Company of Your Heart

Switching gears, I wrote this almost immediately after the previous poem, perhaps my subconscious recognizing I might still have a little of the romantic left... or what can pass for hope in my constant waking dreams. This is also a little different from a stylistic point of view, reverting to a more traditional... sonnet, one might even say, though I would digress. I was simply thinking, or in this case, writing aloud.

'Company of Your Heart'

I ask for nothing save the company of your heart,
Giving all I must in return.
I seek only we do not remain apart,
Discarding the burden of expectations and pride.

You reveal so much more than I know,
Reaching through an instant of time.
You bespeak wonder burning within the soul,
Aching in the shadows of furtive dreams.

I yearn for but the tenderness of your grace,
Enraptured amid such a passionate respite.
I seek the enduring comfort of your sweet face,
Ending finally the storms of my regrets.

I ask for nothing save the company of your heart...

C.

Memories of Distant Roads

I suppose it must be easy, considering my past, to try and read into what I write... hell, I do it. The following poem was sort of an exercise in writing, though I did feel a sense of sadness and regret as I let the words escape me. The subconscious can be a powerful motivator, and it often has more to say than I do at times. Often times, though, I still do not know what I am saying, only that I have to say it... or write it, as it were.

'Memories of Distant Roads'

Your heart...
Tho' I may never see
Such indelible beauty
Revealed in the fullness of your light.
I know...
What may one day be required
For the sake of memory
Adrift upon a darkening shore.
We see...
Eye to eye even in the
Harsh glare of today
Hope tempered by who we must be.
I understand...
Sorrow must eventually fade
For the sake of yearning
Cast upon the embers of love.
My heart...
One you might never reach
Across this gulf of moments
Lost in a waking dream.
We know... we knew.

C.

Some thoughts and other thoughts...

Still dog-tired, so do forgive any of my sleep-deprived errors:

Sometimes you need to get some of this down in case you miss it, and then morning comes and you completely forget what you intended to write. So, this is what I use my blog for, a reminder of what I am supposed to be writing and or fomenting in my sometimes enigmatic and oft times demented mind :) I do have a lot to say and to write, some of which has been written already and just needs to be transcribed to electronic format. Much of it still waits to be written, in one format or another, in one project or another, though I will continue to use my blog as a test-bed of a sort for what I will be doing in the future. The past two months have taught me a lot about myself and others, about self-reliance, charity, decency, love, sadness, warmth, tenderness, worry... and the lack thereof. Maybe even more... Of course, conceptually, I knew these things, but to see them put into practice in so brief a time was humbling and challenging all at once. I spent time alone in the wilderness contemplating the thoughts of the universe itself, and would then be laid low in the grace of a simple smile. Finally, you stop wondering why a person was placed into your life, no matter how brief a time and however strange the situation... and you accept it. You become more grateful than you thought possible (unless you happen to be a sick bastard, and those people exist, sadly) and that is well...

I am still formulating many of my ideas, thoughts, chapters, essays, etc... and every time I think about what I want to do all I can do is smile at how blessed I have been. Even when I felt at my worst, someone would tell me 'hey, it's ok... it'll all work out'. Always... and you know what... it has, most times in the most unexpected of ways (here is where I thank the State department of all groups :) And that too is well...

So, more to come, more to write and more to say... after the jet lag settles.

C.

My Apologies...

I had been doing some writing but not really updating and therefore my apologies in this regard. Also, my Internet time has been limited and so I had to ignore blogging in favor of making sure I could get certain emails. Such is the way of things. Still, once I return home, I will do some updating and begin working on another writing project regarding my own travel experiences here in New Zealand and other roads I have traveled... whether forgiven or not (sorry, little joke regarding one of my poems :) In any event, I shall do more soon and try and add some of the pieces I have written in the past week or so as I can. Until then...

C.

The Book Page and Newer Blog

Just wanted to let anyone know that still pops by I am still writing at another blog and the following link also is the storefront for my new book, a compilation of commentaries and poems that I had written for me... and others.

Anyway, the link: http://stores.lulu.com/powellpublishing

C.

What seems a lifetime ago...

Writing has always left an indelible mark upon my soul, and upon the souls of others, though I think I have forgotten for a time just what writing does for me and has done. To that end, I am going to take a lot of the essays I have written and re-write them and add a few more, and compile them, adding them with some poems and create... something. It's time. I have wasted my time and talent for far too long. Even if I fail and it is not well received... I can finally say I wrote my book (aside from gaming supplements for LARPS). This is something that has lain dormant for so long, and awaits at the end of this long road, hoping I would notice. I did not see it for so long, but the thoughts still percolate in the back of my mind, in the breadth of my soul. I think I would be doing myself a disservice if I did not enhance and expound upon my (for now) disjointed philosophical extants. Further, I would be doing a disservice to those (in particular one) who has shared that philosophy with me and knows a little of what I know about the truth of understanding the universe at large.

So... let's see if I have it in me.

C.

On Love: Revisited

In a far earlier post 'The Nevers That Consume Us', I took a more realistic approach to love and how we deal with love, but realized when I posted this essay, I have been more like what follows. In truth, one must be a pragmatic fusion of the two, and to be fair, I have never been one to take my own advice, my curse in serving others to a fault. These are things that I wish I could but wish I could not change. A dear friend told me, even after she pointed out all my terrible faults, she did not want me to change... and she was more right about me than I know. It happens when you give away the best part of you to someone. Yet, I remain a sap and a hopeless and helpless romantic anyways as I know that this essay truly defines the man I was, am and forever will be. Eventually, I might be more practical, but would that truly make me happy?

'On Love'

Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
that for thy right, myself will bear all wrong. --- William Shakespeare

The above line I think has summed up my nominal feelings about the subject of love, or it is at least the feelings and thoughts I should have about a complete love... perhaps even the love I wish I could have, and until recently, thought I did have. Sometimes it is the love I lost, and then it has become the love that I regret. On the whole, it is a confusing mess that has made me, more often than not, a hopeless and helpless romantic. It made me a person who has naively struggled with the hopes and dreams of my own love while bearing the burden of others in a cycle that repeats itself unendingly. Therefore, the words of the sonnet by Shakespeare are applicable and the root of my ideals, and also the root of my conundrum. I have borne so much that the ones I loved would be happy at the expense of my own happiness in many, many ways Love... or madness? In terms of unconditional love, then I should think that my actions were the truest expression of love, for I have loved without hope or expectation in return even when it tears all my strength from me. To me, love is giving, and recently, I was not giving, but expecting... expecting she would always be there, expecting a promise, expecting what I should have been giving in return. Indeed, now I am still expecting, though I want to give... I want to give of my heart and release myself from the sorrow of such unconditional desire and love. So, I ask myself again... love, or madness? Perhaps a little of both.

Being thusly a romantic, I have done so many odd things for the name of love. I have composed sonnets in the middle of a crowd just to get a woman's attention. I have read and sent poems to many a woman if only to help them understand the nature of love and still never expecting in return. I have written at my most passionate for one I loved. I left the one I loved because I was too cowardly to face my fears and stay, forever altering my life. I have created a bond with someone that can never be broken (though has been strained to a point) and, for now, it is not enough. Through all this, what drives me is more what I can imagine about love, and about my ideals of love. Needless to say, reality is far different than what we imagine, a pain that I have suffered too much it shames me too admit. If anything, I have become more pragmatic than I would like and yet, I cling to some insane optimistic and oft times suffocating ideal. Many a lesser man would have given up the ship and hardened their heart. Me, well, that would be worse than death.

So therefore, I make myself suffer because I am a little too idealistic and hold myself and others to a higher standard for the sake of a love that might not be possible. Well, it is possible. Alas, the world did not see fit to allow it to continue in the manner it should have. Of course, her life turned out great and that pleases me. And I then regretted what I lost only to think to find it again but then lose it because I sacrificed too much for the sake of the one I loved. She was also insane, but that is another matter entirely. In the end, only the idea of love was left, and I was left holding the bag, but the bag was filled with a bunch of annoyed cats :) Finally, when I did not think I could feel like the romantic I once was, I could and did. Yet, it was not enough; however, what was shared gives us the hope (um... mostly me at this point) that it could be again somewhere down the road. Maybe in an ideal world, too, but ideals are what makes me the person I am... Hope is my waking dream as Aristotle once wrote. I hope, though I understand.

One might think that my experiences have made me bitter and remorseful. I admit that bitterness has its place, but only for a moment, for it will consume you. I cannot say if I am past remorse and bitterness, though it shames me. I think that it will not consume me, and this, too shall pass. On the other hand, it can be that this has been true to a degree, for it has made me wary of what seems wonderful because I fear it could not be again... and again. I am sure all romantics deal with this in their lives. I know we do. Unfortunately, that has been why many a romantic has died far too young (um, not that I am going anywhere). It is perhaps their hallmark and the source of their great strength, in writing and creating emotion. And I refer to romantics in general, not just myself. Nor am I saying my words are any better than others. To me, the romantic has been through so much that they have no choice but to have an outpouring of emotion in love. It appears in everything they write, be it an essay, short fiction or a poem. It is a part of who they are and of who I am. The romantic has a connection with the emotion of love itself. It is both wonderful and yet deeply tragic.

It is said that experience is the best teacher. Therefore, I feel my experience has given me an insight into love that I did not have as an idealistic kid of nineteen. As a bit older and though less wiser man of thirty-five, I know better; however, when I write and have written especially in the past year or so I longed to be that boy of nineteen... A boy with stars in his eyes who knew what could be forever. Sometimes the man I am has held me back, forced me to be to practical and less giving of who I am. I have always wanted to tap into that fountain of emotion created by connections beyond words. I have achieved that in the strangest of ways, much to my undying gratitude and love, and my abiding sorrow. We are what the words make us, and the words are all we know and all you should know about me. I have been the water that does not realize it has been broken by the rock... for good or ill, this is my love.

Well, I think I have said enough of what I know of love, which probably not that much in the end. I hope you take from this what you will, for it is my offering to posterity, such as it is. All that I truly know of love is that it is amazing and that somewhere, in the depth of my soul, at the heart of the universe beyond time itself, it can last forever.

"Only those whose lives are so brief can imagine love to be eternal. You should embrace that remarkable illusion... I think that it is the greatest gift your race has ever received. " --- Lorien, Babylon 5

C.

In at the Death

Such a cheery title I know...

Well, while recovering from a little self-induced stomach issues (eating something I thought might cause some problems, typical), I was able to at least pick up the latest of my favorite author's books today: no, not JK Rowling for all you Lord of the Pre-Teen fans out there :) The author in question would be Harry Turtledove, and the book is the last of his Great War saga, called Settling Accounts: In at the Death. For those of you who do not know this author, Mr. Turtledove is one of the leading writers of counterfactual or alternate history. Most call it alternate history since counterfactuals tend to be non-fiction fiction, while alternate history is considered science fiction. The main difference is that he does not have to site his sources (though he could being a professor of Byzantine History at UCLA). Anyway, so far have been thrilled to read this final book in an 11 book saga spanning a world where the Confederates won the War of Northern Aggression in 1862 and went their own way causing a chain of events that leads to the CSA fighting the USA in the Great War, and in these last books a Second Great War (since the war is unnamed in the book, but for all practical purposes WWII).

While it is not my intent to actually review the book,(especially since I am not finished) I do recommend anything that Mr. Turtledove has written, especially his American History stuff. Indeed, one of his stand-alone books, Guns of the South is one of my favorite books of all time. All this being said, what actually got me to post about was the whole idea of alternate timelines, something I have written a little about and think of constantly. While it is nice to think that our hopes and dreams may not have been forlorn, that those we have lost might live on in another, parallel world, as many of those worlds might be a ruin of hell or the beauty of paradise itself. All it has taken is a misstep, a bullet gone awry or the wrong (or right) words said at the wrong time, and a world could have diverged with ease, creating?

Therein lies the question, this philosopher's search. I have wondered of their validity (and as a branch of history alternate histories are most valid) and of the possible dangers... of fragmenting worlds and souls. I suspect, due to the nature of quantum mechanics and my own philosophy I will have no answers in that accord. The best I can do is enjoy alternate worlds, perhaps write some counterfactuals myself in the hope of understanding the past through different futures.

C.

Making Sense of the Present... or the Future... or Something...

I just got back from my two week or so trip, coast to coast if you will, from Long Beach to Tampa, and getting ready to head to Otakon in Baltimore, at least that is the nominal plan. It has been a little tiring and sometimes fun :)

Of course, being on the road has given me a lot of time to think about the roads I have traveled literally, metaphorically and philosophically. I think I was too tired to really think about such things on the way back from Tampa, but every now and then a stray thought from the present, or was it the future, or the past jumped in? I always wonder about that... where my thoughts come from. Do I just formulate them from the ether of the void, or are they part of a collective past or future undiscovered, a cultural/racial memory if you preferl (actually, the term racial memory, at least in sci fi, was coined by Arthur C. Clarke in 'Childhood's End', which if you have not read, do). I admit sometimes I have no idea where the dreams, the memories and thoughts come from, maybe that is why I have to write them down or explore them in various mediums... admittedly, the blog has been suffering but I am still writing. On the other hand, I wonder if those thoughts are telling me not to ignore some of the things I do best for merely the things I enjoy. Is it selfish to want to write for enjoyment, though knowing my poetry or essays suffer in the short term? I presume it is, but do not care as much. I have thought about the matter, hence my actually writing these thoughts down now, and the odd fragment of a poem or two has rattled around in my brain, so I know what is still lingering, waiting to be explored, though suppressed for more immediate concerns.

I wish I were a better writer in that regard... I wish I could turn it on and off like some do. Usually, if I am writing in one style, the other lacks, and vice versa. I have been working to change that through integration in style, but the road, as many others is trying. Still, most of us writers have to walk such roads, so I guess I am not saying anything too new. As so many (and myself included) have pointed out, it's all been said before. It is just a matter of finding a way to say it in a unique manner. Maybe that is why these thoughts exist, drifting from moment to moment, future to present, past to... well, somewhere one hopes.

I will try and update when I get back from Baltimore, if not sooner.

Take care all,
C.

Not So Abandoned

I think I might be able to start updating some more soon, though I do leave for practically 2 weeks on Tuesday for AnimeExpo and Metrocon, sooo if I get the chance and I am not too tired. A lot of the game writing I was doing has finished up to some degree, though I have some other projects to do as well. Still, I have not forgotten about the blog... much :) though I fear I have forgotten too many of my former readers, and for that you do have my sincerest apologies. I will try and do what I can to make it up to y'all in the future and visit like I should have.

But, like I've said before, just expect me when you see me, prolly easier that way :)

C.

Whoops

I guess I have been so busy nerding out on Lord of the Rings Online that I forgot to update my blog. Well, I have not done a whole lot, alas, though some new doors have been opened in other ways. More on that another time. This week will be mostly getting ready for AnimeCentral, and I have to leave early Wednesday, so we have to go ahead and get ready tomorrow night. I might be adding a second blog soon, mostly for the purpose of posting some chapters from a book I have been intending to write (if I can get around to it). Needless to say, it will be a lot of reading, so I want to keep it separate from this space.

Though it does not look like it from the schedule, the convention season is warming up, and after June, I will have something like 6 or 7 shows in a row. The extra income will be nice, but it will be tiring, if even a little fun.

Have a great week everyone, and I will try and post as I get the chance.

C.

Writing... Just Not Blogging

I know it has been a few days and I have been bad about checking on many of the blogs I frequent, and for that I do apologise (I should have some time later this week, though, since I am actually not going to be in Boston this weekend due to schedule changes). I have been writing a lot, finishing up a conversion and gaming materials for a D20 version of Robotech (a very cool 80's anime series for those that do not know), and while it is a simple home-brew version, I have taken great care to get the flavor and flow of the series, so that has been time consuming, though fun, especially when the playtest worked out pretty well, enough that I will make it a regular game. Also on the writing front, I have been working on a book/commentary idea, mostly in the formative stages, but I have written the introduction and much of the material in the book will be gleaned from many of my posts and essays, though expanded upon as I can. I really cannot say much more until I do the writing and the work will evolve as they often do. Suffice to say it will cover a spectrum of ideas and ideals, but my whole goal is to offer a path to understanding and solutions, whether far-fetched or not, but solutions nonetheless. We (people as a whole) complain about what is wrong so much and expect change from without, when it must start from within. This is what I intend to explore as best I can. I will be sure to let you all know how things go and perhaps post some excerpts as well. Anyway, that is the plan :)

Again, I hope to catch up more later this week and make my regular visits as I can.

C.

On Writing

note: I thought I would leave you great folks with something a little more substantial than saying, 'see ya in a few days' since I will be mostly without Internet access while at A&M during AggieCon (that's Texas A&M for the unfamiliar :). Therefore, I thought I would wax philosophical or tangential about one of the subjects most dear to my heart: writing.

For some, this might be a little repetitive, especially if they have read my entry, 'The Poet', but this incorporates newer and perhaps more refined thoughts about the subject of writing as a whole and not just the art of poetry. Admittedly, most of my writing has been poetic, even when it has not been poetry. Even my non-fiction papers have been accused (is that the proper word?) of being poetic at times. I will also say, I do not write as much as some, and less than I would like, but even when I am not writing, I am thinking about writing. In my mind, it feels as natural as breathing. At times, I see the words and how they should form before I even question if the form is proper. To me, this is how it always was. That might sound a little arrogant, but it is not intended. It is really the best way for me to describe the process, a process that has always been so instinctive, once I knew it existed.

I often wonder what is so unique about humanity compared to the rest of the animal kingdom. Some might say language, the ability to communicate. Well, we are not unique in that regard. Many species can communicate with one another even if we do not understand them. Perhaps it is the ability to make tools. That certainly separates us from most, but not all species (some chimpanzees and other primates can make primitive tools, and I suspect cetaceans would be able if they had hands instead of flippers... or they do not care.). Some might even say that we build communities, and while our community building is complex and incredible, again, not unique. We are, however, the only species that can put our voice to page, or the only species that has shown the ability to do so. That, to me, is our uniqueness, and our incredible beauty. But what about the concept of the soul? Without writing, I think our sense of the divine, or of the soul would be primitive. The ability to create pictures, words, symbols and phrases upon stone, papyrus, clay, vellum, and paper has enhanced our ability to understand the soul and reach for the divine, however we interpret such things. Without writing, our divine spark, our connection to the universe as a whole, is diminished.

One might not care whether writing allowed us to create the words that might have enlightened or repressed us, depending on the view, but writing has allowed our species to grow, as it has allowed me to grow, as it has allowed anyone to grow who seeks such knowledge. When I write, it is not enough for me to simply put the words to page and be done. I have to know why I did it (and perhaps unfortunately tell everyone else why too :) as much as I am satisfied that I have created something. I have to be sure I created something from the divine part of myself, the part of the universe that is manifest in me (I was planning to work that in somehow :). Maybe I am a perfectionist in that regard, but it suits me fine. I cannot seek the divine through religion or nominal spiritual means. My path, while similar, does not lie along that road. It is not a road less traveled by any stretch, but it is my own. Of course, this does not mean that my writing is divinely inspired, hardly that. It means that in order for me to be satisfied with writing, I must reach back into the heart of the universe itself, or that is at least how I perceive it. Writing is as much an act of love for me as illuminating manuscripts was to monks in the Middle Ages. I would not call it sacrosanct, but it is the best part of me.

Even in something so small as a blog entry (or so large, since in essence I share it with the world, regardless of the number of people that see it), it is my intent to give my all to the words. Even still, I do have entries where obviously this is not so. Clearly, my lists and minor updates have little to do with my seeking the divine, the manifestation of the universe as a whole in myself and all of us. But for the most part, I mean it when I say in my little 'about me' blurb that all you really need to know about me is the words. They are what I know and what I can give to you, dear readers, and to the universe at large.

Everyone have a great weekend in advance,

C.