Counting Games

She walked up to the field, stick ready in hand. Ready and willing to strike. Ready and willing to shout out her existence.

Aim...and fire.

Then all went black.

Voices...was she going crazy? Why is this happening? It was only a game...

The 1 ball began: Never trust your first impression.

The 2 ball wondered: Solid or Stripes. Does it really matter?

The 3 ball advised: Coincident is Fate telling you to pay attention.

The 4 ball dared: It is not always best to quit while you're ahead.

The 5 ball cheered: Don't betray your friends. You don't want them to betray you.

The 6 ball declared: Believe what you want. It's your reality.

The 7 ball gambled: Even if you only believe in luck, that's still believing.

The 8 ball whispered: Prophecy proves nothing. Decide for yourself what will happen.

The 9 ball asked: Is winning the best you can do?

The 10 ball laughed: To be the best is boring. To be the worst is just a number.

The 11 ball hinted: No matter how far you climb, you can always go higher.

The 12 ball explained: It doesn't matter what you win, just how you play.

The 13 ball weeped: Superstition and paranoia go hand in hand.

The 14 ball reprimanded: Forgotten? Don't be a fool. You can never be forgotten.

The 15 ball finished: Always remember what you are and who you are. The why comes later.



Wait! The Cue ball shouts: Everything counts.

Do you remember?

Priority

There is a boy.

Now, he had made some mistakes in his day, but his heart was in the right place. Sometimes the wrong thing would happen, but at the core, he was a good person. After he passed through the most difficult times, he began to learn. Wanted to learn. Tried to learn. He picked up more information in a few months than school had ever taught him. Though the lack of credibility in his sources was often replaced with the sheer number of them, he fervently held on to his beliefs. Nothing could shake his resolve, and the passion with which he spoke was unrivaled. Once he began, little could stop his forceful monologues. He was constantly searching for more information, as if struggling to prove to the world that he was not wrong. Little by little, however, the harmless data gave way to corruption and conspiracy. He then spent his time persuading others that his findings were true, that the world had sinister happenings occurring under the surface. He believed more and more in what he perceived to be the truth. Nothing could dissuade him from what he followed. He could talk for hours about the evils of our country and the ulterior motives of each and every action. Reprimanding the layman for being so ignorant of "reality".

The reality that he has done nothing to salvage.

Just One Big Mystery

Honestly, I believe that in some shape or form, everyone is scared of death. They might not realize it, it might be purely subconscious, it might even be stared right in the face, but no human being can share a dance with death and not feel even the smallest tinge of fear. Humans do everything in their myriad [of] powers to evade and even stall death. The Philosopher's Stone, the Fountain of Youth... they're even thinking they can prolong the life of our cells with the Human Genome Project.

If you're life is about to be ended, especially prematurely, you will be afraid. At the very least, afraid that you might not have been virtuous enough to escape eternal damnation.

I remember stating this a while ago in response to a survey/study about fear. My second response actually, made after a few anonymous parties clearly stated that they were not afraid of death (which is silly, since it had nothing to do with the original question). After thinking about it a bit, I felt like building upon it.

What makes death so frightening? The fact that we really have no clue what, if anything, happens after it? Or just that we love to live so much that we can't bear to leave it? Is man so wretched that it must fear all that it fails to understand? If a kid comes out and admits his fear of the dark, he'll likely be teased for it. Teased for having an overactive imagination. Teased for allowing his mind to conjure horrible demons from the shadows because he can't see what truly lies there. Teased because his human nature is preparing him for the worst possible situation, regardless of plausibility. What is death? The end of life? Maybe so, but that's all we know. Death, or at least the moment of it, is a gate that we can only see one side of. There could be a gaping abyss, or a bountiful arcadia beyond it. Maybe it's an oversimplification, and maybe I'm asking too many questions, but aren't we all a little scared of the dark here? That eternal darkness lying at the end of the path, the train for which death is the one-way ticket.

There may well be light at the end of the tunnel, but death is the lantern that guides us through.

Katraterra

I likely won't talk about music too much, but this song is my latest joy. The moving melodies and background ostinato patterns fit together perfectly to create an amazing piece. Hearing music like this just really gives me a huge sense of pride in my instrument(s). I'm listening to it as I type this, and though I've heard it probably thirty times now in a span of three days, it still never fails to capture my heart. The feeling never stops building, even in the slower patterns. What really says the most about this song is that everyone likes it. It isn't like some other songs I've played, where only the small faction of hardcore musicians can really appreciate it's intricacies and beauty. Everyone enjoys listening to this song, even people who haven't got a clue what percussive chamber ensembles sound like (that must sound terribly arrogant). It's a pleasure to play, lovely to listen to, and just enlightening to experience.

http://www.tapspace.com/katraterra.html

Change

It's strange to reflect back on how I used to be. Just a few months ago I was completely different. Hell, I've changed a lot from who I was last week. Looking back, it's almost shameful of what I used to be like. Such a child, such a fool...it'd be more suitable to describe me as a sophomore back then, rather than the freshman I am now. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a fool now. I'm just more conscious of it than I was then. There's always more to learn, both about others and about yourself. Anyone who thinks or acts like they know everything is only a living reminder of that. Living with a perfect example of such has enabled me to learn that lesson very well.

The physical changes aren't so important, though they are happening as well. People place way too much importance on that stuff. It's almost humorous to think about...

How I used to be...it's kinda scary. If the me of today met the me of last year, I don't think they'd get along very well.

Dreams...

The lad...

few were his years
but great was his mind
fewer still were his fears
he was just one of a kind

to all

to be a hero, a savior
this was his dream
to prove none was braver
but only one task did he deem

was worthwhile

"I'll take my own life"
the boy thought to himself
"To messy with a knife,
though simple with my wealth"

but how

"Surely no act is braver,
seeing my peers cower
death is no thing to waver
before, it's easily within my power"

he decided

to slumber and gain answers in a dream
so he went to bed early that night
and fluffed up his pillow and gulped down some cream
in order to dream of death, his obvious might

to weave

a dream reflects one's true heart
and one has no choice but to play their part
the soul emerges to choose its fate
for better or worse, to love or to hate

a song

the sky was as blue as the purest sapphire
the dream world was stunning, to the boy's great ire
sprinting straight by a youthful beauty
her long bronze hair unnoticed by he

but yet

his glorious surroundings weren't appealing in the least
he wouldn't have cared if he was trapped by a beast
the azure sky ceased, cut by a black ravine
the boy's heart leapt, and so far out did he lean

fear gripped

the darkness swallowed all
but in the murk he saw
a hand gripped like a claw
spying a face he meant to call

a boy

who saw himself in the looking glass
and couldn't believe what had come to pass
he had seen himself slip into the abyss
and tried desperately to understand what was amiss

then understood

a blinding light erupted from the chasm
the pit was now an eerie phantasm
the boy was amazed; it had just been there
but as he awoke, he glimpsed long bronze hair

true feeling

in life, the boy changed his old thought
he knew now what must be done
though with perils the new path was fraught
he made up his mind, he had already begun

so he wrote.

Ideas

I originally meant to use a journal to record my thoughts, but seeing as how I'm a much quicker typist than a writer, this should work out better. With the speed and accessibility, new entries should be much more frequent.

Odd though, that such an organized center of my thoughts will likely only be viewed by one group of friends. A few members of the academic group may see this, the music group would completely lose their conceptions of me, and the distant group will see this, albeit not for a while. It's a new beginning; a seed has been planted. The door has been unlocked and I for one wish to open it. Whether or not people read this is more or less irrelevant (though it would please me), I just want to record what I think in a more tangible form.

Whenever I read this, I'll be able to answer that question about myself: what do you see through the looking glass?