A Conversation with my Mind

In trying to figure out why my creative inertia disappears whenever I attempt any topic of a serious nature (or any project that requires consistency and more than an hour of effort) I decided to have a candid keyboard conversation with myself. Here it is:

"What I don’t understand is what the block is and where it comes from. I can write at will and dance across letters and topics and give the illusion of cohesion for the appropriate amount of time to appear coherent. But let me go for too long – or turn me on to a serious topic – and suddenly it’s clear I have no business being in the ring.

I’ve observed the obdurate nature and the design of the limits of my output. It’s as if a wall exists; imagine two points, one on this side, one on the other, and in between , forming the dividing line, is a wall of opacity. To see through it would take audacity and veracity of thought. It would take an attack.

I could sidestep the wall. It would be easy. Change tack, use a “workaround.” I’m sure there are many. I’m sure this has happened to others. I’m sure I could pick up a finger or two and then set them down along a keyboard and perform a search, looking to the advice of others. That works for many other parts of my life. I have consigned to the beauty of referential problem solving to find the answers to many of my problems. How to fix a broken faucet. How to make friends at a cocktail party. How to burn a hole through an ant with a magnifying glass. The answer to any of these can be found immediately.

So it follows that I could find what I need, if I wanted to. Immediately. I could find straight-forward instruction and advice on how to break a brain barrier. But that would rob my brain the ability to try and solve the problem on its own, and that’s exactly the problem. My brain needs it.

It craves that attention. That constant, pervasive thought that nothing is going to get done if I don’t do it. But existing simultaneously, the dichotomous, traitorous inkling: if I do that which needs to be done, there will be nothing left to do but wait for the next problem to come along. I would have to live in the moment. And that sounds like a risky proposition.

Given this, it is clear that what I need to do is simply convince myself that I’m being illogical and trust that the end result of my letting go of the need to have something to control will be a great and beneficial thing. To appeal to “benefits” is a crafty approach, as my personality, if not my brain, is built around the drive to acquire benefit. In that, the way I think, I think, is very primal.

But still, I refuse to step around the wall. I am not going to “knock down barriers” or “leap hurdles.” Instead, I'll “break protocol” and acknowledge the issue. The issue is: I crave the challenge but need the failure. I hold on to the failure. For if I let go of the failures: the failure to sink my teeth in, the aversion to create expectation of future perfection, the failure to failure, then I will be a whole new person.

I will suddenly be able to decide. No longer will I have to consider the opposition to each personal decision. Yes, I admit, it is vitally important to note close oppositional views in certain instances. To ignore 2^nd and 3^rd place would be to lose vital information. But in certain cases, ignorance in excellence. It is time to react. Internally, self-doubt needs to cease to exist. I need to discern the best instance of every instant and act upon that knowledge. Everything else is simply a distraction."

The Rarest Heiress

I don't want you to walk unarmed into a conversation about me. Here's the down low.

Sketch from Scratch

Teaspoon and I scratched our way through the Sketch 201 class at DSIComedy in Carrboro, NC. Each week we wrote a sketch and then went to class to get yelled at for being too racist, too sexist, or just plain unattractive. Then they took a look at what we wrote. By the end of eight weeks, our class size had dwindled to Three Kings: myself, Teaspoon, and a Brian. We performed four sketches on a Friday night to a crowd that was well attended by many of our friends. Sketch topics ranged from gay raccoons to gay ghosts to uncatchable pussies. Yeah, there wasn't much range.

Social Meat Eater

In an attempt to strengthen my online prowess and influence, I've decided to become a woman and start talking more. While that shouldn't need further explanation, I'll elaborate anyway. I found out through Klout that I wasn't where I needed to be socially. I have launched an attack on Twitter to remedy. 

The Plan? To "create."  Then "engage." Then "share." I've been historically cyclical at creation, which draws from motivation, determination, and emaciation. I usually keep my mouth to myself, but I've been opening it more and sharing opinions... whatever those are. Engaging is still an area that needs improvement. Help me out and engage on me.

The Year is Coming!

What the hell happened to 2010? I remember 2010 like it was just the other day – drafting 100 unique New Year’s texts to everyone in my phone for disbursal come 2009’s midnight. The resulting cascade of responses to my texts did wonders in kicking off last year.

Now it’s 20!! and it’s time to figure out where I mucked up last year, what I can't learn from it, and by the way, who can I contact to get a drink in this damn place?

Don’t Get Short with Me!

After deciding I wanted to get a poem published, I went online to play the role of predator. On the hunt for a place to display my writing, I went to Craigslist to take advantage of somebody, because that’s what Craigslist was created for. I quickly found a community that not only liked my poem but paid to use it. Very nice, I thought, I should do this more often. I then proceeded to add nothing more to the realm of poetry for the rest of the year.

Instead, I kept a lazy eye on the “Writing gigs” part of Craigslist, and was able to land a stint making fun of Dead Celebrities and their ridiculous propensity to aggrandize their real estate needs and overshoot the idea of “want”. That landed me some more scratch/cashflow, bringing the year’s total to $200. I am hoping to multiply that tenfold in 20!!. I've already submitted a short story for a national competition that will equal that tenfold goal if it slips through the cracks into first place. Keep your panties crossed.

Soccer and Volleyball skills

I’ve got ‘em, and you can’t have ‘em. I set a goal with Zhang it! for our team of two to become the best sand volleyball doubles team in our county. While we definitely aren’t – we had a pretty paltry record in the men’s summer league – we are well respected on the circuit as up-and-coming, piss-and-vinegar types. When Zhang it! steps onto the court, the opponents feel slow and the sand shivers. When I step onto the court, Zhang it! feels slow, my thighs quiver, and the Sun hits the snooze button.

Zhang it!: Pre-game Volleyball Warmup

I play a lot of soccer on some very good teams. This is not necessarily because I play at an elite level, but because 6-pack (Michigan Mike) is an elite goalie and I am his +1. Because I am playing with good people against great people, I have gotten much better quite quickly and fancy myself a defensive presence. What that means is up to interpretation.

Act a Fool

I helped write and then acted in a short film that represented Cisco’s North Carolina campus in a company-wide film competition for my organization (Information Technology.) We created four versions, from vanilla to X-rated, and were able to borrow the campus film studio to record as if we were important. It was quite an experience to see myself onscreen when they showed the video to our campus, especially since afterword people came up to me squinting in what I took as both diss and approval. While I’m not yet the face of Cisco, I’m definitely some lesser glanced at body part.

“Your body is speaking Spanish to me”

I lackadaisically pursued body language knowledge this last year. I took a training course at work on Communication that had a section on non-verbals and I am reading a collection of words published by a former FBI body language expert. I’ve made prolonged eye contact with several people throughout the year, but the jury is still out on how badly I creeped them out. I’ve discovered the easiest way to instantly offend someone is to tell them they have the body language of a walking stick.

You know what you are? A Homowner

Being 6-pack’s +1 has escalated my emasculation to the point of no return. Granted, when buying a house with another male, questions are sure to arise. What are your intentions with this man? Where do you get off? Who’s your interior decorator? Here’s how we answered those questions: Our intentions are intentional, we would like to buy this pool and if the house comes with it… so be it. We get off most days between 5 and 6 PM Eastern, when we take the bus we get off whenever the bus driver isn’t looking, and when we engage in interstellar spaceflight we get off when the aliens tell us to get off. And our interior decoration is determined by Science with the undying support of our parent’s favorite jeans.

We made it through the entire house purchase process without any colorful commentary. Then, when we got a check from the old homeowners to fix a few small issues, they made the check out to 6-pack and wife: Wesley King. 2010 was the year of the homowner and the year my gender was tossed into a blender and Frappéd like my ankles when I wear stilettos. 

I will next be posting my goals for 20!!, one of which is to help others complete theirs, so holla at me if you want my support!

A Pollen Lifestyle

A stealthy glance back on my original goals for 2010 yielded a steady stream of mixed results. Concerning some areas: time to celebrate! In others: Focus up and fjord.

Accomplishments:

• Wrote and acted in a short film about meetings that made it to the Chief Information Officer of my company. Show off a bit of moxy and a swatch of skin and you have a viral video that not even Jesus could ignore.
• Crafted a short poem about the darkest parts of the living room, and got paid money to let an online magazine publish it in June. Published poet? Never thought it would happen, but I wrote that it would. Thus proving that the keyboard is mightier than sworn testimony.
• Lost around 15 pounds this calendar year. How? Vietnamese martial arts, power yoga, beach volleyball, basketball and the occasional sprint down the sidewalk. Not to mention an awesome ski trip to Big Sky, Montana and a preemptive stomach purge whenever I hear “Miley Cyrus.”
• After two months of searching, finally found the trigger and pulled it on an unsuspecting house. Four bedrooms, smooth doorknobs… and an in-ground, backyard pool. Bring it on summer.

Unfortunaments:

• Mungled up my back trying to kiss a short wall with my back while flying off exercise equipment. Still trying to figure out how to set things straight. Pretending that I could snowboard a week later didn’t help the situation.
• No progress with writing at length. To see why, just look at my accomplishments. Alright now look back here at this: I, Wesley King, do promise to get better at writing every day. April is script writing month, as everyone knows, and after I finish my script I plan on rubbing up against my computer screen and creating some Kinetic Fiction.

This is for my future housemates...

Painting the Town Red

I was getting ready to be a threat; I was getting ready to consider my next plan of attack. While visiting Clemson, SC for my sister’s volleyball tournament, I took a break from life, allowing my dad to decision make like a cattle prod. The man creates his own reality, pushing into the fabric of space/time and slipping through the rips into a dimension where he is King and all that matters is family matters. He got us into a private club where he embarrassed me at pool and darts in front of the members. We slept in a van in a field full of cars in a town full of unencumbered disillusionists. I felt… feelings. You know.

Speaking of feelings, I speak of them to no one. But you may have noticed a few weeks of slippage in my blogging life, and this was due in no small part to my inability to write when I have something on my mind that I cannot/will not talk about. It just so happens that the date of my birthday closely coincides with the date of my first truly exceptional and acceptable relationship. That is all I will type on the subject.

My dad drove the two of us back to Chapel Hill from Clemson, and the partay started. As we were watching college football and sipping starter drinks, my dad looked around and noticed a severe shortage of birthday treats. Before he left for the store, he asked if anybody needed anything; Zhang it! ordered Everything bagels. An hour later, my dad walked through the door with a gallon of ice cream, a four-part cake, and about 10 bags of bagels. Either Zhang it! was speaking Engrish or my dad had never heard of everything bagels. I’m going to bet on the latter; he couldn’t decide what an Everything bagel was, so he bought everything.

Needless to say, in less than half an hour, we were required to inhale three shots of tequila, one FULL bowl of ice cream, and a hefty slice of cake. We stumbled down the street trying not to paint the bushes with vanilla ice cream and medium rare cake.

I spent the walk downtown convincing Man U. that it was OK for him to drink in front of an elder. As soon as he had stepped in the door, he pulled me into a corner and said that I should have told him my dad was going to be there. I asked if that would have changed his coming, he said no, but that he would have gone through a mental preparation session. He ended up sleeping on our kitchen table.

At Top of the Hill, I spent the first half hour yelling my computer password into the phone at my dad. “THAT’S D like DHARMA INITIATIVE!” I disappeared with Chris Lethal to a different bar, where he was going to try to find some Chapel Hill people to introduce me to. When Laura called (Candlewick’s Laura) and asked me where I was, she says I said “iiiii am not the person to be asking… if you want accurate informationnnnnnn.” I snuck out of the bar in an attempt to be the first one to get back to my house, but after hopping three fences, I was actually the last to return. I helped guide a couple of people through a shortcut to my neighborhood, and as I was verbally narrating my voyage, rolled down a hill, and painted the bushes red with embarrassment and pain.

The next morning we played football and Zhang it! painted the bushes yellow with bananas and water (note a severe lack of bagel remains.)

My dad had to leave and I started making my own decisions again. Not as exciting as it sounds…

I am writing a book (or, the book is writing me). I am going to a concert in Chapel Hill tomorrow for my favorite musician:

Andrew Bird

I am interested in life and it is mildy attracted to me. We’ll see what happens.

A little love for my current city

Next time: Zhang it! breaks his foot kicking a gargoyle. And a new friend, Joe, earns the nickname The Taxidermist.