The price of Fame

If you'd been here, I mean here, the home server, my trusty Linux box; you would have seen the blog come and go, the edits, the deletions, perhaps smiling. I'm okay, thanks for the emails. I really don't need to get out more, but I do appreciate the thought, usually right when you're thinking it!

This is a traumatic era, sure, but not for me; I find myself in in the most enjoyable current of thoughts and events; but for the world, this time, these technologies and products, and philosophies and sciences we have created, and just where they are taking us. Holy Shit!

it's a time of change, the beginning of a new age. We like the Fool of the Tarot, one foot in the old world, the other in the new, so amazed he does not feel the tiger biting at his ankle. That Holy Shit is about to hit the fan. I'm ready for it, are you?

Our incredible ignorance and stupidity may be our Achilles' Heel, one of many. And I'm wondering about my part in this, and exactly how I might bite back, is all. My father told me a story, and I can't get it out of my mind. Not my earthly father! He died when I was still a child, bless him! I couldn't have understood this story as a child. Or with some "Dad" filling my head full of shite. The story, in its entirety, is beyond my comprehension, but one thing's for sure, I'm in it.

See, you coped with the Tooth-Fairy being just a story, and Father Christmas, too. But most folk still didn't understand them, though they do act as carriers. So what about the Jesus? Could you handle that? Would me simply presenting the evidence be best? A poem maybe? Or carelessly drop it in a blog? Or all of them? Do I need one domain for this, or two? Questions, I have.

We each live our own reality; the surgeon and his terminally ill, the terminally ill, the Darkest African tribesman, the Hopi, the priest, the pornographer, the thief. We each our own lives, and none but our circle touches this, though we may touch them.

The marketing specialist: But how to increase this circle?

Me: And for free?

There was a day, some months ago, every evening I'd watch the hits here, see where you all came from, those interesting forum threads, the search engines, the odd all-at-once-from-nowhereness of IRC channel url drops, I watched you, and it was good. And word gets out, I guess. And there became too many to watch, and the logs became large, and tracking them a task no human could undertake, and now I'm lost in this, guessing.

Where did you come from?
How long did you stay?
Where did you go next?

it's important to me, I want this place to do what I want this place to do, and feedback is the key. I don't mean comments and emails, though they're great, all of them, but they only account for a fraction of visitors. When was the last time you emailed a webmaster to congratulate them on their site's content? Or to complain? Almost no one does. It takes Time, you see.

I'll solve this with php, of course, visitors becoming meaningful statistics, interesting forum threads plotted on the graph of inward links, PR-pushing clickables. I don't want to lose touch with you, so what can I do? This needs more thought, and better ways of doing things, but There's only so much time.

Not enough hours in the day?
Then put more in!™

I sing. that's what I do. I make songs. (there is music always, everywhere, allthetime, it used to sound like mozart, and then bach, just now it feels more like an indian strain, it's been many things, but ever-present. Songs fall out of it, not like it, just out of it, all the time. What's a boy to do? I sing, from the moment I open my eyes, from Jazz to blues, to folk, to just whatever the loudest sound has sparked off in the din of music everywhere, melodies popping like hot-spring bubbles) And Images, I frame things, and capture them. (because I am like a child, and every time I open my eyes I am amazed. there are probably drugs that can do this, but walking down a simple street even, is magical, meaningful for me, imagine a rushing stream! or a beautiful naked friend! and I know that with just the right framing, the right light and tone, the correct focus and distance and aperture and development and presentation, I can share what I see with you, and this MUST be preserved, my report, filed) And words, I have to let them out (because they tangle and reconnect and shift and tear apart if I leave them in my head, and poetry is the only way to encapsulate their entirety, to capture them and pin them down like butterflys, and it's almost impossible to do that, and it challenges me, and everything else is a slave to this, this need to distil large things into smaller words, and to find the hidden rhythms in their structure, rhythms to invoke the deeper music and meanings, to evolve the use and usefulness of words, and my report must be filed!) And all this takes time.

On this page, how many instances of the word "time"? I wonder.

for now..

:o) The Writing Entity @ corz.org

the tangent universe

The greatest blog I ever did revolved around movies, Chicken Run, in fact. But that got destroyed in a power-out roughly three seconds before I committed it to permanent storage. Losing data is like death, except it hopefully doesn't come in threes, unless you're really really careless.

A month ago I burried my Nana. it's not so bad, you know, she had a good life, and old people die, fact of life, part of it. I even considered putting a photo here in my blog. I think, at that point, I entered an altered consciousness, I became introspective in productive ways, yet outwardly a bit of a grumpy bastard. I did not see a six foot rabbit.

Then there was the wee girl, I didn't know her, wasn't even close to her, but some people close to me were, and it sort of spilled over into my life. She was only three, and she burned to death. And there were all the moral questions surrounding this, how the father could have saved the boy, but not her. He's in intensive care with first degree burns, beaten back by flames, won't get out for months, but still, my mind wouldn't let it go, like some past mistake, the scenario replayed and replayed, and all the different things I might have done to prevent this tragedy. What could I do? I was miles away. I didn't even know the girl, but it's like family dying. It hit me worse than my Nana's passing. What's that about?

Some days later, around midday I get woken up, a woman's voice, I'm sleepy still, but I won't forget the words..

"Danny's Dead"

And I just sort of went into shock, numb. I was close to Danny, a local "young lad at a bad age", mixing with the wrong crowd, usual story. But he was bright, like an angel bright, though a wee shite most of the time. I was looking forward to watching him make good, which he would have, and changed the world. That kind of kid. A bad start but a good end, you could see it in the arc of his thoughts. And now he's dead, seventeen years old. What the fuck is that about?

I hadn't seen him for a while. And then here I am seeing him all the time, replaying things, pivotal moments, questions: what could I have done? Could I have done anything? Said something? me Me ME!

Only those left behind feel pain. Death is for the living, a wake-up call to action, to wise up and do better next time, whenever we get that chance. Death is for the living, to think introspective thoughts, a time to enjoy memories, have doubts. A time to question our faith.

I have Faith, though I'm no religious man. I see the universe as it really is; Jesus as a blueprint, God the man with the plan, and no thing outside His thoughts. This isn't religion, that just causes wars, and maybe stepping stones, I guess. I'm a realist, and I see my evolution lifetimes in the working, and nothing is lost.

This isn't Donnie Darko, but it could be. Last night, when I was out walking, it all became clear to me, the moment I live in, the eternity of things, of thoughts, and when I awoke today, the world was seeped in a new light. This isn't the first time this has happened.

it's fear. it's killing us all. I'm not afraid to die, but sometimes I am afraid to live. But while I am, I can do something about that, I can speak instead of stay silent, act rather than remain inactive. I can chose these moments, and what I fill them with, and I can chose to be thankful.

Yes, that's what it mostly is. I feel thankful. Mostly that it's not me that's dead, or rather "to be alive". And I'm thankful, real thankful, for all the fond memories of the times with those beautiful souls no longer around. In time, when you miss people, it brings a smile to your face, and that's the way it should be.

Nana was a gem, and the source of many of my better character attributes. Even though she was in pain, and her death a release, some of my family will die still grieving. Life is for the living; when my Papa died she picked herself back up and got on with life. If any of you happen across this blog, let that be a blueprint for your mourning.

And Danny, fucksake man! Oh how you will be missed! So many folk close to us have yet to feel the real sting of this. Your body isn't in the ground yet, they're keeping it for tests. What can I do?

Well, I've already thought of a few good things, so instead of poring over this, editing, I'm off to do one of them right now.

I re-ordered my "list".

for now..

:o) The Writing Entity @ corz.org

blogging reality

there is no blog.

:o) The Writing Entity @ corz.org