. I turned around and saw her, somehow knowing she would be there. She was beautiful, unlike any horse I had ever seen, pure white, emitting a soft golden glow. And she was waiting for me. I looked into her eyes for a few seconds, and I knew that she would take me wherever I needed to go, with no need for communication.

We charged at the creature, whose very being seemed to be darkness itself. As we got closer, I began to plot how I would get close to its heart, its size being many multiples of my own. And then I knew what I would do.

I reached for the sword on my belt, and drew it. It wasn't there before, but I knew it would be there now, another gift from the one who had saved me. It glowed with a soft white light as I held it before me. We picked up speed, and when were were close enough, she jumped. Her timing was perfect, and the jump took me almost all the way, at the peak of which, I jumped from her, gaining the crucial extra length to reach it's heart. I plunged the sword in as far as I could, and left it there.

Then, I fell. And landed badly.

I had done my job, and it looked like I had won, and in a manner of speaking, I had. It would die. What I didn't expect was that it was going to explode, and in so doing, incinerate me. It swelled. I saw the horse and the sword disappear, as if they had just been mirages, and waited for the explosion, and my accompanying death. I didn't mind dying that much, for I was finally glad to have done some good. I saw the creature swell some more, to it's bursting point, and then explode. I saw a white fiery wave of fire consume the space between where the creature had stood, and me, and crossed my arms. I knew as I did it that doing so would not protect me, yet I felt better for doing so. I held the pose, waiting for my end, which I assumed would be in the next second or two ....

... and then woke up. It was (obviously) all a dream, and I felt somewhat cheated. I had been expecting my impending death, and had made peace with dying, only to find out I had only been dreaming. It had been remarkably vivid. And there was evidently some message behind it, which bugged me. The dream occupied my waking thoughts, and I was not entirely present in the company of all who knew me. They were aware something was up, but I didn't tell them I was being haunted by a dream, for fear they wouldn't understand.

But there was someone who would. I visited my old master as soon as I could, and found him deep in thought. Thankfully his meditation had nearly finished, and in a tumble of words I described my dream, though not feeling I had done it justice. His next words, however, completely startled me.

"It's about time!"

Apparently, my dream was a sort of rite of passage. And I had passed, by choosing good over evil, even as I slept. The dream takes a different form for each who experiences it, with the general message of a fight between good and evil, and a specific message for the person involved, correlating to an element of his (or her!) life. My master's, apparently, involved fighting evil food with a special sauce.

"What!?!"
"It's true. Believe it or not, I was quite the glutton in my youth. And so the dream had a message for me."
"So the monster, the horse, the sword, they all mean something? Something specific to me?"
"Exactly."
"But I have no idea what it could possibly be!"
"Don't worry. You have enough time to figure it out. And I'm sure you will... you're smart enough. Let me know when you find out"

I left soon after, glad to have my initial question answered, not so glad to have more take its place. One thing, however, my master was able to explain to me:

"That you were content with dying and had made your peace shows your courage. Not many people are willing to die for the sake of doing good. If you remain focused on what you need to do, not just regarding this dream, but also in life generally, you will achieve greatness. I am sure of it"

High praise indeed, and I felt unworthy of such. Reflecting on those words made me grateful that our paths had crossed, and I smiled a half smile, quickening my pace, determined to repay my master's faith in me.

[Fiction] Flowers

It was a beautiful day, almost too beautiful for what he was going to do. The sun was out, the sky was clear, birds were singing. People were actually happy, or so it seemed. In any case, the weather didn't really matter. He had done this on days when the weather was good as well as when it was bad, sometimes even when it was horrible.

He sat a few steps away, holding a bouquet in his hands. A mix of white and red roses, her favourite. Emotions flowed through him, though hidden to the outside world, each particular emotion triggered by a certain memory. Occasionally, a solitary tear would flow. Sometimes he'd wipe one away, and sometimes he let them flow uninterrupted.

As intensely as he felt the emotions, it didn't last long. It never did. They subsided, and were slowly replaced by feelings of gratitude. He was grateful that he had got so lucky, that she had picked him. He was grateful that she had loved him, and that in turn he had been given the chance to love someone back. She was responsible for his transformation, from a selfish, egotistical, self absorbed idiot, to what he was today. She was gone now, but lived on, in his transformation, in his memories, in all the good she had gone in the world

He got up and walked to her grave, and gently laid the flowers beside it. He stood silently beside her grave for a few minutes, and then whispered a short prayer under his breath for her.

He then fetched a pail of water, and gently poured some on her grave, taking special care to make sure the short grass now growing there was well watered.

He left shortly after, but not before saying a small prayer for all the inhabitants of the graveyard.

He would be back soon enough.

[Fiction] Waiting

He paced about the salesfloor impatiently. Why was she taking so long? And did he dare go look for her? She was upstairs, where all the women's things were, and he knew he'd he'd look odd walking there. Or, he could go upstairs, and join the bunch of men who all hung out at the entrance to the top floor, for the very same reason he was impatiently walking about downstairs. He'd been there a few times, and it was ok, but not the best way to be spending your time.

They all knew why they were there, so no reason to speak. In previous times, some had stared impassively at the floor, others at least met his gaze and smiled the smile of comradeship. It was odd how they all knew to come to this spot and cluster together as they waited for the ladies of their lives to hurry up with what they were doing. Must be some sort of primal homing instinct that seeks out nearby tribes for protection.

He grew more impatient with her as time wore on, deciding at they very least that when they were home together, they were going to Have Words. He even started composing what he was going to say to her, and anticipating the whole range of her responses, for each of which he composed a sharp, withering, cutting retort. In a flash, however, he saw the trap he had nearly fallen into, and the consequences of such actions.

The trap had already claimed thousands, if not millions, of couples before, and would in all probability claim the same number again. Obviously, once he decided to Have Words with her, they would argue, and the argument would soon spread to other things, some of which would have no relevance to his main greivance. And it was not hard to see that there was a very real possibility that either of them would then say something that would hurt deeply, and be impossible to retract later.

Once he saw the trap for what it was, he smiled, and shook his head, and chided himself for almost too easily falling into it. And it was then just as easy to see the way out.

Of course he was stressed. And impatient.

But...

He had waited his whole life for someone like her, so waiting a few more minutes shouldn't be that hard. Whilst it might not be a pleasure, it could definitely be painless. And with similar thoughts flowing through his brain, and leading on tangentially to others, which led on to others, the remainder of his waiting time was spent pleasantly enough, and when she finally came out, she was surprised to see him in such a good mood, knowing how tetchy he usually was when they went shopping together.

On the way home, though, he was hit by an thought. If ever they were to have daughters, he decided, he would make sure they were trained to be in and out of shops in under 10 minutes. He smiled at the idea. Was that even possible?

He was going to have fun finding out.

On Music

The driving rhythm of the drums, and the subtle undertones of the bass, lay the perfect foundation for the guitar. And it doesn't disappoint, the sound of different combinations of notes merging and flowing into each other evoking different emotional responses from the listener. This one is epic, and heroic. That one can only ever be about love. That other one there is the very definition of what is cool. Another is about loneliness and sorrow. Yet another describes angst perfectly. And this one here, this one says that, whilst we don't know what's going on, everything is going to be all right. No lyrics, no vocals. None are needed. This is just from the notes of the guitar.

*sighs*

I've been music free for more than two years now. Wait, let me correct that:

I've been music free for two years now, except for a couple of lapses. The first was back in May/June of this year, where after nearly two years of music abstinence, I went back to listening to it. I was really down at the time, not that its any excuse. The second is recently, over the past week or so. I don't know what's made me go back this time, but I know I have no excuse whatsoever.

During my times of weakness, some years ago, I loved music. Specifically, I loved my own choice, which to me was based on music that could stimulate both emotional and intellectual reactions, and knowing that I had consciously chosen my own type of music instead of being force-fed stuff from around me made me love my own choices even more. Ironic now, that something I was so proud of then is a weak point now.

I can somewhat justify my choice - instrumentals of the rock, heavy metal, and classical variety, knowing that such choices, if not good for you, were nowhere near as bad for you as other kinds, but the justification rings hollow to me, and probably also to anyone who reads this. I shouldn't be listening to them, and from now on, I won't. Ever.

I don't know why we as humans are attracted to music as we are, but it's undeniable. I don't know if many look at music the way I did, or liked what I liked, but it's an academic discussion, and quite irrelevant now. I know I can hold out for years, even though my many years or music listening means that quite a few guitar solos are now etched permanently in my brain, and that everywhere I go, there is bound to be some music playing. These two factors make it tough, but not impossible to hold out, and now I'm determined to make it so.

I think I can turn this weakness into a strength by training myself to remember my Creator everytime I hear some music. Whether this will work or not remains to be found out.

God help me....

10 Haikus III

The previous 10

be careful about
doing bad with good in mind,
no good ever comes

come on, roll the dice
I'm eager to know what's next.
my fate awaits me

I was hewn from stone.
But I never knew my shape
though He always did.

energy courses
through me, looking for an out.
but what to do now?

Its dark, and lonely
But I'll be fine, as always
just give me my books.

To do it in style
is that why we like to rhyme?
or do we just whine?

You are beautiful.
forget what others say, I
see inner beauty

I'm not that worried
If I have some pain ahead
It will redeem me

Come, sit, rest, and speak
Time gives us stories to share
what have you to tell?

You reflect yourself
as within, then so without
never long hidden.

**************

I think I'm getting better, but one can never be sure. I do love writing these though.

The next 10

[Fiction] A kickabout

If you don't like football (soccer), I recommend skipping this. The end moral is the same regardless, but I draw heavily on football to illustrate what I'm trying to say.

**************

I took an unusual route home that day. For some reason, I felt like walking past the old 5-a-side astroturf, and reliving the memories of events that took place on there. A few played across my mind, some of which I smiled at, and a few at which i cringed as well. Thankfully there were not many to cringe at, but, I wondered if it could really have been so long since I zipped about the pitch as if it were my own.

I got there. There was someone alone, practicing. I saw him place the ball a fair distance from the goal, take a few steps back, and lightly run and hit the ball. It was a perfect connection, and the ball flew sweetly into the net. He fetched it, placed it in the spot, and repeated, over and over again. It flew in every time. I admired his persistence, which reminded me of my own solo training sessions. How lazy I had become in the intervening years was not something I wanted to dwell on.

I stepped on the pitch, and felt the artificial surface crunch under my shoes. He regarded my entrance with some surprise, but relaxed almost immediately, and did not indicate any discomfort with my presence, or gesture for me to leave him. I nodded. He nodded back. I motioned that I wanted the ball, and he passed it to me. It was a little off, but I reflexively trapped the ball, and brought it under my control with ease. At least I still had something left. I felt the ball through my shoes, and wished I was wearing proper football shoes, instead of the walking ones I had on. They were comfortable, yes, but they were little good for now. They would do though.

I passed it back, as did he, and we gradually increased the speed, until it was impossible to increase the tempo anymore with the ball on the ground. We started passing the ball through the air, slowly at first, allowing the ball to bounce one or twice before sending it back, before progressing to volleying it back and forth as the fell dropped out of the sky, not allowing it to touch the ground. It was exhilarating, and we kept this up for a few minutes before one of us (I won't say who) mishit the ball, and it sort of dribbled to a stop.

We rested for a while, and then resumed. After a while, I passed the ball to him, and started running towards the goal. He read my mind, and with one touch sent the ball to where I was going to be, allowing me to run on to it and comfortably hit it with a serious amount of force. It flew in, and for a brief moment, I felt young again. He acknowledged my effort with a half-nod, half-tilt of hi head. I set him up as he had for me, and watched him thump the ball into the net with more poise and grace than I had done. We continually set each other up, but bored of this quickly.

When the ball next came to me, I acted on an impulse, and began to run with the ball towards him, attempting to dribble past him. He had enough time to steel himself, and easily took the ball off me. Then he tried to dribble past me, but I got it off him, more by luck and instinct than intention. "First to five?" He nodded. Incidentally, that was the only time I remember us talking.

We were somewhat evenly matched, him having youth and me experience, so it would take some time before either of us would be successful five times in our attempts to take the ball past the other. The score was tied at three each when something amazing happened. I took the ball past him, but in the most amazing way, one I haven't been able to recreate since. As I approached him whilst running, I touched the ball three times with my right foot in quick succession. The first took the ball slightly to my left, and his right. The second moved the ball back towards my right, and his left. The third sent the ball through the tunnel which the first two touches had made his legs form, out of instinct. This happened in a flash, and I was no more aware of how I did it than he was, the surprise on my own face matching that of his.

I lost the match, in the end. I kept trying to recreate what it was that I had done, and so lost my focus. We touched palms when he won, and I set off home, leaving him to his practice. Every now and then I passed by the same route, but never saw him again, though I saw plenty of others, and occasionally played with them, always acquitting myself well, but never covering myself in glory. Those days were gone.

It is more than 5 years now, since the day I performed that trick, yet the details remain razor sharp, and I often replay it in my mind. I know I didn't consciously will it, and I know it was no unconscious reflex from training, since I had never done it before. I was aware of myself doing it, but felt a strange disconnect, as if it were not me doing it, but rather I was channeling from something greater than me. I also knew, somehow, that the attempt would work, that in that particular instance, I would be successful in what I did (I probably should have been attempting to do something else, maybe I would have been successful there). I wonder if that's what life is when body, mind and soul are united, and act as one. Is this what happens on a greater scale to Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp? Did they plan those beautiful goals, or did they suddenly get inspired?

Moving away from football, is this what happens when artists, poets and writers are in "flow", and beautiful, amazing works just seem to create themselves? More importantly, is this what happens when every fibre of your being is devoted to the service of God, when you say the right thing, do the right thing, without quite knowing how, yet being dimly aware of doing so? And knowing that what you do will work? Is this what it means to be channeling from something greater than yourself? I honestly don't know...I've never experienced a moment like that since. Maybe that was just a taster of what such life is like, and the reason I experienced it during a football game was because that was the only way it would make sense to me.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I'm not sure I ever will.

On Haikus

I wrote in my minimalism post that perhaps maybe I wouldn't be going into writing haikus until I had developed my abilities within the framework of iambic pentameter. After all, in so doing, I wrote what I consider to be my best poem to date (The Come, Friend one). And so I reasoned that if I continued to do so, then I would develop, and write more poems of that calibre, and even better.

But...

After writing the minimalism post, I decided to write a few haikus, to try and see how it would be like. And then I wrote some more, and some more. Before I knew it, I had 10, which I posted. Now, I have posted 10 more. I like writing them. They're like tiny little fragments of life, and the 17 syllable constraint means that shaping them requires delicacy and economy, which I don't claim to have, but maybe, through writing more, I can gain. As with everything, you only get what you give, so you can see some where I clearly wasn't trying as hard as I was in others.

So I'm going to continue writing them. I don't make any claim as to the quality that will come, I'll just write what comes to me...memories, concepts, feelings, descriptions, whatever. I'll post them in sets of 10, as that seems like as good a number as any for a cut off point. 10 is also deceptively large, making it look like I've done loads, whereas 10 haikus is only 170 syllables. Also, I'll link each haiku page to the one posted before it, and after it, to maintain a semblance of continuity, as well as maybe to chronicle a gradual increase in quality, should one actually happen.

10 More Haikus

The previous 10

The game is over.
I don't want to play anymore.
You win. I give up.

Communication:
where we talk, but don't listen...
yet expect results.

I wish you the best,
on this special day for you...
It should have been me

I'm so envious
You are to go where I can't
light something for me.

tell me of legends
of great heroes, epic feats
show me why I fail

Today is unique.
Something is different, somehow
It won't be wasted.

Thief, liar, coward,
self absorbed hypocrite.
who dares come fix me?

I feel the tears flow.
proof that my heart is not stone
not much time left though.

let's push the limits
on what is superhuman
do something special.

beauty in movement.
Lets look for poetry in
motion, all the time

******

Again, just practicing, and having fun.
Again, also, don't read too much into it.

The next 10

The Melting Pot

The following are the means of creative expression I favour. Next to them, I rank my proficiency in them out of 10.

Writing, both prose and non-prose (5)
Poetry (3)
Graphics (3)
Photography (1 - well, I am new)
Drawing (1, only cause I can't give myself zero)

And the following are areas of interest to me, where I hope to continually develop (copied, word for word, from my iTunes U post, with a new addition to the end):

Mathematics
Philosophy
Art
Architecture
Science
Language
Media Studies
Literature
Politics
Astronomy
Economics
Law
Design
History
Poetry
Sociology
Theology
Linguistics
Programming
Photography

The normal worry would be that I'm spreading myself too thinly... that in choosing such a big list of diverse interests, I'll end up with a shallow understanding of each. And it might happen...I don't know for sure that it won't. But it is my belief that understanding one field increases your appreciation and ability to better understand the others. And that principles learnt in one field have dynamic, creative applications in totally different ones. And that's what I hope to achieve. To prove that diverse areas of study do not limit your understanding, but free you to understand different, overlapping facets of life.

And the link with my methods of creative expression?
Well, I hope that, as my growth in each area becomes deeper, and more profound, and the more links I can make between different areas of life, I will be better able to express it, using the means outlined above. It would also be an interesting experiment in itself to try and merge the distinct forms of expression into something altogether new.

To the glorious flowering of human potential that lies dormant within us all!

Flickr

So I'm into photography as well. I'm doing my best to develop in as many directions at the same time. I've got a camera, and a flickr account, and have been playing around with the camera to get familiar with it. The flickr account is here, and I've also added it to the sidebar on the right. I hope to be adding new pictures very soon.

EDIT: Flickr only let you have 100MB worth of uploads a month, which I have pretty much already used. 100 MB is in between 15 and 20 photos at the highest quality level. I can either take lots of lower quality photos, or only upload the very best of what I've taken every month. I'm leaning towards the latter, but I might change my mind.(Edited 04/11/09)

10 Haikus

it was silly to
doubt; now, I know I'll love you
always... forever

one of these days, I'm
going to steal you, right out
of the flow of time

Why am I always
cursed to remember? its my
own fault...damn music

I broke the old mould,
by pushing myself harder.
the new one awaits.

The fragments of the
shell fell away, leaving true
beauty... just for me

Why can't I say what...
what I really want to say?
one day, possibly

the out is broken,
the beauty inside revealed;
not much has changed

I play with numbers
its too easy, better than words.
only one right answer

I found myself here.
curiously, it was here
that I lost myself

I walked alone,
then I was with someone, now
I'm alone again.

*************

I'm just practicing. Don't read too much into it.

The next 10

Radiolab

These guys are just amazing. I ask any and all to listen to any one podcast of theirs, to know what I mean. I guarantee it will make you smarter, which is a big claim to make, but I know it will be true.

Get it here

[Fiction] The Gift.

It had been a horrible day...She just wanted to grab all her things and go home. At least, she thought, there wasn't much long left of this. A few more weeks of class, and then exams, and she was free. Free from all the stress of and expectation to perform to everybody's expectations and preconceived notions.

She approached her locker, which was empty, save for her wallet and phone, which was all she ever kept in it. It was unlocked, and she panicked as she realised she had forgotten to lock it for the whole of the afternoon. Thankfully nothing was missing, but something else was present as well.

It was a white rose. Attached to it was a note:

"Your locker was open - I didn't force it. I apologise for invading your privacy like this, but it was the only way I could do this. Unlike everyone, I've seen you struggle everyday, and hope that this gift will remind you that someone else sees, and understands. You don't know me, and it's not worth your time finding out, so please don't try to."

It wasn't signed. Not even an alias. She thought for a few seconds, and briefly entertained the idea of leaving a note in return for the gift giver, which she eventually decided against, after which she took the rose and and pinned it to her outermost garment. She got a few curious stares from people on the way home, but nowhere near as many as she would have, had the rose been red. At least the gift giver had been tactful.

She wore it from that day on, and when it wilted, replaced it every couple of days with a new one. It seemed like she had been given a fresh lease of life, and she positively soared through the final days of school.

**********

From his hiding place, he saw her read the note, and take the rose. What he didn't expect was to see her attach it to her clothes, or to see her replace it every couple of days with a new one. It thrilled him to know he had made a small difference in her life, and he was glad to see her smile more often.

And it was true. She smiled more often, though perhaps she would have smiled even more, had she known the identity of the gift giver, for it turns out she did know him. But he wasn't to know that, and at the end of the year, they saw each other no more.