Affirmation

Daily quotes was one of the feeds I didn't give up in my great slashing. I haven't been keeping up with blogs as is, but that's a different post.

A few minutes ago I was looking through the past 60 that have come to my inbox and copying down to post-its the ones that might be of use to me later. Most of those involve philosophical truisms like "A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool gets from his friends. -- Balastar Gracian" or "It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail. -- Gore Vidal". These glimpses of behavior are starting points I use for game ideas; I'd write a little game with mechanics that encourage those kinds of actions. Like thought-experiment gaming.

Today, however, I came across a Thoreau quote that I agreed with so vehemently that I copied it down and stuck it in a place of honor even though it tells me nothing new.

Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.

This is familiar to me as I've been thinking about interviews, employments, and what working in an office would mean to me. (A great deal of that meaning would be new clothes, and most of the "real job" prospects I've looked at do not appeal to any part of me.)

I copied down the quote because it validated a part of my soul that isn't in sync with the mainstream, or even the larger streams of counter-culture. Thoreau plays, whether meaning to or not, to my anti-consumer soul. There are also whiffs of simplicity and facade-busting honesty there that I like.

While there's nothing inherently wrong with the act of writing it down and pasting those words on my monitor, a small part of me is throwing up irrational warning flags. It's the part that clutches the "if you're dumb, surround yourself with smart people; if you're smart, surround yourself with smart people who disagree with you" maxim close to its chest.

"Yes, Thoreau agrees with you, that's all well and good, but besides it boosting your ego that such a great mind says something that you agree with, what's the point and challenge of lining your walls with trivial affirmations? Where's the spark? Where's the progress? where's the struggle and conflict and change and improvement? Should someone who believes the sky is green surround herself with affirmations that the sky is, indeed, green?"

That dangerous little voice. It's evidence of an affliction I've dealt with lately: my constant need for some kind of chaos, upheaval, and change. I spend my days and nights thinking in great quantities and great efforts, trying to understand the world, my reactions to it, and my reactions to myself.

Dangerous introspection.

This post has served to both be a place to reveal and examine my odd thoughts about writing nine words on a sticky note, and transform that sticky note from a simple affirmation to a symbol of a particular hue of my internal struggles.

But it's still an affirmation.

Cheetalope: Part III

Part I
Part II

Part III
For three days Musoke hangs by his horns and tail in the jungle trees. Whenever he tries to struggle, the ropes pull at his horns and pull at his tail, hurting Musoke.

At sunrise on the first day, Musoke cruses the Elephants. He curses them for leaving him, for hanging him, for punishing him, for judging him, for watching him. Musoke curses them for every reason he can think of. Amid all this, one of the elephants comes to Musoke and speaks to him, but Musoke's curses are too loud and strong, drowning out the elephant's voice. He does not hear what the elephant is saying.

At sunrise on the second day, Musoke curses his mother. He curses her for dying, for raising him as she did, for letting his siblings die, for causing him to be different and alone. Musoke curses her for every reason he can think of. Amid all this, the other elephant comes to Musoke and speaks to him, but Musoke's curses are too loud and strong, drowning out the elephant' words. For the second time, he does not hear what the elephant is saying.

At sunrise on the third day, Musoke is weak, having been tied in the trees for three days with no food or water. Musoke begins to curse himself, but cannot think of reasons to, and his voice is weak. On this day both of the elephants comes to him. As low as their voices are, Musoke's is lower, and he hears the elephants' words as they spoke in turns.

"Musoke, your mother and her protection are gone from this jungle island. You are on your own and there are things you should know.

"When she spoke of the day you were born, your mother told you about the beginning of the day and she told you about the middle of the day, but she didn't tell you about the end of the day. At the end of the day you were birthed, and for the second time her belly was torn.

"You, moments old, did what was natural and reached out to her. In doing so, you healed her wounds. Without you doing that, she would have died. Without her, you would have died, too, no mother to care for you. That day ended with both you and your mother alive.

"So now you know the beginning of your life, and you know the middle of your life, but not, yet, the end."

Musoke hears all these words, and says nothing as the elephants leave again in the morning mist.

All through the morning, all through the mid-day, and all through the afternoon Musoke hangs, silent and still, in the trees.

Near sunset an elephant appears again, but this elephant Musoke has never seen before. Riding on this elephant is a man, and Musoke is frightened.

The man is frightened and shocked, too, by the creature hanging by horns and tail in the trees. "What are you?" the man says.

"I am Musoke. Please, please cut me down."

"I am busy seeking and you are a stranger. Why should I cut you down?"

"What are you seeking?" Musoke asks. "I have lived in this jungle my whole life; I can help you find it."

"I seek a medicine root," says the man. "My wife is hurt and her wounds are grievous."

Musoke cries out. "I can do better. I am a healer. Cut me down, take me to her. I can heal your wife."

The man thinks on this, then pulls something out of his pack. "Eat this, Musoke. Eat this before I cut you down, so I know you will not eat me or my wife."

Hungry from three days in the tree, Musoke eats and quickly falls into a drugged sleep.

Part III.V

Musoke wakes to the sharp jab of a spear poking his side, or perhaps the pained cries of a woman. He finds himself in a cramped cage, surrounded by many men with spears. "Wake and heal my wife, Musoke." The first man jabs him again.

"Sir, it is my tongue that will cure her, I cannot help from here."

After a moment of speaking together, the men put a tight rope around Musoke's neck, and hold the points of their spears to his sides. Musoke is led to the wounded, crying woman. "You know what this rope and these spears mean if you try to hurt her."

The man says more words, but Musoke does not hear them. He is now at the woman's side, and recognizes her. Musoke not only recognizes her, but he recognizes her wounds: claws, teeth and horns. Deeply moved, Musoke bows his head and licks the red, burning slashes in her skin.

At the touch of his tongue, the infection subsides. As Musoke continues, gingerly bent over the woman whose cries have subsided, the gashes begin to close, healing very quickly. The men with the spears watch on, the sharp pressures on Musoke's side gradually lifting.

When the last wound is nearly closed, one of the spearguards grabs the rope from the first man. "Come now! Come quickly to my son!" Musoke's head is wrenched around, the rope pulling tight around his neck.

"No," Musoke growls. "I owe you nothing." He digs in his feet and will not walk.

"Perhaps you would like to owe me your life." No longer trying to drag Musoke, this man prods him again with a spear. The other men stand around, watchful, helping neither.

"I can help no-one if I'm dead."

An elder spoke up. "Then we shall keep you under lock and key."

"I will help no-one if I'm kept prisoner. Not your son," Musoke looks at the man holding the rope. "Not your mother," Musoke looks at another man. "Not your brother, not your daughter, not your friend." Musoke looks around at the other men. Even starved and hurt from hanging in a tree, he still had his pride. "If you want help, I need freedom."

The men, finding it best not to argue with a powerful and dangerous creature, put down their spears and put down the rope holding Musoke captive.

Followed by each villager who saw him, Musoke pads from house to house, helping the sick and wounded. The stars are thick above when he finishes this work, and all men, women, and children in the village watch Musoke. When he reaches the edge of the jungle, he turns.

"When you need me, come find me. If you find me, I will help," Musoke says.

The men stop following with their feet and follow Musoke with their eyes until he disappears in the darkness.

Behind the men, the elephants smile.
the end

Cheetalope: Part II

Part I

For many months Mother Cheetah raises her cub, Musoke. They hunt and sleep in the jungle, feeding on small animals. True to her word, Mother Cheetah does not leave the island between two rivers, and does not allow Musoke to leave. True to their word, the Elephants keep the Men away from mother and cub, and keep themselves hidden as well.

Musoke grows larger and stronger. He is happy with the jungle to live in, with rabbits and wild pigs to eat, with only his mother for companionship. Musoke is happy with this life because he knows no other.

Mother Cheetah, however, knows running on the open plains, knows high pursuit of antelope, knows mates and sisters and other cheetahs. Mother Cheetah wastes away knowing what she is missing. Musoke, in his innocent birthing hours, healed the wounds of her flesh, but could not heal or understand the wounds in her heart, and the wounds in her heart are those that kill Mother Cheetah.

It is when Musoke can fully care for himself that Mother Cheetah tells Musoke about his siblings and the day he was born. Mother Cheetah tells him about the morning, Cheetah, and his antelope brother's death. Mother Cheetah tells him about the noontime, Antelope, and his cheetah sister's death.

After these wisdoms are imparted, draining the last of Mother Cheetah's waning strength, Mother Cheetah departs the jungle island for the land of the dead. She is gone, leaving Musoke on his own.

"I am alone," Musoke says to the darkness. "My brother is dead. My sister is dead. My mother is gone," he says to the emptiness. And his happiness is gone, replaced with sorrow and anger.

Part II.V

The morning after his mother's death, Musoke sets out to right the wrongs visited upon his family. He goes south in the jungle, towards the plains where the cheetahs live.

Before Musoke reaches the river he must cross, runs into a strange creature, the likes of which he has never seen. She stands on two feet and holds a basket with two hands, and her dark eyes are very wide. This creature is larger than any other Musoke knows. He lashes out in fright, and keeps running as fast as he can. The creature, deeply wounded, does not follow.

When Musoke reaches the south river, he crosses to the south plains. Fining the place where Cheetah is, Musoke hides in the dense bushes, where his horn cannot be seen, and watches until Cheetah is alone.

"I see you there, friend." Cheetah calls when the others like him are gone. "Come out and keep an old one company." Musoke emerges from the vegetation. He brandishes his horns, and Cheetah is stricken with fear. Musoke advances, but Cheetah has grown old and feeble, and is unable to escape.

"This is for my brother!" Musoke cries, and strikes Cheetah down.

Without pausing a moment, he turns north, towards the jungle. Before crossing the south river, Musoke drinks deeply to refresh himself.

In the jungle he does not stop, but continues with caution towards the north river, and the north plains beyond. When Musoke reaches the north river, he crosses to the north plains. Finding the place where Antelope is, Musoke hides himself in the tall grass, and watches until Antelope is alone.

"I see you there, friend." Antelope calls out when the others like him are gone. "Come out and graze wit me." Musoke runs from the grass, making no effort to hide his spots, and Antelope is stricken with fear. Musoke advances, and his youth and speed give Antelope no chance to escape.

"This is for my sister!" Musoke cries, and strikes Antelope down.

Without pausing a moment, he turns south, towards the jungle. Before crossing the north river, Musoke drinks deeply to refresh himself.

Musoke returns to his home in the jungle and, near sundown, sets about hunting for his dinner. Before he can catch sight of any prey, Musoke is cornered by another unfamiliar creature. This creature is large and leathery with tusks and a trunk and very heavy feet, and it is not alone. Musoke has never seen an elephant before, and cowers in fear as the pair stamps in circles around him.

"Musoke!" the Elephants cry together. "We have seen your deeds."
"Today you killed Cheetah when you did not need to. He was no threat to you," says one of the elephants.

Musoke is afraid and cannot summon words to defend himself.

"Musoke!" they cry together again. "We have seen your deeds."
"Today you killed Antelope when you did not need to. he was not food for you," says the other elephant.

Musoke still cowers as the elephants circle him, saying nothing in his defense.

"Musoke. You will be punished for your deeds." Together the Elephants seize Musoke with their mighty trunks and tie him, high in the trees, by his horns and by his tail. No matter his cries for help, the Elephants leave Musoke and walk into the darkness.

Part III

Cheetalope: Part I

Version 0.2

Mother Cheetah is hungry. Very soon her cubs will be born, and for that she will need all her strength. She travels north from the plains the cheetah live on. She goes north, across the southern river, across the jungled island, across the northern river, and into the plains where the antelope live.

Mother Cheetah, so heavy with cubs, cannot catch the quickest prey. She is only able to catch Mother Antelope, who is close to birthing her calf. As hungry as she is, Mother Cheetah completely devours Mother Antelope, baby and all.

Her hunger satiated, Mother Cheetah turns south. She makes it out of the north plain, across the north river, and into the jungle island, but darkness is falling quickly, and Mother Cheetah is feeling the first pains of birth. All night she lays in the jungle in pain.

At the next dawn, Mother Cheetah's first child is born, but it is no cub she gives birth to. An antelope is birthed from her belly, the points of its horns ripping her flesh as it emerges. Soon after this, the father of Mother Cheetah's cubs finds her in the jungle.

"This is no child of mine!" he roars, seeing the antelope lying next to her. He picks up the child, covered in blood and the wetness of birth. "If it is not mine, it will not be yours either." Cheetah takes away the new antelope and drowns it in the southern river as he returns to his home, leaving Mother Cheetah, still bleeding, to her own fate.

At noon that same day, Mother Cheetah gives birth to a second child. This one, a cub-sized image of her, is perfectly formed in every way. No sooner is it delivered from Mother Cheetah's belly that Antelope comes upon them in the jungle. "You stole my child, now I steal yours." Antelope takes the cub and drowns it in the norther river as he returns to his home. Mother Cheetah, still bleeding, is left for dead.

As the day fades, Mother Cheetah still lies alone in the jungle. At sun set a third child is born. It is formed like a cub, her true offspring, but bears the horns of an antelope. They tear Mother Cheetah's belly, and her wounds are opened again. Moments later, two elephants rumble out of the jungle and stop when they see Mother Cheetah and her child.

"Have you come to take away my last cub?" Mother Cheetah speaks without moving. She is too weak.

"No" says the first elephant.
"Have your other cubs gone missing?" says the second elephant.

"My first cub was an antelope. Cheetah drown it in the river and left me for dead.
"My second cub was a cheetah. Antelope drown it in the river and left me for dead."

"We are sorry to hear of your losses," says one elephant.
"We are not here to take your cub," says the other. "This is jungle is where we roam."

"I will leave you to your jungle," says Mother Cheetah, trying to rise. "My cub and I will trouble your home no more." Her voice shakes and her body quakes, and Mother Cheetah is unable to carry her cub

"No, New Mother, you are both weak," an elephant replies.
"Stay in our jungle as long as you need," replies another.

"As long as I need when Cheetahs to the south would have me dead?" asks Mother Cheetah
"Yes."
"As long as I need when Antelope to the North would have me dead?" Mother Cheetah collapses to the ground next to her cub.
"Yes."

The elephants begin to pace, trunk to tail, in circles around mother and cub.
They spoke in unison, "Stay in the jungle and raise your young. Our kind will help, every one. Remain on the island, never stray. Our word that each Man will stay away."

With no other parting words, the pair of elephants cease their circling, and walk, one following the other, into the depths of the jungle.

Mother Cheetah lies back, wondering over the elephants' words, and nearly forgetting her new, horned cub. The cub, deaf to the elephants, and blind to his mother's suffering, reaches out for her sustenance. His tongue, seeking her milk, touches her bloody wounds as well.

As her cub bathes her injuries, Mother Cheetah regains her senses and her strength.

The stars come out high above, and Mother Cheetah lifts her head, watching her cub, spots, horns, and all. With her last bit of energy before falling asleep, Mother speaks to name her son.

"Musoke"


End of part one

Part Tow

(re)lax

The first or the second kind.

Lots of thinking time lately, and lots of drawing being done, but I'm being irrationally spiteful (is there a rational kind?), so no sketches being posted until my public ego recovers.

I have well over 100 ideas hanging in limbo on my wall. The purity of their individual notes is being lost to the harmonious ring that surrounds me when I look at the mosaic of thought.

They're a silent symphony that only I can hear, a future-echo of the body of work I might produce in my lifetime. The body of work I hope to produce, in any case.

Some things have been urging me to pursue game design again, with the new ideals I have about the activity. But the heat has been stopping me. Twenty minutes ago I was feeling great, watching the rain, feeling its cool spray. Now I'm back in my room and the heat is downright stifling. Silly computers.

Here, however, is a glimpse of the outside I basked in. We stood on the upstairs porch and watched a spectacular lightning show.



It was a very quick painting; I should've been making dinner.

Aiken, SC recap.

Trying this out for now, while I don't have spare time to upload images to other places and whatnot...

ehn, causing problems. removed for now.

See it on LJ

The Most Important Thing I've Written This Week

Also known as Perspective

Recently I've watched myself become less and less of an "internet person". The fundamental idea has been there for a long time, as I seldom integrate myself into online communities for more than a couple days. Today, however, in a fit of hyperbolic frustration, I went so far as to call myself a Luddite.

If you don't want to read my in-depth thinking on the subject (ie: what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it), go ahead and skip down to the last line... unless you don't have a sense of humor. If you don't have a sense of humor, just skip this post.

It seems to me that most things in the modern age are more fleeting than their counterparts have been in the past. The rate of things turning obsolete is insane. Depreciation isn't just for cars anymore. Like with cell phones, you can hardly find the model you bought six months later, and nobody sells the one I've got anymore. The camera I bought new 7 months ago has had TWO model updates since the purchase date.

While I like hearing about new things in the world, it's obvious that I don't quickly move to adopt the new technologies. I prefer plaintext programs to word processing. I still have win2k on my PC. This isn't just a matter of having little money, either. I prefer to have long, in-depth relationships than revolving and fleeting ones.

My relationships with hobbies, projects, and even the internet have even been revolving and fleeting lately. I've spread myself way too thin over the past months, and although I've said it out loud a few times, I've never gone so far as to do anything about it, instead just spreading myself thinner as I come across nifty things that I want to entrangle into my brain.

Here's an obvious symptom that encourages this self-diagnosis: I have no less than 12 tabs open in this firefox window that I want to read and follow up on. Yes, I weeded out all the tabs that were simply opened for quick references. Of these dozen tabs, I will read a maximum of two of them before I "Bookmark All" into a neatly labeled bookmark folder. There they will join the thousands of other pages I have marked for future inspection.

Acknowledgment of my catalog of unread bookmarks is nothing new. I know full well that I have that backlog, and I also know that I will just find more and more things to tab, tag, and ignore as I continue on this path of "exploration". It's time, once again to pull back and intentionally spend less time on the internet.

I've never had a "post every day" schedule for myself, leaving it to be "I post when I post", but that doesn't stop me from feeling guilty when I don't post new things, don't put myself out there as a netizen. Something I read in the past few days... I think Jon was referencing someone else... was basically this: "The internet has started to become a hobby, instead of being a place I come to talk about my hobbies." Profound, huh?

That thought, filtered through my "producer/consumer" spectrum modulator comes out as "You Are Being Consumed." I'm not producing anything, but I'm being eaten alive, absorbed by the intertubes. Thousands of little pages invite me in to observe, then climb into my brain and stake a claim, until they are ousted by other posts and pages and images and such. I'm not happy with that being my mental life.

Recently I've felt bereft of creativity. I do my drawing practice every day, and though my technique is improving and Reagan has good things today, I feel as though some of my "spark" is gone. I'm not spewing ideas and enthusiasm for those ideas. I've lost my passions, and, yes, I partially blame the internet.

Thus, I am going to run with this neo-luddism for a while. It's not a true philosophy, I'm not going to be destroying supercomputers or running off to live on a grim hillside with no electricity or running water. Instead, I'm just going to be less hip and more hippie, spend more time taking care of myself, my husband, and our home, and less time indulging in fleeting digital connections.

I also do this because I want to read more books.

Contrary to the capsing below, this has nothing to do with other people. I like to think I've never been expectant or demanding of my people I make connections with online, maintaining a bit of humility when other people are involved. Perhaps since my own life is so hectic, I ask little of other people. Maybe this ask little, expect little model of human interaction isn't a good one to have, but right now I feel like I have very little to offer. But that's a different internal discussion.

Also contrary to the capsing below, this proclamation of my internet-sabbatical doesn't apply to email or AIM. I'll visit those haunts regularly. And I'm not banning myself from LJ or a few select blogs, just giving myself permission to not show up. Maybe it's a self-imposed ban against certain sites, or types of sites... but dammit, I get too bogged down and tangled up in the net and it wraps me up and pulls me down.

I know I'll miss things while I'm gone, but for each fantastic thing I don't see "out there", I hope to see something in myself.

And now the short, drama-llama version:

YOU GUYS SUCK. WHAN. I'M LEAVING THE INTERNETS FOREVER. D:

:P

The greater god

Is that a typo? A Freudian slip? I could go back and change it, and maybe should, but sometimes these accidents are best left as artifacts of our humanity.

I have two large things to share. One is a revelation that came to me in the past week, the other is a show of my vacation pictures that does not involve a slide projector nor a bedsheet.

Both have been established as My Words On The Internet over at LJ, but they're the kind of thing I want to cross post to here, and share with a different audience, in a venue that adopts a different tone in my mind.

But I'm caught up with the internal politics of Which First? Wait How Long In Between?

To be fair, those questions are the questions I'm not supposed to be asking anymore, and instead of ignoring them and doing whatever comes most naturally, I'm sitting here and writing a process piece.

I wish there was a market for my mental process. My most prolific moments are the ones of introspection. It's so difficult for me to write anything for these pet projects or guest articles, but I go on and on about myself and my compromised idealism and crumbling imagination.

Somebody give me a non-english saying that weighs the same as, "but that is all moonbeams and I have wells to dig."

Elven, maybe. Something Romantic.

This is all moonbeams, and I have wells to dig.