Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Milestone

Thus have I not only fairly neglected my albeit casual duties as a blogger, I have also neglected my obligation to thank those who follow a man's simple, humble yet passionate words in which it is my aspiring career to give to all the world. Thank you. Furthermore, this new post is two fold. I first wish to admittedly advertise that, as I myself am unaware as to whether or not I have mentioned this, my first book shall be up for sale nation wide come the twenty-fourth of September: three days! The title of the book is The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal. This is the first book of a four part chronicle in which the fifth shall be a sort of "stand-alone", slightly apart yet very much congruent with the happenings of the created tales. Any person may purchase my book via or head to a major book retailer wheresoever they may dwell. This is assuredly the milestone of my life in which marks perhaps the advent of a career I have little doubt will engender success. The series itself is entirely fantastical with adventure, battles, love, betrayal, conspiracy, animosity, war and even a fair amount of politics. Just think kings and queens, their sons and daughters and plots to either take over the world, to save the world or to prevent the world from being destroyed by entities of titanic proportions. Include also the supernatural, A.I. and a plethora of science fiction mixed with magic and you have the basic ingredients for the concoction of which the Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Schrodinger's Cat, String Theory, Minority Report, the movie Artificial Intelligence, Blade Runner, I, Robot, the Planck Scale, Dark Matter and Ghost in the Shell have inspired within my Autistic mind. I tell you, I can muster but the shadow and echo of my thoughts as my fingers manipulate my mental chaos into words in gross inadequacy. I pray one day my conscious has the capacity to articulate what transpires like hundreds of billions of images passing before my imaginative eyes at no less than eight hundred trillion light years per yactosecond. How do I retain and perpetuate my sanity you may ask? Any way I can. The most effective method I have found is to release my thoughts into oblivion thus in fact sacrificing mental processes for the sake that I might be engaging amid a social situation. Moreover, as I work my current job, the more I endeavor to keep the ferocity of my rampant thoughts at bay within the confines of my mind in substitute for the rather elevated reality and importance of my job, the better my motor functions permit a good work in the plane of my physical existence. However, not all days allow for such ease in work. There have been many occasions in which, pushing hampers in a warehouse at Quest Drape (my current job) and setting up jobs via exact number calculations and management, have afforded what only ensues to a downward spiral of cogitations ranging anywhere between the next evolution in information gathering and beyond to the concept of morality and ethics in conjunction with the theory of A.I. and its current advances thereto. Again, as these notions are merely written in words of the English language, the credibility to which I fail to convey upon a gravity far too heavy for a primitive dialect to allow makes me feel frustrated. The worst in relation to all for which streams through both my conscious and subconscious on the planck scale as well as upon a universal scale is the idea that nearly all for which I ponder and all for which lies in my mind like a myriad of papers scattered helter-skelter in a room littered with detritus millions of years old-all seemingly useless-I hardly ever come to any conclusion upon every matter. Thus, my thoughts sit incomplete and eons away from any possible resolve. Ergo, I immensely enjoy writing as a way of at minimum "painting" my ruminations on a paper of black and white as a sort of ham-handed means to portray again the merest of shadows and echoes of my thoughts. Lastly, I hold back. I hold back a lot. My fear as to what would happen if my conscious control of writing was omitted of its filter is that all for which the reader follows with his or her eye path upon the page stands as a conundrum of nothing less than psycho babble. I myself have re-read the tiniest form of my pushing the edge of the proverbial envelope to the slightest of augmented degrees only to discover my own wanting comprehension! Perhaps one day, as my success in writing grows, I shall crack the door of what I call "Agony" ajar to the point where I can peer in just long enough to acquire if not an iota of substantial knowledge I struggle to possess, then the satisfaction of knowing that I tried and will be damned if I ever try again!

I have encountered fragments of Donnie Darko the movie, I sat through Fight Club (willingly) and repeatedly let myself watch films such as the Manchurian Candidate, They, Boogeyman, Saw and other psychological thrillers and horror flicks I abstain from with the epitome of what my constitution bemoans to have to still remember: to remember the sounds, the sights, the music, the dialogue and the insanity provoking stories my only regret was to become addicted to. For any who knows of one who is autistic, is autistic themselves or is in anyway related to one upon the spectrum, use extreme caution in the exposure to stimuli of a psychotic nature. When I drink alcohol my body reacts. When I drink coffee my body reacts. When I take my meds my body reacts. When I watch a heartwarming movie my emotions react. When I am exposed to either a movie, t.v. show or any such drama of a psychological or horrific theme-especially when my guard is dropped-my emotions and psyche react in always a negative fashion. I watched Perks of Being a Wallflower with my friends when it first came out. My therapist had to assure me that my reaction to the film was merely PTSD; that I was not actually again psychotic. Shortly after I recovered and engaged "normally" within my life. Why did I write all this? I wrote the aforesaid because as I sat here in Starbucks and update my blog, the theme song, "Mad World" came on the atmospheric speakers of the store and even in the shortly lived duration to which my mind and ears exposed themselves to the monody, it was adequate to make me, as I have coined in my subjectivity, "weird". When I become "weird", I am technically not sane. Outlets of channeling such feelings so as to prevent me from "stripping naked and squawking like a chicken" (so to speak I assure you) takes its precedence in this very action I now evoke: writing. Often, however, at least some sort of "weirdness" takes place and my behaviors are simply a little off. I pray that my followers and those later to come might at least consider my book so as to read it. I open up to thee all now under the notion that the release date of my book is in fact the twenty fourth of September, 2013 and no small amount of my soul was engraved upon its pages. This first book is the quantum level of thoughts within my mind. I myself am eager to read what shall follow and to what I even now create: the sequel. Thank you those who read my entire blog. If I am not addicted to substances and if I am not addicted to work or even sex, then I am truly addicted to writing. I could effortlessly write upon this dull white-wash board of rigid left-brain oriented interfaces evermore yet of course fail to ever again "paint" the kaleidoscopic vision of a paroxysm of sight and sound that, even now, my internal pictography portrays like a highly anticipated and high-budgeted movie.

For those in the area of Whittier, CA-in the L.A. area-you may come to my book signing on Saturday, October fifth at ten A.M. Look up Half Off Books in Uptown Whittier. Tell your friends all you bibliophiles. I know that even the worst books ever written are thoroughly read by those who love to read. Heaven forbid that my passion ensues such an outcome for my book, but please spread the word. My soul purpose in writing is to make people happy, as well as all for which my followers have thence read. Thank you.

-The Giver of Words.
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