Monday, September 18, 2017

Epiphany - Note to self: September 2, 1994

I have been consolidating my old files lately. I have bins and bins of papers from my own writings and notes and just historical archives of stuff. In looking through this, I've found some very interesting things from previous decades.

Regardless what you think about this blog today, let me take a brief aside and offer support to a great project I am involved with from the British based Dark Chapter Press. The A-Z Horror Anthology. Stories are being regularly released on Amazon where different authors are assigned individual letters. This month (9/17) has seen two letters released for I (Imprisoned) and J (Judicator). The entire anthology will later be released as a book once they have all been individually published. Here is my blog article about this project. I'm updating it as each story is released. I have been assigned letter X with a story I titled, X-The Unknown about a Seattle FBI agent who stumbles across a serial killer. As you can see, it will be a while before my story hits the shelves. As I explain in the blog, I had originally written a great story titled Xibalba Unleashed, but I went over the word limit and had to write another. Thanks for excusing this interruption. 

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Here is one I had sent to myself to my home email address, which at that time I was accessing at home from my first purchased home in Covington, WA, right after having gotten married, from my work email address at US West Technologies in Bellevue, WA.

Just to show how far we have come email address wise since then, I think, my work email base was:

I am transcribing this as I found it in the print out and without any editing. Even though hopefully, I have since become a better writer. To understand some of what I wrote, some time after I graduated Western Washington University with a degree in psychology (minor in writing) I found I had a new skill. One that I verified whenever I could as it was, fun, to be simplistic about it.

I found I could ask someone to tell me about their life and I could then tell them in general, quite accurately about their childhood experiences. I could alternatively ask them to tell me about their childhood and I could then tell them quite accurately in general about their life experiences. Yes, it may be nothing more than what a con artist or fortune teller does. But then I didn't used to be able to do that, certainly not so accurately. I remember leaving quite a few people speechless in doing this.

Before I go on just let me say what I was doing was harmless. It was for my amusement. I wasn't offensive to anyone, I didn't abuse it, I didn't use it to scam girls for sex, I just thought it was harmless fun.

But there is one especially humorous situation I remember at a party I attended. It was a party at my friend Liz's apartment. There was a woman I immediately became interested in and Liz knew that. She told me to go talk to the woman and I did. It was myself, some guy and the woman talking together amidst a crowd of people, having drinks, in the living room. Of course I then proceeded to delve into having some fun.

But things didn't go the direction I had expected and was used to. She listened to me for a few minutes, and then she verbally ripped me to shreds. She did it with a sense of humor., a sly grin on her face, and if I hadn't been so stunned, I might have found it funny myself. No one else really got what was going on, not even the other guy in our little threesome. He just stood there stunned himself. I didn't quite know what to do. I'd never had the tables turned on my like that before, because she proceed to tell me who I was and what it was I so enjoyed doing.

I couldn't understand how she could be so full of knowing exactly who I was as a person. She was even better than I was. It was as if... looking for help I turned around looking back down the hallway to the bathroom, hoping to catch sight of Liz and that she might come and swoop in and save me.

However instead I saw my dear friend Liz, hurrying to finish fixing her hair or something, leaning out into the hallway, obviously to see what was happening between myself and this woman. Sigh... Liz. I suddenly realized, I had been set up.

After extracting myself from the woman, I sought out my friend who herself had a razor sharp tongue and a very impressive wit. I loved her for it. In sharing my obvious and cultured confusion, List dropped some obvious hints to me as she tried not to laugh, until I finally came to realize she had fully informed the woman (who by now I was now completely enamored with) about me; about who I was, my history and so on. Needless perhaps to say, this, which was Liz's intention, stopped me from doing this ever again. I realized that even though to me it seemed completely "harmless", it was perhaps in some ways, not.

I remember one other woman who breezed by me. Quite attractive, not exactly beautiful but the kind of person who has much more attraction coming from her sapiosexuality (sexual attraction to one's intelligence). Her apparent intelligence and knowledge fully researched before she needed it, gave her an edge up.

This woman was obviously pushing my buttons, buttons she somehow knew instinctively, stunning me. She had her say, then simply disappeared into the crowd. I didn't quite know what to think. Until my friend who had invited her to the party, pointed out she was a "professional" woman. Not a professional who was a woman but a woman who was a professional at being a woman (i.e., a call girl). I have to say, it wasn't an unpleasant experience in those few moments.

When I asked how she had known things about me, Liz just said it was her job to know things about me, about men. I didn't at first understand until she explained the professional part, and I never saw that woman again. Liz said, probably because at that time in my life I was broke, having just graduated recently. college. As for the other (first) woman, I did see her again, several times, and though we openly discussed what had happened, I never could get a date out of her. Sigh....

Liz died some years ago. Obviously I will miss her always. Her and another special friend of both of ours, Rose. I also just found a 1991 birthday card from Rose while looking through all my old papers. Bittersweet memories, I must say.

Regarding the martial arts reference below, a true martial artist needs nearly to be a mind reader. To be able to walk into a room (or a battlefield) and surmise the situation instantly. Not far removed from using psychology (or the skills of a con artist) in order to read a situation, or a person, and act appropriately to either save oneself or defeat the other. I could walk into a room or down a street and quickly assess the dangers, the people to be wary of and how to skirt problematic situations. Whether I should attack things head on, or simply avoid something or someone. And so I assume my skills learned through my studies in psychology worked hand in hand with my already pre existing skills from years of martial arts going back to a very young age. And so that explains my reference to it below.

I suppose I'd also have to add into that mix my childhood. As I understand it children raised in an environment such as I was and my siblings, but especially myself (see, my step father really didn't like me) requires one to constantly be hyperaware of things. That and other things create in the child an ability to be quick and smart (even though I was seemingly quite stupid about some things). It's also why we see street urchins who make great con artists or criminals.

All that being said, this writing I had found isn't too bad as it is. Here is how it goes:

You know,
I was just thinking:

I get these little spurts of feeling, or imagery at times.
Similar in nature to a "Deja Vu" experience.

I'm not nuts. My degree in psychology was in
Awareness and Reasoning Division,
Phenomenology, Alternate States of Consciousness.

Between that and martial arts training from childhood, it may be easier
for me, than for many, to "see," into their thoughts.
To "feel" things in their mental and emotional processes.

Things that many people don't realize are there, but things that
ARE there. In everyone.
Really, it just takes looking "inward."

I know there are people I've talked to in the past,
that think they were talking to a real screwball (me);
especially, some of the more banal types that I've spoken with.

And it occurred to me, that the only times I'm really happy,
are when I am writing away at a project, when I am deeply involved in
a novel I've developed. Or a project that I have fully conceived;
or, a project I've developed along with a significant person in my life.
As opposed to a project at work, or one given by an instructor.

I get these little flashes of really... good... feelings, that I can only
attribute to being "feelings-of-well-being."
Or euphoria.

Feelings that I can link pretty much, only to heightened emotional
experiences; events from my temporal past.

A moment's "Deja Vu" from being in the mountains; or,
looking out over a spectacular sunset on the ocean,
as viewed from a scenic beach; or,
watching a waterfall unraveling in the middle of nowhere,
while I sit, all alone, with no one around for miles, with
the sun glistening off the cascading flow of water; or,
droplets on the moss in the mountains in the early morning, with
the crisp moist air hugging you, and the fresh smell of life,
biting, deliciously, into your lungs.

These Little Flashes of Moments,
Moments that give me this feeling,
feelings that I can conjure up while writing,
while creating, making a universe
that I've created,
while watching something come to Life.

You know, it just occurred to me,
there must be a reason I like to write,
one, other than the pedantic reason of
simply being able to do it well.

Perhaps, it was taking those little sojourns,
brief intense stays of exotic journeys,
gleamed from books read at a tender young age,

Maybe that has something to do with it.

No matter how I look at it, though,
I will never be happy until I am making a living writing,
and writing whatever I want. What feels like it is being
born from my chest, separating from my heart, springing from
my mind, leaping from my soul.

It's just a thought.
Just a moment.
Just a comment.

An Epiphany upon the Downs.
Thoughts upon the Velt,
in Revelation.
A Splendor in the Grass.
A Triumph at Dawn.

For that is all it is.


This ends that print out that I so recently found. The footer in that email indicated me as a "Contractor/Systems Consultant-Technical Writer" [this was before I was given Senior Technical Writer status]. The last line in the email footer was this:
"The preceding has been a personal comment only, which does not reflect the affectations nor the policy of the US West Technologies organization."

And as they say, that's all she wrote. Well, all he wrote.
Peace. Be well.

Or as I always used to tell my children in parting from me...

"Go out now and be brilliant."


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