Recently reviewed my LiveJournal personal info. Somehow, I was born in 00/11/74. Not sure how that happened...have to ask my mom, I suppose.

Actually, its 08/11/74. I remember this because I share my birth month and day with a very memorable person, none other than Hulk Hogan himself! Pretty cool eh?

I have never met Hulk Hogan. BUT, I work with a guy who does an admirable impression, which is probably just about the same. Although I wonder if Hulk can also recite TV commercials from the 1970's word for word, like my friend can. This is pretty weird, by the way... He has trouble remembering his latest girl-friend's name, but he can remember every word of a commercial for Charmin, or for Connect 4 (down to the little sound effects). I think he has his priorities skewed.

My mother recently told me she thought I was wiser, in my older-age.

Am I now wiser than when I was in high school, and later on, in college?

Let us reflect.

I used to write in journals. Not type, actually write, with a pen or pencil, in really horrible hand-writing. Almost illegible, even to me. And thankfully, most of the time. Usually it was a badly formed poem, or moon-struck thoughts about my latest hopeless crush (I was good at those... somehow I had it in my head that THINKING about a girl hard enough would make her like me...) And I also tried to write songs, but I won't get into that.

You see, I was attempting to emulate my poet brother. He has to write, to keep his brain from exploding. It's a matter-of-fact. His brain is a magnet for inspiration particles, and if he doesn't let them out, the pressure builds up...and kablooie.
Me, on the other-hand, I haven't written in a journal like that in years, since college, and my head is still in one piece, and hasn't even changed in size. Not noticeably anyway.

So, one says, You are wiser! You have stopped this futile attempt to pour out your inner thoughts on paper. And a good thing too, because all that stuff you wrote back then is pure drivel.

Ok, I says. So it is. So, now I am a wise man. Yay!

But, why does it feel so good, years later, to write out my thoughts like this?

Here it is, a new entry. I have recently discovered the purpose of Live Journal (by reading other random entries), and from now on, I will begin to abuse it as intended by the designers.

Useless Assignment:
Write a poem (using the term loosely) using words that begin with the same letter. This is called alliteration. I think.

Try to stick to the following rules:
Don't use a dictionary or the internet.
Don't use the same exact word twice (adding "s" and "ed", etc, is allowed)
Don't tell anyone you did it.
Make it a minumum of 4 lines. More if you are masochistic.
Try to make it mean something, to yourself at least.

And since I'm not the kind of person to ask anyone to do something I wouldn't do, here is my attempt:
***

Massive metal monsters masticate meals mercilessly!!!
Meanwhile, mothers moan mournfully, mostly morose...
Many mighty men might make meanings meticulously!

My mind makes mainly makes mush.

***

So, henceforth and so-on, and heretofor, I decree that anyone who reads this has to make their own poem of M's!

Or, if you don't want to, just say it aloud to yourself. That works just as well.

A personal project... One day, long ago, I decided I wanted to run my own server and host my own website. And finally, after a few months of actually trying, my server is up and running, along with my website. You can visit it at http://www.zigdezign.com if you really want to. Not very impressive, I'm afraid, and the website content is inc mplet . I abhor using the overused animated gifs saying that my site is underconstruction, so I just let people find out on their own. Much more fun that way. Anyway, plans are in the works to get the site completed soon, or at least viewable and coherent.

Also, I made a nifty little site for one of my oneline hobbies, which you can view at http://www.zigdezign.com/netherworld

Seinfeld may have had the right idea. Imagine if the world we lived in was populated by Seinfelds, Georges, Elaines, and Kramers. Ok, ok. So if you live in the USA, you aren't far off. But really, if all EVERYONE cared about was how other people ate their food, or whether eating off the top of the trash was inappropriate, or if their date laughed annoyingly, the world would either be devoid of population because no-one ever got together long enough to have sex, or the world would be one big gentle anarchy.

Regardless, it would be better than what we have now in many ways.

Since I have no posts, I have decided to make a few. The following is something I actually wrote just the other day...

Her face is a mask of grief, without knowing it. “What’s wrong?” She blinks, as if to answer, and the terrible answer, the truth, slides away, and she says in confusion, “Nothing…” Nothing. It fills her memory, accompanied only by an ache so deep, no physical hurt can compare.

Half of her being has been ripped away by time, and time has robbed her of even the faculties to mourn the loss. Even as she asks about her dead husband, “Where is he?”… Kind hearts reach out to her, and gentle voices say “He didn’t come with us this time.”
“Didn’t come with us?”, she is thinking… “He goes everywhere with me.. Never stays at home. Never.” And yet, she believes, and continues on, waiting… Never stopping to think. Almost a relief really… Even as she feels his absence, and knows in some way that it is permanent, her faded memory and mind can allow her heart some respite with the belief that “He will be right back”.

Moments of lucidity, clear thought, recall, memory. All of those things can mean instant agony for this woman. To go from the waiting, expecting, to knowing the awful truth… And to relive that first time, the last time, the only time… time and time again. How can the human spirit survive? And yet we do, each day. Each of us bears the burden for her, guides her gently through the confusion, and holds her close when the truth comes to bear. Again, again, once more. Sadness and strength, pain and compassion.

It is frightening to realize that a long life of experiences can do nothing to prepare us for what the next day might bring… And yet if we truly care for and love those around us, we will never have to face tomorrow alone.

I heard the most extraordinary thing the other day... Johnny Cash. Well, not just Johnny Cash, but Cash singing his version of "Hurt" by NIN. I never thought anyone could sing the phrase "My empire of dirt" better than Trent. I recommend to all that enjoy either Cash or Nine Inch Nails to get a copy of that song. Somehow the song was more powerful when coming from someone like Cash, who has had a long hard life, and actually has some right to those lyrics.