Optical Allusionist

I knew it was a LONG time since I'd posted, but I didn't realize it'd been this long! After i got a nasty response to one of my posts, I had a hard time knowing how to respond-- in terms of "do i keep posting?" But all is well, I think, now, and at the moment, I've been working (as a custodian, but it's a greeaat job, so i don't care that it's custodial work again), and had a rather stressful holiday season, but it's okay now. And the past couple days I've been messing around with youtube and vids that I have. :) So, to start off a slew of enjoyment, here's a video of my family at Trümmelbach Fällen near Lauterbrunnen.

1 Comment

Nightmares are a horrible thing. Dreams are a horrible thing. Dreams make you believe there's something out there-- things that happened, will happen, or have the possibility of happening, that will never happen. They create a false sense of hope. Nightmares must be the balancer of dreams. They destroy hope, destroy soul. They are the Sarcophagus of the mind. What a horrible thing to dream a Dream and then have a Nightmare follow.

People who don't remember their nightmares, don't understand. People who have chronic nightmares... horrible, gory, soul-shaking nightmares. They wake up with the overwhelming emotion that it did happen. What they saw, what they heard, what they experienced, happened. It takes me a few days, sometimes a week, on occasion, to overcome a single nightmare. To get over a few moments in time. And I remember every single one. They don't know what it is to experience watching someone you love dying, over and over and over. To experience gory violence, limbs cut off, heads bitten off. To experience extreme fear felt rarely in life, but often under the carpet of the night. I wake up with horror, despair, and repulsion under my belt.

And what's odd, though, is I think I would rather feel the skin-peeling horror than to feel the dull, hollow hope created by Dreams. So often Dreams are the ideal. The exception-- the impossible wonder. And to wake up and rejoice that I attained the ideal feels beautiful! But the joy falls with my heart, hollowing me out on the way down. With a realization that the ideal doesn't exist in this world, in my life, in my experience. I lay back down and struggle to remember the dream or the nightmares, so I can think about them, remember the emotions felt, the people involved, the plotline of the subconscious.



Shadow dreams make shadows seem a bit more real.

5 Comments

I had a dream once- oh, a year or so ago, and this is how it goes. These men came to work on our lawn. It was late at night, and everyone (including Brother Maddox, me, my family, friends, these two guys, etc) was outside. We saw these tracks that formed a path through my back yard. They actually resembled the handcart tracks I'd been staring at just weeks before (for trek :D) These men had put them there. It made me so mad to see thesetracks. I loved my back yard, and they had ruined it. So I started saying "You ruined our lawn! You ruined our lawn! You ruined our lawn!" I ran to mymom and nearly in tears said "He ruined my lawn!" She just raised her eyebrows, nodded and shrugged her shoulders. I couldn't believe how apathetic she was being. It was our lawn!! Eyes brimming with tears and anger, I picked up a shovel, and ran hard at him screaming all the way "You ruined my lawn! You ruined my lawn!" I maneuvered the shovel back behind my shoulders, ready to swing and cut cleanly into his head. I could almost feel it slice through his skull and brains already. I loved it. I swung. My arms weakened along with my anger, melting into a sickening jolt of self-disgust. Though the swing had started out hard, it never did reach the man. I dropped the shovel, fell to my knees, head in my palms, bawling. So much confusion. There was so little of me that was disgusted with my near-attempted murder, so much that was disgusted that I couldn't kill this man. But I couldn't. Soon after, I saw the man hand his co-worker a knife, ready to use it on my family. Even then, I knew I'd discovered that I couldn't kill him, no matter how much I wanted it because of the sliver of me that didn't want to hurt that man. I felt nauseous with guilt. I hated myself for not being able to murder him. My eyes red and swollen, and my body shaking as I continued to cry hard into my hands, I felt encompassed with a sickening essence of failure. I was a failure. A failure. That's about all I remember of the dream.

I guess we know what the path is, and what I'm really referring to when I say "lawn", but that scares me. He made a path in my life. Talking to him put me in a position of power. It meant I could make or break him. I chose to make him, and I hope I was successful.

1 Comment

June 6, 2006

(This is for you Bob ;)) haha, I'm just kidding- it's for everyone
What are you afraid of? Seriously, look into your heart of hearts and ask yourself, "What am I running away from?"

0 Comment

Fear... What are you afraid of? What is it about fear and pain that makes us fear them? Why do we convert fear or grief into anger? Has anger become so prevelant in our life, that we find ourselves feeling "immune" to the effects of it? Is it "easier" to deal with because we experience it so often in the world today? Why are we afraid? Is fear easier than faith? Sure. But not in the long run- the effects are dramatically separate. Are we so distracted that we can't sit down and realize that if we took a breath and looked around and actually thought about what we were about to do, then we could face it WHILE we're "down to earth"?

1 Comment