One Man Wasteland

A short poem I wrote a while back – which I recently used as a template for a newer one.

Sparks of Insanity

My mind is a wasteland of memories.

Of half-remembered skills, and unfulfilled dreams.

It is filled to the brim with relics of my past.

It haunts me.

My heart is a wasteland of passions.

Of warped, shattered desires, and atrophied talents.

It is empty, left wanting for what I could have been.

It taunts me.

My body is a wasteland of flesh.

Of neglected tissue and abused mechanics.

It’s been marked and stained by all my sins.

It rots with me.

See also:One Man Wasteland(alt. version)

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Passion Never Dies

There are certain things I’ve shied away from in spite of my attitude, intention, of saying whatever the fuck I want to say about anything at all. The dicier shit actually doesn’t bother me that much, like that last post (fuck religion in general, including Islam), that might just offend some people.

I’m fine with that though.

The kind of thing on my mind has nothing to do with that, with being to chickenshit to speak my mind. Oddly enough it’s actually the reverse. Blogging tips are something I’ve steered clear of for a few different reasons: early on, what the fuck qualified me? I was at zero subscribers.

And further down the line I had a few hundred, then a few thousand.

Since I’ve broken past 15,000 that reason no longer holds up. The other is that… it’s not exactly what I wanted to be here for. It bled through anyways, I’d maybe make a suggestion in a post about other shit, or every now and then would suggest shit and that was the post.

Exceptions to my general rule of thumb.

Maybe it shouldn’t be an exception though; my lack of willingness to just write it out and post it cuts down on my overall output. And maybe I don’t want to be known as some sort of fucking blogging “guru” whose main purpose is to advise other people. I wanted this to be all about creation, whether the articulation and clear capture of an opinion (like what you see here).

Well, all about that, and all about what I was doing with my fiction.

Circumstances have kind of changed though; I was burning hot on the writing, had a vivid vision and a vicious desire to get as close to it as possible, as fast as possible. That vision, the aspirations, are still more or less intact. They’re just muted atm here because my heart is flowing elsewhere.

Not instead of writing, but alongside it, and it takes priority.

This passion isn’t dead though, or even sleeping, and not being able to think too much about what I write, or how, or when… that’s always been a boon to me in writing. And given the amount of time and energy other shit takes these days, that’s the only route to go if I want to keep writing.

Especially if I want to ramp this shit back up and start gaining ground on this front again.

Gems for the Reader

If you want reach and engagement, post what you can whenever you can. If intentions or plans are getting in the way and you’re itching to get something done, written, posted, fuck ’em.

Throw away the intentions and the plans and see what happens naturally.

Self Inflicted Distraction(s)

The title became a distraction so it’s back to the original for now. I wrote out a long post, probably just should’ve left it published, but… even I have limits on what I’m willing to share of myself, or rather, how I’m willing to. It’s one of those things where… what kind of audience are you looking to attract? How do you want to be known. I don’t want to be known for being so hung up on a fucking title, so I’m done with it for now. The old one stays ’cause it still fits. It might be out of date but at least it’s genuine and speaks exactly to what I am, how I tend to approach things when I’m at my best… and all sorts of other shit I don’t even know where to start with.

…a word of advice…

When doubts and distractions arise, kill them.

Sure, hear ’em out, consider them, but then slide the knife in and move the fuck onwards and upwards. The best way to murder them is with to prove them wrong in action, in reality. In this little example the action was simple: change the header back to what it was before. Since it still fits (at least a hell of a lot better than the would be replacements) it’s no longer a distraction. If I change it at some point then I change it – if not, that’s just as well. It’s not an actual problem.

Or it wasn’t until I made it one. Fixed that shit though.

Moments of Indecision

Well, I’m still figuring out what I want to do with this fucking title issue (not feeling it, or the previous one), and I was going to work on one of my drafts here but apparently that’s an “invalid post address” or some shit. Whatever. I’m still going to write something.

I don’t know what yet but I’ll figure it out as I go along – and yeah, if you’re new to this site, I do this kind of shit, and I find as far as site traffic goes, the more the merrier. It also happens to correspond to my level of productivity. The more I write freely, the more I write, period. Having a specific purpose in mind is good, having something specific to say, but what about when you get tired? Or apply yourself too much to something else in your life to be able maintain the same level of energy and effort towards the, oh, a blog like this? Or how about when I’m feeling overwhelmed, uncertain, or indecisive?

Writing through it is a way back to the specifics, to meaningful purposes, to sifting through myself in some respects. Spew the words out, see what’s there, take it back in and process it, then spit it out clearer than the first time (not as a draft to publish process either; as a 1st post, 2nd post, 3rd post, etc. process). Makes it visibly messy.

Life is messy though, and so am I. Odds are, so are you.

Nothing wrong with sharing that around, infecting others, with that messiness and the strange, vicious hunger that seems to develop for the sharing of it, the spread. Although…  maybe I’m getting a bit too metaphysical for what I’m getting at. The point is, this messy stream of thoughts I’m writing out – and that you’re presumably reading – is part of how I work my way to ever clearer, more effective communication. Could do it in a journal too as far as that goes, but why not do it here? No good reason not to imo, so here we are.

Indecision might be a recurring issue for me but here’s a suggestion if you’ve got similar issues: work through it. You can kill indecision pretty easily when you’ve got it in perspective. Decide.

Decide and you can kill it. And to be honest, I might kill this “moment” of indecision and opt for a reversion to the previous title (Heart of a Lunatic). It’s not that it doesn’t have meaning or relevance, I just want something new. I’m bored with it, over it. Since none of the worthwhile alternatives I’ve come up with are really clicking with me, either the current title (Sutter’s Anthem) or the old one can stay up there until something better (more in tune with the here and now) occurs to me. I’d rather it come naturally anyways; forcing it often ruins it.

Authenticity, being real, counts for a lot in my book.

(And as a sidenote… what a horribly trivial thing to fixate on; I’m wasting my time with this title thing, making too much of it, and it really doesn’t matter what the title is except how they play on (or against) the kind of things I’ve said in the past – and the kind of things I’ll say in the future.)

Doubts Always Whisper

When people talk about “writing” they often seem to mean “writing fiction”. Most of what I say when I talk about it can apply to writing fiction, but it also applies equally (or exclusively) to writing in general. Writing out an idea, a value, an opinion, a social commentary, etc. Sometimes I’m just talking about any writing, even private thoughts written haphazardly into a journal.

You see I’m not exactly accomplished in the creative department. I’ve got a few exceptionally clever poems under my belt and one or two pieces of flash fiction I was pleasantly surprised to see blossom into existence. But most of my writing currently is right here. Before that it was on discussion forums, which aren’t centered around one individual exclusively.

So when I think of writing on a schedule or think of it as a career…. well, one way of putting it is that I don’t really know what I’m thinking. I know I’ve got a little talent for it, and a lot of practice in other approaches outside of fiction or blogging. But while I’d love to get paid for it I really have to wonder about my ability to hack it as a professional writer.

As someone who could make enough money on it to eat and pay bills? The thought of it still leaves me with a stupid blank look on my face when it’s on my mind. It would feel like getting money for nothing, but only if I was already writing prolifically enough to comfortably meet the demands (contracts, obligations, etc.). If I’m not at that place naturally beforehand…

If I’m not churning out sellable work at a decent pace simply out of passion, because I enjoy the hell out of it then I have no idea how I would make a living with it. It would feel the same as everything else. Crushing, overly stressful, and unsatisfying. And I’m just nowhere near that yet. The closest I’ve come to so far is on the blog you’re reading right now.

Reaching a point where I write stories all the time too, not just the kind of writing that ends up here or in a notebook, would be the first step in making a career out of this. But I just don’t know if I’m that in love with storytelling. I know what makes an extraordinary author in my eyes, and I know what my life would look like if I got to that point. What I question is…

Do I truly have the passion to get there?

The constant expansions and growth here should lend me a bit of confidence. Or at least I feel like they should. I started writing here back in March or April of 2013, just a few posts, and it made for a decent start. For the short time I’ve actually been here letting things bleed out though, things have been going even better. It’s pretty much all upward.

There’s really no reason to think it won’t continue to be. No reason beyond a nagging, sneaky little shadow of doubt. A whisper… “you’ve accomplished plenty before, only to let it wither away to shit, then to dust.” I know it’s right too. My track record isn’t great. I also know I can let it ride with me and prove it wrong, but even still it whispers…

“Yeah, you can take me for a ride. Until you burn out and I win.”

I hate that little whisper, always hiding beneath the surface of my dreams and aspirations. Lurking beneath my arrogance. Tainting my confidence and imaginings. Things like this, the whispers and this post itself, are the kind of thing that make me feel like introspection is a total fucking waste of time. I don’t know why I wrote this, save to articulate my outlook on this.

A way to process it. Put it into words, bring it into focus. Everyone has doubts though, and I loath indulging mine. Any time I give them is more than they deserve. At least that’s the way I feel about it. In fact I almost wish I hadn’t written this post. Not quite, but almost. If it’s on my mind then I might as well write it… after all, I have to write.

I have to write something, even if it’s this.

Even so, this is getting posted first today because I don’t care for it. It’s not that I don’t want people to read it, to know that I’ve been there to, that even the greatest have been, that it’s nothing special. Nor is it a sign that you just suck. You might (I really couldn’t say), but the doubt probably doesn’t have anything to do with it one way or the other.

It’s going to be there in some form no matter who you are or how much you’ve accomplished. So read this, and know that. The only reason I want to bury it beneath more worthwhile posts is my own discomfort with it. I don’t like doubts or uncertainties, I don’t like the little bastard children it produces (e.g. this post), and I don’t want it to be the newest post for to long.

It can be on my site, just not at the top where I’m reminded of it every time I bring it up on my web browser. I want to forget about it. Because it’s not as important as other things. Doubts are never worth dwelling on. They’re nothing in comparison to hopes or actions. I’m not exactly proud of being so skilled in the art of needlessly dwelling…

I’m just not ashamed of it either, or unwilling to acknowledge it.
That’s the only reason I’m publishing this post.