It's time to blog.

Might as well make it two entries in May.

I want to let it out.

I've got this worry inside me. Maybe not a worry, but a stirring thought. And it's got to do with singing.

Do you think anyone can sing? Do you think anyone can be trained to sing? I feel like I'm a great singer, but there's something holding me back. Heck, I'd even make a fucking good dancer, but I'd fear tripping over my own shoelaces.

It's there inside me, and I know it. I can feel it. Bottled up, catalogued and frustrated. When I try sing, little bits squeak out, the cowards running for the hills. Half-hearted. Half-assed. Half-baked. I can't sing in the shower, even when I'm home alone. Why is that?

What correlations can be drawn from singing? Isn't singing a happy thing? Isn't singing extrovertion to the extreme? That's why I write, cos I can't sing or dance or bother trying either. Writing is opening up, singing to yourself, mostly in tune. It's beautiful, not because it's well received by others, but because it's the internal you being broadcast. A transcript of your soul.

Comfort zones and 0.0 space

As some of you know, I've been playing EVE Online quite consistently for the last 2-3 months. While other MMORPGs bore the shit out of me, this game is dynamic, because it could be considered alive. The whole game is influenced by players and their actions.

Being space-based, the game is set in a massive galaxy of stars and their orbit items. In the centre of this galaxy is a huge cluster of stars considered Empire Space. Empire is where all the new players start out, it's considered safe for the most part, denoted by a 1.0 to 0.1 security rating. On the outskirts of Empire spaces is 0.0 space. There is no control out there, it's dangerous, treacherous but also bountiful and beautiful. Untold riches await those brave enough to venture below it's veil of mystery. Think of 0.0 as the hand of a young virgin. Actually, scrap that idea.

Now, playing for 2-3 months in this game is nothing. I've encountered my share of bad guys, but the risks were calculated and I survived. The time has come to venture out into 0.0 space, a thought that terrifies me.

Why should it terrify me? How alike is this to real-life where I'm scared of leaving my comfort zone, when I know it'll be better for me? Could I pack my things and fly overseas to a fancy new job and meet different people? Could I leave all I have behind and follow the sun to the horizon, on foot? Why is hesitation synonymous with impending change?

Time to leave Empire me thinks. If I can do it in a game, I can do it for real too, right? Guys? Hey? Where is everyone?

Pouring

Sit next to me here, whether our toes are dipped into the Atlantic or dangling over the edge of this ledge.

Sit next to me and listen. Sit next to me and talk to me. Open your heart and hear me. Hear me like I'm open all the way, a stream of emotion, feeling, adoration, honesty. Hold your hand in mine, interlock fingers, turn and face me, show me your eyes beneath your fringe hair playing seductively in the wind. When you talk I listen intently, but I'm also totally blown away by who you are, who you make me feel like. I'm dumb and attentive at the same time.

I feel your warmth, thigh against thigh, but also shoulder to shoulder. Both looking forward but feeling toward.

Thought, word and deed.

How often does thought become word? How often does thought become deed without the word.

I'm stuck at word. All thought and word, but little deed. Often I think about deed, and so I say so. Often I just think without word.

One such thought has been plaguing my mind for a while now, but I dare not make it a word, or maybe not even a deed. If I talk about it, I am helpless. If I act upon that thought, I am beyond help. Instead, it's trapped inside as a thought, a word and a deed. The thought of a word, the thought of the deed.

Care to guess what my thought is?

My own paradox

I'm staring at my reflection. One side lit by the bedside lamp, the other cast in shadow from my genetic hand-me-down. I look with my eye bathed in the shadow and I see the other eye in the light. I look with my eye cast in the light and all it sees is shadow where the other should be. Why am I squinting at myself?

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it shows nothing.

In the shadows I see twisting and contorting. My reflection of shadow is misleading and foul. In the light I see a tear form. I feel it burn up my skin as it drops away.

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it feels nothing.

My eyes are talking to me, each their own message. On the one side I hear of grey, overcast skies, on the other the stories of adventure, experience and witness.

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it says nothing.