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Errol

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This seems to be the pattern [Aug. 22nd, 2011|10:46 pm]
Errol
After marathon commenting on April's 30firsts30days livejournal site well shit, apparently I have more type in me. First, thought tidbits:

How the hell do I not learn that I am not 20 something anymore, yet I try to play football like a twenty-something with my twentee som'n co-workers? My groin now pays for my flawed thought of un-fleeting youth.

Sorry Sheila for ducking you about dancing with you. Turns out I gotta burn all the fight in me foozballin before I become a lover again.

Organic food is fucking expensive! But, I gotta get back to tip top shape. For why? So I can keep up with the aforementioned 20 somethings and look good once I get back to the dance floor.


Second, it seems the revitalized energy, stalwart resolve and nonchalant wisdom I thought I gained from the last deployment has come and gone. I've regressed back to wrestling with my moods, grappling with my malaise and sparring with my lethargy. Fight gets harder every round and and the temptation grows every so strong to throw that towel.

Yo did I just trail into a mma analogy? Ok for real though I gotta start getting my shit together. I'm not sayin I'm just sayin.


Lastly, writing. If you didn't play WoW so much you'd actually be putting all those ideas bouncing around in your head into paper/computer. Sure, you can say, "Hey I just had a promotion test to study for," which you really didn't. "I had 2 language tests to study for and a third one coming up," you could say if it were really true. Or, you can say, "I'm just not inspired." I'll believe the last statement, but I also believe you've gotten such a dumpy comfort with your "job" that you've lost that drive to strive for anything else. Shame on you man. Get your literary chops back. Write something.

Of course you do get that Vegas style slot machine zen calm whenever you play that game. Of course you realize it's not so much zen calm as it is a drone to mindlessness. So yeah write.

And last note to self . . . this is your last entry here. Proceed on to erroliam.
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What did I use this for again?!! [Jul. 13th, 2011|09:08 pm]
Errol
Oh yeah! Writing and shit. If and when I get the itch to make up some characters and place them in interesting scenarios again I will create away. Now though I'm just concentrating on not missing this plane home. Kinda harder now that I'm being distracted by this new acquisition of mine: The Droid X2.

Finally I catch up with technology, sorta, (need a car that I can pair with my phone and my I-pod touch) and for a month and a half now I have yet to put this thing down. Plus, the discovery and overwhelming addiction to "checking in," has not only made me easily trackable by the police if I'm ever I become a criminal, but also that guy who holds up the line for a burger or a coffee cuz he's nose deep in Foursquare and/or Yelp.

Oh well ey. Here's to being a kid with a new toy.

Perhaps now that I have instant access to the interwebs, I can put my ideas out there quicker and not have to wait until I get home then forget them. Let's hope that happens.
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No better way to say it. FUCK LAWYERS!! [Mar. 9th, 2011|09:11 pm]
Errol
I hate them because:

1. They're fucking lawyers!

2. We have to deal with them sometime in our lives.

3. I have no clue about the legal system, giving them the ability to screw us as much as they can!

I'll have to cut this rant short. I'm just frustrated with this whole house ordeal. I'm just so powerless about this whole situation that sometimes, I wish I was a criminal and didn't have deal with damn lawyers. But, even then, criminals still do. I find myself doing the "what if" game, but I have to keep telling myself how much of an exercise in futility it is. I just have to move on and roll with the punches.

Ok, now that I've cliche'd this entry to death, time for me to go to work.
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Here's that spiral I thought was gone for good [Mar. 5th, 2011|08:29 pm]
Errol
Pax was established three days after the new year, and three days before my birthday, give or take a day at both ends. Granted there were a few moments of malaise it between, but they were followed by reassurances that I was still flying high. It's been 5 days now, and the blah has not left. Guess it goes to show me that location does greatly affect my mood. Geez, what was I thinking? I almost convinced myself into trying to stay an extra month. Now I can't wait to go home. I must admit, life is simpler here. I get up, I work out, I come here to electronically social network, I go to work, I go to sleep, and do it all over the next day. In between I eat, shit, talk to people, and work up the juice to write something clever online. It was like playing Super Mario Bros, where each level was predictable up until you beat King Bowser, then you did it all over again. Going home will be like playing Grand Theft Auto, or WoW. So many options, and so many ways things can go, right or wrong. Whatever game I'm play however, bullshit is always around the corner. Silly games. The only thing that's kept me from diving to deep into the spiral is exercise. Never thought I'd be a gym rat but that's what I've been looking forward to every day, and, it's something that actually produces results. It's my WoW for now, and if it replaces it I wouldn't mind at all. I hope I can take this addiction home.

Other than that, I'm gonna stick with my groundhog day routine and zombie my way through the rest of this trip.
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I got juice and I'm gonna use it [Mar. 3rd, 2011|08:47 pm]
Errol
Ok it's not much, but it's enough to write a good segment. For the benefit of Pistol, I'm gonna stack the first part to the second part
-------------------------------

Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavor. Literally, the word means "breathed upon" either by the gods (those crazy Greeks), God (those crazy Judeo-Christians), or the mystical winds (those crazy Romantic Era poets). Also, inspiration can also derive from the association of ideas in one's mind (that crazy John Locke), the inner psyche of the artist (the most definitely crazy, Sigmund Freud) or a connection to the universal archetypes of the collective consciousness (the way cooler, but still crazy Carl Jung). But back to those crazy Greeks, inspiration also came in the form of muses; nine of them if I remember correctly, which I don't because my knowledge of Greek mythology stopped at the 5th grade level, and I didn't know much of it then, even though I thought I did. But here in the modern world, muses are everywhere. You either have to find one, make one up, or if you happen to be really lucky, one finds you.

I saw her at a coffee shop sitting all by herself, reading by the front window. I was taking one of the many walks I took when I had no clue as to what to do with my writing, my financial troubles, or just my life. I had been staring at my computer for four hours, and all I could type was "It was a dark and stormy night." I had to sneak out the back stairs just so I didn't have to run into Mrs. Beckett, and tell her I'd be late paying the rent again. It's kinda hard scrounging up the money when you've decided to live the life of a struggling writer. My only option was to walk off all the troubles cluttering up my mind, and just as I was about to give up and walk back, there she was.

I never thought of myself to be the type to prefer blondes but today they appealed to me. Her green eyes glimmered behind her glasses as they lightly scanned through the pages of her book. She sat up straight with impeccable posture, accentuating her slim figure. Her right leg was crossed over her left and her foot was lightly tapping the air, probably moving to the beat of whatever song she was listening to on her I-pod. As I scanned back up to see her face, her eyes met mine.

I'd like to say next that I waved to say hello and she smiled mouthing hello back. Then I'd like to say I went into the coffee shop, sat across from her and started chatting. Finally, I'd like to end it off by saying we dated, we kissed, we got married, and we lived happily ever after. But, that's not what happened. Out of panic and shock as she caught me staring for a good minute I looked away and took a brisk walk far away from what could have been a delightful set of events.

What did I just do?!! I'm stupid! I so, so stupid!!
------------------------------------

Ok freeze!

Let me re-evaluate the situation here. I just stared at a beautiful woman for a hot second, maybe even thirty. Our eyes met, and I bolted like a scared little puppy. Am I a scared, little puppy? I think not. I've met many ladies before ten times hotter than she is. Granted, I had a bit of liquid courage now and again to get me started. Plus, she's the first blonde I've come across to have some sort of interest in. She's not that special man. You still got time to salvage this. Get it together, walk calmly but confidently back to the coffee shop, park yourself on that empty seat across from her, look straight past her glasses and deep into her green eyes and say.

“I didn't mean to take off like that so abruptly but for a minute there I thought you were my ex. She used to come to this coffee shop too, and she used to be a brunette. But enough about her. I'm Leonard Salamanca. Who are you?”

She took my extended hand and shook it. “Paula Sloan.” She held my hand firm but graceful. Safe! “We can talk for about five more minutes before my boyfriend gets here.” Correction. Out!
------------------------------------
Ok. Until next week haha!
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Dammit!! Why don't I see these things until after the fact?!! [Feb. 22nd, 2011|09:19 pm]
Errol
This doesn't have anything to do with the subject but I just had to say it: My dad's on Facebook now. Just added him yesterday. That's fucking awkward. Of course, I can't say nuthin cuz I said I'd hook him up when I get back home. But I guess my brothers, or nephews, or somebody back home finally tuned him in. Hell if he gets savvy enough, and he will cuz he's got nothing but time, he'll be able to read this, amongst other things I've failed to mention to him but are posted all over the inter-webs. Oh well ey!

Anyway, you ever have those moments where you're put in a situation where you thought, this is out of the blue? Then you found out this may have been intentionally done to give you an "in" to something you want . . . after it's all said and done? Yeah that just happened. I'm an idiot.

I could just spell it out since it's only you three readers, but I'm a bit paranoid now. I figure it's only Jon Anonymous, Pistol Crystal and Amooliah Mooliah that read this because it's them/you that respond, but like you said man, just because they don't respond, doesn't mean they don't read. And as remote a possibility as it may be, potential readers are close to this particular situation. So I'll disguise it into a not-so-disguised story, haha!

So this guy Loren, has a bit of a thing for Amy (yeah you Moo =P ), and at first just chocked it up to mild infatuation due to the fact that he's been stuck in the building for, hmmm, 3-6 months without contact from the outside world. She's cute, but that could just be cabin fever, so he keeps it on the down low. They used to work upstairs, but he got moved downstairs. Cool, he'll never see her again. Then he finds out she'll moving downstairs in the same office in a week. Holy shit! Now what? He decides to play it cool. And what's the harm with flirting a little. Everybody does it. So he does it. But he's been taught to flirt differently. And he believes he's done it enough to where he gets a little more attention than normal. She's not all over him per se, but it's enough to make him wonder. Truth be told, she has a boyfriend, but that's never stopped him. But here it's hindering him a bit. You see, this office has pretty strict rules about that kind of stuff, and there are wandering eyes everywhere. So, he suppresses himself and keeps it at that. Then one day, one of Amy's friends Sammi asks Loren to accompany her to do some errands. It's not uncommon for her to do that but it is uncommon that she ask him. Perhaps because this was just out of the blue. There were six other people in that office and there were two who she usually went to. But today it was Loren. Ok, whatever. Along their travels she mentions how nice Amy has been to her. At the time, he responded in kind, because she was. She was nice. In fact a big factor that showed how nice she was was that she noticed what people liked: one's favorite TV show, one's favorite kind of music. For Loren, it was his favorite soda. It was little things like that that made him unable to put her out of his mind. Sammi mentioned this about three times, and Loren nodded and responded dryly. After they got back to their office, it hit him. "Wait, was that my in?" And now all he can do is wonder and kick himself in the ass for not seeing it then, and not after the fact.

I hope this was catharsis enough to just let this whole sordid thought process go. For all I know, it could be all in my head. Most of my troubles are all in my head and as long as I keep telling myself that I'll be alright . . . that and hitting the gym so hard that all these feelings and shit get drowned by endorphins. It's been working well so far. And there's that. As for the next part of my story, it'll have to wait. Like the main character, I just did the look and look away. I'm stupid! I'm so, so stupid!
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Let's see if I can continue this and end it well [Feb. 18th, 2011|05:48 pm]
Errol
So I followed up on the whole inspiration paragraph. I really did like it. So, here goes.
---------------------------------------

Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavor. Literally, the word means "breathed upon" either by the gods (those crazy Greeks), God (those crazy Judeo-Christians), or the mystical winds (those crazy Romantic Era poets). Also, inspiration can also derive from the association of ideas in one's mind (that crazy John Locke), the inner psyche of the artist (the most definitely crazy, Sigmund Freud) or a connection to the universal archetypes of the collective consciousness (the way cooler, but still crazy Carl Jung). But back to those crazy Greeks, inspiration also came in the form of muses; nine of them if I remember correctly, which I don't because my knowledge of Greek mythology stopped at the 5th grade level, and I didn't know much of it then, even though I thought I did. But here in the modern world, muses are everywhere. You either have to find one, make one up, or if you happen to be really lucky, one finds you.

I saw her at a coffee shop sitting all by herself, reading by the front window. I was taking one of the many walks I took when I had no clue as to what to do with my writing, my financial troubles, or just my life. I had been staring at my computer for four hours, and all I could type was "It was a dark and stormy night." I had to sneak out the back stairs just so I didn't have to run into Mrs. Beckett, and tell her I'd be late paying the rent again. It's kinda hard scrounging up the money when you've decided to live the life of a struggling writer. My only option was to walk off all the troubles cluttering up my mind, and just as I was about to give up and walk back, there she was.

I never thought of myself to be the type to prefer blondes but today they appealed to me. Her green eyes glimmered behind her glasses as they lightly scanned through the pages of her book. She sat up straight with impeccable posture, accentuating her slim figure. Her right leg was crossed over her left and her foot was lightly tapping the air, probably moving to the beat of whatever song she was listening to on her I-pod. As I scanned back up to see her face, her eyes met mine.

I'd like to say next that I waved to say hello and she smiled mouthing hello back. Then I'd like to say I went into the coffee shop, sat across from her and started chatting. Finally, I'd like to end it off by saying we dated, we kissed, we got married, and we lived happily ever after. But, that's not what happened. Out of panic and shock that she caught me staring for a good minute I looked away and took a brisk walk far away from what could have been a delightful set of events.
What did I just do?!! I'm stupid! I so, so stupid!!
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Creative well still empty. Emo well bubbling. [Feb. 17th, 2011|04:52 pm]
Errol
But, as always, both wells are covered by my sunny disposition and my space cadet demeanor.

Time, time, time. Time is moving quicker for me now except when I'm not working or working out. Those are times when I struggle to occupy that dead time. Ideally, that's when I should cultivate my creative fruits, but at a place like this it's difficult to find the fertilizer of inspiration that I need. I sure do love those bursts though. I'd be walking through a desert of drudgery and malaise and KABLAMO! An oasis of energy hits my core and sends waves of activity all over my body and throttles me to start thinking, start creating, and start writing. But once the pool is dried up, the trees are bare and all the wild game have been hunted, dressed and eaten, it's back to that sad and slow trek through the barren wastes. So, what else can I do with my time?

Reading has always been a viable option. Yes, there is the Tales of Beedle the Bard. So what if I haven't read the Harry Potter books? It'd be like skipping the main course and going straight to the desert, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Or, I could fine tune my fantasy chops and start a Piers Anthony or David Eddings novel/saga. Lord of the Rings knows (that was gay, I know), I've got some catching up to do. I have yet to read the other half of R.E. Feist's Riftwar Saga and Serpentwar Saga books, and it's been a while since I read the first half. Then, I could always force myself to delve into other genres.

Ok, before I continue, I just have an issue with my statement of "fine tuning my fantasy chops." First of all, I have to have fantasy chops to fine tune them. Granted, that has incorporated the majority of my meager works but, my works have been meager at best. So by that logic, delving to other genres before mastering this one would be like me trying my hand at a Desert Eagle .50 or a Magnum .357 before easily shooting a Coke can at 50 yards with a 9mm. It'd be like trying to sport a Kawasaki ninja or Ducati 988 before riding a Yamaha Zuma without laying it down and skidding half my body half a mile up the road. Hold on! Guns and motorcycles? That's not me. It'd be like trying to level up my ret pally or my frost mage before leveling my fury warrior to 80 and getting him at least the tier 9 set (yeah, yeah, expansion, shmexpansion, this is where I left off). All pretend machismo and closet nerdery aside, I'm sticking to content that I know and love before trying to branch out.

However, I just noticed one thing. The content I know and love and the style I see myself writing lately are at odds. I've determined so far that my narrative mode is as a stream of consciousness writer. I like writing as I am, as evidenced by my many LJ entries, or writing in the perspective of my protagonist and what he, or she is thinking as events transpire around him or her.

Side note: If I'm ever able to get into the mind of a she, I might just go pua. Just kidding, haha!!

Also, because I consciously deal with my generation's issue of a male's difficulty to transition from a thrill-seeking, angsty and directionless boy to a stable, mature and responsible man, it comes out in my writing. That is the hitting the proverbial nail on the head.

If I can somehow channel that miniscule force into the world building and epic storytelling involved in fantasy? Shiiieeet!! Hell if I can do that with Beedle the Bar type storytelling I'd be happy. But first, I'd have to read the damn book.

I've written more than enough. And I gotta pee. Guess the emo well wasn't as bubbling as I thought. To be continued.
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Holy hand grenades!! [Feb. 12th, 2011|10:58 pm]
Errol
Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavor. Literally, the word means "breathed upon" either by the gods (those crazy Greeks), God (those crazy Judeo-Christians), or the mystical winds (those crazy Romantic Era poets). Also, inspiration can also derive from meshing of ideas in one's mind (that crazy John Locke), the inner psyche of the artist (the most definitely crazy, coked-out Sigmund Freud) or an attunement to the universal archetypes of the collective consciousness (the equally coked-out but way cooler, but still crazy Carl Jung). But back to those crazy Greeks, inspiration also came in the form of muses; nine of them if I remember correctly, which I don't because my knowledge of Greek mythology stopped at the 5th grade level, and I didn't know much of it then, even though I thought I did. But here in the modern world, muses are everywhere. You either have to find one or, if you're ultra-lucky, one finds you.

Kinda sounds like the first paragraph narrative to the beginning of a story, doesn't it? I wish it was. I'd like to write next: I met her at coffee shop reading by the window. I took one of the many walks I took when I had no clue about what to do with my life.

Or: I met her at a bar all by herself. You never see a girl sitting at a bar all by herself especially on a Friday night. I didn't really want to go out that night, but I had run out of excuses to be anti-social this time. Besides, I was staring at my computer for four hours already, and all I had written was, "It was a dark and stormy night."

Or: I met her at my last AA meeting. It was either attend these boring meetings or go to jail for 10 days for repeated public intoxication violations.

Fact of the matter is, the inspiration bit was just gonna be a lead in to fact that, well, I need a muse. Ok, I don't need a muse but, one would be great right about now. But, such is my fate of late I gotta go without one. It's a burden . . . nah, a disadvantage that I have managed to live with. However, a crippled man without crutches can't crawl through life without cursing himself for too long.

Ok, I think I've written enough. I keep forgetting how the "woe-is-me" angle never really gives you the satisfaction you want. The first paragraph was pretty cool though, even though the first half was mostly Wiki haha!!

Gayness!! To be continued. And standby on that story guys. Gotta work shit out before I work on shit.
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Hang on. I have my ideas. I just have some putting together to do. [Feb. 11th, 2011|01:49 pm]
Errol
So yeah, right now I'm copying and pasting all the entries I put on writing.com into my thumb drive. I came up with this crazy idea for my next piece. The plan is to use all the depressing entries I came up with, make them into characters, and put them into a bar/restaurant setting, like Billy Joel's "Piano Man" along with the movie "Waiting" in short story form. Will it work? Who knows? In the meantime, here's something I pulled up from my files that I quite enjoyed.

----------------------------------------
The Choices I Make

Once again I stare at Fate dead in her cruel, beguiling eyes. Most of the time I flinch, and as I close my eyes I hear her laugh as she plunges her hand straight through my heart, and squeezes until I am at the utmost heights of pain and utter brink of death. Then she lets go, jerking as fast as she thrust, watching as I fall to the floor in agony, smiling. Other times she blinks, but before I pounce at her she bursts into a mist, cackling as a breeze carries her away, once again taking away my victory. Today it is different. I see her irises dilate wider and darker. I can hear her heartbeat grow faster and louder. I can feel her body rouse and tremble. Before her eyelids drop I make one swift move, and wrap my arm around her waist. She cannot escape. Her smile fades from her lips. I now have the power to do the same as she did to me. I could crush her heart like she did mine all those times. I could laugh as I bring her down to her knees. I could ravish her as I pleased.

But instead I let her go. I look at her confused face one last time as she bursts into a mist, silent as the breeze carries her away.
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