The year is coming to a close. At the start of this very journal I set a goal for myself. The goal was to read and write more. I can say that I am satisfied with what I have accomplished this year. 22 pages total this year on this particular journal. I have been keeping another journal which is hand written. This journal has a comparable number of pages. I have read about ten or more books this year. I have matured greatly as a writer in terms of my prose and my fear of showing people my writing. My self consciousness has been somewhat alleviated since the start of this year. I can’t say with all certainty that I am ready for the world to see what I write. But i self indulge myself with hints to my social network of my blog affair. As if it was some mistress that I cling to during the lonely nights of inspiration. Only a few get the privilege to view it. A privilege I’m sure it must be, because if a colleague asked me to read a similar scribe that they themself wrote. I would find it a privilege to read and comment on such writing.
I enjoy this feeling. I set goals for myself at the beginning of the year. Now here we arrive at the end of 2014 and I have dove into a pool of retrospection. I wrote, I wrote with passion and with my heart poured into pages so that one might feel it in theirs. I started my blog and I reached my goals in writing and reading. It wasn’t a sprint like I hoped, it wasn’t a marathon like I was afraid it might be. It was more like a steady increase in pace culminating into today. What I mean is that I didn’t write and read madly all year. I also didn’t take glorious gaps in my work. Towards the beginning it was slow. I would read a few pages, write a few wayward paragraphs. Over the course of the year it started to materialize into something noticeable. I read more books this year than I have in any year prior. My writing has become more precise and clear. At least from my perspective. It is a joy to me that I still have much to improve upon. More goals for me to reach, more for me to learn, it puts a smile on my face knowing that I have solely motivated myself into becoming better.
I have a wide range of interests and curiosities. What is left when you take the monetary value off of anything especially when everything in our world has a price. The answer is art. Even though art is creative and brand new it can be refined through learning. I want to know everything. But I know that I cannot know everything. I want to learn. I want to learn as much as possible. I want to learn how to play the piano. I want my house parties to hosted by white and black keys. Lull loquacious ladies like Liberace would. I want to learn french. Je veux connaître la langue de l’amour. These hobbies must be treated as my writing this year. With increasing pace I should come to find a checkpoint of progress. I need not fear disappointment as the disappointment would lie with zero progression. If I only learn one more word of french this year it will be a step forward. If I am able to play one note I will be satisfied.
There is a variety of other mundane tasks I have appointed myself in this coming New Year. The usual suspects, stop smoking, diet, gym, cut back on drugs and alcohol. Charming little goals for me and everybody else. I mustn’t scoff at them in that they do provide benefits. Among the other clear ones like health and wealth, it will add clarity to my art. My work is steady and constant, my family is loved and beloved, my social life always insists upon itself. I will find my happiest time, my joy in life in my art and others who would be interested in partaking. In this here rat race of life you must distinguish yourself from other rats. Find meaning in the pictures hung on the halls on the way to the cheese.
He had pain just like everyone else on earth. Even though it wasn’t tangible and mostly self sustained it was still there. Something that’s not noticeable but is still there. Like stars in Los Angeles. His life wasn’t full of negativity and he wasn’t struggling to put food on his plate. Well not struggling too much. His job was secure and his family loved him and he reciprocated that love even more so. He kept a close circle of friends, only the ones which were loyal as there were few. Even though he held a deep sorrow for the loved ones he had lost he knew that it was a part of life and that he would see them again in the heavens. Faith was never out of question. He was humorous and often laughed with those around him. His smile was bright and visible through a crowd. He had a wild enthusiasm which always shone through. He always tried to lighten the mood in the soberest of moments with a joke or a bubbling personality. The fear was reserved. It was all put on himself by himself. He was annoyed by others lack of ambition or creativity. He knew that each person was as unique as a snowflake with a mind full of endless possibilities. But many were wasted on bullshit. The rarity of the mind seems to have lost out to TV and social media and becoming drowned in a society that doesn’t love you. But he loved you. He knew what you could do even if you didn’t. He wanted you to challenge him, he wanted you to start talking about something ethereal and mysterious. He wanted you to school him on an idea or something he didn’t know about. In this is where his pain lied. He wanted to be that person who knew about the world. He wanted to know about culture and wine and politics. He wanted to know about books and fashion and food. When people asked him about finance and travel and sports he wanted to tell you. The pain that he felt was that he wasn’t living up to his potential. He felt that his fears of failure outweighed his ambitions. He knew that the human mind was beautiful and he didn’t want to waste his on shallow things. He searched for people to challenge him
You wouldn’t think much of it sitting there in the cabinet. It was always the first glass she reached for after 6 PM. It always seemed ritualistic in fashion. It stood tall on the marble counter top. It reflected the waning afternoon light. The emptiness of it almost beckoning her. The crystal goblet seemed to hold more than just the crimson red Cabernet Sauvignon or the sweet cake like Moscato. She filled the glass with her stresses and her problems. These issues disappeared with the wine simultaneously.
“One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters…But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”
― Charles Baudelairee
He was compelled to be out in the rain. The drought had been around for at least seven years, he had been longing for it. It had rained intermittently through the years this time was different. He felt a strong energy roll in with the rain. A vibrant inspiration with the grey light coming through the windows. The day began in his apartment. He was roused by a peculiar sound. The upstairs neighbors have been a guilty party to many sleepless nights. But his annoyance quickly changed to relief as he heard the rain running through the gutter pipes, drumming on surfaces of the complex. She was faced toward the window. The blanket only went up to her knees. The curve of her body adjusted the soft light as it crept through the blinds. The cold air made tiny goosebumps on her skin as she maintained her peaceful posture. He fell asleep next to her silhouette and the sound of the rain. “It’s been so long” he thought to himself.
He was delighted to awaken to it again and he shared his morning cup of joe with a smile. He took breakfast alone in a small cafe on the corner. After breakfast he got ready in layers of clothing to hike alone amongst the elements. He kept checking the rain to make sure it didn’t desert him. Despite the rain being audible it seemed quiet. In his heart it brought a calmness unsurpassed by any other nature he had experienced in the big city. He knew that the rain had similar effects on everyone. The longing for it, the ability to stay inside all day and feel good about it. Even though its cold outside it made you warm inside.
There was not a soul on the trail except for those left there looking for fame and stardom. He felt excitement at first, not knowing what nature had in store for him. The low rumbling of thunder in the hills and the crack of tree branches breaking away from their stump. Sounds added to his paranoia that at any moment there could be a mudslide in his path. He welcomed it though with some mitigated risk. He felt the risk was necessary to feel what he had been yearning for and he started to feel it right away. Flashbacks to stormy weather and mossy granite. His brother hopping from rock to rock in a flowing stream. The sting of cold wet clothes on his skin all made him more comfortable in his surroundings. The rain not only brought transparency to the air, but clarity to his thoughts. Rain brought him home in his mind. The small climb he made was enough to see a few buildings with the thick grey fog blocking out the rest of the city. He sat on the wet bench for a moment as the city stood still.
His infatuation with the rain had led him to introspection. He always wanted to be a man of nature but lacked the confidence to. He knows who he is now and he knows where to turn if he’s ever feeling lonely and afraid. He may have been the only person out there in the rain but he felt like he was part of something much bigger at the time. As he turned his face toward the sky and let small droplets of rain land on him he rejoiced for all the farmers and workers who are benefiting from the long awaited rain. At the very least it inspired him to write this story.