Tomorrow is election day. I don’t think there are many people reading this, but if you do, and you look at this tomorrow, then I highly encourage you to vote. I’m a progressive liberal. I care about social issues and matters that align me politically left, but I think the only way Democracy (Big D) works is when everyone votes – SO VOTE. You have a civic obligation to cast your vote, and doing so make certain your voice is heard.

I voted early yesterday. Tomorrow, I plan to work the election as a Machine Poll Judge. If you’ve ever been concerned about election fraud – I can confidently tell you that it is REALLY hard to commit TRUE voting fraud. Voter Registration fraud, sure, but that is caught. True voter fraud is unheard of, and so you should recognize this.

Okay, I’m tired. I have to wake up at 3:45 to get to the polling location at 5:30.

Toland, out.

I wasn’t certain what to write about for day 2, but I figured one thing that I could discuss is the close of my grandfather’s estate. This took up a rather large part of the past year and a half of my life – involving a lot of waiting and paperwork. I’m happy to say that it is finally closed, after starting on 4/9/2016, as of 11/1/2017 – almost a year and 7 months later.

The entire experience has caused me to separate myself from my maternal family more than I ever had, and while many think this is sad, in many ways, this was the best thing I could do for my own sanity. The notion that family is important has never truly resonated with me, but societal pressure of devotion and loyalty to family still persists and weighs on me. Luckily, my grandfather raised me to be independent and think for myself. It causes friction, but I’m happy with who I am. I’m happy with who I’m becoming.

This, all to say, I’m happy.

In an effort to do more writing, my close friend Noor (The Intrepid Columnist) challenged me to commit to write 100 words every day, and publish them. I’m all about this. So, first – some rules:

The Challenge

Rules:

1. I publish 100 word minimum per 24 hours (100 words is the minimum- not the limit!)
2. I can post ahead and late by 24 hours.
3. Drafts must be composed within the 24 hour period of publishing.
4. I can polish and re-publish prior posts, but I still have to add 100 new words to that day’s entry.

DAY ONE

There have been a lot of people who have asked me, “Why do you write?” My answer has probably changed over the years, and here, I highlight a few bullshit past answers, translate them into an adult’s language – read: judgy AF, and then settle my current answer.

Late Teens: I’m so tortured. I’m angsty. I have all these feelings I don’t know how to feel and it’s a way for me to get them out in the world.

Translation: Goodness, another moody teen who thought he was so much smarter and intellectual than his peers.

Early Twenties: I found this amazing writing course, and people sort of liked my work. After a while, I realized people were just being nice, so it made me challenge myself to switch my major from Astronomy to English and focus on being able to write better, and like, I TOTALLY DID.

Translation: Yeah, I mean, this might be accurate, but sorta smug. I guess after REALLY understanding what poetry means in the ‘literary’ sense, I found a new appreciation for the craft.

Mid Twenties: I’ve been in therapy, and there’s just a lot of baggage in my life. I guess I’m writing to sort out how I feel because I’m not big on emotions in general.

Translation: A way to actually express what I think about a lot, but don’t really know how to form into words – but it still sounds kinda like pseudo-therapy bullshit.

Late Twenties: I really think there’s something about writing that just makes me happy. I’m good at it. I have found a community of writers. I’ve actually been much happier with my work, and I have found my voice.

Translation: I am pleased with the work I’m creating, and well, I’m also pretty damn good at providing critique for other folks.

Early Thirties: I’m writing because it’s still a good outlet to sort through my thoughts. I also think more seriously about pursuing this as a true-side career and work to publish a collection no one will buy – but that’s not important, because what’s important is just doing things that bring you joy.

Translation: What I just said.

Day One done.

A year ago today, my grandfather died. We say passed away, because it’s softer. It sounds less severe. But that’s what we mean.

There are days I almost forget. There are days I can barely recall his voice as anything but a memory.

I still ache. Of course I do. But I’m happy

Happy as a wood, swaying in the breeze,
Happy as a stream running its course,
Happy as a lake on a sunny day.
I’m happy, I promise.

My relationship with my grandfather taught me the grueling burden of love. No one and nothing can prepare you for it, because it hurts. It’s the most painful thing we go through, and requires great courage to give.

I miss him so much.

Continue reading →

This is needed…

I have taken a lot of thought, and a lot of careful consideration over the tragic and atrocious act at a High School in Connecticut. I have spoken privately, but I think there is a deserving place that we must take a stand.

I’m super annoyed by this insistence that a lack of God somehow had an effect on this Connecticut shooting.

Let’s entertain the idea that such a god that theist believe in exists. If so, then we can conclude one of the following from the events in Connecticut:

1) That such a god is all powerful and allows atrocities to be committed.
2) That such a god is powerless.

If 1 is true, then we can conclude the following:

That such a God is cruel and permits atrocity to be committed, as he is able to stop such an act. Theist consider this either an act of divine punishment, or a divine lesson is to be derived from such events. These same theists are also the ones who say that morality is inherited directly from theism, and that the morality the espouse is directly ordained by divine command. If this is true, then what such a God can be followed who does not follow, or is above the same morality that theists claim he established.

Either this god is unfit to be worshipped, or, more simply by Occam’s Razor, the entity must not exist.

If 2 is true, then we can conclude that such a god who is powerless probably has his other miracles called into a dubious position, such as creation.

This insistence that such a god does exists, and the fact that we have “kicked him out” of school and government, and that these atrocities are a result is damaging and not logical. This insistence that somehow their morality is righteous, yet they contradict themselves that they follow a divine morality from an entity that permits such atrocious acts to be committed.

Perhaps there is a god, and he is all powerful, but then we can conclude he is uncaring. This then calls into question the “personal” relationship he has with the proverbial “me.” That he is so concerned with the “I.” and will save “me” from my sin, and has guided “me” in each step. It is the epitome or neurotic narcissism. If such a god does indeed exist, then morality suggests that we are probably better off without him.

On the issue of guns in general, I’m not certain how American Exceptionalism has turned into this idea that America literally IS the exception to the rule. Every first world country with strong gun laws have lower mortality rates due to violent crimes. Every single one. Why we believe that we will somehow be the exception to this rule is nonsense.

Further, SCOTUS only recently ruled in the 1970s that the second amendment guarantees the right of individuals to own guns. Further, Antonin Scalia, by no means even a moderate, argued that this right only guarantees one to own a handgun, and that authorities can ban all other weapons. Before the 1970s, for 200 years, our founding father’s supreme court and congress all stated that guns was a state’s right to establish a militia, understanding that it was necessary to the security of the state; and that said militia was to be “well regulated.”

 
This post probably offends several of you.

When you think about it, all Art, whether purposeful or not, relies on the implicit input from the artists before you. Something draws you to your craft for the first time, and then, you immerse yourself in it. But when you share this work, you’re sending something out there for some reason. Something to communicate. Language just isn’t enough. It’s never enough. Language is all about coordination, but for feeling, for the visceral reaction, it’s just not enough. Communication exists in the space of art. The interpretation and message art sends is more than words – it’s the reaction of all your organs upon hearing, seeing, feeling and touching the expression of something created from an indescribable abstract. We take creation seriously by turning the dream into a symbol made from matter.

Pick up a stone. Put it Down. – We built Pyramids this way. It is deliberate. It is specific. It is the cold act of disregard for the other, with the full knowledge that this act is dangerous. It is vulnerability come to life. It is something the art can’t say, but can communicate beyond the boundaries of language. So we circle. We circle with a community that evolves to form a web for a creation dialogue. I act. Therefore, I feel.

I cannot understate how awesome Moleskine Journals are! I just bought a new, simple black one, and started writing again. It’s been a while, and I have been in a dry spell. The following are some of my ramblings, cleaned up so that it makes a little more coherent sense.

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I write because I am scattered. This is not to focus, but to release the garbage that builds up. The dedication to this type of meditation is important. Yet, I edit as I go, which means I’m not yet completely genuine. This takes time. I’m writing to say I need to learn how to be.

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My list of favorite words are reused.

• Bend
• Water
• Slant

Pick up a rock. Put it down. Pick up a rock. Put it down. This act is deliberate. It built roads. It built pyramids. The great act of creativity is a shared concept.

We kill God just to reinvent him again. This is normal, and we do it to suit our current motivations. The closest we come was music. Beethoven. Bach. Mozart. The glory they expressed for the concept of creation. I do not doubt the existence of the extraordinary, but rather its willfulness and concern. It comes and goes without care, looking for a host to inhabit. Without conscience, there is no divinity, and so, believers make of it what they will. It simply places on loan to us the act of creation – the gift itself to create music, technology, design. And then it leaves, as mysteriously as it entered us. The Greeks believed it. They called them genies that lived in the walls.

Well, I probably should have wrote this last night, but as I fall asleep at 9:30 pm these days, I was in dream world. Shout out to one awesome weekend though. The White Party on Monday was seriously the highlight, notably falling asleep on a patio and being draped in rose petals. I’m a princess, or something.

In other news, I inherited a dog. A 6-year old Boxer named Peaches that my Grandfather can no longer take care of. She’s adorable. Has horrible separation anxiety, but is getting better. Week 3, and she’s on the road to a stable home life.

I also finally submitted work to a Literary Magazine. What in the world was I thinking. Here’s to hoping…