Childhood logic, as applied to fire

Hannah Welsh: Mum, is fire made from orange coloured dye?

Addendum: An ode to the metaphor and simile of high school english

The sea is snoring again, and that bastard up on high is shining a bloody great torch down on my tent.

The tent itself isn't immune to the idea of trying to keep me awake, it has become a ship at anchor, going nowhere. Peacefully floating upon the ocean of water collecting below.

In truth, the real ocean doesn't bother me much now, I've become used to its constant crashing, and its clever ways. Each wave living out a vision of human life, growth first, gaining in momentum and size roaring forward before crashing to the sand and slowly dying. The body of the ocean acting out the sea of human emotion, perhaps even the greater state of the world around us, in some places calm and at peace, yet in others, stormy, angry, and powerful.

As always when lying awake, my mind running amok, when not trying to distract myself imagining beautiful women in very few clothes, the metaphors write themselves. And after all I'm camping and a little lonely, buck up man, get a grip. This is no time for streams of consciousness dedicated to metaphor, the beautiful mostly naked women are much more enticing.

Come to think of it...so they are.

*Save as Draft*

On camping and vampires.

7 Reasons why that first night camping is really fucking tough:

1. The sea is noisy, you're trying to sleep, and its snoring.
2. Your tentmates are asleep. And they're snoring.
3. The sloping sides of the tent make you feel like your falling off your camp stretcher.
4. The sloping ground means that you are.
5. The only people you've met so far didn't just act like a bunch of 16 year olds, they ARE a bunch of 16 year olds.
6. The only interesting people you've talked to so far are older adults, who are multiples of your age, starting at 2 and moving up.
7. The matrix is calling you. You only unplugged a few hours ago, this is cold turkey. There is no cellphone reception, you have no other electronics with you, this shit is low tech. Your starting to feel the withdrawal already.
   

The Declaration of Independence that became a tribute to Friendship

Ok, a child of the 20th century am I. I've had no school camping trips where we went to catch scorpions barehanded. This is New Zealand after all, safest country in the world (if you discount melanoma that is). Young man gone camping with his family, what was he thinking? He wasn't prepared for this, he's spent years plugged in, switched off, staying up late with longtime insomnia. Losing practicality and common sense, the electronic world drew him in, giving him a substitute for the things he felt missing from his life, beating back the loneliness in a mad rush of 0's and 1's.

Living in that never quite satisfactory world, he had forgetting how he loved being outdoors when he was younger, hiking with his father or doing any number of the other outdoor activities available to a young boy. These things are distant memory for him, foggy hazy things lacking detail and definition. No longer could he use the learning or experience from those times, all that remained was an occasional longing when something fired his brain along long unused leaves and branches to give him a moment of clarity, that elusive vision of something long forgotten.

During his time at university there was a change. Somewhere deep in his subconscious he had realised there WAS something missing in his life, so he experimented. In his first year, at the hall, he tried to be outgoing, he made many acquaintances. These would not last he knew, but maybe...just maybe, a few might become something more. There were failures of course, and periods where he inevitably drew back into himself, into his room, for periods of a week or so usually. Emerging for food or class, but otherwise feeling rather lonely and not very human. Of these experiments, would success be the result? The answer as we know is of course, yes.

Narrator: After all, our hero believes in love and goodness, disliking the tragedies so popular in film and verse, so how could he let his story become one?

Some of those successes or failures were quite peculiar, seeming sold success to be later revealed as unfortunate "almost" successes, some bitter and persisting far longer than they should have, to cause hurt, resentment and sadness. After all he was young, and naive of the character of humanity. He probably still is, but that isn't what our story is about. Along with successes great and small, I believe he would now tell you that he had 3 grand successes. Three overarching friendships that outshine the rest. Two with people he might say he truly loves and one new and fantastic. Kindred souls perhaps.

Of these three, the first is a puzzle to be sure, at once both our hero's like and his opposite (his sometime twin if you will, to call him the same person however would be a mistake) that which they shared wonderful, and that which diverged was often fantastically complimentary. This friend, his best friend, may he ever forgive the selfishness in my nature.

The second he (our hero) disliked from the very first. She was a bird of colour it seemed, always cheerful and chattering, no substance, no depth at all. Oh what a fool he was, but he was lucky our hero. He did not see her much at first, and when he saw more of her, some of that insubstantial upper layer had fallen away. That layer he believes was a shield, a shining cover over personal problems, sheilding pain from both herself where possible and hiding it from others. When that cover came away, he saw something attractive, yet he did not see it for what it was, and twice the fool continued to not like her for some time yet. When did that change he wonders? He's now forgotten, perhaps she could remind him somehow, he hopes so. Whatever the case, he loves her now as he loves the first, lucky to have seen her truly before he discarded something beautiful, in essence a true lady, may she forgive me for not letting her know it earlier, enough, and with all the eloquence I might possess.

The third, to put it simply, beautiful. (In fact all three are uncommonly beautiful, certainly in looks, but in essence also, a lucky man our hero). He claims hard work, not intelligence is what makes him succeed, do not believe him. Indeed he does work extremely hard, he also works better than anyone I know, amazing. How does he do it I often wonder? I don't blame you if he does convince you of what he says, he is immensely smart, a top stand up comedian and orator bar none. He is a master musician and you, his instrument, and each time he picks you up, ecstacy, I mean this in the very best of ways. After all, what he is, is someone it feels good to be around. I hope he likes this description, and may he forgive the presumptuousness and lack of depth in my description of him.


Continuation of my Declaration of Independence

It is in my nature to digress from my stated goal, so in respect for time, I shall cut somewhat to the chase, perhaps later I will elaborate, perhaps not.

The young man taken, whisked away on a camping trip with his family. These stages he went through: reluctance, withdrawal, worry, serenity, brightening hope, hopes dashed, desire to remain, hopes rescued, action executed. So for a few days more, with his independence declared, the young man might enjoy a glorious freedom before returning to battle within the matrix once more.

Narrator: I believe that last passage is rough and raw like an uncut diamond, but it shall serve for the moment.

"Umbrella version one" (or previously, Why camping is irony)

The girl who you've been wanting to casually introduce yourself to for days approaches you unnoticed and starts talking to you on her own. She is the first person in the camp you've met that really interests you, and she's south african. She is an engineer, studying at Canterbury. She has travelled. Her accent is nice, well hidden, and intriguingly different from the one you know, Cape Town she says.

You ask her if she wants to do something while you're here, you've never been here before you tell her (it is her 6th time). Amazingly she agrees and suggests a hike to a beach a small distance away should the weather hold up. Agony, the weather doesn't. All is not yet lost however, your family may be leaving early, but you shall not, not only do you wish to stay for yourself, you also want to share her company and listen to her tell you things, you are infatuated. You care not.

As your family pack up, you walk over and talk to her again, you tell her why they are leaving and that you might stay, perhaps if the weather clears, you can have that walk? She tells you that she and her family are moving two bays away to escape the wind.

Business taken care of you ask her of the things she has made of sticks and leaves and string. "Thats dish rack version two", she says, "version one fell over". And in her hands? "Umbrella version one". "Will there be Umbrella version two?" you ask, "No, I think this one does the job well enough".

You walk away, and as it has been since you arrived at the camp your head is once again filled with music by the Arcade Fire, snatches of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and thoughts of the vampires you are reading about.

More importantly, your head is also filled with the musings the matrix blocked out and sucked away, they flow through you once more. Don't try to grip too hard, each thought is not important, it is the flow that must be kept open, it has returned.

Rejoice.

.test

I have a blog.

I'm such a sellout.

Having said that, I blame Shelley for giving me the wretched idea to actually post here. There, blame appropriated, all is once again well within the empire. :)