School Survival Forums
Similar Snowflakes - Printable Version

+- School Survival Forums (
+-- Forum: The Lounge (/forumdisplay.php?fid=34)
+--- Forum: General Talk (/forumdisplay.php?fid=18)
+---- Forum: Blogs (/forumdisplay.php?fid=39)
+---- Thread: Similar Snowflakes (/showthread.php?tid=1999)

Pages: 1 2 3 4

Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-18-2011 07:23 PM

Its a shame that I petitioned for this forum and never really made a post in it. Its not for a lack of words; if nothing else...I have words.

I'm not sure exactly as to what I will use this blog for; my thoughts, my life? Perhaps both. In fact. I'll make at least one post everyday +18....I know, I will you ever spend a minute not refreshing this window to see if I've posted. Fear not; I'm endlessly uninteresting.

My New Years eve was kind of like glen beck's common sense that no one showed up. I believe the nice way of saying that is...It was intimate. My girlfriend and a few of my friends spent the night reminiscing and eating pizza dip. Since then I've made many promises to myself; resolutions that I never keep. I often wonder if the new years resolution is really a way to measure what was important to you. Is it your waistline or your gpa? Kind of shallow, I'm adding some oomf.

My resolution... fall in love once a day. Already done baby.

Viva la revolution!

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-20-2011 05:37 AM

19 is one of my least favorite numbers. No I don't have any prose to back that statement up.... I'm just not a fan of digits that add up to ten; and my dad's birthday. Oh that's today!?!

I'm working at my fathers liquor store, I open it up at 10, I close it at 9. Those separate and non-related numbers add up to 19. But really its 11 hours. 11 Hours of asking if they would like anything else with that; would you care to taste our newest brandy sir? No. You'd prefer a johnny walker red? Why of course, what better way to neglect your family with frivolous drinking on a Wednesday afternoon. I truly hate this job; but it lets me think. So often do I surround myself with the world of typeface and metaphor that I entirely forget that reality is selling an old man his southern comfort and a college kid a case of bad decisions.

This is the time of year that snow loses its reverence; people want a white Christmas but expect an easy commute the next morning. I often wonder what a person expects of the world when they awake to fi...just as I type this a man walks in only to find that there is but one Jack Daniels 1L on the shelf; being a stalwart steward in retail I offered to go to the basement and replenish the shelf in due haste; the man rearranged his already quite well arranged sun glasses and said, "I don't have time for this" and walked off. We all expect things; but lets say we just woke up in the morning.

Blankets, besides being a necessary means of sustaining heat....god the symbolism is endless. Closing ourselves off to the world, a shield put in place against reality while we sink into generous oblivion. Is it that humans naturally find symbolism in detail, or do we manually add symbolism as spice. Paprika is on the rebound, or so they say.

When I was a kid I used to think mirrors were made of ice; it just made sense to me! The pond outside my house was naturally how we made our windows and put up mirrors in the bathroom; I'm sure the fish had something to do with it as well...what else would they do in the winter time? Looking back at it now I realize that my charming naivete wasn't only the imagination of an ignorant child....but a good look at what it is one might ideally expect from the world.

We hope the world is working towards a greater good, and that's beautiful.

My store is empty, the shell station across the street from me is charging 3.16 for regular gas...but that adds up to 19.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-22-2011 01:09 PM

Consistency is the single most important value to the human experience. I'm sure someone has said that somewhere; but I'll monopolize the entire conundrum on the grounds of a never satisfied ego. We must be consistent in our lives; schedule them out so that there is never a moment unknown to us. How does something go wrong in this world? It didn't happen according to plan...we missed the train we were supposed to take, we didn't finish the assignment at the deadline. Schedule you're death perfectly before rush hour and the family silently rejoices.

Consistency is what I've lacked my entire life. I wake up whenever I damned well please or not sleep at all, I write when I see a blank page, I eat when I'm hungry or the neon sign happens to outline "open." I remember taking apart a clock for the first time and being endlessly depressed that each mechanism was so fine tuned, evenly cut, symmetrical in brilliantly crafted unoriginality.

It's wrong to hate conventional time...I know this... optimizing your life to glide smoothly into attainable goals is as prudent as it is diligent. But there is something to be said about counting seconds by the pattered heartbeats, having life's "big hand" stall at dull moments and shoot forward in those maddeningly brief skirmishes of exhilaration.

I overheard the psychologist talking to my mother when I was a dozen years into this life... "He has the potential to be great, but also the potential to be mad."

I hope to achieve both; and soon.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-22-2011 01:22 PM

Today I had the urge to vlog. I don't know why, I hate seeing my face on any sort of digital screen...but my need for attention often tries and supersedes any lingering insecurity. For the majority of the day I spent online researching camera's (for I don't own one nearly capable of the quality my imagination desired) As I looked at pricetags and well thought out reviews; I've realized the terribleness that lies in expressive medium.

Perhaps its a byproduct of our primal need to survive, but we are naturally inclined to have a need to share. We frown at someone till our emotions come across correctly, not for the want of communication but the want of implicit self-satisfaction. I can't deny the urge to write a lean 120 character status update that my faith in humanity lessens every-time a person turns into a driveway without signaling.

It's a good thing camera's are so expensive, it saves me the trouble of boring people in an auditory fashion as well as visual.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-23-2011 02:21 PM

I used to do my reading in coffee shops; indie little joints hidden to the side of restaurants and overpriced clothing retailers. But I never liked coffee, the smell, the taste, the people; I'm not much of a caffeine junkie...I don't know anything about ground beans that isn't hummus. But to the point, I read in these coffee shops because I felt like that was merely the setting I belonged in. Lounging in overly comfortable chairs, with a cup of tea and hours ahead of myself.

I couldn't stand how pretend it seemed, girls ordering caramel macchiato's, older men in suits with their laptops checking their fantasy football leagues. I don't know what was worse, the lack of serenity or my continued patronage. Even girls would approach me occasionally, asking about a book, or recognizing the author. I was in a specific location, with a specific list of items, and therefore was this specific person. I'm not saying I was the mac daddy of hipster brew spots, but more girls approached me in a month of coffee shop lounging then four years of high school. (Which is less fingers than you have on your left hand, I'd hope.)

I read in fast food places now; its infinitely more relaxing. The refreshments are cheaper, the booths are spacious, the lighting is advantageous. And no one will ever interrupt your reading in a Wendies, I promise you.

Today I was reading in a Boston Market, and I realized why I love reading in these public places to begin with. As the pages move, so do the people. Everytime I lift my head from my book, another set of people have filled the lasts places, a new group of stories enter, a new group of thoughts.

So I look down at my book again, smile....and let myself be absorbed by the singular notion; that beyond me, the world might exist.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-26-2011 03:13 PM

I adore learning new things, its one my great pleasures in life. Perhaps not all things I spend time, effort, and possibly funding off in the long run. But I've loved building tree houses, and learning magic tricks. Picking my first lock with that set I bought on ebay, carving wooden swords, painting on canvas and then the walls in abandoned buildings. I loved taking those melodramatic black and white photographs, and then fooling around with a girl in the appropriately named dark room. Those chess games in Brooklyn that lasted hours and the video games that took up months. The poems that never seem to end, and the aimless roadtrips with my girlfriend that seem more like poems. I've had hobbies come and go, amateur yo-yo'ing, fishing in waters too cold to ever swim in, moving street signs, following strangers, sketching hillsides, watching foreign films, learning the ukulele, video editing, playwriting, gardening, shoplifting, ping pong, archery, printmaking, radiotinkering, origami, meditation, sculpting, and most recently - extremely amateur film-making...

All of these things I spent at least weeks obsessing over; and I never was anything more than decent at any of it. But I've learned from everything I've done wrong and right.

I've spent an inordinate amount of time on these strange passions that blow through quickly, that sometimes I feel as though I've sailed passed something important, too distracted to see what may have been right in front of me.

Do I know what it is?

Well.... It isn't love, or I suppose its best not to know. Macte animo! Generose puer sic itur ad astra

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 01-27-2011 09:42 AM

The future is a horrifying prospect. For all my positive characteristics; I do in fact have one or two vices tight enough to squeeze some attention. I'm a very present person, I use five or more senses to truly understand each moment that passes. Even now I tint the glass with an overambitious heating unit from the 70's and what might be a flipflop making this table uneven.

I never try and deny the past...those half-real markers in stories that give structure to the present. I just can't wrap my head around the whole concept of something happening next. Why can't I spend my whole life in the sweet agony of this headache? I don't long to be relieved of the burden in the same sense that I don't long to find out its a symptom of meningitis. I can't look forward to something because I know what can happen, and that knowledge of the possible, the understanding of unfairly maddening.

Today I'm stuck at work once again...remember that reverence for snow being lost I that I referenced to in an earlier post....well its in full swing with this last storm. 138 people have come through that store today. Guys, I don't know who it is that instructs people on proper small-talk conversational topics...but 138 people have mentioned their different experience slipping down what I'm now assuming to be... the same hill. Besides the omnipresent need for a particular hill in farfeild county to be destroyed, I've had the inescapable thought that my life is quite like a snow storm.

Unexpected and beautiful, until excess makes it thoroughly impossible to navigate through.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-04-2011 01:57 AM

"Playing house."

I've been dating my girlfriend for nearly three years now and I adore it. I love the way she makes a quick bolt of eye-contact to judge my reactions. I love the way she pulls her hair into a ponytail by reflex whenever she starts something she doesn't want to do. I love the fact that she doesn't use her pinkies whatsoever, for anything, as if she were a sentinel species having outgrown the human posture.

She's quite amazing really. But it occurred to me recently; that I can't really peg down what it is we do together. Oh I don't mean on a day to day basis. We do all the cliche'd couple stuff. Dinner and a movie, bowling, long walks on the beach...hell it may even be a romantic comedy. But I'm a man of description. And my words fail me. Are we dating? It feels like we've evolved past that years ago... Ever since she went away to college I've started to see her less frequently, but still with the surprising vigor of teenage passion. We explore new cities, paint Boston indigo and end up breathless and content.

When I came home from my trip to Boston on Monday, my mother asked me, "how was playing house with julie?" And it struck me, that mom might have been accurate for the first time in her life.

I'm 20, she's 18. We have at least a decade of sheer youth in front of us. Of course I've realized this, I've known what made our relationship so simple when I was 17 and she was 15....we were just having fun....we didn't care about titles and status... And we still are those same people; I'm still feverishly in love with life, and she's in love with being right.

I guess what I'm saying is...that I hate deadlines; realistically I have maybe a year or two left with her...It's ridiculous that I could be so infatuated without being ignorant. It's unfair as well.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-05-2011 10:48 AM

Drawing 101.

Isn't it miraculous to see a side of something you normally don't. Turn the dice over and see a lucky seven and your mind races to understand how the extra dot came to be. I remember way back in elementary school history classes they would draw a line on the blackboard, etching with loud squeaks the time line of what I was apparently supposed to memorize for the implied test on Friday. I adore line graphs really, it starts somewhere at the beginning of the page, and then sprouts off into stems and twigs of a possibly complete ballad.

And on the subject of lines, if you add one or two more to a circle it becomes a pepper. Trust me...I'm a Dr.

I finally started going back to school today, the snowstorms have been canceling my classes for the better part of the last two weeks and honestly, I'm just excited to wake up and not be upset that I woke up for no reason in the first place. Whats more I have a drawing class on fridays, its five hours long if you can believe that. The room is set up in a circle, each of the students with an isle, a pencil, charcoal, paper, and a different perspective of a still life image. That's the class and I can't believe how much I'm enjoying it. I used to sketch things, landscapes, plants, the slope of a woman's shoulder-blade. But when you have all that time to just sit and old pair of shoe's contains an endlessly complex series of shadows...that globe's curve is almost as allusive as most of its inhabitants morals....

People always spout meanings of life off like proverbs...we think therefore we are...we follow the will of god...we live for pleasure.....I think we are just tools of description; clawing at low tide to find a means to make it stillframe...if only to drown in it...and reminisce

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-08-2011 09:20 AM

All I'm good for is madness and writing...

and I'm not here to write.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-10-2011 07:50 AM

Its particularly disturbing how little I sleep these days. I'm constantly fearful I'll merely nod off driving and end up in some glorious car wreck. As far as ways to die go, I'm not going to wreck is pretty appealing. But I don't want some fireman prying a corpse out with the jaws of life...I want fireworks baby. Crimson lights, a brief serious piece on the morning news before the dancing hippo's. But then again, humanity would miss out on the privilege of hearing my last words. They're going to be fucking magnificent.

Back to basics. Bed time is 10:30...I've been quite naughty. My schedule is non exist ant...I wake up at 7...go to bed at 4:30...rinse and repeat. Between writing, filming, doing homework, playing Starcraft II on a semi-proffesional level....I've really found sleep to be a lower priority. But its starting to pay a toll on me...My body ache's my eyes are red....I am consistently plagued by randomly assorted small yet annoying illnesses. People express confusion at how I manage to be so very busy while never really accomplishing anything...its a poets irony I think.

I'm driving up to Boston again this weekend...physically drained and melancholy...I'm just excited to see my girlfriend not use her pinkies to type and grin mockingly at my undeniable ridiculousness. Its strange to need someone...But I do need a comet needs its tail.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-12-2011 02:30 AM


It might be an unexpected quality. It might be unconventional. Perhaps some tender feeling you did not expect from someone who you previously thought incapable of it. Perhaps just a moment of spontaneity...something unplanned, an impulse from the heart, a feeling of such passionate purity that you can't look away. And you mention courage and that's the real deal, isn't it? Real charity, real goodness, soul-deep and affecting. This isn't a gentle thing, not in terms of feeling, nor in power. True courage is rare and has little to do with fighting in the conventional sense. Small gestures and tender kindness are affecting, but this spontaneous outpouring of feeling, this truly noble and stalwart spirit in the face of unkind odds can inspire a passion that can inflame the world.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-13-2011 05:15 AM

Unfairly cast into fortune. I didn't win the lotto; I only had to check the first digit to know I'd lost. But megamillions aside, I'm on a hotel bed in a noname city five miles away from Cambridge. Our reservation is at six...she gets to shower first. Do I really know how to be happy?

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-16-2011 05:01 PM

Its disturbing to think that it isn't a conspiracy. That the reason we don't look up is that our heads aren't forced down...I personally believe America has been a fascist nation since the 1800's. I don't know a single politician that doesn't have a corporation squeezing a rough hand in their skin tight jeans.

And we are loyal to it all...we argue over mac's and pc's....cokes vs pepsi's....the illusion of freedom isn't very thinly veiled. "Your silly, there are alot of other soda's out there"...thats because we are talking about fucking soda. What power do you have in the scheme of things....go ahead, march on into the streets in your brand name shoe's and throw the president out of office. Elect Mickey Mouse and save yourself the trouble.

The fact of the matter is, as long as there are long as there are corrupt long as there are self-serving ideologies....

We aren't moving optimally towards human progression.

And isn't that just like us?

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-19-2011 11:40 AM

Its going to be a long weekend.

Isn't it so very practical to be in love. Go down a checklist of human needs, maslow be damned...feeling compulsion to write in blue ink and overpay for stamps has more to do with survival than any 281 calorie snack pack ever will. I'm not talking H 2 Oh he's ranting again, I mean the real deal...that shadow we pretend not to be afraid of when the lights are positioned just right. "Everybody gets one miracle"...some guy wrote...I believe him, some people win the lottery...some people can move their vocal cords in a pleasing manor....some people get cancer....My miracle was being aware that power outlets look like sad little faces..

And only some people, learn to smile.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Pieman - 02-19-2011 03:05 PM

It's quite an enjoyable experience to read these. Like an unseen sentient being leafing through the pages of another one's soul.

Oh, by the way Vatman. I read your diary.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-20-2011 03:41 PM

So we turn the page then do we?

I'm glad you've enjoyed my posts thus far Pieman, (and I hope more people comment as time goes by...a topic with 300 of my own posts is pretty pathetic)...anyway.....there is something voyeuristic about reading someones diary. I know I do nostalgia too often, but it never gets old.

So picture the scene, a birthday party...everyone who's anyone in a classroom in 6th grade in attendance. 12 years old or not, this was to be a grown up boy-girl party. They are playing seven minutes in heaven in the basement, while I'm up the birthday girls bedroom. Get your head out of the sink...I've snuck off for my version of the game. I look through her drawers and find about 200 dollars in 20's probably stolen from her mom...but I'm no theif. And a diary. Oh wait, I am.

I loved the birthday girl for a moment while I read through her infrequent updates. Her feelings about some boy named Bradly, her overly consistent usage of the word "like"....She totally pretended to be sick one day, and I was choking on passion. I rejoined the group, a girl wanted to play seven minutes in heaven together with me. I enter the closet with ...I want to say Violet...but I don't remember.

She asked me if I wanted to kiss...I asked her if Bradly really smelled like roses?

I wasn't invited to any more parties.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Bob Dole - 02-20-2011 03:48 PM

The last part made me grin like a mad bastard.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Blobthe15 - 02-20-2011 04:12 PM

Woah. You've inspired me to vlog/blog. Thanks a lot (but whethere I stick to it...)

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-21-2011 11:19 AM

The clearance rack...

It can be said that strangers bare the ultimate burden to us all. I'm not talking trench coats, its the mystery of the masses. If there are one million people living in your can be said that your day depends on a million factors. I'd draw you a pie chart, but I was starving. Sweet thoughts aside, we are ever dependent on the safety of irrelevance. People don't organize angry mob's to attack people they don't know. Once you become something, there in lies the distinct ability to generate potential.

The internet is sort of like that, the people who watch a youtuber's video avoids the torrent of mixed review. I often wonder if technology has changed the human mindset....sure our basic needs are usually met. But there is something new emerging. How many people read your twitter? Did you get a follower on dailybooth. Do you even know what tumblr is? I don't.

We set up the spotlight, caress the screen, and hope it tugs at the quicksand, drowning in decided individuality.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-22-2011 03:15 PM


The world is abuzz but you might not even know it...Being addicted to lights and flashes, its only natural that I find refuge among the digital fiends of the new age. How do we relax though, you wont find any questing done by this troll. A blizzard runs by and boom. Starcraft 2. Oh yes I said it. Let the pundits criticize its rise to fame, deny it as a competitive sport and blame its followers.

But you gotta admit. It has style.

Today there was an announcement of a North American Star League....or in laments terms, a quarterly tournament with a 100k cash prize to the winner. This is big. Although there are tournaments around the world with comparable prizes. With this NASL league starting up, combined with MLG, Dreamhack, and GosuCoaching, and maybe a hundred other tournaments that have popped up in the last few years....It is actually financially feasible to be a full time professional pro gamer in America.

And thats huge houses are going to pop up, kids dropping out of school for their big break at SC fame. It's Enders game without the buggers and I can't ever get my fix.

What I wouldn't do to be born yesterday.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-23-2011 06:06 AM

Poetry 101

Demoted and demoralized. I'm in the basics and the air is murky. I can't even begin to describe what it is to be patronized to the point of digression. So I digress. How handsome you look this afternoon my reader....Is it a new haircut, no I think its perspective. We all learn permanently despite memory loss or unstudied for tests, we make connections. And once those ties are taut. (See what I did there) It would take more than three blind sisters to getcha out of the mess.

I'm in class listening to the worst poem I've heard in years, asking how I felt about the speakers presence. I wanted to stand up, kick my desk over and tell him his presence is like janet jacksons nipple. We definitely saw something, but I doubt anyone would ever want to see it again.

Another poem is read, this one slightly less horrible...he rhymes the words alive and dive...

I'm taking the plunge.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 02-27-2011 10:56 AM

Its not enough to just be alive, you've gotta work nine to five... Our numbers have to add up at the end of the year, positive preferably. Else your on the streets where money doesn't matter...

An interesting fact about Herman Melville, when he died his obituary read Harvey Melville...we forget that passion clings to those intrinsic characteristics of identity...and its only numbers that your remembered by.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - SuperiorDiplomat - 03-03-2011 01:26 PM

Vatman, It's pretty damn depressing to find that you are back in Poetry 101. I truly feel for you. No Your style of writing is unexplainable in lack of better terms, very enjoyable.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 03-08-2011 12:30 PM

How to make 3D post-it notes.

If I had a compass right now it would probably point north, but that doesn't necessarily means it knows where its going. Lets assume your life's goal was to grow tall enough to ride a particular roller-coaster. Hold on there steel dragon, this is kingda ka we're talking about. (Oh that's right, I googled it) This coaster is the mindfuck you've wanted since you found out about the dumbo ride at a local fair. And it is absolutely everything to you, to grow tall enough to ride it. Each year as time passes by, you grow abit. Doctors can predict your height by genetics, but they still tell ya to drink plenty of calcium. So you chug it, "damn taboo" you say as you drain a glass of the newly invented Moj. (Milk and orange juice)

Time to stretch. No not you, the metaphor. Lets assume as well that a person keeps growing their entire life...some people get better view's in a parade, and others never reach the peddles on their easter-gifted tricycles.

Okay, here we are. This is the point where you have but a year left in your lifetime. You stand against the ruler and found that your growth spurt is just shy of riding levels. The man in a too well pressed red vest apologizes profusely and gestures you to dumbo. What then? Where do you go? How do you live?

I'm not talking about roller coasters people. But I drink my milk, and I aint a' gr o' wwin.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 03-09-2011 03:02 AM

Perhaps it was a dream?

Whenever you ask yourself a question quite like the one are aware it was a dream. "It's just a dream" is a statement to understand and convince a not to sure person in cold sweat. "It was only a dream" Is more of a comfort, make sure to look for sparkly red pumps.

I didn't have shoes on, but nothing did. I had fallen asleep much more early than I was used to. Perhaps it was right after dinner, because I do have that particularly bad habit. Anyway... I'm awake now, or at least half awake and although my eyes are closed I can distinctly see shapes. Or what I thought were shapes. But really they were just masses.

Language seems to fail me here and metaphor is useless when describing the illogical. It appeared to be a universe completely dark, yet some spots were a thicker darkness than others. And I could feel those spots diffusing into shaking up a bottle and watching the war torn air bubbles become one. Maybe my eyes were just adjusting to the light, but it felt distinct.

Similar to that feeling where you concentrate on individual blinks, and predict the beginning of the end.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 03-15-2011 08:26 AM

Have you ever been stopped in your tracks only to find out you are not as important as your bubble implies. Oh it glistens baby. pop.

What we have is the familiar cast and crew, lights, action...sound?...I'm a fan of unmarked walkways and chest high barriers. Today I found myself musing on implication. It may pertain to me, but who's really there own person? Lets move on, follow the guardrail. Lights off. You can't show depth without contrast. A hue here, an idea there.

There we are, insanity aside I'm looking for a way to fill my summer. Perhaps an internship pouring coffee for those who know what they are doing this summer. Maybe I can travel, visit cities that don't have postcards... Its a hassle, because this summer matters, more than most. In that this summer I exist. There are those who would be effected by my decisions. And whats the point of playing a game without a stake in the outcome. Always take the biggest payout. But I'm flat broke and lets face it....

I'm not completely here.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 03-15-2011 04:17 PM

Pure vertigo baby.

I walked along the beach today. Gray sky, fading winter air. It somehow occurred to me that this beach, the water in which I was staring at....had just caused an immense natural disaster not days ago. Okay perhaps we can trace the cause to tremors...but the medium is the mayhem in the situation. And I'm like a ray of sunshine and fading apathy.

I wanted to shout, for the lives lost...for the lives left untouched. I decided on the latter. "Waves are just like idea's, they start small and then take down cities...."

If only it was an idea.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Pieman - 03-16-2011 07:52 AM

Vatman Wrote:Pure vertigo baby.

I walked along the beach today. Gray sky, fading winter air. It somehow occurred to me that this beach, the water in which I was staring at....had just caused an immense natural disaster not days ago. Okay perhaps we can trace the cause to tremors...but the medium is the mayhem in the situation. And I'm like a ray of sunshine and fading apathy.

I wanted to shout, for the lives lost...for the lives left untouched. I decided on the latter. "Waves are just like idea's, they start small and then take down cities...."

If only it was an idea.

Sup Apathy.

Re: Similar Snowflakes - Vatman - 03-21-2011 06:09 PM

Dear Reader,

And so I take up my pen and think of you. It is an answer to a moment, but why limit it so? Every bit of communication is a superb opportunity, a roaring beginning, a little touch of infinity and I can’t think of anything more perfect to do than to ride that dizzy wave.

Did you know that I do still prefer a real pen and ink to this virtual scribbling? I love the clever whirring of this machine and the simple and profound miracle of forming words in little flashes of light with the press of my finger tips. Groovy. But what can replace the transubstantiation of ink to meaning on a crisp sheet of fine paper?

My heart can speak freely in rivers of ink, in that liquid flow of ideas formed by the complex and individual movement of my hand. In the signing of my name – always with a dash of drama- you might see the stamp of my very being...

Speaking, even in little – distracting, mesmerizing- flashes of groovy light, is not the same as communicating. We may all speak but are we heard? Ink supplies the extra meaning that flashy little key strokes cannot.

In the actual tracing of my hand upon a page, the way I form each letter, each dot, each crossing and those wild curlicues of mine nuance the meaning of the words I write. They reduce them down to their original essence for you to drink deeply of. They layer the infinite elaboration of my personality on top, infused with my own dark and soaring passion.

How might we duplicate that ancient magic here where we have no concrete tools? You can’t touch the paper which I have touched or trace with that hot, questing little finger the penetrating impression my pen has made into the page or how the ink has formed a ridge here or drying pool there where I paused, or even a little smudge where my sleeve races past in eagerness. I yearn for such intimacy.

And I do still use a good ink pen, a fountain pen, which I still dip into the fount of an inkwell containing Violette Pensées or richest Noir, and the very finest Clairefontaine velum. All just as if I can dip into my own black and impassioned understanding and lay it bare on the paper for you to read.

And that’s the essence of it all. It’s what underpins all that I publish in spite of my infamous, possibly quite infinite vanity. From my nib hangs a drop of absolute, concentrated honesty. Ah, but more than that; in a letter, I might strip away my soul. I would reveal everything, every defeat, every humiliation, every wilful mistake which my ruthless greed makes and every last bit of evil that I am capable of and, honey, that’s some list right there. With every triumph I whisper to you my tormenting guilt. In every pounding adventure, I can admit my despair. Where I am laid lowest by my own wickedness, I can reveal my satisfaction. In the simplest of pleasures, I write how I am never content.

I might even confess the things which I have never said, not to myself – and how I lie to myself! And certainly not to those beings that I most love. This is where you come in. This is how very precious you are. You see, by addressing my missive to someone very much like you, to another person and all the unconscious brilliance that accompanies such vice, to all mortals who inhabit that glorious sunlit world from which I am eternally gazing inwards upon; to my lost moments, to you, my reader, absolutely to you. That's why then I enter the sanctity of the Confessional. And here we two alone, in ink and light, might truly be known.

Until we meet more intimately in my dreams.