My thoughts scatter
Like rain drops in my mind
A constant torrent that won’t relent
At best my mind is like Seattle
At worst its a monsoon
It’s like I live in a steel roofed house
Eventually all the metallic static
Becomes synonymous with silence
Most of my ideas get lost in the flood waters
I’m only left with the biggest, the best, the worst
Imagine what I could do
If I wasn’t mostly water.
If I was filled with sunny days
And springtime weather.
-Shaman Romney 2016
It’s quiet here in the clutter of my room
But BOOM there is thunder in my mind’s confines
And POP something drops from the top of the shelf
I pick it up, I write it down so it’ll make a sound
Like CRASH as I smash it into a line
Now that looks fine; something that I can call mine
And DING hear it ring the timer says time to finish up
But no, my mind doesn’t think it’s enough
So POW hear it now as I’m messing it up
I keep meddling, back peddling. It’s not enough
I SCREAM as I dream of the perfect line
Hiding in the back of my mind and so I mine
My delusions of grandeur, I’m looking for gold
No matter how hard I swing, CRACK, I bring up coal
I’m tired of always digging, but I have to keep at it
Otherwise my mind will devolve into static
-Shaman Romney 2016
A couple of weeks ago, I got fed up with Facebook. I never really engaged in the social aspect of social networking. I mostly just used it to stalk old friends and crushes, watch people yell at each other, read funny memes from George Takei, and overall waste time not doing the things I should be doing. In addition to it being a colossal time waster, I found it was making me more and more depressed. I’d get to see high school friends getting nice jobs, buying homes, having kids, getting married, living life to the fullest, having all sorts of awesome adventures, etc. Doing everything I wish I could do if I wasn’t too busy dicking around on Facebook.
So, in a bout of lucid self loathing, I said, “To hell with this! A pox on thee, Facebook, and thy creator, Zuckerberg too!” Well, I said that in some universe, at least in my head. But, I did go and deactivate my Facebook, deciding that I needed a break from it. That was about two weeks ago.
I don’t really miss it all that much. I tend to keep in touch with the people I actually care about, as they are the ones who bother to text me and actively attempt to see me. They actually try to be real friends, perish the thought. I don’t really miss out on current events, political debates, or funny memes. I have other websites for that, and although they can be a bit of a time sink as well they don’t drop my mood or trap me in some stupid little skinner box.
I don’t say this to admonish people who do enjoy Facebook. It can be great for keeping in touch with friends, reconnecting, and sharing your life with others. I know both my parents have used it to get in touch with old friends and distant family, and my dad posts pictures from his garden all the time. People use it to arrange hangouts and catalog their fun times with each other. It has its uses, but I wasn’t making use of them.I was using it in all the bad ways, and making bad habits. So I think it was good move to give it the axe.
Yes, yes, I know, Random-Meme-I-Pulled-From-Google. I’m not saying I am done for good. I know eventually I will get sucked back in and reactivate my profile. But I think it will be later rather than sooner. You know why I think that?
Because I already did it. I got curious and I wanted to see what happened in my two-week long absence. So I signed back in while I was at lunch. I had a few missed notifications, but mostly it was just filled with the same inane bull that I hated and was trying to ignore in the first place. People posting drama statuses. People praising Hillary/Trump as the second coming of Jesus. George Takei posting a cat pic. All of the time-wasting goodness I used to eat up like it was my last meal.
Did I get sucked in? For about 5 minutes. Then it hit me: I really didn’t care. It isn’t worth my time or brain power. So, I disabled it again. Maybe this time it’ll be for two months. Maybe even two years. By that time, who even knows if Facebook will even be the big thing any more? It may totally be some twitter Snapchat amalgam that provides even less thought and more cats. (It’s the internet, it’s always more cats.)
Either way, I think I am going to steer clear of it, and actually enjoy
going outside and living life playing video games and watching YouTube. You know, the important things in life.
Thank you for reading🙂,
My friends and I have started a writing group. They all want to improve as writers, and I want to try and start writing fiction stories. I have a lot of cool ideas, and I think it would be better if they are out in the world instead of gathering dust in the back of my brain. Ideas have always been easy for me, the hard part is actually writing the story.
How does someone even write fiction? Do you just make stuff up?
I used to know how when I was younger. I could sit down and write pages of fiction without any effort. The characters, plot, and everything else about them sucked. But at least I could write it. Now I find myself staring at the keyboard, its QWERTYs, ASDFs, and WASDs burning my soul with their judging mocking gaze.
If you ask me to create a character for Dungeons and Dragons, or any other RPG? I’ll not only make a mechanically unique and effective character, but I will build him a detailed backstory with family records, milestones, mannerisms, etc. But I cant turn it into any sort of narrative story.
Ask me to write a blog post? I can put down 500 to 1000 words on a topic in an hour, 3 if I need to revise/make it sound good. It’s not hard for me to put my thoughts down, as I write the way I think and speak. But fiction means I have to put myself in someone else’s head, and I don’t know how to do that.
So when you tell me to sit down and write a fiction story? You might as well tell me to win the lottery or grow wings and fly.
I know a large part of it is a lack of experience. You don’t go into the gym and start benching 200 lbs if the last time you did 100 lbs was in high school. That is a good way to injure yourself. I can’t jump into a chihuahua crushing epic fantasy novel without tearing my corpus callosum either.
However, I have no idea where to even start. I have all of these ideas buzzing in my head: cool scenes straight out of a move, a Silmarillion’s worth of world building, and a somewhat unique magic system. I’m an avid reader of both too many books and too much TVTropes. What else would I need? Actual talent?
It’s like I have a fresh batch of ingredients and a full purpose kitchen, but I only know how to make a grilled cheese. I’m just the wordsmith equivalent of a line cook who has been asked to make whatever he thinks would impress the food critic. I hope he likes Kraft singles and white bread.
The point of this post was to state I may also start posting short stories here, in addition to rants both political and personal, and my poetry. Just like with Politalking, I am going to try and keep things labelled, so that those of you who check my blog out for the poetry alone can skip it if you want.
Time for me to drop down and give 20 paragraphs. Wish me luck!
I want an addiction to proper diction
No friction between my words as I pick them
Flowing slick as I quickly slide them
From inside and drop them for you to see
Like seashells, sitting on the seashore
For you to admire, I desire that satisfaction
Even if I only receive a fraction.
They need to sound consistent, unique,
The transition of constants and consonants
Needs to lack resistance no matter how much
The words smash and crash into each other
In a tidal wave of dissonance and discordance
These dissidents of English will be brought to confluence
By my mastery of clarity and the dictionary
But on the contrary, right now it is scary
That I only have a passing skill, and nary the time
To pass on asking myself to task myself
With attacking the assonance and rhythm
Of poetry, knowing that I am an amateur,
Unsure of myself and of my place
But I will face this challenge with pride
Because inside, I’ll confide that I hide
The heart of a lion, which I’ll start to show
With more sincerity, as this disparity I’ve displayed
Has left me dismayed, but I wont be dissuaded
In fact, I’m elated that this fear has abated
I created, with little conflict or object
This poem to finally addict me to proper diction.
-Shaman Romney 2016
I need my biggest dreams
To be my fondest memories.
I want my life to put my death to shame.
I don’t want my last refrain
To be one of regret, one of disdain.
I want my legacy to be something unfathomable,
Something no one has ever thought of,
The answer to a question we don’t know to ask yet.
I can’t convince myself to accept anything less.
Unless I meet my higher standard,
I do not deserve to stand with pride.
I cannot understand a half placed effort,
Being comforted with less than perfection
Is a perfect misdirection of your true purpose:
To leave a permanent mark on the world
And better it for your fellow man.
-Shaman Romney 2016
You don’t get to preach violence and hate,
And then regret it when you get it.
Their deaths are on your plate.
Yet you have the gall to celebrate
5 deaths, 2 deaths, any death is too many
You lose any respect from me when you hop on twitter
And spout hate speech in the name of tolerance
Oh, you’re frustrated? I am too.
In fact, I was on your side until I saw what you say and do
The things you say hit strong, that’s fine
That’s not the problem
The issue is when you pervert the truth
Take something right, and turn it wrong
I don’t care who you represent
All lives, blue lives, or black lives matter
When blood is shed in your name, we all get splattered
You’re supposedly above this, you’re supposed to be an example
But with this, all you’re doing is trampling on the efforts
Of the people out there who are trying to do good.
Please don’t prove the demagogues right.
Don’t give ammunition to their bigotry; their fear.
What you are doing is a good way to blow it all up.
You say you’re standing for love, so show it.
That should be enough.
– Shaman Romney 2016