Its like riding a bike, but not really

Its amazing how some things, which I once could do so well, can become with time activities that seem beyond my reach. I used to be able to pump out songs on a regular basis, coming up with riffs and lyrics on the spot; now, its all I can do to pick up the guitar and strum it five minutes without becoming frustrated.

Its odd really; after all, I used to be able to work with limited means, squeezing the most out of my limited resources to the best results I could achieve, making fun of other artists who took months and years to release anything on much more expansive means. Now, I have all these toys and I'm still not satisfied.

Interestingly, the toys I miss the most are the ones that were the most limited. I miss the creative drive that came from the limitations. Now I'm faced with this huge array of devices and sounds, and noting really gets me going.

With synthesizers, samplers, sequencers, effects kits, and powerful laptop, I miss being able to build a track using nothing more than a guitar, a microphone, a primitive keyboard and a recording program. I have the means to record and modify sounds in ways I never could before, and I cant even bring myself to get a damned basic beat together.

It seems that I am meant to return to my roots: minimalism. Before it was by necessity, I didn't have a choice; Now, its by need, as I still don't have a choice. I am wasting far too much time and resources being stumped by choices and toys.

Its time to get back to basics.

Cue to black screen.

A death in the family

This evening, a little before 10pm, our eldest resident passed away. She was a tough little critter, with her weird crossfit routines and love of animal proteins. We had to grease her regularly like a Greek wrestler, and she certainly worked out like she was one. She did indulge is stuffing herself, which became quite comical at times.

She had been more and more quiet lately, spending much of her time sleeping. While this was a bit unusual, there was nothing that could really be pointed out as being particularly worrysome. Tonight, she seemed particularly lethargic and cold to the touch. We thought that maybe she was sick, sneezing and all. Then the power went out. While waiting for it to return, Natasha called me to her side; Esme was not doing well at all. She was weakening and twitching, feeling pretty cold, going weaker and weaker... and then time simply caught up with her. She passed away in our hands, one tough old wrinkly gal.

She is sorely missed

The high price of living

Its not you, its me.

Its an old one, an excuse often juggled as a weak attempt to end an awkward relationship. Its not necessarily a lie, its just a convenient box in which you can drop something that's too hot to handle, and when you don't want the other to get hurt. But it never really works, since that everybody knows the trick, so its just a pantomime played by rote.

Exit stage left.

When you go through a radical transformation, nothing is quite as easy to implement, regardless on how obvious they are. That particular trait is particularly harsh for those who are witness to the transformation. It is an awkward time, where routine gets a swift kick in the ass, amplified by the general anxieties and stress of high-speed normal life, or what passed for it anyways. For those witnesses, who have their own burdens to bear, it is distressing to endure the shock waves as the character role they were used to, and relied on, suddenly reveal that a friend or a loved one is not as bedrock stable as he or she used to be.

When in the embrace of chaos, you depend on those granite anchors to provide a reliable counterpoint to your own confusion. When those counterpoint go through their own storms of change, chaos reflects on chaos like fun house mirrors reflecting each other with no stability or direction; its a hurricane inside a maelstrom inside a black hole wrapped in eleven-dimension quantum geometry. A perfect storm of the id.

When the change is seen as obvious and necessary by the protagonist, it can become antagonizing when your anchors cant reflect that change. The lack of response causes the super-ego to rebel, consider one's allies as potential enemies and declares them traitors; after all, what are friends but validation for the grandeur and genius of the self.

Except that people are not telepaths (well, most people aren't), they cant automatically know what's going on, they cant see reality through you filter, no matter how obvious it appears to you. And when people lose their anchors, when the persons they rely on for stability appears to go bunker and frothy at the mouth, most people stay away from the rabid dog... which cause the super-ego to claim "See! I told you they were traitors!"... causing more rebellion, causing more distance... you get the idea.

I cannot claim to fully understand what others are going through. I can claim to be something of a selfish bastard, and that's no admission or guilt. I don't buy into the whole guilt trip thing, whether mine or other, expect nothing such from anyone, and would, in fact, throw it back at you. I look to the future; I read the past, sometimes through the wrong lens, sometimes the wrong past, but I strive to learn and change. I deal with the present as it happens, just like I handle people as they are.

I bear the scars of my changes. My friends have been enduring the tremors, not knowing what the expect, or how to handle it. I do not blame them for staying well and away; in their situation I'd have probably done the same. My feelings remain deep down the same as before. My posse remains my posse, for the same reasons as before. I have made a mess of things and I have but one thing to ask:

Where's the broom so I can pick things up and clean up.

And what's your poison darling?

Okay, two questions. Deal with it.

Inner demon

I seriously thought about calling this post The Secret, because it is about something that there's this stupid book by the same name, I figured that it wouldn't quite have the same impact. So demon it is. Its also a better followup to my last post, given that it is a followup post.

We must face our inner demon. To do that, its necessary to identify the bastard. The tricky bit is that for the work to be effective, you have to do it yourself, with no outside help. All that yammering you read about about this star or other who "faced his inner demons" or some such bullcrap... well, that's what it is, crap. The fight with the inner beast is one that you don't talk about because its one that is deeply personal, its not something that can really be discussed.



I have an inner demon that I cant discuss, that I shouldn't discuss, simply because to even acknowledge it, to discuss it gives it power. To agree that its there is to fuel the obstacle it poses. And if there is one place I cannot, ever discuss it, its at work, because it would pretty much spell a bad sign and would cause possible harm, not just there, but down the line.

Its a demon that I must face and fight every single day, sometimes easily, and sometimes I need a really big stick. I must fight and be silent. In my silence I give myself power, as the motivation remains to stand on my own, the only way the bastard can be brought down. Its a demon that must be faced, the very act of facing it and spitting in its face is what builds the road to victory.

I intend to keep going forward and onward, regardless of the chatter of the beast. After all, what can it really do?

Don't think about it, just keep aiming for the nuts. That will teach it to mess with a sorcerer with a plan.

Its like the first snow, but bad

Today marked the first time since I quit the telecom business that I took a customer service call. While I did have to take calls as a fromager, they were very few, and I spoke from a position of responsibility and to a certain degree authority. The new job is quite different, as the game is about a different sort of product, with its own rules and a different kind of power play. Lets just say that I've moved on to the finance sector and leave it at that.

So today was hazing day. Well, its not so much that we were forced to jog naked through a public space while holding a marshmallow between our butt cheeks, but it was still a blow to our confidence and self-esteem. Sure, it had to be done, but I cant say that I felt anywhere near ready for this.

 Maybe I'm getting old, maybe part of what we did felt less than useful, maybe I just needed a kick in the butt... I'm not going to waste time with the maybes, its a pointless debate. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this, and it'll be up to me to find my way through.

I really have no reason to fear the situation; after all, I've done this before. On the other hand, it may very well be because I've done this before, and the reason I stopped that's still lingering. While I'm fine with telling people about last summer's accident, and screwing up my back, physical scars bear no weight, at the contrary. But the burnout I went through, that would be a black mark that would impede me, and possibly even cause me to lose this job.

Its not that I'm afraid of losing the job. Its a job, nothing more. But I signed up for this because of the challenge I would face. I am there to show myself that I can do this. I am there to show myself that I can do better. I am there to make myself improve, and improve my situation. I am there because it is a strong work sector where I will be able to move in different circles, where I can make serious money and improve my social position.

Sometimes sorcery has more to do with dominating one's inner demons than anything brought out of the pit. When you get right down to it, you carry within yourself more subtle and devious beasts, who know you better than you know yourself and know all your weak spots and how to exploit them. If you cant claim dominion on your inner bastards, then how can you claim lordship on anything else? That's delusion and adolescent fantasy; you are, as others have called them, nothing more than a magic ninja.

I have weaknesses and I have flaws. I also have immeasurable strength and an ego to match. I have risen to life and death challenges and laughed as the reaper in the face.

This is nothing. It is nothing more than a stepping stone to the brighter, and darker future. I still have work to do. I will not succeed is a single night, or even by tomorrow evening. Time is only your enemy if you treat it that way.

Sleep tight and dream the dangerous dream.

You know, the one where you're in charge of your own destiny.

Changement de costume

I used to call it my monkey suit. It was the outfit I'd wear for work. The monkey suit changed over time, depending on how open-minded or stuck up the workplace was. Sometimes I could wear the outfit in my day-to-day life, but in my mind, this was still a facade, something I had imposed upon me that I had to deal with.

The last few jobs I've held did not have massive requirements on the wardrobe. In customer service, as long as its relatively clean and decent, nobody gave much of a fuck what you wear. As a fromager, I did not have tough requirements, and they already provided something of a required uniform, so having to wear black pants was not a big problem for me. When I came back to work after my leave of absence, even that requirement had apparently been thrown out the window. If anything, the sweat and constant dealing in animal fats and dairy products pretty much ensured that I'd go home and change before dealing with the rest of the planet.

And now, a new environment, both to work and to live. This was a very conscious decision on my part, a necessary change of circumstance, a consequence of my vacation. It dawned on me that I'd been underestimating and underusing myself. I was living in a troublesome area, in a dysfunctional apartment because rent was cheap, which allowed me to undershoot my salary expectations and use any extra cash to buy pretties. Which is well and fine, but it gets you nowhere, just a cluttered home.

And sacrifices. The previous place, besides the so-called humans living and breeding in that area had its own cost; after all, as a condition of the rent agreement we weren't allowed to live with cats, dogs, or other furry companions. Being animal lovers made this pretty hard on us, so this had to change; it was a condition in out search for new dwellings. We also had to consider that any new dwelling that would meet our requirements would certainly mean higher rent. So less pretties. No big deal, its taken care of.

The decision was taken even before I returned to work; at that time it made more sense for me to return to a secure job, that might not be fantastic, but provided the necessities. One less problem to deal with, the change took place.

The purge became necessary as well; you cant go through years of collecting all kinds of stuff without going overboard at some point. A big part of my purge decision involved the furniture. You get fed up with making due with what you have; it becomes necessary to get what you want. If anything, a theme, a sense of unity, a sentiment of order in the creative chaos, so that the mind can rest once in a while. That got taken care of too. The process isn't completely over; just because you get rid of things doesn't mean that you have a replacement that you want or can afford readily available.

And the wardrobe. It seems like an exercise in vanity, but if you upgrade your lifestyle, go all the way. I spent years in jeans and t-shirts (two drawers full of the things), and it gets tiring. If your sense of aesthetics are anywhere near developed, you see the need for some variety, some change in your appearance. In a work environment, you'll want to portray the image of someone who has things together, whether its strictly for appearances. Everyday jeans and t-shirts folks don't tend to get noticed and promoted. Or taken seriously.

I also happen to look good when smartly dressed, and can make the subtle but important difference between style and fashion. One is an art, the other a drug. Style requires a deeper statement than just whatever happens to be in season. You can have style wearing random pieces of vintage and new items, if the mind behind the image is creative. Too many people who claim style are noting but hipsters with an attitude, something to sneer and spit on.

Anyways.

I have made a commitment to myself: onward and forward. It has a cost. Being intelligent requires one to recognize the need for that cost, and the reward for the trade. Its not like I wont be wearing any more jeans and t-shirt, its just not going to be a fashion statement. Its just going to be another face I'll show the world.

The French refer to it as a "costume": what is interesting about this statement is that it reflects an American saying: life is a play. What the Americans haven't figured out yet is that not only is there more than one act, but that there's more than one play. You can change according to your role.

Just put on a new costume and act.

The endgame

Sometimes, the plan works; sometimes, there's some sand in the gears and there's a few snags; and sometimes, someone goes and throws an entire MACTools mechanic's tool wall into the machine so that you can only see your creation die in a fiery stillbirth.

But not this time.

Actually, this time its far too smooth. The time line is pretty much as scheduled; I had decided to get a job by Hallow's Eve and, lo and behold, I did get the interview offer before the end of the month. The process had to take place fairly fast, and there wont be much of a warning period for my current employer, but I'm moving on. This is my will and it will not be denied.

And not just my will either. Before my interview, I asked the Ladies to intercede and give me support; I burned incense, offered respect, even offered blood. That last part seemed to have been turned down, as my knife could not penetrate the skin, so I dabbed them and thanked them in advance.

I felt confident, both in my own respect, but also ready to wage some battle of wills; I could feel the energy coursing through, a sort of angry calm burning within, and the struggle went through easily; after all, what was it I could really lose? It went well, as I got called for a second interview, and I forged ahead, picking the earliest time, which others would have found daunting. I had some thought that this was madness, but I wanted to at the very least finish the process I had started.

And it paid off. I got offered the position, which begins next week. I will be evolving within an organism which will provide growth opportunities, something that I have cut myself from before. Just like the many projects that were undertaken and never completed. That is one lesson I've assimilated from my unplanned vacation: stop wasting time, stop keeping yourself down, stop just dreaming and enact your will.

And there's always a payment to be made. Of course there is. The Ladies did get the promised blood, as a few days after the interview my hand got some scratches and some drops of blood flowed. The spell was completed when I took in the blood, as I carry the Ladies within, and channeled the offering through myself.

I am my own temple, I am the channel to the spirits and my will flows through the aethers to the dwellers of the void.

Do not fear, act. There is no greater cause but the accomplishment of your will.