On the Ace of Hearts

It's a 3 AM revelation on the morning of the last day.

It's the hero inside stepping forward to silence the doubts, insecurities, worries.
It's the realization that there's more to the world than you can see, more that is hidden, secret: a world crafted more by time and chance than intelligence, and yet still filled with beauty and patterns.

It's me, armed only with words and a melodic disposition, digging and searching for meaning in an ocean of sand, while the sun beats down on my back.
It's a smiling at a secret meant for someone else.
It's blanching to hear the truth, or perhaps the echo of truth, or even just what you hope to be true.
It's writing a letter with an address that you've smudged beyond recognition, that will never arrive at its destination, but knowing that the writing was always far more important to you than the reception.

It's finding an old shoebox in the attic full of pictures of you, smiling and optimistic for the beautiful future that you knew so surely awaited you, and realizing that not so long ago, today was the future, and it was bright, and it was filled with promise.

It's chalk on the side walk on a rainy day, with words that fade, with words that drain. And when it's all gone, a blank slate, a fresh start. But you didn't write that first message. And you can't remember how it went. And you can't put it back.

It's the sky on fire as the sun sets. It's stopping to take pictures of things that matter to you, even everyday miracles, knowing that they are permanent, that they won't change.

It's taking solace in the warm embrace of sunlight, the gentle pitter-patter of rain, the rustle of falling leaves, the soft touch of snow.

It's the first step to recovery.

It's confidence in what this is.

It's the future. And it's now. And it always will be.

On mornings, creativity, and the same old routine

I must admit, I despise etiquette. I am well aware there is an unwritten rule against posting twice in one day, but I've chosen to consider the two times I have chosen to write blog entries in the last eight or so hours as seperate occurences on two different days. Whether I will further respect the distinction when it comes time to be awake tomorrow remains to be seen.

For now, there are a few things I want to talk about, mostly because I have nothing else to do. Of course I've finished all of my (immediately pressing) homework, and taken care of all my responsibilities for this three-day weekend, and the second it begins I have no idea what to do with my so called free time. Right now, the hallway outside my room reeks of marijuana, and there is a man vomiting on the floor. My friend, who was coming to visit me, was--until a few weeks ago--in a relationship with this person. She is now making sure he does not die.

I am in my room, isolated from the world, believe it or not, because I have a problem with that man's lifestyle. So every weekend (including this one) I sit in my room, maybe with a few friends, in relative silence, or doing things that have achieved a certain level of monotony I was not aware existed. It seems that no matter how much I write, how much I play my damned instrument, or how much time I spend playing games, I cannot satisfy that urge in me to do something. With a capital DO.

The question is not even what it is I truly want to do (although that is certainly a pertinent question), but rather what is missing. I am going stir crazy. That is without doubt.

I need to meet more people. But I don't want to join a youth group and I don't want to party, and it seems pretty extreme, but not unrealistic, to say that those are the most prominent choices. Not many people introduce themselves out of context, so it's difficult to meet them outside of clubs (the sort of which I frequent are somewhat lacking in non-geek representation (no offense to my fellow geeks)). This is probably for good reason. You never know what kind of person/drug dealer you are going to meet at 3 AM in the middle of a street. As such, I am loathe to introduce myself without proper context. And yet I must--

I want the rights to this movie/book name:

A Vexing Dilemma

This time it's interpersonal

On the name of the blog

I am Tim.

This blog is a forum that will soon contain my serial short fiction, songs, and accounts of events in my life/things I have discovered that I find intriguing. While I appreciate having people I don't know look at my work, I urge those of you who feel the need to share what I have created to share a link, or at the very least, cite me in your recountings.

Not to seem presumptuous or egotistical, rather the preceding paragraph is intended to avoid possible complications in the future. I hope I do not live to see the day when the Grommet-Roche Incident repeats itself. That was a ghastly time in our history.

For those of you frantically combing Wikipedia for more information on the incident in question, I suggest you desist. As the event has been subject to an extensive cover-up by a multi-national league of governments.

I will, however, provide you with this small--but appetizing--morsel of information. The big dog is not red. I repeat, the big dog is not red.

That is all.

Long live the revolution.