curbside contemplation

There's a stare in the air, down the pavement where the apex of this tarmac straight transforms smoothly into a blind bend, the overly decisive has overcome the shadows of decision making in a landslide victory that leaves my fingers with the impression they will never meet rest again. The comforting background of writing on a plain white layout with the words ready to explode into the world and into existence with all manner of symbolism (meaning they are what they symbolise to you) - as outlandish as it sounds - is the only thing exciting enough to spark a concious effort to stay awake in this dry place with four walls where I think more dreams are broken than cultivated, where more energy is absorbed than vitalated, where curtains veil windows through which permeated rays of sunshine promise embellishment.

At the end of the day we get to go home but how many of us can keep doing that for the next 20 to 30 years of their life? I am talking, of course, about the most anticipated golden moment every day in some of our lives where we get to open the office door...and walk out. And everytime this happens, every remainder of another 'wasted' day, only to go home tired and be inhibited by our daily fix of idiot-box convential unreality and a morsel of last weeks chicken pattice, I say to myself, 'I just can't keep doing this forever.' Because, It doesn't make sense to me. It just doesn't.

Last evening at the Cashflow meeting I realised how many opportunities we had probably had and blown and what we need to do to direct ourselves to them. That was funny because all around me most people were only just starting to understand that opportunities existed in the first place, that they could do something more with their lives than just that and uplift into the realm of those who seem untouchable but are just like us - but well known. Its funny because whenever I go to these conventions and meetings and group get-togethers they always hit on the head exactly what I've known for so long, what I've been trying to say for so long. Yet while others embrace change and accept an opportunity with open arms...we shy away and prefer to let fear trap us in our own hearts. Fear of failing? No, never. More like fear of trying.

Weakness is a luxury the world thinks it can afford. Most people do not realise that the greatest weakness, the greatest fear in the world is the fear of fear itself. People are scared of being scared. People are scared of trying because trying something new makes them scared. And so, so many of those who appear to be highest on their totems of prominence are infact only there because perching on their pacemakers of parity is the only thing they will give themselves the permission to do. But the world needs to wake up, the world needs to instigate the domino-effect of choice-making courage pending in the chambers of weak hearts for eras since. Because, at the end of the day, I don't think its our abilities that make us what we are...as much as it is our choices.

Be the change you want to see in the world. - Ghandi

hsn

two-way lane

In the ultimate expression of the word sharing, my understanding of the those who define it as something we would offer from our own provisions is as amiable as the definition itself. Not that I disagree - because I don't - but wouldn't the highest peak of sharing be not in the form of food and aid handouts but as distributable intelligence to those who are not in the know; obscured from their own potential in a blurry world of scant tolerance and a tunnel vision to expectations?

Our best thoughts come from others, credited to Ralph W. Emerson. There is nothing overly-complicated about this statement - no accumulation of a cognitive structure with hidden connotations; not the kind of sentence that usually only takes residence in the deft minds of those of dexterous superiority. This is good news then, able to be understood, accepted and implemented by the masses.

Implemented? Hold it, I have to do something? Well, yes. Those who share - like the educated - may not have common commodity (or in the case of the educated: information) but they do have a common state of mind which compromises of 50% of its own usefulness. The other part, obviously, lies in the minds of those who are the receving end. The only place opportunity cannot be found is in a close-minded person. Advice is free, take it. Later on if you don't want it you can throw it out.

I think that opportunities come as you see them. I once heard, the difference between a warrior and an ordinary man is that the warrior sees everything as a challenge whereas the ordinary man perceives everything as either a blessing or a curse. Being seperated from those we hold in close affinity can give us the chance to realise we are strong enough to bear it. Failing in our exploits can reveal our lack of knowledge. Not owning something we desire will help us understand its value. No doubt these are not the first choices for anybody, but thats how you make the best of them, and making the best of them is the best thing you can do.

There is nothing more lost than the loss of gain,
nothing more wasted than a wasted grain,
floating in the waters of the pouring rain,
lets exchange our grains on this two-way lane.

hsn

Blank

Splunk! Whatever sound that is (reminiscent of days eating with clumsy hands and the metal spoon), it now signifies nothing and is irrelevant to what I'm about to say. Actually, I was about to say nothing so since it is relevant to nothing it is still significant. Haha, tired already? Cause I'm just getting started (with nothing) =D

So...title erosion. What of?
See, where my thoughts originate this is a major veeder-feister (meaning some sort of problem in some other unidentified language). He came. He thought. He conquered (or typed). But he could not choose the title. Not because he couldn't, but because it couldn't be done (no excuses allowed for being able to do it makes convenient living). Why? Because after over-ambitious returns to the wrong state of mind, he finally stopped, tagging along with him thoughts that even he hadn't thought about and a title for each and every one of them. So...the title of this entry is aptly named =)

Isn't it too much sometimes? I've come to discover in recent weeks that expressing isn't always helpful. Sometimes our norms of de-stressing can be quite painful when exposed to the world like rust. Sometimes...it just hurts.Its hurts because when the words try to pour out, your jug of thought in motion is bone dry and now you've failed even yourself. Who is yourself anymore? You sit in a blank room and you don't even know if the blank is white or black and if you imagine a colour-less blank then the kind of bother normally associated with expanding the imagination that much doesn't bother you because now you don't know if there even is anything to bother. It is eternal, descriptionless pain brought on ourselves by making the wrong decisions.

Living in poverty is hard, but its a normal problem. Living under abuse is hard, but its a normal problem. Living without a leg is hard, but its a normal problem. Don't assume by normal I mean common, unworthy of interest and unimportant. They are normal in the sense that everyday emotions (however extreme) are expressed outwardly and people can relate to them in some way or another. But not knowing yourself, your name, your purpose, or even if its YOU under your own skin (or is it someone else and you're in another world but its still you?) - there is NOTHING normal about that. That is when you've lost everything you ever had.

Unlike physical pain or illness, there is no distraction from this state. Even in the busiest moments (best or worst) you're kept prickingly concious of who you no longer are and what you can no longer do and no longer have interest in. By definition of loosing your character, that would be mostly everything.

Its the end of the day and tomorrow's a decision I don't want to make.
Just thought I should let the world know, incase anybody was counting on me.

hsn

Do I have a subject?

Well, do we? So many people are constantly stuck in the abyss of confusion, because the gluttons of information streaming through the conveyor belt of intellectual insistence are somehow clogged and our brains have valves like traffic lights which are only too happy to stay red. Stay red because we’re too afraid to set them to anything else besides red. Got me yet?

“Uhh, no?” See, that’s the point. We just don’t know, and we can’t relate. We don’t want to open our minds. Sometimes we can relate but we don’t want to because it doesn’t conform to our standard of normality. Normality what? Screw normality. Take your soccer-mom’s van, its less conformist than the bus. And then there’s the aspect of the dispersion of our own lunacy. All of us have so much to say but we’re scared it might be as beneficial to the person sitting next to us (the one we want to talk to) as adding a few layers of cement to vanilla ice-cream. Same kind of basis, different taste. Similarly, talk is talk, but talk is different. Is that why we’re so afraid to express our innermost modicums of wisdom or humour, even to those we seem to be most attracted to? Maybe, especially those we are attracted to?

As I proceed to try and complete the entry with a hint of static-ticity, internal interference keeps bumping up the hissing that reminds of the communication between WW2-era subs. With torpedoes and all that. Except, the connection between those radios were a lot better than what I feel we have now. I really want to say, ‘I don’t know what motivated me to start writing again,’ but I do know why. The reason itself upsets me on some level, but, you gotta help the helpless, or the helpless will be helpless to help the less. But, you knew that.

Do what you want to do. Say what you want to say. All the things that matter, all the things that don’t matter, even all the things do not contain even one percent of matter. You never know when all that will make someone happy is to just hear what you have to say because the rest of their life requires them to focus so much on themselves in self-development just so they can help others around the clock, that…listening to your garble actually becomes therapeutic to them. And it’s good for you too. Of course it is. So we both win. We all win. You, me, and us. Why then are we still so clueless?

Boring is the new interesting. It’s what we want. It’s what the world needs. Because – in essence – nobody is boring. At the end of the day if you think you’re boring then you’re not boring because there’s a reason that makes you boring. If you think about the reason that makes you boring then boring becomes interesting and interesting is not boring. It’s like a reversible reaction that’s really a forward reaction but it looks like a reversible reaction because we confine ourselves to trying to end up as our reactants instead of accepting our products as they are. Why? Because as I said, maybe we’re just scared.

Our reaction should look like this:
Boring&reason + interesting -> interesting&reason + boring.
After the reaction, lets just throw the boring away. We don’t need it =)

At the end of the day, I’m not worried about who finds me what. I’m just going to help those who seem to not be, be. Because I know everybody can be what they want to be. It might take time, it might take effort, it might burn. But, I won’t give up.

At the end of the day, sense is what you want to be, is as important as you want it to be. Just...talk.
You're fascinating to me.

hsn

You just won't guess.

I never think about writing my blog before I actually WRITE my blog. The main reason, I believe, is because each set of words and other Englisy stuff that you wouldn't want to read about belongs to an individual and you can never put one over the other, so to speak. If you do you're smarter than I thought you were. No big heads though people, THIS room is already filled. :)

Readers of my previous (most currently unexisting) blogs will remember the "smooth link" drive that I shamelessly nicked from Top Gear (google it) the one which makes sure that various entities of utter rubbish written at least make sense grammatically (IF possible - if not then that becomes my job) and connects with the next entity of blah blah blah written and isn't random. Through I secretly harbor a great distaste for this sort of waste of time (I usually prefer to watch paint on walls dry) and attention-gaining tactic, I use it because it IS an attention gaining tactic. Don't look at me like that. I'm desperately attempting to relate "school" to "dumb" (and I think it worked too) and you might as well help. We could create an epilogue to signify just how important it might be (note: MIGHT be) to daydream in class (which is always what I'm doing) and the answer might just pop out some day.
Who knows?

But while you're here anyway on this journey of expansive and possibly greater infinitive crap, my philosophy is to make the best of it and hit people with rubber bands (thats mature rationality thrown outta the window...). I know you phantom readers would squabble on just how you can operate a rubber band so I'll tell you. But not now, next year. Coming back to general school, well, my honest point of view is that while it's not enjoyable it's still fun. How come? Well, look at it like this (girls - you won't be able to follow from here onward):
Paintball, get-hit and most.of the time you seriously don't enjoy it but it's still fun, coprendo? In the same way, school might be that huge nail that really really drives it up your *insert whatever word required* sometimes and especially in the mornings when you've just had an all-nighter but keep cool, bay the points in, arm yourself with clichés, purposely go with your uniform ironed but your shoes filthy with an adidas cap run sideways, and prepare to get into a whole lot of trouble, and even more fun.

husain