I Hadn't Written the Title Until I Wrote The Word [gargoyle]

I leave it up to you, reader. I give you the option of listening to me. I wouldn't listen to me if I was given the option. I'm going to start a few lines down which gives you some time to decide whether you really want to read or not.



Still here? Ok lets get started.
It's rapidly approaching five o'clock here in Bloomington and by the time I finish writing this paragraph it will be. Its a funny thing how we incorporate time into our lives. We have schedules, we are sometimes late and we are sometimes early. The passing of time is an interesting concept to me. Someone cynical once said at sometime that we are all inching closer to our own mortality. Every minute is one minute closer to kicking the bucket. I tend to have a differing opinion, and its not like I have some grand plan for enlightenment, I just have a simple idea. Its 5:02.

My idea is that wherever you sit, stand, lay, right now, is where you will always be. For the rest of you're existence, whether it rolls on after you kick that proverbial bucket or not, you will be bound through this moment in time.

Hold your horses this isn't black magic.

It doesn't have to be this moment either, it could be any moment. The point of the matter is: our memories are tremendous things, capable of insurmountable feats. Think back to you're earliest memory, now ask yourself if what you just did was nothing short of time travel? Even now you are experiencing it because you are reading this after I wrote it. It is 5:10 in Bloomington, Indiana, September 12, 2012.  That is where and what time it was only seconds ago. Now it is 5:12 I just looked away for a moment. Time is passing but I am still bound to the past. I remember writing the first sentence of this post. I know by the time I finish the post I will have written more than i have right now.

I may not know the specifics of every memory I've ever had, but now I have written proof of the last 17 minutes of my life. This are moment that are no longer occurring to you the reader, but I am living through every second of them right now.

I will be finished writing this blog post before you even knew it exists.

I'm not sure how long it will be or the specifics of the next few sentences, but I know it will end with the word: Cranberry.

Why? because although I cannot predict the future, I can use my will to make the future what I want, to a certain degree. That is unless I die before I can finish this post, which is improbable, but if I do, you the reader will never know that this post ever existed. This really is an amazing world.

The point of all of this is [gargoyle] that our past cannot change, but it is by no means gone. If one of your relatives died long ago then it is true (and not just in a cliche way either) that they are alive in your memories, if you once won an award then you are winning it now, for as long as you remember it. The other point is that the future is for the most part, undecided. Some things however, you can put into existence with your very will. You control the future. That's pretty amazing to me. It is 5:31. Cranberry.

Randall Roeper Series.

So here's this, I have been working on a mystery story for a couple of weeks on and off, not finished yet but its getting there. The story is called "The Death" and it centers around two characters one being a private investigator by the name of Randall Roeper. Halfway through the story I decided that I had too much in store for this guy to put him in one 2,000 word story. This got me thinking, "well the pulp papers did short detective fiction back in the day often with recurring characters and noir storylines, I might be able to do something similar" so I'm going to possibly be posing the first story here and if people like it I will start a new blog devoted to these stories all together. I can't promise deadlines though because I am often in a state of incurable writers block but the first story will be up within the decade.

-J

3 weeks: a confession

So, here it is.

my confession.

Being three weeks in college at IU, I must say a few things, reflect on the good and the bad alike provided anyone is still reading this, if not, consider it my diary.

I like it here, I can say that and be completely honest with myself because its true. If it pleases anyone, there it is in black and white.

But would I write something like this if i didn't have something to complain about? Absolutely never, good job caller. The one thing that gets me, and it catches up with me on the darkest corners of a Friday night when I'm all tucked away and ready to sleep, I start to feel the aching of homesickness. I start to feel out of place and I start to wonder, "Do I like IU more than I like Irvington? Do the friends that I have made here compare to what I have left behind? Does the fact that I am happy here mean that I am happy enough?" My answers to all of those, for now, is no.

But could you blame me? "Its been only 3 weeks and this guy can't feel at home? What's he got to complain about."

The answer is, very little. What I have found here is something great, I call it "Delighted Existence." To be happy to just exist, to know that existence is not guaranteed by any means and to thrive is to conquer.

I am staying here for the rest of the year. No questions. Whether I stay longer or go someplace closer to home is still on the table. I think it would be great to stay here at IU for four years, but I just don't know if that's in the cards right now

-J