Barriers build muscle character

These fingers don't react the way I want them to. The way I want them to tell a story. It's been so long. It's been so long it's like they are angry at me for neglecting the process. The process of creation they were once use to. Muscle memory is not the memory you really think of. The process of freedom of expression. Fingers tip toe across the keys in an order they are not use to.  It's liberating to do so yet unsettling. They've missed the creation process. They've missed the warmth and comfort that the blank screen gives and the illuminated keys give. It's the honesty in purity. They've missed it and, I feel guilty for them.

I bought a desk and a chair recently. It took 8 months to get this desk and chair so I can hover above the keyboard to stretch my fingers over. Upon refection, the strain in my fingers helped me realise I needed them. 

Yet, and not too soon, I reflected upon the barriers of validation to exercise this expression. I put up barriers in the form of excuses in an attempt to justify the delay. 

There's no harm in it, it's a perfectly natural thing. We have learnt to put barriers up to protect ourselves. They come in many shapes and forms. We use them. We dispose of those in our way and, we ignore them. When they're you're own, they're that much more precious. Ever so precious. When they're your own they're just an innocent excusable barrier to oneself. Dismissible like a 6pm news piece. And that's where we draw the line. What makes our personal barriers more or less insignificant to the world around you? 

Thats a news-spot regardless, the 6pm news spot serves its purpose. The stable. The constant. With each key stroke together, each new stroke considers and begins to break down personal expectations, and we continue to break it down further, from expectations imposed on us by the language we speak to the tone. The volume. The affections. The sighs and even the highs. 

These mannerisms are a behavioural trait we cannot ignore. Where do these barriers come from? Were they our choice? Were they YOUR choice? Of course they were. Of course they were. Every decision we have made is ours: Recognise fool. 

Once we recognise the decision making process it becomes less difficult. And, it can be difficult at times. These decisions, although ill fated at times all serve their purpose for the process. Without these barriers we wouldn't have let the full course of the process run. After all, the process is yours and it should be celebrated. High 5 your friends. High 5 a stranger. Sit in a cafe and smile. All acts are displays of self. Dependant, dependant on the foregoing conclusions and challenges. 

There is no science. Only challenges. Only keys. Only spell check and sometimes shaky finger nervousness of speaking their mind. 

Monkey Bars and Mistakes Pt.1

I fucking loved the monkey bars in the playground as a kid. In my primary school there was a set that seemed larger than what was at a circus and by today’s standards, was definitely illegal. I was never a big kid. In fact I never really grew but used to hang out with the big kids. Although my size did allow for some nimble moves while playing tag on the bars it was my tongue that grew quicker than the rest. These monkey bars seemed about 10 feet off the ground and went in four directions like points on a compass. Whilst playing tag 10 ft in the air if you dropped to the ground you were immediately 'it' and the fun could only be ended by the school bell calling you back to class.

I never knew about these monkey bars before. I'd been at the school for 5 years and rarely been to this corner of the yard but while wandering aimlessly one day they appeared like a jungle gym oasis - not even ice cream cake at a McDonald's birthday party came close to these bad boys.
The discovery wasn't about the bars themselves but a group of friends that were made quickly. Sure, we had shared class before, maybe even a slice of ice cream cake here and there but they weren't the kids I would generally hang out with. These were the monkey bar kids (no relation to the 'Milky Bar Kid'). The monkey bars and the hidden pocket of the playground occupied my recess and lunch time for many weeks. Occasionally, my usual big kid friends would be drifting past during a huge school wide game of tag and stop to mock the fact I was hanging out on the bars. Kids can be so cruel.
Some time later, school camp was on the horizon and with it comes discussion on who you were going to share a room with. It was a natural choice - the monkey bar kids. It was a big day, the biggest of all. Grades 5 and 6 met in the Multi Purpose Room (used for school gym, dance hall, TV room and craft sales) for a camp briefing and to make your roomie selection official. There I sat with the monkey bar kids making and discussing plans for fart and water bomb tomfoolery when one of the big kids approached with an invitation to join their room.
There were three moments of pain that followed. The first is when I returned to the monkey bar kids to inform them of my broken promise and that I would be staying in the big kids’ room. Their feeling of betrayal was obvious. The second came on day one of camp when I walked into the big kids’ room and wished I hadn’t. I knew I was in for a long week. The third, a week after camp when I returned to the monkey bars and realised things had changed. I'd hurt my new friends and realised how my decision had become a mistake. Maybe for this story’s sake, at least it was a realisation of the type of mistake that impacts others and your relationship with them. The school bell had well? and truly rung.
Making mistakes that affect others are the hardest of all to deal with. It's not just your emotions to manage anymore but the knowledge that your actions have direct consequences on other parties and make you question what led you to that point in the first place. Once you reach that conclusion of the action process it becomes a process of acceptance in the hope to achieve forgiveness - both within yourself and the party you hurt.
We all stuff up at some point. Making mistakes is part of the growing process and unfortunately being a casualty is also. Learning from them is the hard part. And then, then you have to put that lesson into action (even harder). So what is the process of forgiveness and what is needed to achieve it?
For the victim, forgiveness of the aggressor can only come from within as you try and understand your own misjudgment and action process. As the victim you have the option of igniting an offensive flame that may never stop burning or challenge yourself to understand your aggressors’ action path and walk it with them.
From the perspective of the mistake maker, self acceptance of misjudgment is the first step to forgiveness, although this achievement may not come easily. Or does internal forgiveness manifest itself by exemplifying the lesson learned every day in your actions until it leads to the path to self redemption?
Either way, both paths to forgiveness are long and will continue to present themselves in some form, but it's whether you decide to take them. 

John Travolta metaphorical chalk struts

Ever had a dream? Not like a sleep at night kinda dream but a hope around one particular aspect of your life. Discovering various stages in the pursuit of a dream comes in varying forms and is as exciting as the dream itself. That pursuit is stressful. It's hard. It's rewarding. And, a piece of metaphorical chalk could help along the way.
I've written before about the liberation once you've realised your dream. The personal triumph it takes to say it out loud and even tell your friends that this is what you want. Big first step thats for sure! Mark it down with a piece of metaphorical chalk on the ground and start moving. Things move quickly, filled with confidence and new found mental freedom the steps become strides and sometimes John Travolta struts. Momentum builds as you start to uncover the path to your dream, the obstacles disappear quickly and soon enough you look back and you can't see that line you drew because you've come so far so quickly.
Now, standing so far away from the line it's easy to think it may not be there, that chalk on the ground faded or got covered up with new memories. It's still there and it's worth going back to take a look at. Go back over that line and rejoice in that milestone. It's important to build future faith in your abilities and that comes from reflection on past achievements. So thats cool, you had a look and got some confidence back. You now remember what you were strutting towards. Mark that point down. It's a milestone too, you've just learnt that even if you lose sight of your achievements it doesn't mean you've lost your strut.
Back on the path to dream realisation and sometimes the fear of failure starts to set in. You suddenly retreat to a slow walk again as you cautiously navigate your next steps. Self doubt is inherent and an important part of the process that must be addressed. Get that metaphorical chalk out, you are going to need it to get through this one. These are small steps as the inner battles are driven by the nearing of reality. It is just quite possible that this dream could come true and the fear of losing it to the world is over whelming. It's your dream and if it comes true it means its out of your head and real. That will result in others knowing about it and the risk of it not being yours anymore is scary. Like getting to the end of a book and wondering what your going to do next after going on an emotional roller coaster for the past few hundred pages. This is what you wanted, this dream exists to be shared. This dream was never only yours, they exist so others can enjoy them also. If they are not for others benefit than they are just goals, and goals are common. Dreams, dreams are one of a kind. This is the scary awesome fun part. Mark a line here because this will be the last one. Sorry John Travolta no chalk necessary from here on in we are only strutting! Taking it to the world was what it was meant for and it's the unknown we are in search of. We already know what life is like with them inside, we dream them, we pursue them, we strut with them and then we release them to find out why it is they came to us.
And once the dream is out, get a new piece of chalk. It's time to start over with a new one.

The English language is becoming an arthritic disease.

So wassup wit eng 2day? lol. Totes dif 2 b4 rite? n omg hav u sn tht nu app- wats wit dat? Txt tlk is wak yo!
I'm sure there is more, I know there is more but I'm happy thats all the lazy txt-lish I know. Seems with each new conversation that starts, communication as we know it dies a little. I get it, slang is a communication form that encourages familiarity and strength in relationships. I just don't get why it has to be so coded. Isn't the english language loaded enough? Slang is hard enough to understand sometimes let alone creating modern age hilogriphics. Not even Jack Kerouac made reading slang this difficult.
Rant over.

Generation 'O'

School holidays meant a few things growing up. No school (rad!), Sleep ins (sick one!) and Day time TV (booyah!). Back then you had the greats, Donahue, Ricki Lake and Sally Jessie Raphael to name a few. None of this over acted, dramatised entertain-talk junk like Dr. Phil and the notorious Jerry Springer. We had gripping television that didn't base episodes on determining whether 'Jimmy Jones ' was the father or not because no one then, and no one now gives a shit. They tackled the big issues and helped kids on school holidays wake up in the afternoon. Ricki had some funky dance moves and believed in inspiring the youth of the day, Donahue had some sweet glasses that hipsters of today envy and believed in the power of the audience and Sally believed in being the most annoying host on TV.

But we all know there was one woman who took day time television and talk shows to a new level. Her name was Oprah Winfrey and she had an empire that believed in YOU. Oprah started to shift the mood and value of day time television to programming that would usually have to be purchased in a box set of videos for 3 easy payments of $19.99. Through the power of celebrity and story telling we started to learn about Oprah, we started to learn about others and most importantly we started to learn about ourselves. She empowered us to celebrate who we were and who we could be. We bought in to the power of oneself and learnt to 'love our selves before we could love others'. This themed programming went on for years reaching across multiple generations and created a new sense of community. We kept watching and kept believing because we felt good and 'me time' was finally socially acceptable. Then, holidays were over. We went back to school, moved on with our lives, and she eventually stopped being on our TV's.

We may have stopped watching but we never stopped believing. We took what TV preached and ran away with it. From baby boomers to generations X and Y we caught the fad of putting oneself first and united to become Generation 'O'. Across the globe selfishness infectiously became the new cool and we rejoiced in doing whatever made us happy. Oprah sneezed, we caught a fad and then we spread a disease. We now see a disillusioned generation who willingly bought in to self preservation with never allowing themselves the opportunity of knowing how to value it. Happiness was placed on top of the pedestal with passion for what we saw in the mirror being the only direction to achieve first place.

I'm not saying self respect isn't important but our society is infected with a flawed sense of community that will ultimately destroy us. 'Me first' culture is crippling our knowledge of our neighbours and closing the door to societal progression. To understand passion we need to understand compassion and to do this we need to address how we got here and what's encouraging these values to infect others. Only doing what makes you happy will not make you happy. We need to experience disenchantment in all aspects of life to understand humility and humanity. The medicine is easily administered and readily available. Do what fulfils you, say 'hi' to your neighbour, don't look in the mirror so much and realise the value of second place. This may not make you happy right now nor will it be all healthy days along the way but it will ultimately lead to a greater you and potentially a greater society... free of Generation O.  

Chimneys aren't that important.

It's valentines day soon. Don't worry this isn't a sob story or a love conquers all story. It's just a story about a house and a young kid (me) who was lucky enough to discover the beauty of rebuilding at a young age.

It's started when I was 5. She meant everything and I never got over her.

We sat side by side on the floor, we sat next to each other at the table and we sat by each other in the playground. We drew, ran, laughed and complimented each other on our pure blonde hair. It was going really well, we didn't expect too much of each other and understood that we both needed our space. Like now, I was a drifter that never really stood still for too long and she was pretty popular with a subsequent busy play date schedule. So it worked. We both liked the colour blue which was a big plus for me- could have been a deal breaker. Sure, the relationship had its ups and downs. There was a period there where she had lost one of her front teeth and I wasn't physically attracted to her anymore but we worked through it.

The biggest dark patch was in the colour blue. It was a drawing project and whilst drawing my architecturally perfect house I had an important lesson in how girls were different to boys. One line at a time the house came together. My walls, door, windows, roof and chimney were all in place. I was pretty happy with the way things were looking, I'd spent a long time ensuring all the structural elements were correct and was feeling like this house was an extension of myself. As I sat staring off into space visualising how I would represent the brick work her arm creeped into my line of vision and before I knew it my masterpiece was ruined. How could she? I mean, this was the house we were going to turn 6 in and she tore it down. Three small lines reshaped the way I viewed the house, her and myself. Where my chimney once stood (parallel lines running in line with the edge of the house) was a block that no engineer would ever sign off on. It was not structurally sound which meant our relationship wasn't either. Deal breaker.

A short time later her parents had moved the family away and I never saw her again. I can't remember if we made up or not, its still too hard to think about. Its been about 25 years of wondering what could have been and if she ever learnt how to schematically interpret a chimney correctly.

It took a long time coming to grips with the loss of my house. The first cut certainly was the deepest. Accepting that loss was the foundation to rebuilding. Constructing oneself one brick at a time came with many decisions that took courage to make and consistently called to visualise the end product. It started with the walls, accepting that things had changed gave the framework to start building around. Then came the windows, it would have been easy to not let anyone see inside but its important to have some vitamin D and allow others the opportunity to see who I was. The roof provided protection and how I shaped it dictated how guarded I would be. I tried leaving the door open, I know its a little dangerous but at least I got to meet some strangers. And the chimney? I just left it unstable, its important to have a bit of character.

The brief history of ASS

Yeah sure, I've been called one. Have you? If you think you haven't, it probably means you are one. What makes a good ass hole? What makes a bad ass hole? Tone affliction for one will tell you if you're being complimented or called out. It's said that opinions are like ass holes- everybody has one. I can't help but feel that ass holes are like opinions- full of hot air.
There's many types of ass holes, they cut you off in traffic, they talk on their cell phone at the shopping counter and they call the home phone while your favourite 'Cheers' re-run is on (that Woody guy- what a character!). They can come from anywhere like a rogue hair on your arm or a dog poop in the middle of a football oval and they will most certainly put your knickers in a knot. But, why? Why do they sneak up on us at the most inconvenient of times and how can we learn to recognise the good from the bad?
Let's have a look at the good ass holes first. They're the ones that win two meat tray's in the same raffle,   they accidentally put $100 on the greyhounds instead of the gallops for it to pay $12.10 and they once got a free round from that bar tender that never gives a free shout to anyone... anyone. Good ass holes are loveable because they didn't mean it and fingers crossed it could be you one day. Walking back to the table with your tray of snags and scotch fillets you will no doubt here a laugh followed by the words "look at this ass hole". That's good right?! Of course it's good. Any time a laugh, giggle or shake of the head with a smile precedes those words you are automatically an ass hole of the good order. Let's face it- you would be more than happy to be called an ass hole for a good win on the dish lickers- you could buy that 'Cheers' box set you've had your eye on for a while now.
Now to the real ass holes. The ones we love to hate. The ones that can take your blood to a boil in a blink of an eye. I've just about had enough of these ass holes. They talked during the movie so we missed the start and they came and stood right in front of us at the gig last week. Unlike the good ass holes, bad ones are often not told. Wait a minute, that doesn't even make sense! Norm would fall off his bar stool if he knew these ass holes were getting away with it! How are they still allowed to get away with it? At what point in time did we become so polite to not tell someone they are being an ass hole but we deemed it socially acceptable to park in handicapped spaces?
Let's make a pact, we need a united front if this epidemic is to be tended to. Going forward from today we need to make examples of those who cut in line and take the last pie at the bakery or don't say 'thanks mate' for keeping the door open when exiting. Let's devise a plan or a signal to make others aware of an ass holes presence. "Excuse me everybody, we've got an ass hole here" may be too obvious but if we can't think of anything soon it will have to do. Let's all put our thinking caps on while watching 'Cheers' this week and come up with a plan, we'll call ourselves the 'Ass hole Strategy Society' (ASS). Meeting adjourned.