Thursday, December 19, 2013

Sixteen

Tonight I'm celebrating Aqualad's birthday with he and his super-amazing moms at La Spaghett which, by the way, is the most amazing restaurant I'm currently aware of. I could weep, their pastas and sauces are so good!

I have written this in his card:

What a thrilling age you've come to!

May this 17th year hold much exploring, learning and dreaming -- and the ongoing discovery of what an amazing world this is, what a grand adventure life is, and the tremendous powers you possess in your health, your heart and your intelligence; your power to become any kind of adventurer you choose!

*Aqualad is formerly known as Gifty McBrainchild.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Neo

Saw Neo last night for the first time in two months, We don't usually go that long. Having known him since he was twelve; a short time by my perception; a longer time, surely, by his -- I am often startled by his rapidly compounding insights. Regularly I will begin to express a higher-order concept and he will, in essence, finish the sentence for me.

I am not immune to the instincts which blind us to changes in people, though certainly more aware of it than some. But late-adolescents develop swiftly. I'm trying to get accostommed to that. It's delightful to witness in most senses, though somewhat melancholic when awkward paternal instincts get in the way.

Neo has lately engaged in bold new experiences; further proclamations of his prodigous adulthood and as always he regards these with the robust inward contemplation of a natural writer/poet/musician, or as he would probably say: just someone who's not a sheep.

For the last couple years I have regarded him as having the advanced intelligence, curiosity and skepticism (along with many other rare talents) to see the great web of illigitimacies which blanket all of normal life in this society but without that certain brand of evolution; a combination of inspiration, appreciation for context and causality, and the product of long cross-referential work, all of which enable the rare thinker who sees clearly the devil behind every angel mask, and suffers greatly for it, to graduate into the rarer thinker who sees the angel behind every inevitable natural-born devil; a process which seems fully to blame for a whole lot of peace and happiness and freedom which I have witnessed blossoming. And how could such a transformation come to completion in a sixteen-year-old when there is much evidence yet to be seen or experienced?

I told him years ago, on the verge of tears, that I hesitated to try to drag anyone through the specific path I had come, for fear they would graduate to that dark hell where I once lingered, and there lose hope, be entrapped and go no further. These days I wonder whether I've dragged anyone anywhere.

And where is Neo really? Apparently in some dark place though his own perspectives would probably not support that assumption above, though it remains my best theory. But truly, I don't know where he is. Neither of us do.

I just know that I want him out of that place and I want that very dearly. I don't know to what degree I may have some responsibilty for it. I suspect he would claim none at all.





Wednesday, December 04, 2013

The Lonely Lumberjack: Changes

My entire life
I have walked
Whatever path alone
Forged ahead
No matter what
Emotions not ever betraying
My stern face

Lately, I have made
A pleasant discovery
It sort of
Crept up on me

To always be alone
Is not
Who I have to be

To bend; accept help
Is to develop
A trust

Not to be like
An old machine
That gradually
Submits
To
Rust


- The Lonely Lumberjack

Tuesday, December 03, 2013

Thank God It's Over


51323 words in November. It was great to hang out with delightful writer pals all month. The pictorial theme this year was 1980's video game. So the stickers and everything are grotesquely pixilated. I guess they thought it would be cute. What's that old eighties saying? Gag me with a spoon?

This first draft will certainly get finished - perhaps during April's Camp NaNoWriMo. It will be a long first draft. A few friends want to read it because they took part in a role-playing exercise to help me orchestrate the sequence of events. But whether I ever carve it up with a proper edit is questionable. I'd only go to the trouble if I anticipated significant market appeal and I don't know if I'm up to the task of banging a book into the standard fantasy genre parameters.