Saturday, December 17, 2011

Bachelorhoodom

I am single.

I am a singularly supreme ruler of a domain of one; the cat is the house of parliament, but like any good monarch, I at most appease it and often seek to avoid involving it.  From atop my lonely mountain, in my ivory tower, I am king of all I survey.

How absolutely boring.

I've spent the past few weeks settling in and organizing my bachelor-kingdom--enacting many mandates and projects--with still many more projects and plans ahead of me.  But already the dullness of it all is starting to wear upon me.  I've attempted to occupy myself with as many activities as I can--playing Skyrim on Xbox for hours at a time, for instance.  I've also begun a daily ritual of actually cooking food for myself; my servants do not mind, as I keep them busy in the interim.  I've also found solace in IHOP, and have passed many evenings with fellow bachelors there; it is not part of my kingdom, but relations are improving, and I am thinking of accepting a bride, if the dowery is sufficient.

And yet, the albatross that is boredom weighs upon me, and up until now I have had little luck shaking it loss from my neck.  A new solution has emerged, however.  I have discovered... THE BOOK.

Don't be confused; when I say The Book, I do not mean The Nook, or the Kindle or iPad.  I found The Book.  It's made of that material we write little notes on, or receive in the mail, covered in glossy photos or due dates; it's a book, made of plant matter and ink, usually black.

Did you know that some entertainment doesn't come in a box, or isn't displayed on a plastic or glass screen?  Did you also know that some information isn't discovered online, on Wikipedia, or from casual conversation with coworkers?  The Book provides such entertainment and information; it is truly amazing!

My introduction to The Book is a curious and coincidental thing; divine intervention, if you will.  I was struck queer by its reference while conversing with a relative of mine; he had made claims that information he had obtained--exciting, relevant, entertaining information--was received not from Reddit or Wikipedia or television, but from The Book.  I, of course, was incredulous, but too curious, and soon inquired further into the nature of his genius.  I was directed to seek out The Book in a neighboring kingdom, a realm known as Half-Price Books, where The Book is distributed at minimal cost.  I could barely contain my brimming, bursting, repetitive alliteration--my excitement, i mean.  Within the hour, I had obtained The Book, and brought it back to my kingdom.

I'm still reading it.  It's not a long book... but it was also explained to me that, the more you read, the more you desire to read more, and the higher your level of comprehension.  This makes sense; in the Kingdom of Bachelor, playing a game repeatedly over time builds up skill, thereby making the experience more enjoyable and easy; it seems using The Book mimics this.

Curiously, it also seems that, though information received from the book comes slowly to the Reader--as those who use The Book are called--the enjoyment of said experience is just as great as any fast-paced video game or movie.  Again, I look to my realm for relevance; while reading a summary online of a season of Dr. Who can certainly catch one up to date on what has come before the latest season, it isn't as fulfilling as watching the previous season's episodes prior to moving on to the latest.  It's fascinating, the parallels.

And so, I have found a way to assuage the boredom.  But The Book is not the final solution, only one of many.  Indeed, I have certainly ceased Reading in order to write--another past-time useful if you are attempting to waste time.  But the power of The Book is apparent to me now, and will soon become a welcome addition to my new kingdom.  So now I will return to The Book; I am eager to see if the central figure will succumb to the wishes of Sam-I-Am, and consume his offering of green eggs and ham in a box, or possibly with a fox.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Naming this pitiful thing

I'm having the damndest time coming up with a title for this blog.

Why am I changing the title?  Because I want to, because I don't feel "No Structure" describes or satisfies like it once did.  The web address will be the same, and really I'm the only person who consistently reads this--cause I write it--so it doesn't really matter.  But I want it changed.

That's not the point.  The point is, I can't think of anything.
I did some sniffing around, googling what I felt were clever blog titles that I thought vaguely described what I blog about or what i'm interested in...

...Save vs Boredom, Suspension of Disbelief, Metagamers Anonymous...

...and all of them were taken, in some fashion or another.  I think perhaps I'm not even going to get a good name, at this point, if I'm waiting for one that's not already claimed.  But I'm going to try and avoid titles that have already been claimed by other blogs.  Because, ya know, people read this and will be offended if I stole someone else's blog title.

If you are reading this, and have any suggestions, well be careful, I can only read so many messages.  Don't flood the comments section or anything!
Until then, I've got some creative thinking to do.

Friday, July 8, 2011

RPGD: To Rage, or Not to Rage

To rage, or not to rage:
That is the question
I ask myself almost every time I sit down to make a character.

I've been playing the numerous editions and incarnations of Dungeons & Dragons almost my entire life; Advanced Dungeons & Dragons was the first real roleplaying game I was a part of (outside of making up my own games, emulating my brother), and i've since found the joys of other, newer systems that take their inspiration from D&D.  But in all those times I've never played a barbarian or a berserker.

To inform the laymen: the barbarian, or berserker, is a type of character who draws on a quasi-supernatural level of rage and anger with which he smites his foes and cows his enemies.  He is rarely clothed in much of anything, usually hails from a primitive culture, sees nothing wrong with wanton destruction and death, and is often illiterate.  The barbarian is a staple of the fantasy/sword-and-sorcery genre.

I have yet to make or play one.  I'm usually a wizard or sorcerer, occasionally a thief or warrior, and i've played my fair share of noble, devoted priests.  But why not a barbarian?  Why haven't I raged yet?  Maybe the barbarian hits a bit to close to home.

Roleplaying games are about escapism.  Candy-coat it all you want, but these games are almost pure fantasy daydreaming.  Intelligent and rational adults, however, can get together and tell a story, roll some dice, follow the rules of the game, pretend they aren't just another cog in the machine, and enjoy the company of others.  It's healthy, but its escapism.  I personally enjoy playing characters with a firm grasp of the magnitude of their intellect, or characters that are so impressive physically or mentally that its almost irrelevant, a side note to their adventures.  "Why, yes, I can climb that building.  let's get started," or "why, yes, I can fly up that mountain; I'm a wizard after all."  I play something I feel I'm not, or I play a character that I feel explores something about myself I wish to enhance or fulfill.

Ay, there's the rub.

"Why does it take you an hour to get ready in the morning?
It can't take you THAT long!!  RAHHH!!!"  --Me, raging
Anger is a real problem in my life.  From time to time, I rage.  And unlike the D&D barbarian, all it gets me is grief and the disrespect of those closest to me.  I have never considered my anger an external force, something I need to conquer to free myself.  I'm an angry person, because I discovered at an early age that, instead of dealing with a problem with calm reflection, logical analysis or simple compromise--I can yell at it.  And sometimes it goes away.  If I yell loud enough, I might cow someone into complicity.

The truth is that my rage betrays my intellect and my compassion, and it undermines the things that strengthen and grow my relationships.  It keeps me from confronting problems, taking responsibility, and from learning to adapt to complicated situations--the stuff of life.  My rage is my inner child, who still wants to get his way, even when it's unhealthy or unnecessary.  I AM a barbarian, and it's no fun.

So why play one?  Why rage?  Why occupy my time exploring anger and destruction in my fantasy life, with my friends and loved ones, when in reality my own rage does more harm than good?

Perhaps because its time to confront it.  We all have things in our lives we want to improve or eliminate; I always play characters who are confident, dedicated, and focused--things I am not.  Maybe it's time I played a character that was in control of his anger, or better yet, a comical character who was as ridiculously stubborn and destructive as I am.  Perhaps, then, i'll see what it really means to rage, to be the one seeing it from the outside.

To rage, or not to rage...

I think I know the answer.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Hey, look, a journal entry!

Hey, look, a new blog!  it's been a month.

So I'm reading William Gibson's Neuromancer.  This is, by a lot of people's standards, a classic.  I'm excited, excited to read some genuinely acclaimed science fiction, and the birth of the cyberpunk genre.  S'gonna be great, i'll probably give some sort of report or review when I finish it.  No structure.

I've still got George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones sitting beside me at my desk... i'll get to it, I keep promising myself.  It was a tough decision, reading award-winning fantasy or reading award-winning science fiction.  But Neuromancer is a quicker read, and oddly enough, more my style.  It's funny how I weigh these decisions so heavily.

In further news, I'm signed up for fall classes!  Pretty scary, but in a good way.  Success scares me.  So i know i'm on the right track, if doing what i'm doing makes me want to flee.

Anything else to talk about?  Not right now!  Yay for a short blog... more like a journal entry...

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Writing Angry

I keep finding myself writing angry, which is actually the worst time to write.  But every time I want to say something worthwhile, I'm pissed about something.  That really can't be healthy, and it really can't be indicative of a stable mind.  Maybe I find more pleasure in the rant than in the writing... in which case, I will fail as a writer.  No one wants to listen to someone bitch, and few would read it.

That is, unless I become one of those writers.  Comedic writers.  You know the ones, the David Crosses, The George Carlins, the Bill Hicks; the ones with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove, where everything that comes out of them is a complaint.  You'd think something was wrong with them if they complimented you and didn't make it back-handed.  As funny as those men are, and hearing them rant is... I don't wanna be that.

I bird-walk.  What i'm getting at is that recently, all i've had on my mind is all the things out of my control, all the things I rebel against, fight to change, in my feeble way.  THIS is me controlling my life, fighting for change.  I haven't developed the skill of taking charge, taking action.  ...and I'm not saying you can't take charge with writing, I'm saying its not the same.  Dammit, I just bird-walked again.  I back-peddled, I stopped short of making a point, to point out something else.  Dammit, there it is again!


My name is Joshua Davis and I have something to say:


  • I'm embarrassed by how we celebrate the death of a man; I'm embarrassed by the cheering that came when Osama Bin Laden was killed.  Are we so human, so animal, that we can't give a man respect in his end?
  • I'm sick of working in environments that only support greed and superficial stability; get me the fuck out of children's retail, NOW!
  • I'm so absolutely tired of being poor.  I've been out of my father's house and married for over five years (or maybe its six...), and I still have to go month to month, meal to meal.  And I don't own two cars, I don't wear nice clothing, I don't own the latest gadgets and electronics, I don't go to concerts and movies every weekend, I don't plan on going into debt, and I don't overspend.  My one crime is eating fast food, and that just makes me American.  Why the hell are we always broke!?!?
  • I'm into lots of juvenile hobbies, but does that make me juvenile?  Maybe I could act like my grandfather, or chase "adult" passions and enjoy adult hobbies.  Anybody wanna hit the gym, talk about what they saw on TV last night?  Maybe we can compare stock portfolios or talk about our mortgages.
  • I like to talk about myself.  Ya know what's funny?  I hate it!  I know I sound like an ass!
  • I don't miss TV.  I don't want it, and I don't miss it.  Sure I'll catch a show on Netflix, or watch movies, but I don't miss the commercials or the scheduling of my time around some broadcasted garbage.  I'd prefer to waste my time on my own time, thank you.


Irony: this blog just devolved into more bitching.  And more bird-walking.  Digression.

I think its safe to say I just need to get it out of my system.  Today wasn't a good day for eloquence and brilliant observations.  I'm sure I'll have that in me later.

Yeah right.

Monday, May 2, 2011

I'm not my best friend

Monday, beautiful Monday.

I finally have a day off, a real day where I don't NEED to accomplish anything for anyone else.  I slept in as much as I could, and I leisurely did a few necessary tasks, and then I played a bit of video game.  Not a ton, just a few matches of Black Ops.  Then I came into my room, sat down, happily started net surfing, chilling, tried to write something...

Dammit, I'm bored.

--Really!?!  Really, Josh??  You've been chained to task after task, working at home and at Gymbo, and getting little sleep.  Now you finally have some time off, and... you're bored?  You're so bored, you're writing a blog about it.  What the hell is wrong with you??


I know, its really ironic.  I've got a busy week ahead of me, with my mother-in-law coming, a full work schedule, and most importantly, jobs to start looking for.  Today is my day to relax.  I'm just having a time doing it...

--Then do something!  What're you waiting for?  So you're stuck at home, that's not an issue.  There are plenty of things to do.  On the one hand, you could be responsible and do some laundry, maybe clean the living room, kitchen; on the other hand, there are plenty of things you could do that you'd enjoy--writing, lots and lots of writing, comes to mind.  Video games are fine and good, but your time is precious right now.  Do something!  How loudly do I have to scream at you?

My mind is really wandering right now... I'm not sure if writing anything would... work.  As in, I can't write right now.

--Too bad!  And you want to be a writer for a living?  Any career that requires you to write--journalism, writing novels, articles, reports--requires you to do so on a limited schedule and with limited preparation.  Newsroom writing is about getting it done, asap, and being efficient and accurate.  Fiction writing--are you kidding me?  If you even hope to do that one day, you need to start cranking it out, buddy.  And any technical writing will have to be done by deadline, and will require a total lack of hesitation.  Writing is expression, and proper, entertaining expression is interesting, to-the-point, and delivered in a timely fashion, thank you.


Well... is this blog entertaining?  I mean, I'm writing this blog now, and all I'm accomplishing is putting my thoughts and motivations on page.  This isn't worth reading.  I read very little; I wouldn't personally take the time to read this.

--That's not the point; the point is you're getting the juices flowing, doing something besides pulling your hair and speed-reading 4chan posts.  You're taking the time to create, and even a miserable, pathetic creation is an expression of something other than laziness and complete ineptitude.  Keep writing!  After you post this blog--and you will post it, because you need to be able to go back and read this, and see what its like in your stubborn, simple head--after you post this blog, you're going to write something else.  OR you're going to put away some of the laundry.  No choice.  You thought you had a day off; oh no, your time is MINE, bitch.


...Alright then.  I will get right on that.  I have no choice.

You are right about that, mister.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Life Experiment: Endurance Test #37

I'm more busy right now than I'd assumed, and more so than I think I've been in some time. (yet, really, am I?)  I have had 5 or 6 hours, and am about to kick it into maximum drive, and finish my family history project, which I have put off until the day before, and after a day of work and waking up at 6:30.  I am a stupid person.  Can I really be a functioning adult if this is so hard for me?

Well, life's one big experiment, isn't it?  We'll see if I succeed.  Tonight is yet another step.  Onward!

Monday, April 25, 2011

Designer Babies, meet Eugenics

Charles Darwin
To begin, let me state a humble fact.  Charles Darwin was a good scientist and an even greater thinker.  He published one of the most influential books of all time, On the Origin of Species, in 1859.  He gave us this wonderful idea.  No, I'm not just talking about evolution; I'm talking about survival; natural selection.  Ingrained into our society, the concept is perfectly reasonable to us now: some creatures thrive while others die off; and this process is desirable, and its beneficiaries are naturally superior.  When Darwin published this concept, it was revolutionary.

Darwin's principles stirred the world's imagination and understanding, stimulating evolutionary science and advances in everything from economics to politics; it was a driving force behind imperialist thought in the western world, led to Social Darwinism (of course), and was influential to many of the world's leaders.  His work had another effect; along with encouragement by Sir Francis Galton, Darwin's cousin, who believed humanity was moving "toward mediocrity;" his ideals led some very creative people around the start of the twentieth century to decide they needed to better the gene pool of the human race, and eliminate some of our less desirable qualities.

Enter eugenics.

Eugenics had two main forms of application.  "Negative eugenics," which utilized sterilization and restrictions on sexual partners and marriage (and later genocide); and "positive eugenics," which encouraged reproduction in certain, exclusive peoples; all of this was thought up in hopes of creating a better, brighter human species.  This was supposed to be natural selection in action.  Oddly enough, it's not very natural at all.  Never the less, eugenics took root in many countries.  It started in the United States, but quickly became a favorite of the German leaders.  I think you see where this is going.

As the children of those touched by World War II, we aren't even done swallowing the Nazi pill.  The modern world views Adolf Hitler, his political party, and anything they supported with repulsion, with reactions ranging from suspicion or cautious curiosity, to outright aggressive rejection.  And why not?  The Nazis were evil incarnate, right?  And even though it wasn't his original idea (it was the United States'), eugenics obviously influenced Hitler, and his party, as it did so many others.  After the war, we were done with anything closely resembling eugenics.

Fast forward into the future, to the early 21st century.  Evolution in one form or another has been all but universally accepted.  Mass communication and relative political stability have increased travel and exchange; the political, social, national, cultural, and ethnic lines are blurring.  We are mixing, often literally, and more often than not peacefully.  Despite tough times, we are surviving.  But as we learn to naturally increase our gene pool, and naturally share culture and ideas, science is taking the future in a radical new direction.

Enter the designer baby.

Fertility has always been a problem, but we've begun to overcome it; advances in assisted reproductive technology (ART) have come a long way.  Artificial insemination (AI) and in vitro fertilization (IVF) were practiced in livestock in the 19th century; in 1909 you have the first human pregnancy by a donor sperm, and by 1978 you have the first human IVF.  By the late 1990's we began to fully map the human genome and we successfully cloned a sheep, Dolly.  Over the past decade, there have been even more advances.

Now we are at the point where fertility clinics are offering many wonderful things to prospective parents.  Athleticism, intelligence, beauty, and even less obscure qualities like height, hair color, eye color, and complexion; all these are being boasted about as perfectly plausible by the doctors and scientists heading these clinics.  So far the most vocal about these claims has been Dr Jeffrey Steinburg, Director of the Los Angeles Fertility Institute--which boasts a 100% gender selection rate.  Dr. Steinburg was a pioneer in IVF advances, and helped establish a thriving clinic in LA, which specializes in ART and IVF.  Despite this professional and impressive background, Steinburg outright started advertising his claims of "cosmetic medicine," all for a reasonable price of around $18,000.  Public backlash was intense and immediate, and he has since put the project on hold; it's hard to ignore protesters and claims of eugenics when you're trying to run a discreet business.

This man can make your baby look anyway you want.
Despite these cosmetic boasts, so far the main implementation in variations of ART has been to create children capable of offering donor blood or cells to a sibling, as in the case of Adam Nash and James Whitaker, born in 2000 and 2003 respectively.  Adam and James were both created using a process called pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) to make sure they were free of diseases that their older siblings possessed, and have both been successful in providing donor tissue and blood for their respective siblings.

There are still plenty of other reasonable reasons why ART and fertility clinics are a sound investment for the future of our society.  Infertility isn't going away, in either men or women, and this technology was created specifically for that.  And there are many people in our society who are seeking to have children but are not capable for various reasons, including gay and lesbian couples.  Despite many of the issues surrounding it, ART is a perfectly suited choice for many people wishing to have children.

The real issue boils down to necessity versus possibility.  Helping those incapable of having children is well and good; screening for disease is generally accepted by now, though even that process has its opponents.  But what are the ramifications of being able to choose all the traits of your child before she is even conceived?  The child will have no voice in his or her future, and will live with the fact that he or she was created exactly to the specifications of his parents.  How will this affect these children socially?  Will they be accepted as normal?  Will they view themselves as artificial?  Is this at all what nature seems to support, a natural selection?  Some claim that these procedures are acts of control outside of our means and knowledge; that we are playing god.  But if we can actually do it, and the technology is there, ready to be used, what will happen to our species?  What will happen to our society and the children we've engineered?

It's no longer science fiction, to think our scientific advances could have wide and substantial repercussions on the society as a whole.  And the task is set before us.  We can't close pandora's box, and we have to consider what we've learned with intelligence and forward-thinking.  What will happen to our society and our species, now that we've come this far?  What can we do to prepare ourselves for the impact these advances will have on our society?

Friday, April 22, 2011

Fatimah, Usagi, and Samson walk into a bar...

I've got a lot of writing on hold right now.  My current priorities are to finish some work for my classes, and that--combined with 8-hour shifts at work--leaves me with only so much time to wax poetically or write creatively.  Its a shame, as there are a lot of other things I need to be doing right now as well... this is the slowest, most nerve-wracking month I've had in a long time.

I need a drink.  Or a nap.

What I really need, though, is to relax.  Really, really relax.  It's my fondest wish.  Last night after work, and after a much needed mid-week walk, the crew and I laid around playing with the Akinator, which by all accounts, is the future of useless, entertaining technology.

The Akinator is an app.  You think of someone, anyone, and it asks you a series of questions--Is your character real?  Is your character a female?  Is your character from the Bible? etc.  Then when it has asked enough, it guesses as to who your character is.  And its actually pretty accurate.  It successfully guessed Samson, Miyamoto Usagi, and Fatimah, one of the daughters of Muhammed.  I only stumped it once; it couldn't guess Daniel Lambert.  Fun times.  What will they think of next??

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Two Days of Family

We were all there, or almost all of us; my brother and my parents, my grandmother Meema, my cousins from St. Louis, my uncles, even old friends and church members from Sharon Baptist.  We're expecting a different crowd at the graveside tomorrow.  Old friends of grandma's and more distant family, all together to mark the passing of a loved one, and to be there together.  As my dad observed earlier tonight, "its funny how it takes someone dying to get all of us together."

My grandmother passed away on Sunday, April 17th, 2011, around 6:00PM.  Today, on Tuesday the 19th, we had a visitation for her, followed by a dinner for the family.  Tomorrow, Wednesday the 20th, there will be another family meal, lunch; following that, we will have the graveside service.

At the visitation, and again after at the dinner, I connected well with my uncle Dale.  I have never known him well; he calls himself the black sheep.  Still, outwardly he seemed to be taking the weight of all this as well as his brothers.  He invited Jim and I to go fishing with him, over in Portland, Texas, near Corpus Christi.  Dale is a legendary figure, both for his misadventures, and for his skill as an outdoorsman.

I met Rob again, whom I knew from Sharon Baptist, years ago.  He got divorced after I had left Tyler, and not long after that his ex-wife died, somewhat suddenly I take it.  He has since remarried, and seemed a happy man, though wiser for his experiences.  He teaches a class at 1st Baptist Whitehouse called POT, which is a fairly catching and witty title for a class that teaches parents how to work with and love their teenage children.

My uncle Larry's family was there.  Many of them drove down from St. Louis that morning, which is quite a ways farther than coming up form Austin.  My uncle Larry is a quiet man, a bit serious, but I've always respected him.  He and my father spoke at their father's funeral, three years ago (almost to the day), and I can always see the family resemblance in them, in their appearance, mannerisms, and even their "pulpit manner."  They do seem to view life and death very differently however.  Larry is currently a hospice chaplain in San Antonio.

My father's friend Ron--whom he met while they were getting their doctorates at seminary--had come in for the funeral from Arp, Texas.  He will be doing the graveside service tomorrow along with Larry; my father did not want to do it this time.  Ron is a wonderful, interesting man; a bit sarcastic and funny, and more than a bit friendly and curious.  We had a good talk at the visitation, about the weather, school, children, and family.  Those were popular topics of conversation today.

My mother seemed tired, quiet, and supportive.  She is always supportive, yet rarely quiet; this has been a long week for them.  Adding to her quietness and the complexity of all this, my mother is recovering from surgery; they had to take skin from her palette to fix her receding gum line.  Not major surgery, but when you occasionally bleed from your mouth throughout the course of the day, it tends to disrupt things and keeps you out of long conversation.

My father seemed very tired.  I do not see much sadness in him, only exhaustion and resolve tied together.  I worry for my father, as he deals with his loss.  Speaking with myself, Sara, and my mother, he said that it was almost good to see this, what has happened to his mother; he spoke of facing mortality, and of coming to term with the end of one's life.  There is a weight on his shoulders that I cannot put my finger on, and that I won't speculate about.  He is my father; I love him, and though he does not suffer with outward emotion, I feel his pain.  I will support him in his time of need, just as he supported both of his parents in theirs, and I will love him all the same.

We have only one span of time on this earth, only one family, and so much to learn and so much growing to do.  Its good to see my family, some distant, others close, and know they are living their lives just as I live mine.  It's a shame we do not see each other more often, yet here we are, brought together by loss and love.  Isn't it funny...

Monday, April 18, 2011

Unrest

Today's been a tough day, and its going to be a tough week.  Tough two weeks, really.  And of course I'm not just referring to school, which is coming to an end for this semester.  I'm talking about life.  We leave tomorrow for East Texas, and for my grandmother's funeral.  There is nothing but ruin and stress at my job, as the tasks mount and the staff dwindles.  I'm trying to keep open at home; trying to keep writing, talking, loving, doing things and relaxing.  Needless to say... its a little tough.

So, there is unrest amongst the ranks.  It is not that life is coming to an end, or that all is lost, or blah blah blah... its just rough.  Blah

Anyway, I'm posting a humorous short comic, to cheer myself up, one of Ryan Pequin's Three Word Phrase.  I will be writing more later myself.  Not comics, blogs.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

In memory of my grandmother

Today, on April 17, 2011, my grandmother passed away.  My heart groans from a dull ache; I worry for my father, and feel pain for him--not for myself, nor for her.

Katherine Pullin, later Katherine Davis, was not someone I knew well.  This was not her fault at all.  I would go visit grandma often; once when I was much younger--and I am unsure when--I had a very interesting visit.  I hadn't been abused or neglected, but when I called from there and told my parents about her not feeding me regularly, and about some other strange things I saw and heard; well, they became concerned.  At first the doctors said it was Alzheimer's, but that didn't add up.  It turns out it was just generic dementia.

I remember thinking: "It wasn't that bad... grandma forgot to make dinner, so we went and got pizza.  That's not so bad!"  But even then, I knew better.  Mainly because of how serious everyone was acting.  Grandma ended up in East Texas with us, in a nursing home, where she could get the care she required.

She was always very happy to see me when I would go to see her, but we never really got a chance to bond.  Her dementia seemed to be something that kept her long-term memory from really connecting with people.  That is the impression I got; she kept many photos and had many stories and memories of others.  It is not that I was not important; it's that I was so young when she began to suffer from her illness.

But I have many memories of my grandma, almost all of them vicariously acquired.  She always stirred many discussions and stories, and I saw a lot of my father in her, or the other way around.  There were many jokes about my father's similarities with her, and i'm sure there always will be.  This will be an excellent legacy; in humor, we come to terms with life's hardships.  If you can laugh about something, you can take it seriously.

The funeral will be soon.  I will have to make time for it.  This, especially, brings me sadness; shouldn't our family always come first?  Shouldn't our relationships be our top priority?  Well, I will make time for this, and make time for my family.  If I can do anything, its remember those I love, and laugh whenever I get the chance.

Goodbye, grandma.  Rest well.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

I've never tried to drink and write before

I spent all night tonight working on an a blog of essay proportions.  It won't be ready for at least a day.  But I kept getting distracted.  First I got a little drunk, and I was roleplaying like I do most nights.  And I enjoyed my songs too much, enjoyed my wife, got tired (was already tired), started rambling... so its in development.  I'll be posting more later.

Until then... Lego Stephen Hawking:

Friday, April 15, 2011

I return with grave news

For two days I have had nothing important to say.  My time has been spent working and eating and lounging and roleplaying and so on, and so on...  And since being told I need to get creative with my writing, i've held off.  Shame on ME.

So my grandma Davis is ill.  She has been, off and on, as she is older and in a nursing home, on medication, etc.  I do not have the full details, but her colon failed, and she had to have emergency surgery.  They removed her colon; according to the surgeon, its the biggest, worst colon he's ever seen.  According to my father, she visibly looks much better, even bound to the hospital bed, because of what was taken from her stomach.  Its odd to think of it as such, and my perspective is not yet complete and informed, but she may be better off after all this.  The downside is, there is a risk that she will not survive.  She will have to learn to breathe again, and certainly her eating habits will have to change.

My brother and I will make our way down to see her, and see our family, Easter weekend.  I hope and pray that she makes it that long.  It's assumed that there is a chance she might not; again, I do not truly know what happened, I just know its serious.

I don't like being left feeling helpless, or out of control.  Sometimes life feels that way; death feels that way.  I have experienced so little of it, but it reminds me that I am, more or less, a passenger, not a driver.  I cannot decide where life turns, and I cannot stop or turn around.  If I am to make something of my journey, it must be through effort, and its almost an act of perception.  If I don't try and make something of my journey... i could ride the whole thing out, and nothing could come of it.  This is quickly becoming one of my greatest fears.  I wonder: when will it become a great motivator?

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

An ethereal kind of afternoon

It sees only motivation and intention; action is an outcome, success or failure, yet is meaningless to It.

Naturally invisible, nearly intangible, and ever-present behind the veil of his host's thoughts; It watches its host behave and form ideas, watches the strands of purpose form with action, then fall away into clear vapor.  It has no personal agenda, no purpose that it feels compelled to push or plea for.  It watches, hardly sentient yet certainly sapient.

It takes the time to help tether intentions to actions.  Strand A to Action B; B to D; D to A.  Sever C, its lost its way, watch it wither.  Watch synapses fire, watch muscles clench and move, watch the mind search for meaning in the meaningless; find meaning in the mindless.


Its host encounters Others.


It sits in readiness, as its own host interacts with other, foreign hosts.  It looks for the signs in these Others, signs of drivers, other connectors; a purpose is plucked from the ether and fused with a deliberate, direct response by a foreign body, and It sees intelligence behind the eyes of these beings.  It is pleased, and continues its work, its pleasure, its purpose.

Strand DE to Responsive Action EA; sever G, connect H to G...

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

180˚/360˚

I'm not good at responding when my ideas are challenged.  I can neither write it off as a quality that everyone has, because I know that's false; nor can I write it off as my imagination, as even I notice it.  Consequently, to avoid conflict, I am not often told how stupid or silly my ideas are.  When I do, not good.

Those I hold closest say I need to do more than stream-of-consciousness!  They seem to think that you, my noble blog--named "No Structure" for a reason--exist to rule me!  That I cannot grow unless I am challenged, and challenge myself!  To think, someone has constructive advice for me.  ME!

Hey, maybe I can give it a shot.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Dog vomit 5: xenophobia

David, myself, and the lovely Sara (along with the barfing dogs) went on our usual mid-week night-walk.  But tonight, tonight the place was crawling with other people.  Dog-walkers, walkers, runners, joggers, even kids!  ...why do I hate people so much?  I totally wanted to start kicking people, making them leave my walking trail.  Am I just messed up?  I mean, yes, I am, but more than normal?

Also, starting the new Renaissance campaign tonight.  Excited, much?  The thing about the Renaissance, is that its like the flip-side of the Victorian coin.  A lot of money and culture is floating, but its before over-industrialization and anti-romanticism have poisoned the well, so to speak.  Anyway, i'm excited.  We'll see if the dogs throw up tonight, too.  I'll keep you posted.

Dog Vomit 4: TTJD

TTLN!
Would you time travel, if you could?  I don't think I would...

Though, admittedly, I wish I could time-see.  I wish I could take a lens, hold it up to somewhere, speak a word, and see what was happening there at a different time.

Point this time-lens at your living room, and say "July 9th, 1970, 1:00 PM!"  Then, shimmer, shimmer, you can see the past.  You'd probably see something boring, but if you were lucky, and looked often enough, you'd see plenty more.  Still, maybe some people would time travel...

...Liam Neeson took the cold grip of the sword that lay in its sheath beside his cot.  He stood, drawing the blade free.  He gazed down the length of the blade; Liam was unfamiliar with its weight, but had trained in swordsmanship during several of his films.  He was confident he could defend himself if need be.  That need might arise.  He was beckoned again harshly from outside of his tent; he answered the call, stepping out from between the flaps, sword-tip first, his breath visible on the air...

Anyway... back to work!

Dog vomit 3: a slave to habit

I've constructed a new way of wasting time.  It's called blogging.

The campaign.  Our word for the roleplaying games we play; "the current campaign," which seems to imply that it should be long-running and episodic in nature.  Sara and I don't have the attention span for that sort of nonsense!  What's the new and shiny?  I'll take that.  But we've had our moments of structure, scope, and grandeur.

Having successfully completed our first Vampire game, and seeing as that game was the ONLY game we've completely, totally made it through--well, I think we're having a little bit of tension before the next attempt.  Gotta do as good or better.  Or maybe its just me.

Now we all know that Choice is terrible for me; I used to think I was afraid of change, but know better now that I have a fear of choice.  I don't want to make the wrong decision!  Change is often abrupt or intrusive, and adapting to it can be simple and easy, as there is little choice but to do so.  Choice.

"What's the new and shiny?
I'll take that."
So choice is a bitch for me.  I want to choose right.  Its made me stall out with school, and with finding jobs, and with, well, everything.

How does choice interfere with my personal life?  RIGHT NOW.  I want success, I want a fun experience, and I want it all to work well.  My campaign, of course.  I'm talking about roleplaying.  I'm a dork AND it's my passion, my hobby.  Deal with it, you.

Me, I need to deal with it.  I'm running a fun, highly social Renaissance campaign.  That can't be too hard, can it?  Going back to choice, I think I'm seeing my problem.  I've got a lot of little seeds for ideas, but no structure.  I know what i'd like to see and do, but I don't know how I want it to go down.  I'm having a conflict between theme and fun, and gameplay and plot.  This is bull, as I'm good at this.  I've pulled pretty good plots out of my ass at the last minute, and I've enjoyed the process.  I'm caught on an invisible nail, and I won't even tug to see where it is.  Well I'm tugging now.

What's the golden rule of any game?  Have fun.  If you're not having fun, do something else.  I need to do that, so to speak.

Dog Vomit 2: the Great Stalling

The day continues.  The cleaning and the scrubbing left me with a smell in my nose, and I'm hovering around lunchtime, stalled like a vulture with alzheimer's.  I'm hungry, but not.  The smell.  So I ponder my next step, of which there are many.  I could do so many things, some more urgent than others... why haven't I done any of them?  Ahh, I remember.  I suck.

Update (11:50 AM): Having gone to the grocery store, and acquired the much needed stamps, I am prepared for a step.  The two bills have been prepared.  If my apartment had a mailbox, i'd drop them in it.  I had to clean up another accident, this one smaller... more cat-like.  Quincy thinks he can get away with acting like the disgusting dogs.  No, sir.  I'll clean your literbox now.

Update (12:01 PM): I'm still writing this blog, so I haven't finished the catbox.  I will go clean the catbox.

Update (1:30 PM): The catbox is done, as is the hedgehog's cage.  I let him sniff me.  Afterwards, I vacuumed, which constitutes as cleaning the house, I think.  I did the dishes as well.  Ya know, when I do housework, I'm usually avoiding doing something else.
It couldn't be the laundry, because I started a load just now, and i'll do another load or two before the day is through, before Sara returns from work.  Maybe i'm avoiding putting up the laundry.  Regardless, I have my Pandora Radio, and I have a free moment now.  Other than writing this stupid note, what should I be doing...?

Dog vomit

The sickly sweet sanguine smell of regurgitated, unprocessed dog food lay in a warm pile next to the door.  You could smell the feces with the bile; someone had an accident AND a midnight snack.  It was just after nine in the morning, and it was just after rising.  There was another vomit in the bathroom, that one more a pool than a pile.  I got up, as Sara gathered supplies, and began to clean up dog vomit...

Sunday, April 10, 2011

On going to bed

I've always written-off my contempt for going to bed as contempt for the loss of time.  My day is over, woe is me, etc.  I don't care if I need the rest, and I don't care when I'm getting up the next morning.  I care for one thing: staying up.

This is not healthy.  I think I should invest in an alternative to sleeping.

I can see it now.  A machine, a machine that you hardwire to the brain, to the central nervous system, that fires off the right biological switches, sending your mind straight into restful sleep.  REM, the whole lot, instantly.  You'd sit, or lay, hit the switch, gain the sleep you need, then emerge not long after, ready for more.  That's not pure fiction, is it?

Another alternative would be to get the %#@& in bed and stop posting blogs.

No Structure, Just Writing

No Structure

I've decided I need to write everyday.  For myself, for my future, for a career, and for myself dammit.  Some famous writer once said "writers write."  So here I am, writing.


Day 1
I think that I like meat.  I don't think I could become a vegetarian.  As much as I love dairy, there's nothing like real meat...

Day 9
I'm struggling with a great many things these days, least of which is my desire to make something of my future.  Never before in my life have I worried so much for my marriage, my career, and my long-term.  I think its a good thing.

Day 27
I managed to flex my imagination tonight, in theory.  I created a character for an upcoming campaign named Saturnino; he's a nobleman and a senator who... ya know what, its not important.  Not at the moment.

Day 61
I've learned to bend metal with my mind.  I began with cheap spoons and paperclips, and have graduated to lending my superior brain out to the industrial world.  Yes, that's right.  Move over assembly line machinery, i'm here to take over.  I'll be bending aircraft carriers in-two in no time.

Day 195
I've grown tired of my survey missions to Pluto.  As a frigid ice-ball, it reminds me too much of earth, too much of working retail.  Inside joke.  Anyway, I'm thinking of shifting my consciousness more towards the sun.  Mercury could use my expertise, if its microscopic, hyper-metabolic, sub-surface lifeforms are to thrive and outlive their planet's existence.  So i'm off.

Day 873
I'm getting used to all the vastness.  Ones imagination can fill even a seemingly endless void, with enough time.  Oddly enough, I miss the limiting sensation of touch, even at its most uncomfortable.  If only I would have enjoyed it more when I was corporeal...