Distracting

This is a short story I wrote some time ago. I came across it and thought I should share.

Sam sits in front of his computer. He knows he has work to do, but there isn’t much effort

at his disposal at the moment. Writer’s block for him is like an unemployed roommate that’s

always willing to give financial advice. The fluorescent light from the screen clashes with the

soft yellow coming from the ceiling fixture. He imagines wavelengths in an eternal struggle for

the right to illuminate his masterwork. Who wouldn’t want a chance at history? He feels bad for

letting them down. He has to think of something. He has to focus.


A fire truck passes by on the street outside, its sirens wailing. Sam cocks his head

towards the sound without taking his eyes off the blank white screen. The sound outside is

tempting but he must remain vigilant. He wonders how many people could possibly be in a 10

mile radius. Probably a lot. Probably more than he is considering. That would up the chances

for the occasional emergency. A toaster accidentally dropped in the shower. An egg beater gets

stuck in a toaster. A toaster is left outside unattended in a pile of woodchips. Sam wonders at the

math necessary to calculate the number of toaster related deaths each year when he realizes that

the sirens didn’t completely fade. The truck stopped right outside.


Rising from his seat, he steps towards the front window and looks out at the street. Holy

shit. There is a building on fire at the end of the block. It’s actually burning. Look at it. Flames

actually showing a column of thick black smoke, maybe a block away. For a moment Sam

doesn’t know what to do. His mouth is open. He nervously spins around and looks at the back of

his laptop monitor and then back out into the street. The word “deadline” floats across his mind

giving a tinge of panic. He closes his mouth and swallows dryly. In less than a few seconds Sam

has his shoes on and is jogging down the street.


He slows his pace as he nears the end of the street. The flashing lights from the truck

are lighting everything up red, white and blue. It’s like the freaking Fourth of July out here.

Visions of corndogs and fried Oreos dance through his head. Sam puts his hands on his hips

and takes a few deep breaths as he tries to take in the scene. This is exciting. His heart is racing.

How long has it been since he had to run anywhere? Wow. There are actual flames coming

out of the second story window, like in the movies. Sam sees fire marshals coming around the

corner the corner of their trucks. They are probably going to make him leave. Before they get

the chance, he walks around to the other side of the fire engine. He must be out of sight; he can

see them standing by their Range Rovers pointing at the house as firemen enter the front door.

One of them calls to him to stay where he is; out of the way. No worries; it’s not my house. How

did they see him? Is there some sort of equipment on the scene that the public hasn’t been told

about? Maybe they need it find victims inside a towering inferno. Sam can’t help but picture his

computer on the desk at home, all alone. He wonders if there are any people inside this two story

fire as he leans his back against a tree.


The fire fighters have been running in and out of the house for a few minutes now. When

they are going to turn on those hoses? He read somewhere that the water that comes out of fire

hydrants is from drainage systems and can stink like raw sewage. That just seems cruel. He

would rather let the house burn than be left with charred cinders smelling of hot Port-A-Potty.

What is that? He thought he just saw something move along the roof. There! By the

window that’s spewing flames everywhere. What is that? Is that a cat? It looks small, like a

kitten. A kitten? God damn it. Sam pulls his back off the tree and looks over at the fire marshals

working a small group of onlookers back onto the sidewalk. Shit. Should he tell them? How the

hell did a kitten get on the damn roof? How does this happen? It seems so clichéd. He glances

up for a few seconds and then back to the kitten. Maybe he could. Sam traces the tree branches

on the side of the house with his eyes. Without even thinking he is up the tree. His heart starts

to race again. What the hell is he doing, there is work to do at home? Whatever it is it has to be

quick; the file must be sent tonight or else he’ll lose his grant money. He shimmies his way onto

a branch that has grown towards the roof. Look out, here comes Spiderman.


A fire marshal is at the bottom of the tree yelling up at him. Sam is sweating now. It’s

hot up here. Yes, Mr. Fire Marshal he knows he should get down, but he’s almost there; it sees

him. Sam clamps his legs around the branch and reaches out. His arm is a good 3 feet from the

gutter. He wonders if they’re hot. The kitten makes a go for it. Damn. It’s not declawed. Tiny

little needles scurry down his arm and bury themselves into his shoulder. He tucks it under his

arm and swings around the branch and hangs his legs underneath him. He lands on his feet,

wondering if this kitten would be proud.


A person wrapped in a blanket runs over in tears. Yeah, yeah you’re welcome. No it’s

nothing. What’s its name? Frank. He likes that, but isn’t sure why. The fire marshal takes a

moment to explain why what he did was stupid, but still shakes his hand anyway, asking for his

name and address. Sam obliges, scratches the little puff ball’s head and turns around on his heels.

Putting his hands in his pockets he begins to stroll back towards his house. Did he leave the

lights on?


He did. That and the back door is open. Sam glances up at the clock on the wall. His

little endeavor cost him a half hour. Smart. The laptop is dead; great. Grabbing the charger, he

plugs the computer in and sits back down at his desk. While the computer boots up, Sam notices

a scratch on his hand. His shirt is dirty and smells like a campfire too. The computer screen

reboots and blinds him for a moment, breaking his concentration. Damn; there’s work to be


done. Now where was he?

Altered States

An Unpunctual Junto Installment

After a long day of stress related activities, a person sits back and partakes in their particular choice of substance to help them unwind and potentially reflect upon the happenings that have left them pensive and curious as to what it’s all about. Why?

Altering one’s state of consciousness is akin to forced self introspection. This ritual curtails its natural instructive potential by robbing the individual of the true sense of satisfaction gained by overcoming humanity’s aversion to personal change. But there is something to be said of its fundamentals, the method itself, and its origins.

Any multiplicity of enlightenment has an obligatory appeal to a person plagued with the uncertainty life presents on a daily basis. Those inklings of doubt in your own actions are what drive people to chase a release from the norm. That coveted sense of deviation is something that takes a backseat to the daily gauntlet of distraction which fuels the individual’s societal imposed obligations. Most simplify this desire through rewarding themselves by unwinding with substance abuse at the end of, or during, a “hard day”.

After these commonplace trials and tribulations in the development of personal growth, individuals feel a need to shy away from such pressing, seemingly unsolvable personal situations that most are too uninformed to handle. Having a drink is among one of the easiest ways to quell the lack of control, or sense or relief one desires after facing situations that cause them to doubt the validity of their actions. They need to better themselves but such feelings, to the uninitiated, carry with them a sense of burden easy to shy away from. Of course other methods of self medication exist, but the ingestion of ethanol is by far most common and thereby the most sought after. Invoking feelings of happiness and release from those pesky inhibitions causes one to have a cloudy yet instantaneously gratifying sense of accomplishment when these thoughts of meaning arise.

There is something to be said for this immediate quittance, having the ability of freeing one’s mind to ponder the causality of said needs to ponder the meaning of our actions. History’s greatest thinkers are drawn to this self imposed and yet artificial method, forcibly brining themselves into that state of mind. By placing oneself into such a state of simulated being allows the mind’s eye to be pried open, permitting the individual to catch momentary glimpses of the darkest, neglected corners of emotion that hang over each one of us. It is through this technique that the layman may ponder the thinker’s inclinations of self appraisal that even the most ignorant mind can find some sort of personal meaning in, even if completely divergent from the initial intent.

Humans have always searched for a sense of implication in their day to day lives. The issues that can arise from such ponderings are by default very personal. Some can feel insulted by notions that go against the grain of their own supposed personal development. Most times this can be chalked up to misguided ideals passed onto them by other uninformed romanticized selfish figures from history, supporting their demanding beliefs. On the other hand the very act of recording these observations, regardless of the methods of concentration, can be beneficial to the unity of the individual’s place in humanity. Different schools of thought are primarily crucial in widening scopes of introspective and the subsequent inclusions it can offer. This enveloping of all purposes can also create tensions in the group. But said strain’s overlying significance is the very lesson itself. Overlapping all paths and ways of life has potential to teach respect for each and every method of contemplation, which could very well be the catalyst for acceptance and understanding.

Mankind can benefit from a synergy of all types of self contemplation. This can be seen in the great leaps of technological advancement throughout our entire history, not to mention the continuation of deep thought. Those individuals who strive for leaps in personal growth can be lead astray by the inabilities of authoritative figures and their supposed guidance. But again, these qualms by such figures can be traced back to their individualized experience in the matters of what it truly means to be human.

The question of what it means to contemplate can be mused over by looking back through the course of human cognitive development. Many theories exist on the simple necessities that had a hand in shaping the way our minds work, but few touch on how our early essential needs formed catalysts that inadvertently produced an overlying desire to alter ones consciousness. This could have truly brought about the very method, not to mention desire, to ponder. There exists simple yet fantastically theories that, in this student’s opinion, hold a metaphorical candle to the circumstances potentially to blame for our mind’s capability of experiencing reality outside the rudimentary survivals of nature. The Stoned Ape Theory by the biological anthropologist Terence McKenna crudely offers up a completely viable explanation as to why we have a natural inclination to alter our perceptions when seeking development of the answers to existence that lie beyond our understanding.

People collectively pine away for the seemingly unobtainable realizations of why we are here to live the lives that we do. In this pursuit we use methods of altering our consciousness whose subtle benefits are lost in a sea of release, submerging the very need that called for meditation to begin with.

The View from Uncertainty

I could start with a question. That usually sets the mood of speculation, and contemplation. But it really doesn't grab the reader’s attention unless they happen to already find themselves in that state of mind. It’s a hit or miss strategy, so I think I’ll skip it all together.

I have recently been thinking on the simplest of social interactions. They tend to hold the most weight in day to day life. These little impressionable moments can take up most of your time that could be better spent daydreaming. I find myself playing out those situations in my head with different outcomes each time. In retrospect it seems so trivial; I can’t change what’s happened. And who’s to say that that moment holds any sort of significance to anyone but me anyway? I can only speculate what the other person actually thought, and even that is based off of my own preconceived notion of them. I've already made up my mind and now I’m just arguing with myself. As if reflection can actually change the past. All of what has happened can effect is what will happen next. But that is up to me.

I think most of my longing comes from a feeling loneliness. Now, I must clarify, I am by no means necessary alone. I am surrounded by a proud, loving wife, a supportive family, and friends that remind me of where I come from. In that area I am a rich man. But in my thoughts I am alone. I turn to the internet like some sort of exile broadcasting a transmission in hopes that someone will take notice. I ponder the need to be heard and from there I find myself concluding that selflessness is a double edged sword. I wouldn't force anyone to take heed but in that humility the soul is left lacking. Desire can lead to doubt and therein lies the precarious edge of abysmal fear.

So take the chance, chase down your dreams and make them submit to your will. BE the person you've always wanted to be. Don’t let those moments of opinionated impressionable doubt lead to your procrastination. Resentment is all that will come of it.

Mongrel

she a stranger; parasitic
he's vulnerable and injured
he's dying, day after day
why can't i care for him

whimpering at the alpha
that's all i'm doing
craving servitude
leaving the rescue delayed

i won't come in time
it will be too late
his bark is the allowance
forcing me to stay

i could yip and yelp
appeal to his heart
but he is content
begging for scraps from the table

so i sulk
tail between my legs
pining for his attention
reluctant to chase my own tail

Stress

All I did was question

I never expected this response

Like a cornered animal 

Snapping at any approach

The query was one of emphasis

Responsibilities paramount

If not for stability, 

Then for convention

But care must be taken

When maintaining assurances

Accountability must fall evenly

Like soft rain on a cold night

So I back away from the beast

Repressing concerns

Waiting for quiet to return

Allowing an angry sun to set

And, we're back.

I'm starting a blog back up. The goal is to drip my melting ideas into a bowl of water and see what shape they take.

"I wanna live, I wanna love, but it's a long hard road out of hell."
-SP&MM