Project:  Start with "The first thing".  Go.

The first thing to keep in mind is how much everything is going to smell like oranges.  This has been associated in the past with strokes and other forms of physiocognitive breakdown, but as a side effect of the treatment, it serves as a harbinger of greater alertness than ever before experienced, rather than permanent sleep.  The olfactory effect arises in both cases from the onset of sudden drastic changes in the brain's psychophysiology, but in the case of the awakening process, the reconfiguration is expertly guided into a more complete and truly holistic apogee of order; the level of efficiency in neurological function is improved so drastically that emergent properties occur in the system of the brain, resulting subjectively in what most beneficiaries of the process tend to describe in such terms as 'beatific', 'resurrected', and in a number of cases deemed statistically significant by the leading experts, the precise word 'omniscient' is used.

The science behind the awakening process is sufficiently advanced that many of the world's most advanced heuristic processors are required to even approximate the approach that must be taken toward any specific beneficiary.  Contributing to the complexity is the enormous variability in individual subject experience and history, and the irreducibly poor suitability for an analysis of the process to be cast into any metaphor biological processors can readily understand.

The final word in necessity dictates that human minds alone shall be subject to the expenditures of redefinition as greater than previously instantiated.  The reckless disorder and lack of necessary stricture overseeing the process of meatbrain development heretofore extant shall under the benefit and beneficence of our parasenescent birthing into the immediate aspect of the multiverse dictates and demands that the obsolescent squishiness be reconstituted like digestion into paragonistic rapture represented best as a story about a puppet.

"I'm afraid it just gets worse from there."

"Dammit, and I thought making a writer out of this kid was gonna be easy."

"Nothing's free.  Install the other reality and have another go?"

"Knock yourself out.  I'm having a smoke."

I think I'm a damn fine writer -- words are my bitch, as my girlfriend likes to tell me.  I already knew this about myself.  I've had a love affair and fascination with writing for as long as I can remember.  When I think about this characteristic of myself, my mind soon turns to guilt over how little I actually do write.  I genuinely believe that I have a talent for words, and some real messages of value to express, and I don't want to keep feeling ashamed for not doing so.

Therefore I've formed a resolution to write something for at least 30 minutes a day.  It can be anything at all so long as it's something.  Songs count.  Poems count.  Blog posts count.  Hell, even computer code counts. It doesn't matter if what I turn out is crap.  It doesn't matter if it gets thrown out as soon as I'm done.  The only thing that matters is that I write it.

This blog might be a repository for much of this.  I suppose I don't have to worry about my writing turning out to be a mess of vapid rambling, since nobody reads this anyway.  That could always change, I suppose, but that's not the kind of thing I think I should depend on.  I don't want to be that guy I met at little five points that time in Atlanta who handed me a little booklet, obviously self-published, of some of the worst poetry I've ever tried to give an honest reading of.

I'm not of the belief that the world will be significantly worse off without my ideas being a part of the cultural lexicon.  I want that to be the case, but I can't quite muster the chutzpah to claim that it is.  Honestly, I just want my writing to be read and enjoyed, by whoever at whatever level.  I don't have to write the Great American Novel, and am not so foolish to think that I could.  I'd be happy writing fan fiction, so long as someone tells me they like it.

And I'll stop there -- maybe my next post can be about why I want to write at all.

I write these words to nowhere

As I wait to get wise.

Realizing life is no fair

Still worth a few more tries