Toy Soldiers
I'm back to writing. So much has changed. I can't begin to describe effectively the changes that have occurred since the last time I've written. Do me a favor and immerse yourself in the title song when considering this post; I want you to understand.
Life after the last post decreased in depth. I lost all sorts of emotional depth, and I must admit it was nothing but an enjoyable experience. Pretty much all of everything was happy. School was fun even when the work was a bitch. Even when school wasn't fun, the people made it fun (the same people who say this collection of writing scares them). The people, the people—people really define all the experiences. Everything is so much more objective this way. It's unknowable but objective. Things fit clearer, simpler patterns, and my evaluation of these patterns doesn't fail Occam's Razor, which makes me happy as a mathematician and an engineer. Things finally boil down to one significant universal principle (although its simplicity doesn't simplify the reality it describes, unfortunately—it just means I have a "reality check" method now).
The chronology of my life is barely interesting, but some of it may be relevant, so expect anecdotes when necessary. I try not to write history because history is dull except when it comes to economics and war. This means there's interesting history all throughout history, but not always in the same place. This entire paragraph is an aside, and it may distract you. For this I apologize (or perhaps not).
I spend my time at home enjoying myself immensely. I spend my time with people I love. We do fun things; we relax; we joke, discuss, and completely ignore the future. Today is about today, and that's it. We smoke cigars and play chess and have bonfires. Those are the best days. Sometimes I play video games, but they lose their appeal when I can be participating in the aforementioned activities. Life flows slowly and surely and not much changes and the happiness lasts indefinitely infinitely. My mind settles down after all that shit before and I'm at peace. I go back to school and I'm at peace. I have fun with friends and I don't worry about things. I slowly move away from people who are harmful to my character and solidify the valuable connections. Winter break is great; I'm as happy as can be, and not because I'm controlling my mood with music anymore. It's so legitimate. I read some books again, finally! Visits to family are fun, being with friends again is fun. I return to school, rinse, and repeat. Then something terrible happens, and I end a paragraph with a cliché.
Imagine participating in something wonderful, whatever it may be. The feeling of participation in such an activity warms your heart. You anticipate the participation on a regular basis, perhaps daily. Moments not spent participating appear wasted, but not really, because you're happy in general, and it's got no TTL, no time frame, no deadline. All of a sudden, you find out that this magnificent influence will cease within two days and you'll be left hanging.
Get more specific. Communication with a particularly intriguing person found me enjoying my time more than usual, and communication increased with trust, and as I've written in the past, trust is a beautiful thing. It's something I long for, and fuck, I don't know if I can finish writing this shit. I met someone I've never met and they changed me, they challenged me, they made me question everything. That placid happiness just disappeared, and during just the week I'd forgotten about, but lo, this event from two years prior resurfaced during the course, and holy shit did I fail. But it gets better! The challenges, they forced me to fix it! The guilt is *all gone*. I don't think I can make that clear enough in this paragraph of complete Seuss. Two years' worth of burden dropped, and the person to whom I owe my newfound sanity has, as of tonight, cut me off due to social obligations. I've maintained my sanity and reason while *at the same time* possessing depth and dimension of emotion and *furthermore* the same happiness, although not complete. This character triggered something and for the life of me I can't fucking figure it out. I thought I knew me; I thought the blanket of calm was shaped one way and it turned out the structure beneath was something wholly different. You might say I owe everything to such a character. This may be true. I'm not done yet; I've got lots of thinking to do. It doesn't matter, though—it's a cakewalk from here. I can see the end of the hall, and I'm almost at the door. I can have the control and I can have the cognizance I thought I lost to emotion and I can have the emotion I thought I lost to level-headed happiness and I can have it all! I can have it all but the complete isolation because the emptiness remaining is worse than those minor removals, like tearing a wart out. Those holes fill in. This is removal of something vital, and I don't know how to recover from that. It's being cut short. It's like having a breakdown, getting an IV, and having the IV pulled right out of you. I want to be dependent on it so much; I *am* dependent on it so much, and she's so out of reach. All I want from her is communication but the lines lie cut in front of me.
Saying goodnight one last time KILLED me. I could barely choke the words out after many moments of silence.
This freewrite isn't what I wanted it to be, but it's what I want it to be, because you can't change a freewrite. You can guide your thoughts until the writing takes over and then your head is streaming like the gorgeous Niagra falls down through the hands and through the electronics and stored, and I hope that some of the river is recreated in the reader, because it's so, so beautiful. This is communication, connection, one aspect of the simple harmony.
Hemingway says, "You can't do this without putting in the bad and the ugly as well as what is beautiful. Because if it is all beautiful you can't believe in it. Things aren't that way." Hemingway failed to realize the beauty in the bad and the ugly. The static and dynamic combine into life, and I have a transcendental experience while listening to music and feeling and thinking. Feeling and thinking simultaneously.
I make my final apology for the poor form and lack of explanation. My mind is on the page and I've run out of energy or means of turning the pressure or stress into energy. I intend to elaborate in the future; we'll see if I still intend that in the future. I might write ten posts about this one subject, and you'll all be bored to tears, and the one significant person will never have read it. Oh, fallacy!
Life after the last post decreased in depth. I lost all sorts of emotional depth, and I must admit it was nothing but an enjoyable experience. Pretty much all of everything was happy. School was fun even when the work was a bitch. Even when school wasn't fun, the people made it fun (the same people who say this collection of writing scares them). The people, the people—people really define all the experiences. Everything is so much more objective this way. It's unknowable but objective. Things fit clearer, simpler patterns, and my evaluation of these patterns doesn't fail Occam's Razor, which makes me happy as a mathematician and an engineer. Things finally boil down to one significant universal principle (although its simplicity doesn't simplify the reality it describes, unfortunately—it just means I have a "reality check" method now).
The chronology of my life is barely interesting, but some of it may be relevant, so expect anecdotes when necessary. I try not to write history because history is dull except when it comes to economics and war. This means there's interesting history all throughout history, but not always in the same place. This entire paragraph is an aside, and it may distract you. For this I apologize (or perhaps not).
I spend my time at home enjoying myself immensely. I spend my time with people I love. We do fun things; we relax; we joke, discuss, and completely ignore the future. Today is about today, and that's it. We smoke cigars and play chess and have bonfires. Those are the best days. Sometimes I play video games, but they lose their appeal when I can be participating in the aforementioned activities. Life flows slowly and surely and not much changes and the happiness lasts indefinitely infinitely. My mind settles down after all that shit before and I'm at peace. I go back to school and I'm at peace. I have fun with friends and I don't worry about things. I slowly move away from people who are harmful to my character and solidify the valuable connections. Winter break is great; I'm as happy as can be, and not because I'm controlling my mood with music anymore. It's so legitimate. I read some books again, finally! Visits to family are fun, being with friends again is fun. I return to school, rinse, and repeat. Then something terrible happens, and I end a paragraph with a cliché.
Imagine participating in something wonderful, whatever it may be. The feeling of participation in such an activity warms your heart. You anticipate the participation on a regular basis, perhaps daily. Moments not spent participating appear wasted, but not really, because you're happy in general, and it's got no TTL, no time frame, no deadline. All of a sudden, you find out that this magnificent influence will cease within two days and you'll be left hanging.
Get more specific. Communication with a particularly intriguing person found me enjoying my time more than usual, and communication increased with trust, and as I've written in the past, trust is a beautiful thing. It's something I long for, and fuck, I don't know if I can finish writing this shit. I met someone I've never met and they changed me, they challenged me, they made me question everything. That placid happiness just disappeared, and during just the week I'd forgotten about, but lo, this event from two years prior resurfaced during the course, and holy shit did I fail. But it gets better! The challenges, they forced me to fix it! The guilt is *all gone*. I don't think I can make that clear enough in this paragraph of complete Seuss. Two years' worth of burden dropped, and the person to whom I owe my newfound sanity has, as of tonight, cut me off due to social obligations. I've maintained my sanity and reason while *at the same time* possessing depth and dimension of emotion and *furthermore* the same happiness, although not complete. This character triggered something and for the life of me I can't fucking figure it out. I thought I knew me; I thought the blanket of calm was shaped one way and it turned out the structure beneath was something wholly different. You might say I owe everything to such a character. This may be true. I'm not done yet; I've got lots of thinking to do. It doesn't matter, though—it's a cakewalk from here. I can see the end of the hall, and I'm almost at the door. I can have the control and I can have the cognizance I thought I lost to emotion and I can have the emotion I thought I lost to level-headed happiness and I can have it all! I can have it all but the complete isolation because the emptiness remaining is worse than those minor removals, like tearing a wart out. Those holes fill in. This is removal of something vital, and I don't know how to recover from that. It's being cut short. It's like having a breakdown, getting an IV, and having the IV pulled right out of you. I want to be dependent on it so much; I *am* dependent on it so much, and she's so out of reach. All I want from her is communication but the lines lie cut in front of me.
Saying goodnight one last time KILLED me. I could barely choke the words out after many moments of silence.
We find the people of our dreamsIt tears me apart to feel and know the song, but it's so real, and I've not felt for so long. Life is beautiful again, and again, like I knew before and forgot, it's this, the amazing connection and despair, acting in simple harmonic coordination, that define the beauty of life.
We find that they're not what they seem
I've learned that people come and go
I've learned that families break and grow
Toy soldiers brave away those tears
Toy soldiers hope for better years
This freewrite isn't what I wanted it to be, but it's what I want it to be, because you can't change a freewrite. You can guide your thoughts until the writing takes over and then your head is streaming like the gorgeous Niagra falls down through the hands and through the electronics and stored, and I hope that some of the river is recreated in the reader, because it's so, so beautiful. This is communication, connection, one aspect of the simple harmony.
Hemingway says, "You can't do this without putting in the bad and the ugly as well as what is beautiful. Because if it is all beautiful you can't believe in it. Things aren't that way." Hemingway failed to realize the beauty in the bad and the ugly. The static and dynamic combine into life, and I have a transcendental experience while listening to music and feeling and thinking. Feeling and thinking simultaneously.
I make my final apology for the poor form and lack of explanation. My mind is on the page and I've run out of energy or means of turning the pressure or stress into energy. I intend to elaborate in the future; we'll see if I still intend that in the future. I might write ten posts about this one subject, and you'll all be bored to tears, and the one significant person will never have read it. Oh, fallacy!
posted by Andrew Hills at 2:51 AM
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