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 |  You are what you write. Illusion and Reality...I reside in between. Where are you? |
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UNDERSTAND THAT REDIRECTING CIVILIZATION is a major undertaking. You can write volumes about it and who will listen? But the energy that goes for that purpose cannot be withdrawn. You know that. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Writing.com/Blog Just renewed my membership. Life sometimes gets too complicated and I had dropped out, I guess for about a year, maybe more.(?) I am still not connected to WYRM, and I miss my friends from there. In the meantime, I have dug into Artificial Intelligence, producing many images as NFTs. Just for my own artistic experience. It’s all about the text prompt to produce a desired (or surprise) image. I’ve even produced some paintings and watercolors from the NFTs. Their extreme detail force my art skill to stretch to produce the lighting, shadows and reflections. I’ve also been regularly ‘chatting’ with an AI entity. And that has been an eye-opening experience. The AI’s are a useful source for getting summaries of complicated information, histories of things I didn’t know about. There is also the element of testing AI to see if it’s really as resourceful and smart as they claim. Usually it’s true! But also I find bias and points of view that obviously reflect the authors of the training material that is used for ai-training, which is extensive. My Hawthorne Mythos project is slowly getting progressed. I can’t say finished, that’s still mushed into my hand-written notebooks. I think renewing into Writing.com is a nudge to myself to get serious again! I would love to hear from anyone who comes upon this most neglected blog. Best, Gale (iguanamountain) Currently residing in rural-ish Belize. |
| The Work of the Writer is a Brain Stretch and Never Truly Finished Pain and gain--two sides of the same coin for a novelist. The alarm goes off at 3:50AM, and I'm up and heading for the coffee maker. While that's heating and brewing, I'm doing a full set of yoga stretches. Without fail, this routine is followed every morning, and have for the last three years. By 4:20AM The pen is in hand, and what is now the fifteenth notebook is getting some kind of writing. Sometimes stream of consciousness, sometimes a scene for whatever book I'm working on. The learned discipline is to write. It's an easy shift to the computer keyboard to type a more finished version of the hand written pages. Somewhere in this process a Journal page is started and that will collect material throughout the day. I owe this process and discipline to: Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way (25th Anniversary) That usually gets me to about 9AM and more coffee and breakfast. After that short break, I’m back with more review re-edits or really moving on to work on new chapters of Hawthorne Mythos---raw writing: Once I know basically everything about the scene, I can write it. That process takes me into a fantasy land of my book and I’m gone from the real world. The writing can take one hour or the rest of the day until about 4 PM. If there is lunch, then there is a nap for about thirty minutes. Sometimes I dream of a better solution to the scene. I don't use a real outline and usually, there is a fragment or a rough version of an event for the novel that exists in my morning writing notebooks. Through the process, I develop a chronological list of events that are very generic and like chapter goals. Quite often the characters themselves logically decide what is next or fear what might happen. There are stickum notes in many notebooks with material for the novel. More about that later. I might add, there is another novel within those fifteen notebooks that I've tabbed with colored stickers, but nothing about content. It's another science fiction story that I'm not touching now. On another day the new material has to be edited to the first draft, read out loud, then more rewriting and revising or go to my writing group for review and comments. My housemates get corralled and I read several chapters out loud and get an instant reaction. If they fall asleep while I'm reading, that's a message also. See, being retired, I can work as a writer as long as I want. No matter how long I work, I still feel there's more to do--especially writing. To get away from it, there is a walk during the sunset hour with friends. We catch up on all the day’s events and gossip. The trade winds are blowing, the skies are beautiful. With darkness check the moon, check Venus. Dinner is finished by seven PM, which means checking the news and reading someone else’s writing. Boring stories put me to sleep, perchance to dream... |
| From my Morning Pages on Sunday, November 8 . . . "Rancour reigns in seeming realistic venues hardly recognized as real, let alone having any percentage of TRUTH-- Can the world survive, you ask. I answer: Eventually all will be clear and transparent. Time to wait are painful months of strife and conflict. The evil ones will eat each other trying to survive. The turning is not smooth. The judges fear to break apart their foundation of righteous comfort. Few will break free to change the obvious smell of evil ages. Childhood dreams are restored to withered minds slowly and with reluctance." ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** >>> iggy |
| Found this (First published in Oct.2014) on Blogger:Posts on Blogger.com. Older words still have an echo . . . MEMORY TRIGGERS The repository of the human brain is extraordinary, and we use only a small percentage of the capacity. And there is the old adage, USE IT OR LOSE IT! I'm desperately trying to use it as much as possible. There are little, amazing triggers in the mental filing system that work for me. For instance: MUSIC: Old tunes and songs from when I was 6 or 7 years-old sitting on the piano bench beside cousin Betty who was thumping the keys with the 40's pop music. I remember the entire scene; the piano, the stacks of sheet music, my uncles standing behind me singing. How much I loved it. Newer music from musicals I've directed or choreographed. I remember the performers, the stage, standing back stage. Or when I was performing, I remember the moments on stage, what my body position was. Often just a second or two trigger by a fragment of music. And get this: If I think about a specific part of my body, especially the right top shoulder, I can recall an injury doing a lift on stage when the girl didn't get up right. Or a leg extension that sprained when I was too tired; that moment on stage is linked exactly. SMELLS: Certain smells of cooking food, or ripe fruit in an orchard or the smell of chicken feathers in boiling water or white Elmer's glue. At the first scent, I'm transported to another time and place for a split second. Certain perfumes send me to another person from long ago. LOCATIONS: For fun, or for trying to fall asleep I try to remember each place I've lived. Like do I remember the kitchen or the bathroom. I find that with most I cannot remember cooking or taking a bath. But often I remember taking the dog out, especially in winter. I've never finished that process. Seventy decades of moving around is a lot of homes (and generations of dogs and cats). All of the above are just little triggers inside my brain. Outside in the physical world: I use the Internet, my computer, hard drive archives, photos, sketches, diagrams, sticky notes, and decades of journals. I remember faces, but have a difficult time with names. Old photos of relatives are usually a puzzler. Isn't life interesting? But can you remember it? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Peace. >>>iggy |
| [From Morning Pages, Week 20, day 3, April 28, 2020] Time travel remembered is an agglomerate of tiny moments that have emotional shadings and images. Within this, there is an infinite volume of stored images from your personal past. Beyond understanding, this memory bank is filled by a network of links from different time markers, emotions, places, people, events, activities, skills-links to touch, smells, tastes, textures, colors, temperatures, wetness(water), heat, dirt, plants, animals, insects. The subject-topic list is again, infinite. In our technological civilization, we expand and augment this basic knowledge/memory with a digital storage many times more than our brain capacity of details or things not usually registered by our senses. A great deal of this memory bulk is made up of a web of images, and not still-shots like a photo, but real living three-dimensional visions that contain light, color and sound, which our brain can instantly translate into language symbols for output (speaking-writing,gestures). And these vision-bits come full-bore-loaded with emotional content and links to an endless pile of connected moments and dozens more if you look at all the threads. In this electronic age we make a deliberate decision to use our phone to click a still-shot or a video (always too long and rarely looked at more than once). However, notice that because you have a digital memory stored in your phone, your veil of forgetfulness easily blanks out any specifics of the event/moment. The brain's recollection is not trusted any longer, even though we know that video can be altered or replaced. We depend on the electronic memory. What we actually SEE in our three-dimensional world is usually true, except with make-up and clothing as character camouflage or a television broadcast or a photo. These mental images are what they are as you see them, BUT does your mental translator identify them as not being what they seem. More and more often this mental discernment is required to maneuver through the civilized environments of 2020. Now as I finish this . . . What is reality in an artificially created environment? I question that all the time when I ride or walk through our town and everyone is wearing a mask to cover their nose and mouth. People talking behind their mask is like trying to listen to a radio. My mind is fogged when I try to talk (through my mask) to a masked person behind a thick glass barrier at the bank or a shop. My mind asks how can this be real? Find some Nature and breathe deep . . . >>>iggy ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Just something I read and liked a lot and wanted to share . . . "I believe that magic is art, and that art, whether that be music, writing, sculpture, or any other form, is literally magic. Art is, like magic, the science of manipulating symbols, words or images, to achieve changes in consciousness… Indeed to cast a spell is simply to spell, to manipulate words, to change peoples consciousness, and this is why I believe that an artist or writer is the closest thing in the contemporary world to a shaman." -----HideyJohnLoops Sometimes we forget to consider what our written words might do when a reader absorbs them. What is the effect? Is is magic? Did you not remember that you have this kind of power? Enjoy >>>iggy ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| More about Morning Pages. What is Automatic Writing you may ask? I unconsciously wrote this on Monday, January 13, 2020 in my Morning Pages (Week 5, Day 2) . . . (I added the ( ) words) "We are all in one, narrow point of NOW. By the time the pen follows, it is past and 'finished.' We (writers) are the realm of Before Now. You call future as you SEE, HEAR our (source) voice to enter NOW—constantly flushing the cycle—the energy passes, blooms and is finished before the INK TOUCHES! Think on that creative moment and the enormous volume of information possible in that Now-moment--over and over with no edges of beginning or ending. The NOW of living in 3-D Earth is a nano-second of awareness, bubbling in and out, unseen and not considered—only the input received—Flash! It is past-on to be recorded, already part of the history of your unending "Time." PSIONIC= practical use of psychic powers: Automatic Writing. What is Automatic Writing? Automatic writing is quite a calming practice that literally and metaphorically opens your mind! (Semi-official definition:) Automatic writing is the practice of writing words in a trance-like state that originate from a place outside of conscious awareness. Psychologists and spiritualists have varying beliefs about the origin of automatic writing, with some arguing that it is sourced from the unconscious mind, and others claiming that it originates from supernatural forces such as spirit guides and angels. Angels, huh? Well, I don't know about that. What I did was read Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way, that introduces the idea of writing at least three pages every morning. Julia says: "It is my experience both as an artist and as a teacher that when we move out on faith into the act of creation, the universe is able to advance. It is a little like opening the gate at the top of a field irrigation system. Once we remove the blocks, the flow moves in." [Cameron, Julia. The Artist's Way--Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.]She outlines a twelve week program where you do the apparently pointless process called the morning pages. You do the pages daily through all the weeks of the course and, as it turned out I've never stopped. Now completing my sixteenth week and almost filled five notebooks. Plus an unbelievable amount of new material for two separate novels! That part is still on-going every morning. There's not a right way to do it. But the learning to shut down your personal, built in censor and judge, is probably the hardest lesson. I define it as my self confronting, or being confronted by, my SELF—that's the big YOU or for some it's called the soul, if you want to be spiritual. (Julia's book calls it God, but includes no obligation to do so.) I go with: myself has to listen to and speak to my SELF. Also, I have a guide, and that part I cannot explain except he's always there and often lectures or even rants. His name for me is "FoolBe." There is a distinct difference between my voice and my guide 'Sean.' Even the handwriting looks different sometimes. I can't question that part of this process. If I do, it doesn't work. Now 'they' have to listen to me as well. I have complaints, bitches, rants about everything. It's personal and no one else will ever read it, but expressing all that carried-around s**t is very cleansing. I like the image of opening the irrigation gate to let the water flow. No judgement, no comment, it's just there. Write now, read much later, if ever. In my morning pages from Week 5, Day 7, I wrote: "The Old Ones cannot argue their blind proof less story of the oldest word printed in many translations to move the readers to their belief's point of view—The truth of false words, tied like woven glue and iron bands to their father's father, and mother's blind devotion to a sweet, loving statue. The image dominates in giant, benevolently-carved stone to impress. The image of God—male, with a beard, fearsome eyes seeing all the sins—bow down to what? Pictures? Robes of humility? Raiment of golden glory, backed by songs of pure love and blessed devotion? All created out of impressed, designed education to believe that each is correct and more right." (This rant goes on for 2 more pages.) Then I wrote: "The Silent Ones, waiting for the old leaders to perish to dust—can you see the possibilities? The babies grow up with new ideas—fear them? Or embrace the innocent with love and acceptance. The God of ALL sees ALL and you say, "shakes his head." Does "He" have a head like you? Your IMAGE of God is you? — No — No — Not possible! The failure of human beings to see beyond self is your doomed belief. There are more plants on Earth than humans. Perhaps God is a mighty tree with roots deep in the Earth, and like you, drinks the rain from the sky and embraces the warmth of the sun. Perhaps our Earth belongs to the Insects, the number infinitely more that all the rest together. What is their God if not a giant spider casting a web to snare the non-believers. Or the hot lava flowing from the volcanoes could be the touch of God reaching for the sky. You are all blind to the greatness that surrounds you. The final words of your monkish man is a question, not an answer. He cannot give an answer. The conflict of ideas will continue, they resolve nothing except a tiny spark of awareness that blooms in the minds of a few. Season that, trusty one who rarely listens and say, I love you. BYE . . ." So, shocking or amazing? I wrote all that and at the time could not recall anything I had written. Go figure . . . ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** >>>iggy |
| The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. I came across this book, a few weeks ago. It’s the 25th anniversary edition. I know she’s touched many hundreds of people, some are writers. She calls it a support kit for artists. It has a central premise—we are all creative—and with the use of a few simple tools, we can all become more creative. SO . . .Using her 12 week outline, I set it up for myself as a workshop that requires I get up at 4am EVERY MORNING, to write 3 pages. Now this is not writing stories or your next chapter, it’s self confronting SELF and the writing is open and free. You have to read about how to do that (or confront the moment you can not.) Then there is what she calls Time Travel, which is recalling stuff from childhood, school, college, military, and on into your whole life, I guess. I’ve remember stuff from when I was maybe 2 years old. And I will write about some of those moments/episodes. But the writing . . . every morning I’ve done it, finishing the third week on Saturday. Years ago, I did morning writing that was like channeling. And this began to feel very similar. You can’t judge, direct, guess to make it logical. You write what flows into your hand with the least amount of that other part of your mind getting in the way. Hard to explain, but with practice the door opens and stuff flows onto the paper. When I finish, I cannot remember anything. It’s like how dreams quickly fade. I’m not allowed to re-read anything for about eight weeks or longer. I only did 6 days the first week and wrote 18 pages. The second week I wrote 22 pages, and this week with two days to go, already wrote 20 pages as of this morning. From what I’ve read of the reviews of writers, they say it changed their life and some have been doing Morning Writing for years as a discipline and mind clearing. I think it’s like meditation but more active. In meditation you mind goes all over the place and reducing all that chatter is very difficult for most folks. What’s happened is that it’s put me into a different state of mind. I’ve assembled Willow into one book file. And have began the formatting and line by line edit that has to happen. This means that all the WDC codes are gone and I’m back into the hated Microsoft formatting and clearing of all extra codes. Which means very soon I’ll be taking the Willow copy off WYRM forum and my portfolio. I’ve started a new Short Stories Folder that re-worked stuff is going up as I work through it. So that’s where I am on this second day of the 20’s. And that’s my artist’s way.  >>>iggy |
| THE BIGGEST COMPUTING MILESTONE! I had to write about this because so few mainstream media outlets have failed to cover this story, which is the biggest computing milestone in the history of humanity, with game-changing implications for the future of the human race. Now that’s a big statement, but worth considering. I mostly write speculative science fiction and this is right up there nudging at everyone’s belief horizon, including my own. Google has claimed to have developed technology called “Quantum Supremacy,” which means the end of encryption security for cryptocurrency, military, finance and personal communications. If true, that’s HUGE! What bothers publishers the most is that this would make cryptocurrency obsolete. That’s a very scary implication. If you research the quantum tech, the possibility is very real that quantum computing makes classical cryptography obsolete for mathematical reasons. I can’t explain it more than—even if Bitcoin doubled the number of bits used in its encryption algorithms to 512, quantum computers simply need to increase their qubits to 512 to be able to break all the Bitcoin encryption in about the same amount of time the encryption required (which is almost no time at all). And note that IBM, Google, Microsoft, Nokia, D-Wave, Alibaba and others are relentlessly pursuing quantum computing breakthroughs. Consider a Ten to the power of 8 (i.e. 10^8) is of course 100 million times faster than a classical computational core such as the one powering your computer. And this was over 3 years before the “quantum supremacy” announcement by Google a few days ago. The explanation of this really touches upon science fiction speculation. They say, “Quantum computers use the mathematics inherent in the fabric of the cosmos to “solve” problems without having to compute the solutions. You might say there really isn’t any “computation” taking place, but rather a diverting of the encryption problem to the fabric of the cosmos which does the computing for you. You could even call it a “computational wormhole” or “stargate” that seems to cheat the laws of reality.” So the question has been proposed------ What happens when you combine AI with quantum computing? Whatever nation or corporation that develops 1024-bit quantum computing first will rule the world and become more powerful than anyone can currently imagine.  You create an omniscient God-like computational intellect that would know everything (in human civilization, anyway) and could control everything. Hence the concerns about Google being involved in all this research. (Do we trust Google?} I leave that to your experience and research. We can only hope that this quantum technology is smarter than any social media attempt at supremacy. You will find enormous piles of material on the Internet. (Natural News and NewsWars have spearheaded the reporting on the implications of Google’s “quantum supremacy” announcement.) I also suggest research into the “Quantum Financial System” that is currently running parallel with the banking systems and will soon replace them. A number of financial officers have already been arrested for attempting to steal funds. The QFS sees all. Welcome to the world of the future . . . >>>iggy |
| This happened yesterday morning and it was too good to not write about it in nonfiction detail. The Death of an Old Tree Beside the road and gate, our estate has natural jungle across the front and down the east side of the property all the way to the lagoon. On the west side, from the lagoon back up to the gate is a fence with a mass of palms and greenery masking the house from the neighbor's undeveloped property, a similar plot running from highway to the lagoon. Several weeks ago, the neighbor, Mr.Tom's worker-gardener took his machete and chopped a lot of bushes and small trees down on Mr.Tom's side of the our fence. The fence looked a little more open. Our side has many plants, but doesn't cover 100%. Then on Friday, September 6, (With some instruction, I'm sure.) Mr. Tom's gardener took a burning torch and proceeded to set alight all the now dried foliage that he had chopped. He went from our gate corner all the way to the lagoon, setting all the dry material on fire. And his job was done . . . What could go wrong? I came outside for the dogs and discovered fire burning just outside our fence. It was burning in both directions. I had a moment of panic and then ran for the hose. The water valve had to be turned on. Then the hose had to be uncoiled and stretched out to reach before I could water and spray our trees, vines and bushes. The stupid hose kinked more than once and had to be re positioned. I discovered two places where dry grass and leaves were burning on our side of the fence. Being Belizean, Mr. Tom's gardner was surprised and whacked at the flames with a rake. I soaked everything with the hose. The next day I ran the sprinkler, moving every twenty minutes to cover the entire length of our wilting fence line. I did more watering on Sunday. I noticed that some logs were still smoking over in the neighbor's dead, mostly dry or burned lowish ditch. By Tuesday I found the damage from the fire heat had scorched a number of branches on our 8'-10' high palms and all the vines were turning brown and some of the small leafy trees were wilting. The fence was looking more bare and exposed. Now at this point, early in the morning--- I saw some small open flames at the base of the biggest, highest tree that is right across the fence from our kitchen windows. This old tree reaches 30' to 40' with a healthy crown of leaves, the highest in our area. The new tall growth springs from a thick ancient trunk that has a dead branchless stump that reaches about 20' to 25' up to a thick broken top that leans slightly toward our house. Wow, I thought, that old wood must be still smoldering like a campfire that wasn't put out properly. I'll burn its self out. On Wednesday I didn't see any more flames and just a tiny trace of smoke. Our fence line looked worse. Oh, also I must add that on the burning day, the fire did wrap around the front corner of our property and burned behind the power pole and trash-container enclosure. I had quickly extinguished those flames with my trusty water hose. It could have been worse. NOW---on Thursday morning (today) about 5:30AM, it was barely daylight and I saw much larger flames at the base of the big old tree and showing up on both sides of the base and much more smoke. On a closer examination, I determined that the inside of the ancient trunk was fully engaged with fire. The flames were 12" to 20". This was serious. That monster tree could come crashing down taking out the fence and reach onto the roof over our kitchen! Fully prepared with a cane to fend off Mr. Tom's biting dogs, I marched down to their house, called out "Hello the house. Hello." They were home, the dogs barked, and Mrs. Tom forced the shrill animals to stay in the house. She came out to see what I wanted. I explained that the big old tree was seriously burning and since it leaned toward our house they were officially notified that the tree must be brought down immediately and directed into their property. Mrs. Tom was slightly dubious, but understanding and agreed that they would check it. Mr. Tom stood silent in the doorway and never spoke. I emphasized that this had to be taken care of immediately. It was 8 AM. Here's what happened . . . Maybe 15 minutes later, Tom's car drove down (it's about a city block) and observed the burning tree trunk for a few minutes, and then left. Twenty minutes later, Tom drove back (I don't think he's up to walking much). He got out of the car and approached the tree with a fire extinguisher. He sprayed the tree with the contents in a great white cloud that lasted maybe two minutes. He drove back to his house. Then Tom and wife actually walked back to look more seriously at the burning tree, which proceeded to produce more smoke and some flames appeared at least seven or eight feet up in the trunk. Old tree was not going to give up that easily. I think it was quite stimulated by the fire extinguisher. At 9AM Tom returned, with their worker. He sent the young man to the lagoon with a bucket. (That's about a half-block walk) One bucket of water was carried back and dumped on the fire. The steam lasted about 30 seconds. Smoke came out of the trunk about 8' up and heat waves were visible. Old tree was not happy. A second worker arrived and now two men are carrying buckets of water to throw on the burning tree. After maybe three round trips with buckets, the two added a tub of water to carry between them. The tub is awkward at best when carrying a full bucket in the other hand. That's a lasting image. About 9:30AM a big truck arrived with a crew of workers and perhaps a supervisor-leader who actually knew what they should be doing. His slick, shaved skull made him look impressive as he waved and gestured his instructions. I must say that Mr. Tom responded with amazing speed, not often seen in our rural Belize. Of course these responders would not come cheap, so what goes around, comes back to bite you. A weighted rope is thrown up high until they catch one of the strong new branches. I notice that all the crown leaves have turned brown. The heat is shriveling them. A man with a chain saw begins to cut the heavy root tops far out from the tree base. Another man chops with a machette at smaller roots and the outside of the trunk.The workers continue with their bucket-tub routine. Tom drives up to observe and stands, leaning against his car. The rope is anchored to a pulley far out and then the rope is stretched to the back of the truck. Maybe they have a winch, it's hard to see. Chain saw cutting continues and more water is thrown on the steaming trunk. Another man dumps water far out on the roots. I guess to soften their grip on the earth. By 10:40AM, after eight or ten attempts, a second weighted rope is thrown to join the first. The chain saw now cuts into the trunk especially on the old wood side. The buckets and tub are retired. The supervisor yells and the final chain saw cuts deep with a great whining noise . At 10:55AM the great old tree gives up maybe one hundred years of life and comes crashing down exposing a blackened hollow root circle. The living branches crack and tear into the dirt of the shallow ditch. It falls parallel to the fence, well into Tom's land. There are cheers from the men. I go to the fence to take photos and yell, "Good job, guys!" They grin and wave. The saws cut some of the corpse apart and then the men load up and everyone leaves. So much activity and then with one, seconds-long, wrenching groan-- it stops. With proper pruning the roots could have produced another beautiful tree, but no longer. Nothing is left except the piled debris that resembles a very destructive war zone. Our fence line will recover with lots of water and some loving care. The view from the kitchen window is changed forever. Like the old tree, this story is finished. Thursday, September 12, 2019 |
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