The Scorch of First World Problems

*Photo by -thesilverfox- on DeviantArt* The rush of hot water through the pipes in this old house violates my eardrums with a smooth thrill of reverberating fascination at the fact that I have so much. A warm bed, good food, family that loves me, a safe house, and clean water to drink. My typical morning consists of a simple twist of the tap to flow me a river; I cannot even imagine what it would be like to trudge twelve miles through crackling heat, dipping a rotting wood bucket into a deep well, hoping to get enough water for the only meal me and my family must share. Doesn't it seem sometimes, that one takes things for granted? It's quite easy to not worry about hunger when food is so accessible: grocery stores; pantries in one's home; blankets slung over a sofa that poor workers in China slaved over. Fascination mixes with a slight disgust at the way society works when I look through the telescope of a third-party observer. Were I not sunk into the soft cushion I've bought for myself, I may be begging on the streets (or actually, what would be more like me would be scrawling every last observation into a battered, pulpy notebook, scrounging for inspiration). Situations in the first world dynamic may seem harsh, inconvenient, and disconcerting at times. But one must always remember: the grass is browner on the other side of the fence. One in our society lives a cushy life, even if one does have to work to gain the money to access this: some jobs require very little physical effort, however. I am not one to say I am any better; simply observant of the fact. Now, my question of the day is this: gaze upon your life and smile at all the wonderful things you've been given, because someday, if they were all pulled out from under you like a rug from a sultan, wouldn't you miss them so?

The Weight of the World on Your Shoulders

Several tears have been shed today, in the wake of many words having thrown themselves at souls in sharp slices. Problems, pain, and anger are easy to be pitted on others. Of course the blame should be put on others! But, when is it really someone else's fault? In a sword fight, the one with the sharpest sword and quickest tongue is usually the one rogue hiding away from all others, insecure at being handed the one metal weapon shorn closest to the hilt. But if one never cuts away the fat to get to the good meat, there will always be that soggy mass on the side of the tender goodness that waits just inside. In my own novel that I wrote in a month (and am currently in progress with revision), I found quite the interesting moral: all the characters in it are very corrupt people with issues in their lives that, for most people, would be a knife wound to the side every day. And for these characters, it is just that. But what I hope to convey through my story, at the very end, one must look past all the dirty world they're a part of; the characters occupy themselves with mere distractions for their real problems. They're all just people looking for redemption from their mistakes and all that they've been through. But the ultimate action all these characters (and people in the real world) must take is that of taking charge of their own lives. Everything that's happened to a person wraps them in their own sorrow, but what one does with their sorrow to turn it into good is the ultimate sacrifice for happiness. The only person that can make your life "better" is you. So many people occupy themselves with distractions; mere prohibitions of difficult situations to try and suffocate their troubles. But asphyxiation never quite occurs; the problems always resurface somehow the next day, pulling themselves out of oxygen deprivation. My question of the day would be: what issue do you need to reflect upon and solve, as it is up to you, ultimately, to solve it?

The titter of a bird just outside my sunken basement window; the creak of floorboards above my restless head as the light creeps in sullenly; the quiet music of a breathing human so close I can practically hear their eyelids flutter in REM sleep; these are all things that are so very inspiring to me. It may be difficult to impress upon the less observant eye that a few notes from a blue-breasted creature with wings could be inspiring, but the fact that there is life inside such a tiny living being is absolutely fascinating to me. Even the looping cries of a child crying out for attention inspires me: possibly only to grab a pair of earplugs, but it is nevertheless inspiring. I suppose there are some very obvious reasons I am a writer; I hole myself up in my house all day, getting inspired by the littlest of things. A downy flake pressing on the toe of my boot as I trudge up the wooden stairs can inspire me to write about individuality and the concerns of a society so conforming, we've forgotten our snowflake-selves. The golden orb of soft light hanging illuminating my glassy eyes darting to and fro from every corner of the room can inspire me to write about human existence, and our impending doom for independence from this planet, which has a mere few billion years of life left. From science fiction to romance and all the spaces in between, I find inspiration at the very edge of every cliff, at the very tip of my tongue with every word, at every junction in my life. I believe that anyone can be inspired, inspiring, and that we all should tap into our inner inspiration. I am not recruiting a band of loyal writers to go marching through the streets pointing out every single feather floating down from the great blue quilt in the sky, exclaiming, "Wow! Amazing! The sun's out, just like it was yesterday!" I am simply stating that my question of the day would be: what inspires you, and what actions will you take to inspire others? Pay it forward; you'll reap an even more glorious harvest. *Picture by fruityfruitfly on DeviantArt*

Indepen-dance

*Painting by Ranonus from Deviantart* What is the true meaning of independence? Humans, especially Americans nowadays, seem to be quite dependent on several things; grocery stores, the male dynamic, makeup, and technology. Humans who claim to be self-sufficient are just scratching their name into the dirt for the aliens to find them. No wonder they want to take over our planet: we'd be nothing without the highly advanced society we've built ourselves into! Now, I don't mean to take this into a rant-style form of writing, but there is a time when one must realize just how many things they take for granted in a single period of twenty four hours. Say your shower stopped running water, and wouldn't be fixed for an entire week; would you find a clean spring to wash yourself in, forget showering altogether, or wash yourself in the sink instead? See, these "lunatic examples," if you will, are out of this world for we humans...well, those of us with first-world problems, anyway. But if one were to stop and think just what we would do without the social niceties of our comfortable homes and families, and put aside the problems we deem necessary, we would see that the sheer notion of survival is packed up into a two by four inch plastic computer-chip filled device; a sad thought to be devoured. My question of the day would be: what would you be without this era's technology, housing, money, etc.?

Gone Away Is the Old Sadness

I don't seem to have gotten many comments on my most recent pieces, so I am going to assume that I've lost interest in my blog. Nevertheless, I will still write, for those who wish to read it. I haven't written in a full year and a month, and am jumping back into it full force. Recently, I joined Twitter, and 140 characters seems a scoff in the face of a prolific writer to me. However, it is nice for quotes. Nevertheless, here is my newest blog: In this day and age, it's easy to say "loss" is an everyday thing. Socks, stuffed animals; even children go missing, and it is all too easy to say that there is nothing we can do about it. Now, while the loss of a child can never be revoked or argued against, as it is a heinous act of that of the perpetrator, some good can always be spoken about loss. When we lose something, even if we cannot see it until far later, we gain something far greater than we ever would have without the great loss. In my personal example, just a month ago, I broke up with my boyfriend. I won't mention his name, but as it only lasted a month, it couldn't have been such a strong relationship. Now, I would have never wanted to go through the loss of someone (even if they hadn't treated me quite right), if I hadn't gained something afterwards. And, in fact, I did. In my trying times, I struck up quite the friendship with my cousin, Danny. My heart never poured out to the boyfriend, but the liquid I lost biting my thumbs about him has been replenished because of this friendship. My question of the day would be: what have you lost, and are you willing to endure, to be blessed even further afterwards?

Worte, Parole, Mots, Verba

Dictionaries, spellbooks, novels, newspapers, advertisements; words are everywhere. Many individuals struggle with expressing themselves, as it is difficult deciding on which words to let loose from their lips. I am one such person; words simply do not come to me as quickly or transitionally as most people. Sometimes (and more often than not) I use hand gestures to attempt to communicate my point and to please the reciever of my "hand dialogue." However, I find it quite ironic, because, despite being shy and quiet, I am a singer, and have been in my school (and church choir when I was little) since pre-school. I suppose the beauty of words set to music to add a vocal element to the piece makes me light up with the greatest of awe. I also write, often and sometimes not enough; my best topic of choice, to converse about or actually perform.
However, sometimes I wonder if, maybe I were to become more outgoing and "entertaining," according to modern human standards of people who put their two cents into a conversation, I might finally be able to fit in and make aquaintances better, as I have difficulty with that immensely. But, I suppose you can't have your cake and eat it too, so I suppose I'll have the wonderful flowery language only in my writing and leave the short, simplicity of my Neanderthal speech to my spoken word. *Picture by 'SSilence on deviantArt*
~Life may not be a utopia, but look around you, it sure is beautiful sometimes.~

Life, Ink.

A shape, a symbol, a message, a memory, a loved one. Tattoos all have various meaning, some more so than others. I suppose there are certain people who find tattoos vulgar, against nature or against their religion, or even ugly, but there are also quite a few others that find an inked, permanent work to be full of meaning, a visual expression of art and rembrance. Usually they are significant of a loved one, loved pet, or a special event in the wearer's life, but often they are for fun, an 18th birthday occasion. My brother is one such recipient, as his tattoos are more for cosmetic appeal, rather than a deeper meaning, and I believe this may be because he got them on a whim, eager to "look cooler." He has a couple skulls and markings on his biceps and right forearm, but regrets his just-eighteen-and-ready-to-get-inked mentality, and now says he wants to get them covered with grander, more elaborate tattoos. So I suppose critics of tattoos might say that to have something permanently etched into your skin (as a choice) may not always be beneficial to the "human canvas" we sometimes think we are. Often, a person might decide they no longer enjoy the tattoo, or it was a stupid decision, or they get drunk and get an "I heart Mom" tattoo, in a most inappropriate place, or even find that as they get older, the tattoo they found awesome a few years ago now isn't suited for the workplace, or something to that effect.
But yet the thing that intrigues so many to the art of tattooing is the beauty of having a story illustrated on one's body; a beautiful, picturesque view of their life, a dragon taking off into the sky, a mermaid splashing in a lagoon, brightly colored flowers surrounding a cross, always honoring.