Asking all my life.
I don’t get tongue tied. I get tongue tired. A case of the Silence. Today is one of those “nothing to say” days. Sometimes they are great for reflection, or great just to take a break. But sometimes it’s more unconscious censorship. This way, me and myself don’t have to fight over why I’m being quiet. Considering this project is supposed to help me uncover, rather than shutting up – I’m gonna take some time and power through. Come up with something – and chances are, it will be pretty close to the mark.
Here are just a few reasons I think I might sensor myself and not know why:
I get these bouts. And saying them out loud is helpful – I’ve heard. Although I still have a lot of trouble with the concept. Who wants to hear about sadness online? It’s like this social media leprosy. So when sad, my writing goes personal – offline; hidden.
Possible solution: Focus on why. Perhaps there’s a topic I can talk about? i.e. “Yesterday I read an article about the 4 things that keep employees loyal, and I have none of them. That fucking sucks”
Anger has always been a challenge of mine. You see, I have a conflict aversion. To get up in anyones grill and call them a fucking ass, either directly to their faces, or indirectly, where they could tie the words “fucking” and “ass” back to me, scares the crap out of me.
Possible solution: Find someone else who has the guts. Google is a great tool, for example, you could search for “The common courtesy of saying hello and goodbye in a video conference” and see what articles come up. Here’s another search, “what do I do if I hate my boss’s decision?”. ( hmmm – perhaps another is clouding it with backhanded sarcasm like I just did. The classic “Is you mother a whore?” )https://www.confusedvoice.com/media/2eaac9a144b792cb19afdec4035c6044
What if what I say goes against the grain: The grain of my day job. The grain of my relationship, the gain of smarter people, the grain of life in general? Saying things in a room with some friends is one thing, saying them out loud in public could be a cause for a shit storm either professionally or personally.
Possible solutions: Baby steps. This, right here, what I’ve written is a baby step. Attaching my face, my voice is another. Little by little.
Think about this… no, seriously. Stop for a second and really think about this.
I’m shaking my head – and not the good direction.
quickly.
You’d be surprised with what you might find between sentences.
It’s a thing, #MyBrotherWorksAtSears.
Know who works at your company that’s related to celebrities… could come in handy someday. But, wait till they get at least a pen or watch for their Years of Service before calling in that favour.
I came across this Photo Of The Day project, via fstoppers, which spanned 18 years of one mans life. I was moved by the story, amazed that one photo showed the dynamic range of life, and ultimately saddened from the last photo’s documenting his death.
I struggle with repetition and patterns. Always have.
I’m sure there’s some sort of child-like fight internally happening. Probably a neurological neighbour that still makes my face cringe as an adult while trying to eat my veggies.
I’ve tried various things to create routine. I see the importance and the power of it. And yet when I try, it slips through my fingers ( And, no. 20 days does not make a habit. I’ve had things I’ve done longer vanish ). It’s like this unconscious struggle telling me “No, no. You did that yesterday, so how’s about you don’t do that today.”
I have no solutions today. Just a comment and a question. How do you get yourself to do something every day?
It takes work but you can take a pile of shit and turn it into anything else. It’s a matter of perspective. I think there are a few key ways of looking at it to change your outlook.
Past: I can’t believe this shit happened to me
Future: Shit Happens. Wipe it off.
Looking ahead. I’ve always thought it’s not about the mess, the trouble or the mistake. It’s how you get out of it.
Inward: Ahhhhh, Fuck me!
Outward: You can go fuck yourself!
Probably not the best example, but the concept being “the world is happening to me” vs. “I’m making my world.”
Smaller: All I found was a dollar
Bigger: Think of all the penny candies I can buy with this dollar!
Size is what you make of it. This can be done with time, or money, or anything. When it’s important, you make it bigger. [ yes, there’s a sex joke in there, but I’ll let you say the words ]
Closed: Can I have a car?
Open: What kind of car can I have?
Ok… the metaphor might be stretching a bit thin, but I think I’m making my point. It’s all in the words we choose. Take a look at your tweets and facebook posts. Take a read though the posts of people you intently read and through the ones you actively avoid.
Pay attention to these arrows.
Perhaps it might change your perspective.
Sometimes you have to force “new”. It’s not going to come on a shelf with neon signs pointing at it. It’s not going to have that amazing little red star like dot, and it might not even have the words “new” anywhere in sight. You have to find it, and make it.
It’s messy and sometimes leaves an awful taste. You can look back at the effort of trying as a disgusting waste of time and energy. But, it’s a story, an adventure. [ Insert quote about journey’s and change here ].
Now, here’s my other side that says Fuck that.
In amidst all the chaos of life: the commutes, the deadlines, the bills, family/friends, drama – It’s impossible to expect anyone to make “new”? When I shut down the most, chaos is making me it’s bitch. So don’t go to “new” – go to “easy”.
Puke out the same old drab you did yesterday. Leave a turd on the doorstep of the world filled with meaningless metaphors. Look back at it and say it’s the shittiest thing you’ve ever done.
But it’s done.
You did something.
Yes, I get these. I usually keep’em locked away. Not here. Here I should be able to wear my inner black shirt.
where is this island, this thought?
to find the shore i’ll seek its waves, the ripples
as it moves about like a weighted freighter
spewing rusted ruffage, powdery rouge
that red whale! for others white
and when my toes can bleed across its shores
i’ll finally break it down, smelt it, smash it to the deep
watch it writhe as it drowns, caked in its own vomit
i’ll do the back stroke above a watery grave
looking to the blue sky and whistling with a smile
the sound of silence, of wind, of breath
a calm night to finally rest my shoulders on.
