A new decade

If you had asked me when I was seventeen what I thought my blog would look like 13 years later, I would have answered: "probably kind of the same, maybe some cool new web 3.0 gadgets but altogether, a bitchin' log of my life still".

What I did not know was how important this place would become for my sanity. It's partly my lifeline. My bridge between the offline and the online world. My ethnographical account of teenage into young adult into less-young adult life, and also a place to rant and let go of some of the hardships I've experienced in modern, mostly urban society.

The way I write hasn't changed much. I seldom prepare anything in advance. After all, this blog was originally created after an english assignment in high school prompted me to create an art project with words, and my influences at the time ranged from XKCD to Jack Kerouac's stream-of-consciousness novel, On the Road (which I still haven't read but have lying around). The point is, I will continue to blog liberally.

Fading angster ❙ hiver, solstice

Okay this one is short I swear.
I'm here before the clock strikes twelve.
I feel joy, for it is the winter solstice, and I haven't blogged at night in such a long time!

Mon arbre favoris; ma stabilité naturelle

Segue equivocation into Grammatical commentary

Oh hey, I think it's another one of those "it doesn't matter what you write as long as you write" kind of posts, so I better watch out how I'm going to format this one lest someone try to infer some deeper meaning from the stylistic choices that I make about how I write and present said writing.

I'm in a slowed-down reality because although I'm pretty much doing some freewriting/free-journaling again, it won't purely be this method because I'm using pen and paper first and then transcribing onto the screen. Thus my idea-to-writ time has changed.
I type much faster than I write and that's a double-edged sword because, generally speaking, this difference in speed enables me to publish a lot of junkspeedily-typed things out there - sometimes even imaginary words - and it also enables me to be far more efficient, if not prolific.

Un des chats qui m'apporte un support moral sans équivoque avec ma vie d'écrivain non-payé

Words, clouds, lists, material

I learned a technique a few years ago. It's not a particularly secret or innovative mode of behaviour, but because it was explicitly taught to me by a group facilitator and our collective temporally-conscious inputs as group members at one of the many support groups I've attended in the Big Smoke, it holds a special place in my hippocampus (or wherever it is that long-term memories are stored; I know and remember that it's not Broca's area).

Anyway all you need is a 1 pen, 2 paper, 3 the capacity to write lines & words, and 4 a meticulous, obsessive, goal-driven personality that constantly bombasts you with curious ideas that seldom mesh together except in the nether realm, like a series of bad staccato notes slightly off-tune from one another, written on the walls of an empty, desolate, and capitalistically barren grand piano ballroom - think a mix of Mr. Kalorium's Lonely Western Shoppe and a dusty composer's den. That or an automaton who can do it for you.

If you meet only 3/4 requirements for the technique, that's okay: you might get some benefit out of it just the same, but beyond the 50% and I make zero claims as to the efficacy of this technique for countering boredom and the growing unease at the lack of balance between your ego and your id.

You make lists.
It doesn't matter when.
This is a list.
But it's a faiku.
And then you cross off things that are done.
Again it doesn't matter when but convention seems to indicate that it's a good idea to cross something off at the end of the day, or, if you're feeling bold & disorganized like I sometimes just am, at the end of the week, fortnight, month, and - do I dare dream - the end of the year.

Anyway that's the technique that I claim as my own to make me feel like I accomplished something during some of my downspiral, Laura days. Remember her, reader?

Drawing art seems to help, too, just don't go submitting your *ahem* early works to OCAD anytime soon or else I might have some competition for my loosely abstract representation of what it's like to be a materialist obsessed with sounding cool in english. Or like, whatever, man.

Sharpie on construction paper