[Greg Has a Book] No U Turns, Except Wednesdays

[Rhuryc]

Don't Mind the Median Sometimes staring is warranted. Sitting next to my computer is a half-empty two liter of Dr Pepper and a book labeled Quantum Field Theory, the latter of which is covered with notes overtaken by the brazen display of a lax attention span. I don't know what the means either. Sometime during the course of the night that considerably diminished container of cola will be knocked over, no doubt ruining the ruminations of my Tuesday lecture and leaving the weekend free to fret until I finally break down on Monday night and scribble down ten reasons why someone would ever want to be a Physicist. Somehow I still have a job. What is this? Your guess is as good as my opinion. Maybe it's procrastination, maybe I just want people to like me, but if I had to lie I'd say it was a collection of thoughts, meanderings, and off-kilter philosophy fueled by the unhinged mind of the modern grunge artist. I know what you're thinking. "Wow Greg, you're super creative and I'm so glad you decided to make this a scrapbook instead of a blog." And while, yes, I do appreciate your wonderful sentiments, my understanding between the Scrapping of Books and Blogging of Ideas hazes somewhere between the line of Scrapping and Ideas. Besides, here I get to post pictures and music. I'm thrilled to be back here. My hiatus was filled with psychobabble and enough drama to write its own Oscar nomination, but the real crime of my departure was the loss of a creative outlet. Or an outlet at least. And I realize in my sudden, unwarranted disappearing act I left behind responsibilities and several folks hanging from the edge of the cliff. If words could fix it I'd write you all a sonnet. In the mean time here, have a kitten. Isn't he cute? Don't mind the distraction. That's just a convenient breaking point. I'm not good at formal apologies. My memory is about as balanced as a penguin on acid, so let it be known that free shots to the balls will be tolerated at the discretion of my ego. Two points if you make me cry. I'm sure in some future endeavor of this book of scraps I'll contemplate the true nature of fast fooding and easy bake dinners, but my playlist grows thin of witty anecdotes and stern-toned language. The voice of Morgan Freeman is now reading this in your mind. Adieu friends, lovers, and countrymen, from the bowls of the Ohioan Grad Slave Pits, I bid you good fortune on the morrow. Extra Credit : "Like my father always said, If worst comes to worst we're screwed."

[Mao]

If you were standing in front of me I'd probably punch you in the balls.

Instead, I will give you a blobfish. Observe:

[Rhuryc]

Boston Isn't That Far My sensibilities are queer. Not in a homophobic, modern slang sort of way, but that other definition that everyone seems to have forgotten about. Whether the internet has turned me into some post humanistic computer worshiping cultist or my extensive girl hair has had some kind of affect on my personalty, the point remains that the hubbub of dramatic flair bothers me all of not. I used to do theatre. Theater. Acting. Drama is something I know, believe it or not, and I feel like I have some kind of cap on the whole situation. And how do I deal with it? By being unyielding silly. As it was best put: "Rhu, are you a joker?" Sure. While I don't fancy myself in makeup and cutting my cheeks into a smile, I joke. I jest, and otherwise lurk in the background whilst awaiting the opportunity to assault the unwitting with a quip. The point, really, is I love you people. The only dramatic shenanigans I see in this community are low key enough to be mature, or are the meanderings of some internet diva whom tends to fade into obscurity after a nap and a quick spanking. I know few of you half as well as I should and I associated with half as much as I can. From Stitches and his earnest kindness, to the unblemished sweetness of Kamalama, with Tarot's astounding story telling and Gossamuss's proficient leadership, to my bromancing with Irish, with a little Paola spunk, mix in some Ohioan Badassery (His name is Mike.), add a Cheshire grin with the face of a raging sea monster, to all the Founders and how much crap they put up with, to all the Domain Story Masters and their Assistant Drones, and all the players I couldn't fit into this subpar paragraph, you guys rock. Harder than core. Am I sucking up? Sure. Let me express how much I care: EDIT: OH MY GOD. HOW COULD I FORGET THE QUEEN OF GLITTER. Satu, your glittery awesomeness brings all sorts of pretty to my world. <3 I've never been a part of a community like this. Where just waltzing into chat gets you more lovin' than a - oh hey, look, a PG-13 rating. You guys make my day just that much better, even if I feel like I get forgotten or ignored at times, it doesn't matter because there always moments where that fades and that warm, bubbly sensation just takes a hold. Oh, also, I really like writing and the setting here is cool or something. Maybe next time I'll write something longer. Extra Credit : "All bark and no tree."

[Satu]

Can I just say how happy I am to see you back?

[Rhuryc]

She Said Don't Worry My brain is muddled. You might say "Well Greg, log out of chat, that should solve that problem", but alas, voice in my head, the source of my befuddlement stems from a deeper sense of self than a mere rage inducing fling with the less savory denizens of my preferred internet hangout. So what? Is it the product of douchetastic writing? Maybe. Or it could be the byproduct of years of psychological trauma, the truth of the matter is that I do not know. At all. I've always found it difficult to talk about myself - whether it be intimate or to a group of near-strangers - and this book of scraps might just be some kind of existential hounding for compassion. So here goes something. I like people. All sorts of people. Black people, white people, purple people eaters, just people. And the majority of people will never cease to surprise you. On this little mote of dust suspended in a beam of sunlight is everyone I've loved, everyone I will ever love, all of the great works of compassion, the evil, malicious deeds of dictators, the brilliant art of long passed poets, blissful scores composed by men and women of a truly benign caliber, all of that brought to you by the wonderful imaginations and insidious designs of one of the rarest forms of anything in the galaxy. Life. As awesome as a miracle can be. Millions of particles consisting of nothing more than energy all conglomerating to form the basis of an intelligent, thinking, feeling life form that can experience the wealth and incredible existence of emotion. That lifeless, mysterious matter, all of it that outlines the very being of you, of me, of all those people, no matter stupid they may be, or how silly they might seem. People. I hate them, I love them, I don't care about them, I want to be with them. I have no idea what I want or who I want to be, but I don't think I would have it any other way. So what the hell is this even about? I don't know. I like writing. And better yet when I can express myself. Most of my common day is spent head deep in a book detailing quantum field theories and enough math to kill a program's worth of liberal arts majors. Being able to get away from that logical world for just a moment and let myself feel something is awesome. Cathartic, even. Believe me when I say that I enjoy your company. The things you say, whether or not they irritate me, make me laugh, smile, or rage, at the end of it all the interaction is too perfect to ignore. If you need someone to talk to, I'd love to to chat. If you need someone to just sit and listen, I'm only half deaf. A bag to punch or what have you. You're doing more for me just by being there than I'll ever be able to do for you. Well damn. That just makes me feel all sorts of Gene Kelly. Extra Credit : "Every man is a volume if you know how to read him."

[Gossamer]

Reading your blogs make me want to post for you in the worst way. Lets start up your quest again.

[Rhuryc]

Something's Got to Give Today I made a girl cry. She came to my "office" and I had to explain to her why I failed her essay. Jesus. I did nothing wrong, but I can suddenly relate to a snowman in July. Truth? If you did not research the material and slap a bunch of vague comments and non-sequiturs onto paper you're not going to get the grade you were hoping for. Next time I get my hands on a wishbone I'm going to use it to get those ten minutes of my life back. Taking a break from the introspective is difficult. I spend a lot time thinking about nothing which translates into time well wasted. Development. I enjoy developing things. So when I find myself staring off into the oblivion that is my brain I gear that effort toward things, most of these things resulting in stuff that I tend to heap on whatever it is I may (or may not) be interested in at the time. Sunberth, for example. Before I Ninja Vanished I had no really intention of being an AS. Until I started making things. Thus, viola, application followed by mass city development. Now that I've immersed myself in that world again I find that Ive fallen back into the same routine of things and stuff. Only now that seems to have drifted into focus in the concern of character. What does that mean? I'll tell you what it means. Lean forward, because you're about to be on the edge of your seat. Really. What the hell is Rhuryc? Why, Greg, he's your main PC, duh! Sure! But was a character he might actually be something more. Rhuryc is a Warrior, no doubt, but he is a warrior without a cause. A soldier without direction. He is very much a living, breathing stereotype without the means to type his stereo. In that way he lacks a purpose. Everything about the character reeks with some kind of higher calling. A Knight serving the will of a god, a protector seeking a worthy quest, something along those lines; only, the breadth of his existence has been bound with a total void of purpose. So what does he do? He flounders. He looks for something without knowing what the something is and he does even possess the ability to recognize said something even if he finds it. That, to me, is interesting. It's not a story about an epic journey, a fight for the universe, but one about a person. A struggle to figure out just what in all the hell he's doing. Every new character Rhuryc meets always has some kind of drive or a calling while he's left to watch, envious of another without the knowledge of just how to replicate what he sees. Internal struggle is the best, to me, and no matter what comes at him, I think will always remain the core of the character. Talk about a nutshell. So what's Hawkins? Hawkins is a pirate. The end. Extra Credit : If you like Zelda click me. "If two is company and three's a crowd, is four a catastrophe?"

[Rhuryc]

It May Not Apply Warning: Serious hippy crap below, you have been warned. Let's shifts gears for a moment. I don't believe in violence. At all. I don't even believe in hitting a kid to teach them not to do something. Ever. True education comes from understanding, from learning why, from knowing the consequences, not from experiencing fear. Why is that we, as a species, continue to embrace the simplest means of control? In High School health classes they teach you that that Marijuana will kill you and that sleeping with anyone will give you five sex-related diseases. The majority of the media reports the worst of the day, parents scare their children away from new experiences, and most individuals learn their morals by being told that if they're not good they suffer eternal damnation. So what? To be good people we need to be scared into pursuing the "proper" course of action? Even our system of laws works under a system of punishment. The law is not taught to be respected, it is taught to be feared. Either obey or suffer the long arm. What else can we expect? This method of control has existed in our civilization since its very inception. A man holds power through strength of arms, rarely through the respect of his station or honor of his peers. We, for some reason, tolerate our most hated ideals for the sake of ease. Stand up for what you believe in, sure, so long as it does not step on the toes of those you fight. Raise your flag, but keep it out of sight. When did civil disobedience become planned obedience? Dr. King did not march through the streets at a scheduled hour, Ghandi did not stand on a lawn with a sign. But championing a cause is too much effort. Too much to risk. As a people we sit by and idle in our day to day, content, happy, willing to let a little pass us by in favor of safety and comfort. And what's wrong with that? Nothing. What works, works, and I am no great mind to say otherwise. Conjecture and postulation makes for great cocktail chatter, but I have no means in which to give my bark any bite. What I want is understanding. What I want is for education to be unblemished by bias and fallacious accusations. Truth, solid, yet open. In science you must be willing to keep your mind free. Facts change daily. You may know how the universe works one minute then the next you know nothing. The only laws set in stone are those that bind you from the exterior, whether they are from small minds that seek to protect their status quo or by your own failings. I live, breath, and exist for a world that chooses to stay their hand in favor of civil discussion, for one that respects a mind that chooses to resist its nature. What, if not for living by your own designs, is a greater sign of evolution? To come so far as to communicate by the written word and travel beyond the sky in massive, world defying craft, what is it then to respect your fellows in their own interactions? Our passions, our hatreds, our peeves, so much of it causes distress, and yet it takes so little to spread just a little love, a little understanding. I can fathom no greater feeling an intimate moment with those who know me best. Sometimes I respect the conscientious objector, sometimes I long to see rifles replaced with flowers. This way of settling differences is not just. These wars, these hatreds. That one man would kill another out of such passionate disdain is disturbing. And yet we are taught that war is necessary, that killing is the proper response to killing. An eye for an eye, perhaps the most heinous concept we can attribute to our species, a foolish desire for revenge, for justice and retribution. Who wants to watch their mother die? Their sister? Their daughter? What crime justifies more suffering? Sometimes, I respect the man that lays down his arms. Fear, vengeance, hatred, death. We know to stay clear of these concepts, and yet we base our lives around their existence. A little more love in the world is not such a terrible burden to bare. Extra Credit : "Two men laughed, two men cried. Most were silent."

[Dusk]

I'm not sure how I've gone through the last month not following this, but now I'm here. Love this, very much so. I would write more, but it's three hours earlier than I usually wake up, and my brain doesn't know what to do with that.

[Rhuryc]

It's Okay to Laugh That is, indeed my foot. And yes, that is also a brick. Is it relevant? Of course not, what made you think anything you would ever read in something labeled as an absence of U Turns be relevant? But you know, I like that brick. Not only was that brick worthy of its own picture, but he had a name. His name was Rodney. What happened to Rodney I will never know, I'd like to think he found that concrete he was always looking for and settled down and had a ton of little mortar babies. Jeff would tell you that Rodney never had a chance. And who is Jeff? Now there's a question for the ages. So often you find yourself at the ass end of a bad decision. The very ass end. The end where no man nor woman oft venture lest they embrace their inner, masochistic desires. Jeff is he whom supplies the rope for your soap, the kit to your kaboodle. The man that, no matter which end you happen to be on, will find himself on the very same end; though, he might remind you on occasion that he knew this was a bad idea. So what does Jeff have to do with Rodney? Well. It was Jeff's car that broke down in Georgia whilst we were on our adventure into the northern half of the United States. Damn you, Jeff. Damn you. You learn a lot of things from people. Love, hate, extremes and emotions to a lesser degree. You learn from friends, and perhaps yet even more from enemies. Looking back and knowing what I took from who is, maybe, both a melancholy and jovial experience. Jeff taught me what a real friend was. From Lynlee I learned how to be a lover. Beth formed scars to beg caution, and Heather took them away long enough to find balance. Chris left regret. Kurt founded neglect. Somewhere along the way Eric discovered a way to make me care, and Amanda stole my heart and let it go with a permanent imprint of her own. Jose, Surge, and Ben, fun was never in so great a supply, Matt, MacKenzie, and Jon, someday we'll finish that god damn game. All three Michaels, you're bastards and always will be. Bryan, I'll never lose an argument because of you, and Debo; well, hey. You're Debo. Brennon, I never really did give you a fair chance, and Brandon? Thanks for the fish. Going over names once and twice again makes you - or maybe just me - think for a while, perhaps I'm not the person I want to be, or maybe I'm just who I'm supposed to be. Sitting here, wondering, staring at an luminous screen and pondering, remembering embarrassments and laughs. Remembering how Brad was able to drink an entire half gallon syrup in twenty seconds. It's fun. It's lonely. It's why I live. The point is lacking. I suppose that's why most of my pencils are dull. Cherish those that make you you, maybe. Cry when they leave. Add the new, horde the old. When my father died I never did get to meet his friends. That story is all its own, but I knew he always regretted never telling those close to him that he cared. So often we hear the same old, sappy tales, tell those you love that you do, let the others know how much they matter. And sometimes we don't. How silly. Drench yourself with that stupid, insolent emotion. Be nice, for once, help when you don't have to, lend another hand when there are already too many. And for all that is hallowed in this realm, give a kind word. Just one. Force those morons to listen until they're bursting with good vibes, and lend an ear when they bother to return the favor. Now, anyone else sick of me giving advice? If I were me I'd punch myself in the face about now. Well hawt diggity, would you look at that? Oh yeah. Steve, you're a prick and I hope you choke on a pretzel. Extra Credit : "Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."