Passions

Passion certainly evokes specific images when in self-discussion or in discussing it with others. The line between passion and hobbies tend to be blurred, alongside passions and interests. For myself, I’m only here to create writing into the passion I hope it to be.

For some this could be seen as a betrayal to passion. How can you create passion? Passion is such a positive emotion, why believe you can create it?

To be brief, passion is quite a manufactured emotion. As defined it is the outburst of emotions, a building of feelings that leads to a crescendo of actions. Passion, in that way, is the perfect emotion for violence. Violence towards ones self, violence towards another; Dark to discuss, but the effects of riling the passions of the masses into acts of destruction have historical relevance. You cannot smile at the camps after-all without a little passion to spike your soul

If publicity was ever my goal this piece would surely be a death-knell to that notion for anyone who refuses to read on. Yet, in doing so, passion may in fact have been manufactured.

I can see it now; comments ready made, the flash of red hot anger upon seeing the writer brings forth the images of atrocities to eat at ones sensibilities. He must be taught that the language he has desecrated will not be without consequence. Quite a passionate response, no?

That is why the identification of passion must come before one can use it for improvement. If I were to take this piece and dissect it meticulously, it would be of course non-offensive. Unevocative. Boring. I of course could still do so. Yet I would betray my creation myth. The flurry of keystrokes, the images of the next sentence flashing briefly and as if magic materializing into reality. The slow creeping smile, the arched brow; A manifestation of the writer who pretends to elevate their craft beyond normality! I see him, he has arrived!

Indeed the dry writing has given way to the sloppy, wet indulgences of craft. Brief, manufactured passion. Forcing the mind to let go and simply create regardless of the consequence of the written word. In much the same way a brief kiss can lead to a certain kind of explosive passion, or the sudden realization that the spur of the moment trip has, by your actions, permitted great events and the wildfire of possibility briefly take your thoughts away. The events after the spark cannot be controlled, yet the moment of realization that within each person lies the potential to instigate purposeful, manufactured passion is simply breathtaking.

That is my goal: To sit, to open, to begin. Then to write. Write until the body is shaking and the heart races with heat, traveling like oil until the pipeline ruptures and the fire in my mind spells one word.

Finished.

A Neglected Garden

Honestly taking care of your garden is hard work. Understanding the right time to plant your seeds, when to and how thorough to water your growing buds, prepping the soil with fertilizer, avoiding pesticides and protecting your bearing fruits and vegetables with wire mesh and constant vigilance. These crucial steps separate gardeners from shoppers.

I did no such thing for almost four years.

I’ve reflected on how it came to pass that my garden would overflow, choked by weeds and covered in slugs, growing chaotically out of the soil and spreading it’s roots deep underground where neither produce or wordplay could reach. In the end I had to make the assessment of my own strengths, and conclude the following; I suffered a brutal combination of general apathy hidden as laziness with a desire to grow but with no plan to nurture that growth. Of course I couldn’t focus on a simply task, I had to buy countless seeds and equipment for the job, only to spread my soil too thin. My seeds remained buds, and only with unchecked growth would any of them yield their bounty.

Yet the bounty I received was not of the humble potato, or the succulent strawberry. It was also not the complex conundrum of the tomato, and certainly not the hardy bedrock of nutrients found from the zucchini. Instead, I received a bounty of baby cut carrots. I was shocked that I somehow grew a manufactured, factory churned crop to consume, but alas that is what I did. I didn’t despair entirely, however. Beneath the carrots lay the groundwork for spring onion, the Leatherman of cooking potential which to this day inspires my love for Asian cuisine, and my continued nurturing of that particular set of skills. By some miracle or sorcery I also had grown a durian, my wonderous memento to my continued exploration of fictional reality. Yet my words continued to lay dormant, unwanted.

I must make a confession; This is the first time I have written for fun in a long time. Even now I can feel my shaking fingers as they try to remember the keyboard, my brain churning through my education to find a better way of expressing perspective without using so much of the dreaded I. Needless to say, a wordcount reveals that task still eludes me.

This, however, feels different. Do I still worry that I will once again leave my garden untended? Of course, for most of the fertilizer remains crushed dreams and paths not traveled. But, perhaps my fertilizer will change. I can add my spring onions in of course. I can add my durian, a bizarre fruit only possessed from my adventures into distant lands and mythic realities. Most importantly, as I clip away at the shooting strands of the weeds attempting to escape my garden, and water it once again, the soil receives one last gift. Finally, the small ray of sun is starting to shine only for my written crop, focused intently on it’s growth and care. Within this posts soil is the first seed, which is slowly rising the seed out of the dark underground and towards the rays. May it continue its journey.

Introduction

I’ve meandered my way through life for some time now. I educated myself, I got my degree, and promptly did nothing with it. In a way, someone else’s passion for writing inspired my own return to the writing medium. I don’t know how long that inspiration will take me. Yet to continue to do nothing is something I don’t want to look back on.

I have decided for the next few months to use this blog as an open book. My first post will be coming shortly, but before that point, I’d like to give a hint of the first piece.

What I will write next will concern a garden, a farmer, and a fox.