Remember when I said I'd blog bi-weekly? Yeah, I shouldn't have promised that. Apologies. Oh well, enough lashing of myself with my proverbial cat o' ninetails.
As a child, I remember a cartoon called Visionaries, about a post-apocalyptic world where machinery no longer functioned and remained only as relics of a bygone era. This world reverted to something of a medieval existence, and knights reemerged as either champions and protectors of the weak or villainous tormentors. Magic returned to the world, and a formidable wizard--something of a cross between Merlin and The Great and Powerful Oz--offered two groups (the Spectral Knights and the Darkling Lords) the power to turn into a mystical-inspired animal (befitting their personality) and wield powers not afforded to other knights of the time, including the power to breathe magical life into certain vehicles of war. Safe to say, it was an eyegasm to a kid with a vivid imagination and a nascent appreciation for the struggle between the light and the dark.
I always remember a scene from one particular episode which dealt with the consequences of wielding powers one is unprepared to manage. The Darkling Lords had somehow managed to trap their powerful wizard-benefactor, Merklin, and send him to the "Wizard's Jail"--charming. Darkstorm, the leader of the baddies, now gained possession of Merklin's magical orb and text. He began with amusingly superficial tricks to practice and demonstrate his new potency, also rewarding his henchmen in the process. One henchman in particular, Cravex, had the tragic flaw of rage and an extremely short fuse, which was often demonstrated throughout the series. What could Darkstorm possibly impress him with? Darkstorm offered him an edenic vision that was absolutely counter to what he was about:
"Now, Cravex, imagine a world without irritation... a world where nothing can make you angry."
(Cravex is seated in a luminous meadow, reminiscent of an Arcadian woodland, surrounded by rainbow butterflies that are obviously products of magical light. He watches as two horses materialize from the same light and are in the midst of a race.)
Cravex: "Ah, it looks like my horse is going to win its four-thousandth straight race... Too bad racing seems to have lost its thrill." (The butterflies dematerialize as if they were fading holograms) "Why has my favorite past time lost its thrill?"
(We get a shot of the horses and the voice of what seems to be a public address announcer before Cravex's horse inexplicably veers off course somewhat) "No, it's nose to nose... but wait! Cravex's horse loses!"
Cravex: (with subdued joy) "Good... the thrill is back!"
This one scene seemed somewhat superfluous in the grand scheme of the episode, which eventually led to Darkstorm thinking that because he controlled the magic that he was the magic, and he eventually summoned one of the sacred, sacred spells and nearly caused yet another apocalypse. Still, this scene of Cravex, for once not being angry, always stuck out in my mind and remains there to this day. Often, in times of melancholia or self-reflection or whatever, I often repeat that line of racing losing its thrill and asking why my favorite past time has lost its thrill? Poor Cravex was probably depressed and, instead of turning his rage inward, let it all out when dealing with people. He was famous for flying into a rage when even the slightest inconvenience annoyed him and was probably the most feared of the Darkling Lords because of his ability to kick everyone's ass around him, friend or foe. This was sometimes used for comic relief, but definitely caused all to fear his wrath.
I suppose I relate to the character of Cravex (voiced by the talented Chris Latta, the voice of Cobra Commander from G.I. Joe and Starscream from the animated Transformers series) because I, too, have a very short fuse and nasty temper that inspires a number of reactions: laughter, disgust, fear, abject terror, pity and disappointment. I loathe this aspect of myself because it runs counter to who I feel I am deep down and what I aspire to become. I hate that I lose control of my composure and let emotions rule me for a time... it makes me feel like an unenlightened brute that Vulcans would scoff at. I have wished for a very long time to be a cool and composed customer, patient in all his dealings and admired for it. Boy, what a fuckin' narcissistic admission. But it's true, I wish I had that kind of temperament because I know the advantages that would come along with it... I'm sure I could really get things done and maybe be in a better position in life than I currently am. This is something I also need to overcome--my unhealthy ability to be okay with who and where I am, regardless. Yes, if I'm in an unhappy place I need to get out of it, but I also feel it important to accept that I have a certain temperament that is challenging to deal with. Hating myself will do me no favors.
But I digress... back to the mystery of lost thrill. I relate to the scene again not because horse racing is my favorite past time (although it was one of my grandfather's) but because writing is. I have never wanted to be anything but one who writes for a living since I was maybe 10 and decided that I'd better aspire to some kind of career. I used to do it often and eagerly and didn't beat myself up when I didn't do it. I now do it less eagerly--except during those magical spurts of productivity and or inspiration--and often beat myself up for not doing my exercise/chore. Why has my favortie past time lost it's thrill? I often blame life and the path it has taken me down. I also blame my growing desire to not think and simply be entertained or distracted as a way of taking me out of myself and the pain. Can I blame anything else? I suppose it's hard to be thrilled about anything, really, when you loathe your own nature. But what an ugly nature... and I know because I see it only a daily basis, something I definitely do not advertise to those I come in contact with in life. My immediate family knows--my mother even once referred to me as "ruthless" in my condemnation and critique of things I dislike--and they suffer having to deal with me at my ugliest; that's enough to embarrass me into not wanting to be around them much at all.
This blog has turned into a collection of my vomit and neurosis. I suppose this is good in some ways, but I'd hate to be the one reading this. I would have abandoned ship a long time ago if I were a reader... there I go again. I won't promise anything else, but I really do want this to be something positive and entertaining, not just a place where I go to figure myself out.
I'm waiting for the thrill to return; comings and goings are always in flux.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
What the Good Word is, Childhood Beatings, and a Plea
What's the good word today? I have an appointment next week at a place in Pasadena that will sign me up for Healthy Way LA and will hopefully give me what I need in regards to my illness. A big thank you to my good friend Kevin, a true scholar and gentleman when he isn't busy doing his standup routine. ;-)
Other good news: The muse came down and dropkicked me in the face yesterday... it was glorious. I finally got a major piece of the puzzle figured out as far as what was missing from my idea for a story. I seriously want this to be my version of the Great American Novel (note: it will not be anything nearly that good, I can assure you, but it will be good enough [hopefully] that somebody wants to publish it.) I plan on pulling out from several of my trick bags in order to make this something both fun to read and analyze scholarly. That, to me, would be amazing. This is cool. As a caveat, this may take some time--as long as it needs to. I dislike putting this out there, but I have to psyche myself out if I ever want to see myself finishing it. Right now, I just have random paragraphs and a gameplan; now for the creative legwork. By the way, if anyone reading this is a published writer or also aspires to be one, I'd love to hear any advice if you're willing to share, public or private, regarding creating, finishing, finding an agent, getting published, etc.
I really need to read more as well. I will stop short of setting a goal, though, because of a litany of reasons. Terrifying example: a FB friend of mine, a wonderful and talented scholar who works in the hardbound and page industry up north, does a "50 books in any given year" resolution. While not out of the realm of possibility, it terrifies me to no end to commit to something so rewarding. Why is that? What is this neurosis that has set up shop inside my head? I used to love to read so much when I was younger; of course, back then, it was much simpler fare and practically no analysis involved other than what was right on the nose based on what I read. I can't read anymore without dissecting to death (which is both good and bad) or I just get bored and lose interest, depending on the material. Why, oh, why has my former favorite pastime lost its thrill?
Confession session time: I love kids (me being a big one still) and yet I also hate the little buggers sometimes. Depends on the kid, I know. The well-behaved and adjusted ones are like angels living amongst us, bestowing us with blessed, innocent insight and other such gifts of the spirit. Then there are the attitude, out-of-control, dirty/nasty/cruel little boogers who know just exactly which buttons to push. I know we are not supposed to beat kids (and I say beat in the most loving and gentle way, not meaning to decimate them or anything, but just physical discipline) and I agree that the psychological ramifications can perpetuate a never-ending cycle of violence and all, but damn, some kids deserve a good smack for being assholes (as do plenty of adults, but that's already a given and another story.) Maybe it stems from my upbringing; my mom and dad didn't give me the belt or the smack much, but when I got out of line and stepped over said line, I did feel the consequences. My maternal grandma was the infamous beatdown artist of the family, however, and she was the one more likely than anyone to be the sergeant-at-arms who readily metes out corporal punishment. Still, she was pretty old when I was growing up and her chancla (slipper) swing had lost some of its velocity. One time she couldn't find her chancla and instead just hit me with the closest thing at hand: a banana. I felt bad for my brother and older cousins, because they felt the brunt of her wrath when she was still in the tail-end of her prime. I feel even worse for my mother because she felt abuelita's primetime wrath back in the 60s. One thing, though, that a good smack taught me was humility--you are not the center of the universe, there are consequences to your asshole actions. I may be a bit screwy in the head, a lovely genetic trait I inherited from the aforementioned abuelita's side, but I learned how to be respectful toward adults and not get crazy and out of control in public or private like some kids do. Manners and self-control, while not lost completely, is a waning art form in this increasingly isolated and self-serving society. I see too many kids that have never been taught the fear of the chancla and they take advantage like little motherf***ers. Sorry for the rant--in no way am I promoting wholesale beating of kids or hitting them just for the sake of it, because that truly is cruel and can create kids with severe trauma and issues, which is never good. I feel like many others from 1st or 2nd generation immigrant parents will understand me regarding this issue... and if you don't, that's okay, we can agree to disagree; it's kinda painful to watch when you see parents who refuse to effectively discipline their kids and then let them run wild, like little Tazmanian devils spinning themselves into a tornado vortex, all balled-up fists, slobber, and tennis shoes, smacking anything and everything in their path. Please believe me though when I say that I really do like (most) kids (particularly before they can talk back and develop attitudes) and I think they should be treasured, supported, and given any and all means to be happy human beings with good goals and values.
Out of rant mode: I have a feeling that things are going to change for me, for the better. Historically, I've always existed much more contently and have had more fortune in odd numbered years than even years; make what you will of that. I'm still looking for work, but I'm surprisingly not freaking out too much (for the moment) and I have faith that something that needs to happen will happen.
Question to my readers: This is a new thing I want to do; it may or may not suck. What are your views on things like communal living? Benefits outweigh drawbacks or vice-versa? Specific reasons and examples would be great but are not mandatory. Thank you so much, in advance, if you respond to this question--it will help me in some research I am beginning.
See you in two weeks or so, maybe less if the muse decides to uppercut me again.
Other good news: The muse came down and dropkicked me in the face yesterday... it was glorious. I finally got a major piece of the puzzle figured out as far as what was missing from my idea for a story. I seriously want this to be my version of the Great American Novel (note: it will not be anything nearly that good, I can assure you, but it will be good enough [hopefully] that somebody wants to publish it.) I plan on pulling out from several of my trick bags in order to make this something both fun to read and analyze scholarly. That, to me, would be amazing. This is cool. As a caveat, this may take some time--as long as it needs to. I dislike putting this out there, but I have to psyche myself out if I ever want to see myself finishing it. Right now, I just have random paragraphs and a gameplan; now for the creative legwork. By the way, if anyone reading this is a published writer or also aspires to be one, I'd love to hear any advice if you're willing to share, public or private, regarding creating, finishing, finding an agent, getting published, etc.
I really need to read more as well. I will stop short of setting a goal, though, because of a litany of reasons. Terrifying example: a FB friend of mine, a wonderful and talented scholar who works in the hardbound and page industry up north, does a "50 books in any given year" resolution. While not out of the realm of possibility, it terrifies me to no end to commit to something so rewarding. Why is that? What is this neurosis that has set up shop inside my head? I used to love to read so much when I was younger; of course, back then, it was much simpler fare and practically no analysis involved other than what was right on the nose based on what I read. I can't read anymore without dissecting to death (which is both good and bad) or I just get bored and lose interest, depending on the material. Why, oh, why has my former favorite pastime lost its thrill?
Confession session time: I love kids (me being a big one still) and yet I also hate the little buggers sometimes. Depends on the kid, I know. The well-behaved and adjusted ones are like angels living amongst us, bestowing us with blessed, innocent insight and other such gifts of the spirit. Then there are the attitude, out-of-control, dirty/nasty/cruel little boogers who know just exactly which buttons to push. I know we are not supposed to beat kids (and I say beat in the most loving and gentle way, not meaning to decimate them or anything, but just physical discipline) and I agree that the psychological ramifications can perpetuate a never-ending cycle of violence and all, but damn, some kids deserve a good smack for being assholes (as do plenty of adults, but that's already a given and another story.) Maybe it stems from my upbringing; my mom and dad didn't give me the belt or the smack much, but when I got out of line and stepped over said line, I did feel the consequences. My maternal grandma was the infamous beatdown artist of the family, however, and she was the one more likely than anyone to be the sergeant-at-arms who readily metes out corporal punishment. Still, she was pretty old when I was growing up and her chancla (slipper) swing had lost some of its velocity. One time she couldn't find her chancla and instead just hit me with the closest thing at hand: a banana. I felt bad for my brother and older cousins, because they felt the brunt of her wrath when she was still in the tail-end of her prime. I feel even worse for my mother because she felt abuelita's primetime wrath back in the 60s. One thing, though, that a good smack taught me was humility--you are not the center of the universe, there are consequences to your asshole actions. I may be a bit screwy in the head, a lovely genetic trait I inherited from the aforementioned abuelita's side, but I learned how to be respectful toward adults and not get crazy and out of control in public or private like some kids do. Manners and self-control, while not lost completely, is a waning art form in this increasingly isolated and self-serving society. I see too many kids that have never been taught the fear of the chancla and they take advantage like little motherf***ers. Sorry for the rant--in no way am I promoting wholesale beating of kids or hitting them just for the sake of it, because that truly is cruel and can create kids with severe trauma and issues, which is never good. I feel like many others from 1st or 2nd generation immigrant parents will understand me regarding this issue... and if you don't, that's okay, we can agree to disagree; it's kinda painful to watch when you see parents who refuse to effectively discipline their kids and then let them run wild, like little Tazmanian devils spinning themselves into a tornado vortex, all balled-up fists, slobber, and tennis shoes, smacking anything and everything in their path. Please believe me though when I say that I really do like (most) kids (particularly before they can talk back and develop attitudes) and I think they should be treasured, supported, and given any and all means to be happy human beings with good goals and values.
Out of rant mode: I have a feeling that things are going to change for me, for the better. Historically, I've always existed much more contently and have had more fortune in odd numbered years than even years; make what you will of that. I'm still looking for work, but I'm surprisingly not freaking out too much (for the moment) and I have faith that something that needs to happen will happen.
Question to my readers: This is a new thing I want to do; it may or may not suck. What are your views on things like communal living? Benefits outweigh drawbacks or vice-versa? Specific reasons and examples would be great but are not mandatory. Thank you so much, in advance, if you respond to this question--it will help me in some research I am beginning.
See you in two weeks or so, maybe less if the muse decides to uppercut me again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)