Where’s your head at?

The din of sweet silence, how does it clear the air, make it crisp and serene? It’s not all quiet here, while the room is filled with nothing but breath, I have a million sounds screaming from all sides. In here, in my mind, there’s nothing but chaos and distraction. Where’s this peace of mind that I’ve heard so much about? Where does this sense of ease come in when all I feel is calamity and activity?

Think, think.
Think, think, think.

When will it settle? When will I finally enjoy that sweet spell of turbulent free existence?

It’s all a mess, this head of mine. I need a shovel and three trucks just to move half of what pops in every few seconds.

But what then, when the chaos has been set to an organized jumble of what goes on, what emotions linger, what I truly believe? What then?

How do you make sense of it all? Our minds can create, achieve, understand, panic, disturb, love, and so on. What will I end with? Is there anything to gain from this jumble of words, imagines, ideas, and emotions?

Clarity, now there’s a foreign concept. Everything, everything all at once, that’s how it works. All or nothing, there’s no other way I know. Life either passes me by or pours everything, good, bad, ugly, beautiful, exciting, frightening, all of it on me.

I never have answers, only more questions. Every answer I look for brings me just more complex questions. How do you answer questions with more questions? How to you settle on an idea, theory, concept, reality when all you have to go on is what might be due to speculation, due to your own line of questioning with little reasoning?

When do the questions stop? If they do, I fear it will be my end. I always wonder, I always analyze, I always interpret, but still I have no answers.

Shhhh, try to find the quiet, the clarity, the peace. Is it peace of mind or a piece of mind? Either seems remarkably possible. I suppose that’s just one more thing to ruminate on.


What Lies In My Darkness

I’ve had a very clouded mind recently. I’m not quite sure why. I’ve been trying to write and my character interactions feel forced and false. I’ve even had a moment where I’ve asked myself “Do I even know how normal people interact?”

Needless to say, I’m not a normal person. Of course, “normal” is a relative term and we can argue the implications of “normal” for hours. But, I’m using it here as a term for what is deemed as the acceptable behaviour and the typical way in which humans interact with one another in a westernized, modern culture. I treat everyone with the same amount of respect until they prove otherwise via their behaviour, I talk to strangers as if I’ve known them a while, I say weird things, I rant to most anyone when I feel the need, I make odd noises such as quacks, clicks, or honks when I’m feeling silly or absent minded, the majority of my jokes are either immature, self-depricating, or puns, I like so many things and will get excited because of these things, I cannot abide rude or grammatically incorrect people, I cannot handle shorthand text messages, I put others happiness above my own, I would rather deal with physical pain than an argument I feel is pointless to have, and I will not call someone out on a job poorly done but will just go an fix it without a word.

Despite some of these lovely positives I have, there is a darkness in me, one that has been tagging at my consciousness the last week or so. It’s always been there as far as I can remember, but of late it’s been more apparent. This could be because this past week I’ve been house-sitting so I’ve been completely alone besides the company of a cat. I haven’t lived alone for several months now and I find that having to be considerate of others in every accept of living takes a toll on me, enough so that I forget to just have my contemplative moments. I use my spare time to decompress so that I can handle other human beings for another day.

But I’ve had a lot of time to think here. I’m not consciously trying to address the darkness, oh no. Like most people I hunker those little bits of unwanted personality down deep underneath the good things. I have been thinking about my life, my accomplishments, my tasks, my trials, my dreams and hope, etc. The little bits of darkness slowly ease into these thoughts like an ink drop in a glass of water. But, when I’m aware of it, I ignore it and move on to the next thought.

The problem is when I’m not aware or in control. I’ve been plagued with nightmare after nightmare with real monsters. Now, I love monster movies and silly vampire movies and so on. These things have never really frightened me, but in my nightmares these snivelling, snarling beast are heart-wrenchingly terrifying. I wake in a panic because I’m afraid that they’ve caught me, that they’ve taken me into their thick, dripping, claws and will never let me go. That no matter how many bags I pack and how many flights or trains I catch I can’t run away.

Now, I’m aware that my monsters are really my inner demons manifesting in my subconscious as something I fear.

You may be wondering, dear Reader, why I’m sharing these intimate things with you. Well, I think that some of you deal with your own monsters and your own darkness. I think that we all feel desperate and alone when our demons wreak havoc with our minds and hearts. I also think that we forget to let others know when we struggle. Dear Reader, I’m hear telling you that life is not all rainbows and unicorns for everyone but you. We’ve all got stuff.  I thought maybe, just maybe some of you needed to hear that someone else has a monster too, that behind the veil of happy-go-lucky attitudes something lingers that isn’t as cheerful.

Our nightmares force us to find our strength. Keep reading dear Reader and keep those demons at bay.

Romance? I Don’t Think So

So, as I’m procrastinating my own writing, yet again, I came across this post on my Facebook feed. Now, I usually glance over this kind of over advertised article, but I wanted to see what this blogger had to say about Romance.

15 of the Most Passionate Lines in Romance Novels

Granted, some of these are very famous, but their not particularly “romantic” in my eyes, really they’re just about love and not necessarily passionate either. A lot of the quotes posted I found were more like revelations regarding what love is. Some were corny of course. 

But, these quotes got me thinking about the quotes I keep. Every time I read a book and there’s a passage I want to remember I have a little journal where I write it down. So, I thought I’d share my favourite quotes about love, to keep with the theme here. I think they’re a touch better than what mindopenerz had found. Sorry, mindopenerz, but that’s just my opinion.

“For love is by definition an unmerited gift; being loved without meriting it is the very proof of real love.”

Slowness, Milan Kundera


“I realized then the truth about all love: that it is an absolute which takes all or forfeits all. The other feelings, compassion, tenderness, and so on, exist only on the periphery and belong to the constructions of society and habit. But she herself – austere and merciless Aphrodite – is a pagan. It is not our brains or instincts which she picks – but our very bones.”

Justine, Lawrence Durrell


“Unfortunately, little darlings, there is no such thing as a simple love story. The most transitory puppy crush is complex to the extent of lying beyond the far reaches of the brain’s understanding. (The brain has a dangerous habit of messing around with stuff it cannot or will not comprehend.) Your author has found love to be the full trip, emotionally speaking; the grand tour: fall in love, visit both Heaven and Hell for the price of one. And that doesn’t begin to cover it. If realism can be decoration, then how can we hope for a realistic assessment of love?”

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Tom Robbins

These are three of my favourite quotes about love. I personally have only been truly in love once in my life, but I have loved so many people. It’s a tricky concept that we will never fully understand, and I think that’s why I love these quotes so much, they don’t flat out say “this is love.” They reveal to you an accept of understanding of love, but not the whole thing, we can never understand the whole thing. That’s why these are my favourites, because love is something you can never define. You can explain accepts of it, the sensations, emotions, realizations, but you can never explain what that pull to another person really is. It can take so many forms in so many ways in so many different scenarios.

My little thought for the day. Cheers and keep reading!

Only the Rain

There is no better sound, nothing more soothing to me, than the rain.

It starts slowly, a drip here, a drop there. Tiny overtures foretelling the coming of grander things. It’s as if the skies are tuning their instruments, waiting in anticipation to begin, allowing a whisper to escape. 

But then, all of a sudden it comes down flowing in torrents. The mass of little drops creating the most eloquent of sounds, it’s as if a symphony has begun to play outside my window. There’s even a crescendo that explodes into life, but then the sweet hum of the melody coos and wanes beyond it, slowly overtaking it. The crescendo withers and the soft melody of the percussive droplets blanket the world.  

It’s steady now, a slow beat of the drops, the tune so familiar, like velvet caressing the ears. A chill lingers in the air as the sound dips, drops, and splashes. Soothing but playful, gentle yet crisp, the rain speaks a language that few can hear. There’s an eery delight that fills the air, the same comfort found in a melancholy novel. It’s a tepid sweetness that encases the mind when hearing the pitter patter of raindrops.

A duality emerges from it’s symphonic call. It invites you to either drench yourself in it’s labours, to feel the last touch of the drops as they find their way onto your skin. Or you drawn to cradle yourself in comfort, protected by any means, and merely hear what the rain has to say from a distance, blanket-wrapped and tea in hand.

Their’s a fondness I feel for this ever-common precipitation. It feels like home.

Just a few words on my favourite kind of day. Be good to yourselves.

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The Root Of It

Have you ever thought about where your beliefs came from? I know that the majority of what we believe as adults was instilled in us by our parents, they taught us what they thought to be true, how they understood the world to work. Of course, as children we believe that our parents have all the answers.

I’ve long since realized that my parents are just people. When I think that my mom was pregnant with my brother at my age, I cringe. She had no more knowledge of the world than I do and she was about to have an entire human life dependant on her for survival. It baffles me how one can expect to teach another human being all about the world when they in fact, one knows nearly nothing about it.

But, I digress. Some of my beliefs come from my parents, that’s for certain. Many of them can be pin-pointed to a specific moment when I was told that that was how the world works.

There is, however, one belief that I can’t seem to pin-point the origin of. I’m sure you all have it, that one thing that you believe deep down in the pit of your stomach, but can’t really understand where it came from.

Moments ago I held an eyelash on my finger tip. “Make a wish,” I told myself. I started thinking about all my eyelash wishes, all my breath-holding tunnel wishes, all my shooting star wishes, and I remembered something I used to do as a kid. As far back as I can remember, whenever I was presented with a wishing scenario the majority of the time I wouldn’t wish for myself. I always thought that if I give up enough wishes to someone else (generally it was someone less fortunate than myself) then maybe, just maybe the one time I actually wish for myself it would come true. I suppose this was a rudimentary understanding of “karma.” But, I was never told about karma. I was never told that if I do enough for someone else someone would do something for me. It could have merely been implied in my parent’s rearing tactic, but something tells my parents didn’t think that far ahead.

What was this innate desire to better someone else in the hopes that in the end it would better myself? Perhaps it’s social conditioning or an evolutionary heard mentality. Whatever it is, it stuck with me.

Despite entering the “selfish” years of my life, I still feel the need to give up my wishes, so to speak. While, I’ve learnt that it’s not bad to go and do something for myself, I still feel that tug of guilt weighing at my heals whenever I decide to do something that’s all about me.

Needless to say, this is human behaviour at its finest. What belief is deep seeded in your DNA, that one thing you’ve always believed in your whole life, that one idea you just can’t ever shake from your ideals?

The Day of the Doctor: Confusion Ensues

So, I didn’t do a week’s countdown to the 50th anniversary episode, like I had for the series premier of the latest series because of finals coming.

***Spoilers ahead, proceed with caution***

“The Day of the Doctor” was a great episode. Nothing spectacular, I expected a touch more from the storyline, but I enjoyed it. David Tennant, my favourite Doctor, came back so I was giddy like a little school girl. The inside jokes for Whovians were fantastic!

10th: …Because I don’t want to go.
11th: He always says that.

That had to be one of my favourite lines. As well as:

10th: Oh, you’ve redecorated. I don’t like it.

As much as I loved watching, I have one burning question about “The Day of the Doctor”.

Now, we’ve all seen the fall of the 10th Doctor “The End of Time.” That episode ended with the Doctor explaining that he had to destroy Gallifrey because the high council had decided to change the TimeLords into beings of pure consciousness. The Doctor had to stop them to end the war, and yet “The Day of the Doctor” did not touch upon this at all! The Doctor may have saved Gallifrey, but doesn’t that mean that now he’ll have to deal with this issue again? 

Am I the only one who noticed this? I’ve read many “50th Anniversary Episode Answers” posts on multiple blogs and no one seems to be asking this question. “The Day of the Doctor” was all about saving the children of Gallifrey, which is very noble. But, what about stopping the crazy TimeLords that want to make the universe theirs?

It’s very possible that Moffat forgot or that this is an issue to be addressed in later episodes.

Of course, everyone is concerned with the fact that the Doctor only has thirteen regenerations and the 10th used up two (one for the meta-crisis Doctor and one for the 11th). So, if this mythology were true Peter Capaldi would not have been hired and Matt Smith would be the last of the Doctors. Clearly, Moffat is re-writing the mythology of the Doctor, keeping him alive. I’m very grateful for this because I’m a big fan and I love this show.

Hopefully, Moffat and the next writer(s) will answer my question. If they forget I will lose my faith in nerd-obsession. This may in fact destroy my faith in all nerd kind, including myself. Don’t fail me guys! 

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It’s officially All Hallows’ Eve. The night before All Saints’ Day, better known as Hallowe’en. This has got me thinking about fear. I love spooky things. I love the adrenaline rush of a Haunted House. I love thrillers and creepy movies. I love books that can make a shiver creepy up my spine. These are pretend fears. They’re fun, exciting, and hold no real danger. So, it’s not fear. Fear is:

“an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.”

We love faux danger. We pretend that we’re in danger to get that superficial rush of adrenaline. But what is it that humanity is really afraid of? Of course, the first thing is always Death. We are afraid to parish, to expire, to end. But after Death, what is it that makes us so vulnerable that we react badly, stupidly, panic and do regretful things? It’s pain. It’s not the kind of pain we suffer from injury. No, physical pain is something that’s dealt with on a constant basis, and while we actively avoid it, it doesn’t cause us to commit regretful acts or cause panic.

It’s emotional pain that is the greatest fear of humanity. People don’t want to be hurt. The heart, no matter how hard we believe it to be, is a fragile metaphor for our even more fragile psyches. We act stupidly, rashly, and frantically when we believe our emotions are compromised, when we are in danger of experiencing that terrible torn-up feeling inside. That emotional pain that causes your lungs to tighten in your chest and your pulse to race. We avoid human connection when there is danger of getting hurt.

This is what humanity fears most. Not everyone will agree, that’s fine. But consider how many people are so afraid to make a connection. Consider the amount of anxiety when a new relationship (in any capacity) is forming. We free that if we put ourselves on the line, out there and vulnerable, with a new person that we will be crushed.

I am guilty of this very thing and a lot more recently than I’d like to admit.

Fear is only restrictive. It may be an evolutionary tool that has kept the species alive because the one that feared the big scary beast with fangs hid and survived. In a modern society it only cripples us, stops us from connecting with other people.

It’s a very ponderous Hallowe’en. Cheers Friends. 

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