Blog Post #20: Deep Thoughts (Part 3)

and do justice to the person who gifted them? Who would have done the gifting? In the Mindvalley meditation that I've done most (I forget what's it's called, but it's about six prompts that Vishen guides us through), Vishen finishes with having some “higher power" protecting us, guiding us, through our day. He says that for atheists, we can imagine some older version of ourselves looking down on us, enclowing us with protection and guidance. He has us imagine a sphere of power encircling us, drawn by that higher power. I always had trouble with that bit. Because I can't imagine myself old. I can't imagine aging. I can't imagine dying. For someone like me, who doesn't experience time linearly, the Future doesn't make sense. For a couple weeks, a long time ago, I was obsessed with ensuring that my mom never dies. I went to the library, and I checked out an armful of books on religion, metaphysics— anything that could help me. The key, I thought, was releasing ourselves from that linear time. My mom actually asked me recently if I believe in reincarnation, and I said “no”. Because I don't believe in death. Now, I've known people who have died, but it's like reverse object permanence. They're still here. I'm still here, and they only ever existed through my perception of them. And if I can still perceive them, then that Boolean remains true. Immortality then, is about sight. And boy, can I see. W. 3/19/2025 I have begun to notice that I fall back— lazily, sloppily, even— upon the idiomatic phrase, "fuck it”. And from a mere objective, semantic basis, "fuck it" doesn't have much going for in terms of merit. The whole presupposition is that things are already bad, so saying “fuck it”, I'll do this [anyways] could not, would not possibly make it worse. And I've heard my inner voice saying those two words with increasing frequency. And it's always regarding things that aren't good for me. I had this other idiomatic phrase, ages ago. "I'll take any opportunity..." But the difference was that I ended that phrase with “to improve myself”. See, from the first half, one would reasonably assume that it was on the same moral level as “fuck it”. But I took that semantic level of weakness, and I turned it into strength. And it worked. For a time. So how can I take "fuck it", and turn it into something good? Because it's already there in my mind. It's already asserted squatter's rights. Resisting it is a sure way to ensure that it persists. But if I can add a choice handful of words to transmute the immoral crutch of that phrase, and turn it into something that props me up... well, that's where the magic happens. I could combine the two. "Fuck it, I'll take any opportunity to improve myself." I could just alter the meaning. “Fuck it.” I'm choosing strength. I'm choosing growth. Would that work? Could it, when "fuck it” already has such negative connotation in my mind? The sun is rising. I didn't sleep last night. But I finished Mercutio's [fabric] clothes, and the overdue Texturing house assignment. And I do not feel well. I would like to go to Ninja Warrior training this evening, but I fear that my legally-drunk-equivalent brain would not be safe driving there. Which sucks. Because I didn't go to improv Monday, either. So I'm not really taking care of myself. Th. 3/20/2025 Disclaimer: It's not the morning. It's 6pm. I just didn't do it when I woke up (around 1:30pm) because I felt like being more active. So I made breakfast, I washed my face, and I went grocery shopping. I don't know. I don't feel creative. To be fair, I spent the past half hour watching random, meaningless YouTube videos. I tell myself, I say, "The longer I can go without looking at my phone, the more power I gain.” But then one click turns into a minute, then 10, then an hour, and the next thing I know, I've drained my soul— the last dregs of hopeful productivity swirling dimly as it departs. I need to remember to publish a blog post tomorrow. I also need to get up significantly earlier, because I have a psychiatry appointment at 9:45am. I am dedicated to staying up afterwards. I spent $8 on healthier cereal. I was motivated to get up because I thought that I'd get Special K Red Berries cereal at the store. But it's not healthy. So I got Three Wishes cinnamon cereal, which costs over twice as much. And I ate a bowl, but did not feel the inexorable drive to eat the entire box. Weird how that works— except not really, because Three Wishes is healthier, less sweet, and therefore, less addictive. I really want to go back to those two or three days of getting up really early. It felt excellent. And I really must. I slept for around 24 hours between yesterday and today. I went to bed after I got home from class, around 2:30pm, I woke up around 8:30pm, washed my face, then went back to sleep, and slept until 1:30pm. I don't feel good. Physically, my throat hurts. It was difficult to swallow the juice that I had with breakfast. It felt like my uvula was suffocating me. I really want to write a good story. I'm spending all this time writing— and I know, it's not about producing a product— but I want to write a story. "Sonderless”. An undead creature created by the living's incomplete, nostalgic memories of the passed. I'm reading my lore notes for Adam's studio project. I didn't propose it to him, but I had thought of a better name than “Archived”— which, frankly, doesn't make sense, and is lackluster. The name's “Bound". A book is bound; a spirit is bound to a place. Just like Edward. I don't know if Adam is using anything that I wrote for the project. I suspect not. Which sucks. I put a lot of work into it— and, more importantly, it's actually really good. Anyway, I'm going to play a game tonight. That is a must. I've bought too many games and haven't played most of them. Let's brainstorm story ideas. The Mongrel Sings. A castrated boy is used for his “songbird” gifts. Something in a swemp. The Pearl Manor story, with paranoid students and teachers alike being immersed in a mysterious setting. Something with werewolves. Something related to Oulde. A monster hunter. A magic system where “magic" is called "guile". Something in the Oulde setting— mixing Dark Sun, Wild West, and Mad Max. A pirate story. Something about Chance Gamble, at your service. Disgraced noble turned mercenary for hire. A witch kissed me and gave me a map with an 'X' at the very edge. My destiny's waiting for me at the edge of the world, so I'm looking for a ship and a crew to take me there. Interested? A magical shopkeep. Selling on consignment strange artifacts. Also selling information, also sold on consignment. Ok wait this is solid. Let's expand upon this. The Mouldy Underpass. A shop concealed within the wall of a freeway underpass. People who know about it can see the neon sign hanging above the ironbound door. Caged windows display strange artifacts. But the real secret of the shop is not found in the archaic items for sale on consignment, but rather in the tomes of ledgers hidden beneath the counter in a locked chest. See, people sell information on consignment as well. The owner of The Mouldy Underpass judges people's information in specially-booked appointments. If she deems it worthy of the shop, she'll agree to put it up for sale (for the people who know of that aspect of the shop, of course). If she deems it not worth her time, the contract that she and the “prospect” signed at the beginning of the appointment erases her memory of the information, and the prospect leaves, secure. There's another, seedier consignment store across town. Someone sells information regarding a slew of murders— something that has stumped the police. But the clerk, a young man who learned of the shop in need of a job, is bound to silence. What will he do when people whom he knows start to die— in accordance with the details of the murderer? Is there a way out of his binding contract? Maybe the murderer is hunting down people who know another piece of key information, before it can be sold? Magic is real. It's called “guile”. Monsters are real, too. It's modern day, set in a city that I know well. Kind of an Unsleeping City or Monster of the Week situation. Let's get some character names. Halloway. Ranunculus. Shale. Silas. Rence. Sinclair. Adeline. Gard. Raul. Dr. Morgan "Morgue”. Mr. Adlow. Img. A friendly troll. A monster called a "gluccus”. Once someone puts a piece of information up for consignment, magic binds it to remain a secret until someone buys it. Only the prospect, the owner, the clerk, and anyone who knew of it before know of it. The shop itself stays secret for the same reason— it's privileged information. Halloway, the clerk, learns of it from someone who used to work there— a previous clerk. Why did that person leave? Are they being hunted for their loose-thread information? “Return to sender.” Monsters stay secret for the same reason— it's privileged information. Ms. Aisen ("Ashen”) Adlow is the owner of the store. Gratto is the troll guard who stands out front. Until Halloway learns of monsters, he just appears as a grungy man with a walking stick. The other store across town is called The Gilded Hive. It markets to seedier clients. The story is not about violence, but there's a rune-carved ancient sword for sale in the shop, which Halloway takes with him to rescue Ms. Adlow near the end. F. 3/21/2025 Instead of stream-of-thought, today I wrote just over three cohesive pages of prose for The Mouldy Underpass story. The beginning chapter. It starts at Donut Star, with the protagonist meeting with a friend, who tells him of a position opening at this strange store. Oh yeah, Donut Star is a low-quality donut shop on Washington, a street that I'm very familiar with in San Diego. When we were growing up, on weekends, our dad would take my sisters and I "yard-sailing”/“garage-sailing” — we would drive around and find yard sales/garage sales. We'd wake up really early and go to Donut Star, then, fueled by cheap sugar, we'd go find "scores”— weird artifacts being sold on people's lawns. I decided to set this story in San Diego, around the time of when I was a kid. As a factor in this decision, I knew that I'd be able to supply effortless detail, and really flesh it out. But what's cool is that I'll have this “real-world” San Diego paired with this fantastical side of the fiction. So I'll still be developing a setting. A lot of people do this. Authors. I was particularly inspired by the book that I'm currently re-reading, The Binding, and the book that I read last, Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore. This concept shares a lot of elements with both books, but, I feel, it brings something new and fresh. It also has a reasonable reason why the fantastical side of the setting is hidden from the general populus- unlike the bullshit like Percy Jackson, with some veil being cast over the “mortals” eyes. The reason why most people don't know about the store, or about monsters, or guile, or anything, is because that's “privileged information”; someone sold that information ages ago to one of the consignment stores, who have it for sale to the customers in-the-know, but the price is so high- and its secrecy is so important- that no one buys it. Anyways! All of this is to say that I haven't done much for Seminar work directly except consult with programmers, and brainstorm ideas for my alla prima mechanic. I have one idea of a relatively easy way to achieve part of it: my refraction trail has the maximum amount of screen-facing planes (16), so I can make the “lens” of the Viewfinder mechanic those consecutive planes, just taking “photos" and placing them immediately. This will work, except it won't really visibly do anything- because it won't factor in the refraction. I need to figure out some way to alter the geometry placed by factoring in the refraction; I need some way to make the visual smears add shapes and colors to what is placed. I haven't the faintest idea of how to do that. I also need to finish troubleshooting my base Viewfinder mechanic. By doing so, I assume that I'll become enlightened in how to practically implement the trail-planar instant “photos”.