A lone goblin carries with it a fuzzy ball of fluff. After setting it down on a chair in an empty space, the goblin exits out a nearby door. His little shoulders droop as he goes, and with him, the door fades away.
Out of the darkness and silence, I arrive. I measure my steps carefully in my mind as I take each one. In spaces such as these, one must tread with caution. I approach the chair and nod. The last one did well, but the task remains undone. I place my hand on the head of what you now recognize as a stuffed bear.
"Welcome to my Teddy talk."
I'm looking back at this blog now, and I wonder how I let it be so thematically hijacked by beer. It seems so... un-me. It was like watching a small train fueled by my passions forced to chug along. This was to be a testing grounds so that I could learn to make something and just let it go. It didn't work though. It became a production. I planned. I wrote in advance. I came up with a script. I gathered data. I fussed over format and details. Then I gathered more data. Eventually, I finalized something and posted it. It was all safe and controlled.
What it was, was wrong. It should be buried deep, but I refuse to delete it and start afresh. That would be the easy way out, like seeking amnestic bliss.
Instead, I leave it as a scar carved of words in a digital landscape, a reminder of the character built through the experience or at the very least a derelict to act as a warning.
The porpoise(sic) had been thwarted at the moat. The castle remained beyond, but I forgot so quickly to even look in its direction. I'm endeavoring to change that, again. And I think a manifesto of fragmented chaos and un-planning is in order.
I'm choosing to sketch a baseline in the sand as a vague jumble of rules:
The goal will be to post at least once a week something, on some topic, in which the content was written up in less than an hour and barely(read: not) edited. I don't have the luxury of time to not practice.
Too much was on the line in the past, and artificially so. I had aspirations of grandeur. I had hopes so high they were sucking in their own smog. Past me thought it was all clearly rational, like the square sides of a glass cube. I see it now for what it really was: a safe room of leaded crystal where everything played nicely and the wildness of the heart had no place.
We'll see where this leads this time. The foolishness of this momentary hopefulness may decide to fizzle out. Only time will tell.
"Thank you for coming to my Teddy talk."
I take the bear and place it on my shoulder. I hunch forward slightly and a series of clicks accompany the restructuring of my physical machinations. With a grin, the bear climbs into a seat that now juts from my back. A series of levers rise to reach his paws. The hiss of steam signals me to start, and like a humanoid chicken walker, I strut off into the night.
