Rattle, Trap and Cough

Asking me if I know something is often like opening Pandora's Box. I've never had a problem with lack of skill. In fact, as arrogant as it might sound, if anything I've got TOO MUCH skill. I've never personally thought this. Even to this day the idea, while something well within my bounds of understanding, still confazzles (yes, I just made that up) me.
I can't recall anything I've ever done that I was just really unable to do. Granted, a large part of this is me protecting my reputation - I don't do things unless there's a really good chance that I can do it at least as well as the competition.
And of course there are areas of specialisation that I fail in - you can only specialise in one thing at a time. There are people who are stronger, faster, tougher - probably even smarter (heaven forbid!). But, even though I'm a geek and spend nearly every available hour with my computer, most of my work experience has been blue-collar, manual labor type stuff.
I guess much of that comes from growing up in Texas. Most places here a body is expected to pull its own weight. This means that EVERYONE at some point in their life has to work outdoors in the searing heat - for guys there's the standard mowing of lawns.
I've never lived in the city. My life has been small town suburban and rural - out here, for those of you who don't live in Texas - rural generally only applies to areas under 30 min out. Anything further than that is "country".
I recall once in Chicago I went with some friends to find sky that wasn't full of light pollution - it took us nearly two hours. Chicago's sprawl has nothing on Texas cities, so the light pollution isn't as dense. On the other hand, even though you can see the stars, there are little towns about every 30-50 miles, irrespective of how you travel... So there's always light SOMEWHERE.

Well. I know I started rambling, but I can't get myself interested in this. I want to listen to more American Gods.

Well, I guess I can talk a little about that. Neil Gaiman seems to hold the key to my heart at this point. Nearly everything I read of his just about takes my breath away with its brilliance. I'm sure I've written about this somewhere else, but regardless: when I first read "Neverwhere," I hadn't really read anything in a long, long time (read: years) that really just turned my imagination on full-force and let it run free.
"Neverwhere" popped bright lights in my head, and when I finished it I turned it over and started it again almost immediately. I've never read any other book that was just SO good that after reading I had to read it again - and I've read many AMAZING books.

So, I just finished a torrent of Neil Gaiman audio books, and my first is "American Gods." Don't ask me why it's taken me this long to read Gaiman... Anyhow. After I read "Neverwhere," I bought the CD editions of "Stardust" and "Fragile Things." Yeah, I liked him enough that with one book he went from "I need to read his stuff one day" to "I will buy something with his name on it, just give it to me."
Short story anthologies have always been some of my favorite books - all those authors and styles and ideas between two covers... Sometimes the combinations can be amazing. Among "Fragile Things" are two prose-poems, "Going Woodwo" and "The Fairy Reel" - both of which never fail to astonish me with their clear beauty, and "October In The Chair," which I consider one of the finest fantasy tales ever written.

Well, I'm off. Maybe I'll get my room clean, or something on my computer fixed - but I doubt it.

Oh yes, and as a public service announcement: alcohol (Crendain, in this case) on top of Provigil-boosted Mountain Dew seems to be a recipe for fast intoxication. More on this later.

Dedication

I feel like when I lost my stories, I lost a vital part of me. In fact, I know that while I may never actually write, whatever made me lose touch with them also cost me my motivation.
I haven't blogged in ages, not because I had nothing to write about; but because the sheer volume of activity and data I've been going through has been staggering. I realised tonight that my head is full of little fragmentary dreams. Without realising it, I've become insular and lost sight of my grander dreams.

If I was really honest about it, while I may talk big and even appear to make an impressive effort - most of my dreams are show. I don't REALLY expect to ever go to Japan, or school, or even get a good job any time in the near future. I really doubt I'll see Chicago in time to make any difference in the lives of my friends.
However, this stark factual reality does not prevent me from pining for the very things I cannot have. I had up until recently thought this was sufficient for motivation. But I realise that the reason I haven't really done anything in nearly two years is because I had nothing to do. I have no real long-term interests. Japan is too insurmountable a goal. I have no hope of ever getting a steady girlfriend, much less get married. I've managed to arrange things so that I've isolated myself from all I had made of myself in the world, wrecking a few friendships all the way.
After such a fall... It's taken me this long just to come to my senses. And I know right now that this point of clarity is most likely temporary. I'll lapse back into the stupor of habit for a bit and... There is a long road ahead, I think.

So what do I want? I want to create a world that will change the lives of all those who experience it. I've wanted this for most of my life, deep down. To tell a story that makes a difference - something effecting change. First there was my writing, then that broke down and I tried sound. Then I tried blogging.
And then one day I changed me. I don't know what triggered it, or if it was a sudden thing - but from then on my life has been on fire. Even with no job and living a hippy lifestyle I can barely keep track of things (and not because my head's full of smoke).
But more important than that dream, I realised, is WHY I want this dream to be my life work. Why I want to leave such a huge mark is twofold.

One man has always stood head and shoulders above every one of the men I admire: My dad. So, the first line in my dedication would be:
To Dad, whom I love dearly because he is deeply flawed and pure of heart. He was the first to show me the value of learning and knowledge, and that wisdom and a good name are to be desired above all things.

But there's another line following this, less ornate - more formal, perhaps - but nonetheless heartfelt:
To Dave, who put up with my immaturity and impropriety and incessant questions, graciously overlooked my reckless, casual attitude towards everything and saw through to the man I be, were I given the right nudges. Above all, he showed me what knowledge was for and how it should be learned and applied.

There are other people who have affected me greatly in my life, but while I've never thought of myself as having a hero - if there was anyone's approval I covet... It is these two.

So, perhaps I have a dream. To be such a man that both these great men would even deign to admit that I had surpassed even their hopes for me. This is the hard road, and at the moment it is quite lonely... But I reckon this cost a fair bargain, even cheap, for the reward I intend to reap.