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¡Hola, mi escalvos leales y devotos! (Oops, did I say that out loud?)
This is a bit of a personal rambling, so it may bunny trail all over the place before getting to anywhere of substance. Or, in a less likely manner, it may stick rigidly to some backbone of some organized structure. So let me begin, then, with the meat topic of this: I'm dating my best guy friend, someone very dear and close to me that has stayed by my side through the thick and thin of life for many lovely months. He's charming, compassionate, and most undoubtedly an ENFJ. Ooh, and he loves pasta!
So, you may be asking, how did this happen? I have become the object of my own scorn; where I had professed that long-lasting and self-defeating affections were for the futile of intellect and lacking in any competent self-sufficiency, I am becoming a martyr of my own heart's intentions. Alas, poor heart. And how did he amass the gumption to ask the intimidating me to be his girlfriend, even after I nearly gave him a concussion?! (But that's another story)

Well. Let's just say that it all stated back at the movie party where we first met. Now, please keep in mind that it was a sweltering hot, dry county fair day. It was absolutely torrid outside; like the air was screaming for moisture though the rickety shrieks of creaking carnival coasters and the crunching of the coarse grass beneath trampling footsteps. Honestly, everything about me looked like trash. So I walk in there, late, it's a stuffed full party I would never have ventured into unaccompanied willingly; and I'm all timid holding my box of doughnut holes. We call this, "doughnut diplomacy". It's used to buy friends.

I didn't really set out wanting to talk to anyone.... I just sat down with my soda and my pizza and surveyed the room.

That, of course, was when I met him. There were, also involved, a few scenes from water balloon fights...

And after the movie, when I broke down into sobbing hysterics (Do your Notebook references fail you now, Cody?)

But by the end of that night, I began to feel suspiciously fluttery and elated.

So what was I to do, knowing that I was absolutely, positively DOOMED to start liking him sooner or later?!

...

Alright! I was finally getting to somewhere with that one >:3 Although, throwing that fake snow on him probably helped. Maybe. Ish. We'd been friends for a little while, but nevertheless, I was shocked when he agreed to come. And.... we swing danced. Unfortunately, as he'll tell me, I was too busy critiquing his footwork to notice him falling for me.

I had dragged along another guy friend, of what-- six years now? -- So it wouldn't be a date. They did a coin toss to see who would have to slow dance with me, which I brazenly manipulated by the way, and the lot fell on him. It should be noted that I am not above saying, "You tossed it wrong, that wasn't fair" several times until the desired result came about. Heck, if you know you're going to like someone eventually, you better but in the mega efforts early on to make sure it'll be requited. Life is a journey inscribed with little lessons of "know thyself", and the lesser known, albeit wildly important, "know thy type".

But come the slow dance itself, I made a fatal error. I looked up.

Flash forward a few weeks.

Flash forward to Halloween. We went dressed as Alpha and Omega angelic assassins; he was day and I was night. He also smashed pumpkin pie in my face, partly in retaliation for the whipped cream (Alright, I confess. I totally started it). It was pretty fun :D We also both had swords... So he wins, hands down, for creative costume ideas.
Flash forward to November.

Annnnnnnd December......

January.....

February....

March.... I go over to his house pretty often. We cook together, watch movies, play video games. One time, we both got food poisoning from some chicken that he neglected to pan-sear before putting in the oven. I'll keep teasing him about that, but at least we got to stay in and watch Interstellar.

And April. By this time, we're talking every day, confiding in each other with all those weird quirks and somewhat concerning childhood stories, our hopes, fears, trials... supporting through every up and down that comes our way. He's endured, by this point, seven accidental groin shots and a near concussion. I don't know how that boy manages.

Some time about a week ago, he came over to my house to visit my little sisters (who absolutely adore him) and meet some of my extended family. We watched a movie, he gotten bitten by my sassy conure, I made popcorn without burning it for the first time-- that last one may have had something to do with everyone chanting and cheering me on. Stressful. 

And he asks my dad for a private talk....

There he is, everybody. My Dad, the comedian. (He's probably been waiting to use that one since I was four)

Cody decided to take about a week, a little more, for spiritual meditation on the subject.... And then, finally, as I'm at the edge of my seat, queries me as to if it would be okay to ask me to be his girlfriend on his birthday. Just so I don't feel pressured. D'aww... Well....

Come that day, I'm so jittery that I can hardly move. He's so anxious that he stutters as he asks me, stumbling over every word, the one question we've been thinking on for a while now. 

No one should ever give me prep time. It gives me a little too much creative room.

Given the way we met, a card trick, I decided to play a little spin on his favorite card-- the two of hearts. Of the many, many magical spectacles in existence, there is a certain one that goes a little something like this: The spectator observes an overturned card atop the deck.... Let's say, for example, the eight of clubs. Once the card is turned over to face the same direction as the rest of the deck, the magician rubs the deck under his palm. Withdrawing it, he turns the top card again-- Viola! Jack of diamonds! This second card was underneath the eight of clubs; during the rubbing, the top two cards are switched.
This simple card trick was the back of my plot. I rigged my deck to contain TWO two of hearts cards... the first was blank, normal. The second, which would later be switched to the top, had a little something extra written on it.

He asks haltingly, "W-will you be my girlfriend?" I smile and pull out a deck of cards.

The sad fact of the matter is, my hands are just too small and cold to even begin to perform actually slight-of-hands, even something as simple as a card switch maneuver. Therefore, I had to settle for something of a little less grandeur-- "misdirection"**

And that, is the story of how I became the luckiest girl in the world. I'm blessed with an amazing, empathetic, strong, godly best friend..... Oh, alright. And boyfriend.

Oh yes, shippers. It did "finally" happen x3

**Technically, though, he says he knew exactly what trick I was going to pull and knew I couldn't accomplish it unless he turned aside to give me time for a manual switch. That's a complete and utter lie and you know it, Cody. You're just jealous of my amazing ideas xP

Sausage and Macaroni Bake

Prep time: 25 minutes, unless you can't find any of the ingredients and have to work out some major improv, in which case, 50.
Cook time: 30 minutes

1 lb. bulk chorizo sausage (Mild?! No way)
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 medium union, finely chopped
1 bell pepper, finely chopped
1 1/2 almond milk
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
8oz package of macaroni or other small pasta, then cooked and drained
Chopped mushrooms, added to your heart's content (and then cleverly disguised, since your Mom hates mushrooms)


Crumble the sausage into a skillet, making sure to actually remove that tight plastic coating so you don't burn the house down, etc. Add the chopped onions and green pepper; cook on medium heat until almost cooked through. Add the mushrooms and then continue cooking. Drain excess fat.

 Gradually add the almond milk and cook over a low heat, stirring often or constantly, until thickened. Stir in the cooked macaroni and 2 cups cheese. Cook until the cheese melts and the macaroni is tender.

Pour this mixture into a heavily buttered casserole dish and sprinkle most of the remaining cheese on top. Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes, or until the cheese begins to turn a golden brown color.

Once the casserole is removed from the oven, sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top and allow it to melt.

 Viola!

Dust to Dust: Analysis of Out of the Silent Planet

CS Lewis shoves at us, time and time again, complex allegories that would rival even the most profound musings of Thales; even him, the supposed founder of Grecian sciences, might not level the heavens to the gentle reaches of the earth so, with such artistry of tact and grace. Rather than number the days in a year, he redefines time. Rather than predict the olive market, he would present an intricate understanding of mankind's interworking. And rather than measure an impossible shadow; he might capture light itself.

Out of the Silent Planet is no exception. It is all mirth but plenty matter, forcing readers to introspect until their minds collapse; to choke on harsh critiques of their own nature until they vomit, and then thrusts it down their throats again. CS Lewis may very well have succeeded in capturing the grim undertones of existence, in symbolically expounding his philosophy, but he has never succeeded in subtlety. Perhaps, though, if he had spoken less definitely, he might not have been heard. We have, then, his brazen tongue to thank for both the severity and the grace of his profoundly poetic dialogue and whimsical scopes.

The meat of this book, then, is to be fed upon ravenously. This is no five-star radish and sauce dish that presents itself as exquisite but is merely inedible; it is put before us as a supper of necessity. It was not meant to be sampled, but to be devoured in its entirety. Such passages as those he offers should not be picked at daintily. He cooks it as a dinner so hearty that it would make the thickest of men feel themselves empty after every meal following. But enough of this appraisal!


WARNING:: SPOILERS AHEAD!

What I find most intriguing about this book is, in fact, a sum of several points-- centering around Ransom's decision to leave Malacandra, and the tumultions of his mindset following the ascent from this foreign world. A brief assessment of CS Lewis's blatantly worn theologies will attest to his motives in writing most (if not all) of his novella-- therefore, it can very well be theorized that, in this system of Maledil over Oyarsa over eldil over hnau over beast; Maledil is an allegorical portrayal of God, and that this "bent" Oyarsa would be Satan in all his rich darkness. Eldils, the beings of light, would be heavenly attendants-- angels. And the ever questionable Thulcandra- Earth-- the Silent Planet-- may be bent down to the cracks in its soil, producing only withered virtues. The "Lord of this World" is a very charismatic one, persuasive in every tongue. He bends the soul but seldom shatters it beyond use or repair.

Oyarsa are set as the governs over the souls of a world, expressing their dominion only as justice would see fit, only as balance and the decrees of nature would dictate, only so far as it were rightly given them, chiefly out of respect for the sanctity of that which is not their own belonging. From this platform, CS Lewis launches us into the complex parable that is not laced with words faute de mieux, but weighed and weaved with throbbing force into a reader's conscious.

At the end there are gleaned some principle aspects of the hnau-- souls, one could call them. This word, hnau, is similar in structure to several other terms of the Hrossan language, comparing forms of landscapes; leading me to believe that it could quite literally derive from roots meaning "of the earth". In the Biblical book of Genesis, man is said to have risen from the dust of the Earth. Formed from the blood of our planet; "First were the darker, then the brighter. First were the worlds' blood, then the suns' blood…" Then comes the Oyarsa, plainly contrasting in its meaning: the intelligence, the spirit, of a heavenly sphere. Something quite transcending, then, of the earth itself. The soul of a planet. Etymology aside, one of the final, most poignant scenes of this book offers us a picture of the virtues cast aside in man's eternal quest to satisfy himself.

There may used to have been more consuming our minds than fear, death, and gluttonous desire; filling up instead with dulcet virtues such as pity, honesty, capacity for guilt, love of one's own kind, and so much beyond-- but under the weight of war, of slavery, of rape, of such things we dare not speak of out of shame for our own race; these virtues are crushed under man's heavy footstep. There are people starving who could very well be fed and given water if not for the steely walls of politics that triumph over human suffering. There are wars capable of giving way to peace and prosperity, if mercy chipped away the divides of pride and gave us back our humanity.

We are only contented by that which we do not have. A culture of hedonism leads us to believe that every pleasure is fruitful only in the now, and all the produce of the tree must be gobbled up before others have taken. There is no balance, no concern for the lives begotten after our own extents on this Earth; only a systematic moral decay declaring that all the world can go to fire and brimstone after we ourselves are gone from it. We cannot live for a future of pleasure, always crying for cravings of the next moment and never this one. We cannot truly revel in a memory if we beg it to return to the present. I urge you to believe, to realize that none of us now are truly content in our joy. So is the warped nature of man, always on climax, always aspiring to something greater, insomuch that we can never come to peace. All that man requires for happiness is to be "healthy in his body, easy in his circumstances, and well-instructed as to his mind". Instead we see the hungry and do not feed them, do not heal the sick, do not teach the unlearned, do not rescue the refugees, do not clothe the needy; are not moved within a speck of compassion to our fellow man. We must work ourselves into the ground until to dust we do return.

It is this knowledge, with these inescapably set virtues, that Ransom decides to risk the meeting of his mortality to return to the home he once though barren of anything to offer him. For, he says, "If I cannot live in Thulcandra, it is better for me not to live at all."

Oyarsa tells him he has chosen correctly.

There is the moment, then, when Malacandra ceases being an intimate thing of beauty and transforms, once again, into the reddened orb of Mars. With a broadened perspective, it is almost impossible to believe that such vitality, such wisdom could be so pursuant on a planet already named, already seen, already a component of such fanciful literature as no one could believe. We feel Ransom's paradigm shift and, almost, his inability to cope the global value, the shock of it-- Malacandra and Mars have become two separate entities in his mind, repelling each other like water to oil.

CS Lewis is, in fact, suggesting that Mars could have this life; however, it is not for scientific debate, but it is for this paradigm shift that he did not select some far away world on which to base this society. It is to make us consider the bearings of our universe, to dismay our philosophical presuppositions. The end is meant to merge fiction with fact; to convince the reader that anything he has gleaned as tokens of wisdom are just as real as if they had journeyed with Ransom himself. And in a way, through eloquent wit and prose of word, beauty printed on these pages..... they have.

Buy the book at its page on Amazon! 

What's coming up next?
So glad you asked! I've got my very own sketch of the inhabitants of the planet Xodus, and a bit of a narration on self help books. You'll also be seeing some crazy recipes that I'm inventing just for the heck of it; most of them terrifying to even the least squeamish of eaters.

xoxo
Julia

A Most Delicate Monster

Caliban; one of Shakespeare's most complex and ambiguous characters; deformed, instinctive, malevolent… and misunderstood. He is the only inhabitant of the island not to take a human form, a distortion that extends well beyond his physical appearance: "as disproportioned in his manner as in his shape". Left alone on the island after the death of his mother, he is befriended by Prospero, trained by him, taught language and for a short time, it seemed, remained in his favorable company. Through a combination of circumstances gone unmentioned by the play, Caliban seeks to "defile the honor of [Miranda]", which prompts Prospero to cast him out of kindness; riddling him with agonizing pain and enslavement. Realizing he has been brought into servitude on the island he believes to be inherently his own, Caliban turns to his more instinctive and violent tendencies and plots to usurp Prospero. Though it may seem strange, I find in more ways than one I identify with Caliban.

Unusual, it might seem, that I align myself so much with this monster so many believe to be a cursing, malignant, and brutish villain. But a closer look reveals the link to have much deeper symbolical meaning. But first, a few reasons why you might believe Caliban to be the sluggish, malignant monster many have portrayed him as. Of course, the most pressing issue is the several-times mentioned actions of Caliban that brought him dangerously close to "defiling [Miranda's] honor", which, of course, you can assume what that means. But when we take a look at how Miranda is portrayed in the original play and other since adaptations of it, there begins to shine a different light on the subject of Caliban's debated villainy. 

In particular, the version of The Tempest that our Shakespeare class was watching, Miranda was headed down the same path with Ferdinand… that is to say, Ferdinand was also going to 'defile her honor', per sae, before they were married; and Miranda was in full compliance. The only difference being, that Prospero was more in support of this relationship, as opposed to Caliban. Mayhap because Ferdinand was more worthy, or a prince? Perhaps Caliban did have softer feelings for Miranda, and he took the blunt of Prospero's wrath in a similar situation. This isn't to say that Caliban's actions were entirely justified. However, I think he is entitled to more merciful and just treatment than that which Prospero gives him.

With this perspective, Prospero being somewhat interested in the status Ferdinand offered, it is easy to see Prospero as being someone who would act in syrupy kindness towards Caliban until a point where Caliban would begin to trust him. Then, Prospero gained control of the island by forcing Caliban into slavery with both physical and psychological abuse. With a 21st Century mindset, we can compare Caliban's situation to that of the victims of European colonization. In a broader sense, Caliban stands for the countless injured parties of European imperialism and injustice; those who were disinherited, exploited, and subjugated. Like him, the learned a conqueror's language and perhaps even some of their values; and like him, they endured enslavement and contempt from their usurpers and eventually rebelled. Like him, they were torn between indigenous culture and culture superimposed on them.

Caliban is berated several times for being one angst and cursing, but many neglect to notice that Prospero (or Miranda, depending on which version of the play you are reading) was the one who taught him language. Would he have learned culture-specific swear words in a language he was not by birth raised up in? I think not. Quoting section 1.2.24 of the play, in which Prospero (or, again, Miranda) says 

[...] I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like

A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes

With words that made them known. But thy vile race,

Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures

Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

Deservedly confined into this rock,

Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

In other words, Prospero suggests that Caliban's "vile" race and lack of language makes him deserving of the status of a slave. Hmmm, isn't this exactly what the European imperialist philosophy was? When Caliban declares "This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother"  we are reminded that Prospero effectively took over the island and made Caliban his slave. 

Whilst Caliban is coarse, vulgar, and misshapen, his speech differs from that of Shakespeare's other rogues in that his speech contains a remarkable amount of passages in verse- an inspiring and poetic form normally reserved for noble and dignified heroes. For example, in this passage where he describes the inflictions set upon him by Prospero:

            All the infections that the sun sucks up

            From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him

            By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me

            And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,

            Fright me with urchin–shows, pitch me i’ the mire,

            Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark

            Out of my way, unless he bid ‘em; but

            For every trifle are they set upon me;

            Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me

            And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which

            Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount

            Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I

            All wound with adders who with cloven tongues

            Do hiss me into madness.”

In another, he speaks of the island homeland he feels he has been robbed of, and produces some of the most beautiful and stirring imagery in the whole play:

 “Be not afraid, the isle is full of noises,

            Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.

            Sometimes a thousand twanging instruments

            Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices,

            That if I then had waked after long sleep,

            Would make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,

            The clouds methought would open, and shew riches

            Ready to drop upon me: when I wak’d,

            I cried to dream again.”

Caliban seized upon the ability to articulate his sense of identity and sensitivity to his treatment as something incredibly humanizing. It's this delicate, poetic side that I have combined with my own experiences to produce what I believe is Caliban's true self, underneath the monstrous exterior and bitter angst. Caliban reminded me of what it feels like to be someone alienated, someone who has set themselves at a distance and underneath a shell of anger to avoid being hurt again. If you don't fit in, people treat you differently; they are harsh with their words and with their hands and some may deceive you outright for their own personal gain. They try to tear away your inner strength and you right to feel loved. When you are told that you are credulous, stupid, ugly, slow, sub-normal, even vile… you start to become it. Because you think that's all the identity you can have. I think it was the same for Caliban.

Caliban gives us a concept difficult to grasp and painful to think about. Despite being the least human appearance-wise, deep down he has suffered pains whose crippling agony most of us suffer on a daily basis. Like all of us, he has made mistakes and continued to make mistakes. He has plotted, been plotted against, and more than once fallen under deceit. To some he is a villain and to others he is not, and things aren't perfect for him in the end. In a way, Caliban is like each of us. 

Perhaps it is the decay of our own sense of self-worth that leads us to toss the mirror aside in fear and to resent Caliban for the allegory he so portrays.

^A portrayal of Caliban in one production of Shakespeare's The Tempest

On the Essence of A Priori in Metaphysics

A priori is an existence of knowledge transcending our experiences. It would be like knowing what the world looks like with a fourth physical dimension or seeing the composite of color without ever having seen, or even without knowing you were supposed to see. It is unfathomable. It is not the speculation, but the knowing of what you cannot know. It is the inexplicable understanding that reaches beyond one's capacity for thought.

And it is what we all aspire to; in our quest for the great and godly recognition of the universe's purpose and intent.  We cannot truly know until we rise above the limits of what we are able to know, to grasp; until we break free of the boundaries of thought. This takes a kind of a priori conceivably only existence of immortal omniscience, a discernment of the interworkings of matter and non-matter that is completely out of the grasp of erred human thought. The only way we may reach beyond the mind to take hold of a knowledge that is not ours, that we cannot comprehend, and to begin to unwind it; is to accept the omnidirectional transmittance of a metaphysical being; the One collection of thought and matter that excels our limited experience.

The possession of a priori is not in our knowing, but in an omissible knowing that is not ours. And even then, it is beyond our perception; much like the blind who have never seen still cannot see what is described to them; what light, what color; and the qualities of language and its interpretation are lost to the inevitable void and nonexistence of an explanation that cannot be identified nor interpreted.

Until language and its cognizance are perfect in understanding, we will never be able to take hold of the experiences and reason of the world beyond us. We will never reach into the indefinable nature of what we do not know and cannot understand. We are an abyss of thought; our unique perceptions lost to the wind or sunk into the sea. We desert the earth, deprive it at our death, leaving with a substantial feeling of après moi le déluge. What we try to convey fades and is crackled, encoded; becoming lost in the unreachable enigma of interpretation. We, as humans, cannot fathom the nature of a priori. And until our language is perfected and every heart understood, until God himself reaches out from infinite dimension, we never will.

Could you describe time to someone who had never experienced it?

*Theories based in part on moral points addressed by Immanuel Kant's Judgments*

Jonathan, Fly Home!

Some Ramblings to do with Skepticism, Dogma, and Perfection in the Book by Richard Bach

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is arguably the most manifestly allegorical book ever published and certainly the most emblematic one involving seagulls. It focuses, first, on the importance of growth unabashed of dishonor; secondly, the impossible idea of achieving perfection through transcending our physical limitations of reality; in the third part, the worthlessness of knowledge when it is not transmitted, when those intellectuals who have acquired it refuse to convey their awareness to those considered more lowly; finally, the inability of the blindly obsequious to attain more than a mere feeling of safety in performed duty, and the need of skepticism to achieve true spiritual enlightenment.

Jonathan's teachings, attesting to the value of the unorthodox and immaterial, soon morph into something surprisingly cult-like; a medium that makes him more a god than a teacher and, therefore, his knowledge unable to be truly heard nor comprehended. He is lost to the worship of the masses and his perception is entirely forsaken.

As horrifyingly catastrophic as this decay is, it is the perfect allegory for the human condition in our constant vertigo of existence. We are torn between the faithful stability of dogma, tradition; and the brutally grueling, yet satisfying progress towards enlightenment. Reason must rise from the ashes of its own destruction; and as soon as the teachings of reason are revered, they are once for engulfed in flame. The perfect portrayal of reason, then, is a phoenix in seagull's clothing. And it must be painstakingly reborn in a cycle of generations. If we would only learn to live in curiosity, to journey through the ramblings of our own paths; instead of blindly submitting to a religious reverence of epiphanies past! We could learn a thousand lifetime's worth in one. Progress would not be so harrowingly stripped down, nor would it be limited to gradual, tipsy steps, nor would it be confined to perfection!

Now, wait, pause a second. Doesn't this book directly state, "Our purpose for living is to find that perfection and show it forth"? Doesn't it shout from its very pages, that perfection has no limits?! It does, and more. But through the paradoxical character Chiang are highlighted the imperfections of "perfection". The mere struggle towards perfection is arguably the most pretentious and futile goal of all. For one thing, the course towards perfection will be sabotaged by failures; riddled with these malfunctions all the way through. If we consider the arrival, not the journey, to perfection to be of the solitary importance; we have already failed. Any point in time or space could be considered an attempt at perfection. If we have failed even once, we are tarnished in our attempts. If we are tarnished, we are wholly unable to be perfect in and of ourselves. "Ex ficus ficum"-- figs from fig trees. We produce what we are. If we have at any point produced imperfection, we ourselves are imperfect.

One could argue, then, that perfection is subjective. However, that statement defeats the logic of its own intended purpose. If perfection is subjective, anyone may believe that I have already achieved it. Therefore, I have no need to strive towards its discovery.

Finally, let's take a look at the effects of this so-called perfection on Chiang himself, based on the description of his reaction to Jonathan's transcendence of the material-- "utterly unimpressed". He has lost his joy in perfection! What is, then, perfection's purpose? It does not satisfy curiosity, nor enable growth. It is the terminal velocity of existence, only surpassable once realized to be yet another limitation of the possible.

No, then, it is not perfection that we should seek out. It is the human desire, but not the human need. Our souls crave the possible-- which, more than perfection, is set with infinite limits. Whereas perfection is rooted in the arrival, possibility is joyous in the journey. This is why it enables us to achieve more; because we never succeed in defining the limits of it.

And so we conclude with a statement of our world today: We are "hemmed now with authority and ritual… strapped now to strangle freedom." I urge you, friends, teachers, fellow travelers on this cosmic journey; not to chain yourself to the worship of perfection, but to set yourself free to the torrents of possibility. And in doing so, you will achieve more than could ever be imagined.

Curious?

Order the book now at its page on AmazonSmile

November 16th Photo

Get this.... it's a picture, of a picture!!
Some time back I decided that it would be a fabulous  idea to paint a mural on the walls of the room, and despite numbered wars with procrastination, I have triumphed! So it begins!

I shall keep you updated, be there progress or non-progress! <3

Some Common Catchphrases and Also Kind of an Apology

Oh my gosh, you guys.
So, my last post was in May-- forget that "post once a day" crap.
Well, sorry about that. Can I make it up to y'all with an open question inbox?
On my obnoxious Tumblr account I've got a list of questions that are open for submission; aka "all about the INFP at your request". If you'd like to send a request for any, email me at jrd.ahg@gmail.com :D

• 1) if you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?
• 2) grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.
• 3) what do you think about most?
• 4) what does your latest text message from someone else say?
• 5) what's your strangest talent?
• 6) girls.... (finish the sentence); boys.... (finish the sentence)
• 7) ever had a poem or song written about you?
• 8) when is the last time you played the air guitar?
• 9) do you have any strange phobias?
• 10) ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?
• 11) what's your religion
• 13) if you are outside, what are you most likely doing?
• 14) do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?
• 15) simple but extremely complex. favorite band?
• 16) what was the last lie you told?
• 17) do you believe in karma?
• 18) what does your url mean?
• 19) what is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?
• 20) who is your celebrity crush?
• 21) how do you vent your anger?
• 22) how do you flirt?
• 23) do you have a collection of anything?
• 24) do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?
• 25) are you happy with the person you've become?
• 26) what's a sound you hate; sound you love?
• 27) what's your biggest "what if"?
• 28) do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens?
• 29) stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? do the same with your left arm.
• 30) smell the air. what do you smell?
• 31) what's the worst place you have ever been to?
• 32) choose east coast or west coast?
• 33) most attractive singer of your opposite gender?
• 34) to you, what is the meaning of life?
• 35) define art.
• 36) do you believe in luck?
• 37) what's the weather like right now?
• 38) what time is it?
• 39) what was the last book you read?
• 40) do you like the smell of gasoline?
• 41) do you have any nicknames?
• 42) what was the last movie you saw?
• 43) what's the worst injury you've ever had?
• 45) have you ever caught a butterfly?
• 46) do you have any obsessions right now?
• 47) ever had a rumor spread about you?
• 48) do you believe in magic?
• 49) do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?
• 50) what is your astrological sign? does it mean anything to you?
• 51) do you save money or spend it?
• 52) what's the last thing you purchased?
• 53) in love?
• 54) in a relationship?
• 55) how many relationships have you had?
• 56) can you touch your nose with your tongue?
• 57) where were you yesterday?
• 58) is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?
• 59) are you wearing socks right now?
• 60) what's your favorite animal?
• 61) what is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?
• 62) where is your best friend?
• 63) what is your heritage?
• 64) what were you doing last night at 12 am?
• 65) what do you think is satan's last name?
• 66) are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?
• 67) you are walking down the street on your way to work. there is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. what do you do?
• 68) you are at the doctor's office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) what do you do with your remaining days? c) would you be afraid?
• 69) you can only have one of these things; trust or love.
• 70) what's a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?
• 71) what are the last four digits in your cell phone number?
• 72) in your opinion, what makes a great relationship?
• 73) how can i win your heart?
• 74) can insanity bring on more creativity?
• 75) what is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?
• 80) what size shoes do you wear?
• 81) what would you want to be written on your tombstone?
• 82) what is your favorite word?
• 83) give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.
• 84) what is a saying you say a lot?
• 85) what's the last song you listened to?
• 86) basic question; what's your favorite color/colors?
• 87) what is your current desktop picture?
• 88) if you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?
• 89) what would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?
• 90) one night you wake up because you heard a noise. you turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by mummies. the mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. what do you do?
• 91) you accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. they were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! what is that power?
• 92) you can re-live any point of time in your life. the time-span can only be a half-hour, though. what half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
• 93) you can erase any horrible experience from your past. what will it be?
• 94) you just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. you have to depart right now. where are you gonna go?
• 95) do you have any relatives in jail?
• 97) have you ever thrown up in the car?
• 98) ever been on a plane?
• 99) if the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

Yes, I do recognize that some were missing. It's a test. *obvious winking*
On my Tumblr, I've already got a request from my favorite mutual--

Hi Cody(:

Some undepicted but also important catchphrases:

• Hello, Sweetie.
• Well, aren't you a fun little lollipop triple dipped in psycho
• NO WAIT COME BACK I LOVE YOU
• did you just-
• Are you an angel? 'Cus i won't blink....
• rude.
• Was it das??!
• Get in loser, we're going shopping
• right in the feels!
• THIS SHIP WILL NOT SINK

That about sums it up(:
If you'd like to see some more little quibbles or possibly a bunny trail story, email me a number! I'll respond to all of 'em.


xoxo, Your Mostly Friendly INFP

Let's Hear It For Procrastination!

Remember when I said my goal was to post on here daily?
Yeah, that didn't work out.

From a procrastinatory standpoint, this blog has been wildly successful!

Unfortunately for the purposes of actually writing said blog, however, I happen to excel in the fine art of pushing off my obligations and forgetting my leisure commitments... even the online ones. It's an uncanny ability few possess, and I'm proud to brand myself a slave to the all-powerful force of Procrastination.

Allow me to elaborate by telling you the story of how I published a book with multiple grammatical flaws because I was simply too lazy to expend time on the computer to complete it.





So this one time I was telling a bedtime story to my sister.

Apparently it was an okay story.

Now, it happened to be the very eve of when I had a creative writing assignment due; in which I was supposed to elaborate on a well-known fairy tale or fable to lengthen it to a descriptive two pages. But, seeings how I had neglected to do said assignment and coincidentally came up with a  workable story line, I felt I should actually complete my homework.

I locked myself in my bedroom and began the strenuous writing process. 

I wrote until I died.
Sort of.

Several times.

Until, at last, I had it all down on paper.

The next day was fairly uneventful. We all turned in our meager reports.

My eighty three pages of entire dedication and devotion was apparently a little too much.

The fairly eventful part of the day came when I happened to glimpse another student shifting through a stack of paper- MY WORK!

What was I to do?! She'd hate it! I would be disgraced- ruined- exiled from the creative writing community!

I bravely approached her.

Her response, however, was quite unexpected.

Eventually, after showing it to a couple more friends, I decided that I might be interested in publishing my work.

It wasn't an arduous task to type up the book, but the more I edited the longer it expanded to be! I was intent on the laborious joy.

Luckily, I had tea to aid me through the long nights.

At last, my work of glory was completed!

And I had a fabulous pen name.

I designed a cover,

Compiled my striking autobiography, 

Submitted my work, got it approved, and was overly ecstatic at these new developments.

And from that moment on, equipped with the mighty pencil, I was an author.

At sometime, however, my happiness shattered with the suddenly apparent realization that I would have to go back and edit my work for typois. Which ai maek alot ov,

Now, if you've never edited a novel before, you may be unaware of the soul-wrenching horror it is. 

And I, in my naïve innocence for the horrors that awaited me, eagerly began to work.

I resolved to work on it the next day.
And the next day; the day after that.

People began to ask me when my book would be available in print.

This was when the almighty power of procrastination firmly took hold.

See, the problem with procrastination is that the more you succumb to it, the stronger and more irresistible to latch onto it is. The guilt of missing one day, for example, can cause you to avoid the same commitment the next day. And the next and the next and the next until you are completely overwhelmed by what you've procrastinated and can no longer function as a productive human being as you just give up entirely and allow yourself to be consumed by the guilt.

To this day, I've never quite finished the edits in that book. I highlight all the errors...it drives me crazy every time I open it!

That's kinda my style, though. 

At the moment, I have about fifty half-finished books that will probably never be finished...


...All because I am a slave to the Procrastination.









Want a link to the book?
Email me at jrd.ahg@gmail.com