THOUGHTS AND THOUGHTS AND THEN THOUGHTS

I think what kind of pizza a person chooses to eat says a lot about them. Me, I like pepperoni and mushrooms. I think the pepperoni concludes that I have some traditional ideals of things and that my thoughts, opinions, and morals are of great value to me. I think the mushrooms contribute to my creative side--that I am deverse and can see beauty in a wide range of things, both typical and atypical. Veronica, my best friend, also likes the same sort of pizza as I do. I not only feel this way about pizza, but any sort of food a person chooses. For example, people who choose cappachinos over coffee are most likely eclectic and trendy. I imagine that most coffee drinkers are somewhat of homebodies (this doesn't mean they don't go out, it just means that they love time to themselves at home) and are pretty determined about there plans, even if they never go through with them. One day I may even write a book about people and how the type of food they eat determines and defines who they are. No one in the world has EXACTLY the same taste in food, just as no one in the world is exactly the same, and thus I think this theory is a just analysis. That would be a fun thing to do.

I can't wait to write my book. I mean, I guess I of course can seeing as I don't plan on doing it until much later on down the line, but the idea of it is so thrilling. It will be a nonfiction, most definantly. I hope that lots of people read it and take back a lot from it. It would certainly be listed under something like religious exploration, a trial of universal theories, and definantly have a lot to do with philosophy and the ways an ideal thought towards life can be interpretted. I would never ever rank my book unto something that should be holy; only something on a par with that of Confucian ideals: just me speaking about things, and nothing more. I'm certainly not a prophet, and I think it helps that I'm not devote to one particular religion. In this way, I can reach people from all angles and they can take my words however they wish. For instance, I would like to include that I think it is wrong for one to be influenced religiously from a direct interptretation from one living person to another. Why? Well, because we can only be ourselves and no one else in this lifetime, why should we let someone else's opinion on existance influence our own perception, which is the only real truth as we know it? If one should wish to be influenced, I say it must be seeked out by that particular person NOT by asking another (as that would be direct influence), but by observation or reading. I would consider reading to be a valid form of gathering knowledge because it is not personally directed towards that one person, it is a general/genuine feeling that the writer is expressing to himself. Books are also more available, and a large variety of types among them, and thus I find that this would also be nurturing to the seeking soul.

I need to shut up before I start writing the book already.

How Hard Can It Be?

Words keep tumbling into my head
But it seems like when I find the time
To write them down, they are drown out
By some other stream of thought.

It causes a slight frustration for me,
Because I long to feel the rythm
Of my hand in motion, scribbling gibberish
All over whatever I'm holding may be.

When I'm eating or when I'm walking down the street
Is mostly when these thoughts come on--
I'm not sure why; perhaps because walking
And eating are universal things.

Nonetheless, if this keeps on keeping on
I'll have to do something. Perhaps I should
Carry around a pin, constantly,
And write it down on my skin, for all to see.


I thought of some other names. Noel and Noah. I think I would definantly include the name Anlon in my kid's name--strong Gaelic names mean a lot, I think--but as for the other contributions I am just SO unsure. I'd want something that would be loyal above all things. Gentle and determined, strong willed but easy-going. Someone of good character with family values is what I want in his name. Bah. I need to find someone with the last name O'Riordan. That's such an awsome name. So is McAdams.

I'm looking into some universities I found passively interesting last year. Keep tuning in for further updates, you invisible person, you.

So Many Names to Forget

If ever I were to have children, I know for a fact I'd name the little girl Sophie. Not only is it a plus that is is French, to go along with the already established hints towards my distant heritage, but it just seems soft and delicate to me, yet strong and stable. As a child, I always thought it was a sort of funny name, making me think of a couch, which I call a sofa more than anything. For some reason it also linked me to the name Blanche, which is also an ugly and kind of harsh name, but I think that's because I read story about a pair or bears who were named that.

As for if I were to ever have a male child...I'm not sure. There have never been many female names that I have liked, and so it's easy to distinguish what would be agreeable for a she. For a he, however, there are so many names I love and have felt strongly for through the years. The first name I ever loved was Michael; I was of course very young and had no incling to it's populatiry at the time. Then I fell in love with the name Shawn (Sean), and by the age of eight my two favourite names were Kongo and Tony, then Teddy at nine. Sometime between then and 13 I came to adore the following: Trenton, Tristan, Dwight, Miles, Wyatt, Jeremiah and Bryce. I've always liked looking through those infamour babyname books, and when I started frequenting the Bristol Public Library more often in my early teen years, they had QUITE the collection: at least 10 books, each barely more than 1000 pages at the least. Of course I never got through it all, but it was an enjoyable passtime (from these books I liked the female names Nona and Naomi). As I started reading novels, I came across even more beautiful names: Hadrian, Treviaun, Sebastian, Simion, Gabriel, Gideon, Perrin...my love for names tumbled over onto three out of the four children my sister bore--I was dismayed with the last one, after having written up a list baring three hundred names I'd searched extinsively for and she'd picked none of.

I started thinking of names on a more universal scale, and thought of them not so much as names, but as the sound that defines a person and who he is. I started thinking of the name of objects and colors and sounds, and how they could be applied into a person's name. What rock star is it that has kids names Racer Rider and Rebel? I admire that. Kate Hudson named her kid Ryder as well, and I really think that's a lovely name. I like these names, as well, though I've never heard of anyone named them, and they're only based on an environmental scale: Tokyo, Bird, Indigo, Blu, Tennessee, Violette (kind of sounds like viola ending with a arounded A sound). Even brand names are applicable, though I can't say I enjoy enough to list. OK, maybe just a little: Dalton (Dalton Book Store), Spalding (sports brand), etc.

When I did research for my sister's last baby, I look up and found so many lovely, impressive names that now I have so many favourites I surely cannot remember them all. Allow me to list those that I can remember: Abner, Asher, Archer, Anlon, Ahren, Brenton, Baelon, Cillian, Cian, Demian, Ezrial, Elias, Gaelon, Montreal, Orion, Phayton, Perrin, Pryce, Preston, Riordan, Reston, Sterling, Stefan, Trinity, Urial, Urian, Weston...If only I could remember more. :P I added a girl name or two in there. But as you can see, I'm quite conflicted when it comes to the masculine names. Right now, if I absolutely had to chose, I'd probably choose from the following: Riordan, Reston, Preston, Baelon, Cian, Anlon, Phayton, Perrin, Gabriel and Hadrian. What a pick! SO, here is my hypothetical boy child, are you ready?


I have no clue!

A Short Story Concept Board

It was all happening again.
He knew better though, this time around. The first time was something of a blur now, but even still he could remember the tingling feeling in his limbs, heavy and stiff, a feeling which he was now so akin to, willing or not. He tried to look the figure in the face, but all he could see was shadows, and more shadows, and even more shadows the harder he tried to make out any features. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and concentrated. Another deep breath, and he thrust himself up from the bed, where his body was still sleeping. Again he felt the strange coldness of his sleeping body, which he was now completely apart from, and tried to stand still on what felt like weightless feet.
Turning slowly to the figure, he stared into the shadows beneath it's veiled head. Cautiously, trying not the overcome himself in shivers, he reached for the hood of the figure. Patience, he reminded himself, as his trembling fingers touched the woolen hood. So slowly he pulled back the material from the figures head and stared into the eyes of...
"Mr. Rye, are you up yet," sounded a voice as he was all but sucked back into his sleeping self. He shot up from the bed, searching for the source, only to hear the sound of footsteps padding away outside of his door, and a letter slipped beneath it. The room was small, barely even considered a closet from what he was use to back home, but quite the commodity for the near nothing he had been paying for it the past few settis.
Rubbing the dust out of his eyes, and combing back hair with hands, he swung his feet to the side of the bed. No light was coming through the window just yet--still too early to leave the premises. Stretching, he got up with a yawn that made his jaws crack, and took a step to pick up the letter. Still a little groggy, he took another step to the makeshift desk, graciously provided by the hostel owners, and sat down. Thinking of the short, Simio owners warmed him up, if only for a breif moment. Fumbling around in the drawer for his last set of matches, he lit the lamp, fittingly small for the room, and nearly burned himself as he read the name on the seal of the letter.
'care to Riordan Deloria'

Dearest Riordan,

Did you honestly think you could run forever? In best tidings it would be for you not to run now, seeing as you must know we would not send this as a warning, but as notification that we are already here. Why are you doing this to yourself? What would your dear mother have thought, or have you forgotten of her drear demise already? Why run from something you can't escape? Keep dreaming, dear friend, for dreams are all you have left.

Signed,
The Keeper's Hand

Damn! How do they know, already?...Damn! He shot up, then, glancing swiftly around the room for his travelpak. Breifly making sure everything was still in check, he slipped on a tunic and pants, being careful not to make a sound, and reached under the desk for his shoes. Finally clasping the last strap, he peered through the blinds: just three feet of roof footing available, but it'd do. An alleyway was just below, but even it was too open--he must not be seen, by any. Breathing deep and long, he focused on the inner light, breathing in the hollowness of the still dark outside, and breathing out the bright light that would give him away. He was not afraid, but he was aware of the inept abuility that every breathing thing honed--the feeling of eyes and the feeling of not being alone--that would give him away to those who did and did not seek him. He could not risked being sensed, he could not. He needed to be one with the night, and nothing more than a shadow.
Queitly slipping out of the window, he creeped along the rooftop, as stealth as a squirell on a clothing line, to the back corner of the hostel. Looking one way and then another, he swung down and landed on the patch of grass he had anticipated would be there. Sun be thanked for Simio superstition, he thought as he padded through the grass. Keeping a grass garden was a well known tradition by the Simios to ward off ill-thoughts from a household. To bad that superstition hadn't held true tonight.

To be continued...

Fight the Home-body

I feel the need to write
Beautiful songs keep on creeping up on me
Just hang a right
And everything will turn out OK, indeed
What does it matter now
Sitting here on the couch with no worries
I guess I'll have to figure out
How to get beyond this mess I've needed to clean,

Oh! What a lovely day, with the sky all blue and gray,
Oh! What a lovely place, but oh my God how I can't wait to leave!

These arms are filling...
But that glare, my God, it's chilling...

Just see the place
You could be within a matter of days
It's quite a sight
But no one is brave enough to take the flight
Please hurry up
Before your feet get stuck into the mud!
Don't let it tie you down,
Face the crowd, get up and shout out loud

Oh! What a lovely day, but I'll bet it's even better in some other place
Oh! What a lovely thought, but I can't seem to rid myself of the ones you brought!
Oh! How can I leave how can I stay, why must it be this way?
Oh! I can't wait to leave I can't wait to find...my destiny

Turn around....Spin around...Lay down...

Frustration of the Ages

Dreaming of an old movie
The never existed
Now I find the days growing shorter
There's got to be something I'm missing
In this picture
Of dried out wenches
I've fallen to my knees
In need of thousands of stitches

I feel that if time keeps going on
I just might explode
It's heavy, what I'm feeling
Like a punctured eye or infection

Can't a live my life again
And make all those right moves
Is there nothing in this void of solace
That can make me do what should be?
I'm speaking, not hearing
Everything that I need to see
And yet this time keeps on passing
I'm so sick of it; I want to be a child.