13. Digital Art 
8. Poetry – Other
‘Withered’
in your time of need
I planted my seed
I grew strong and high
then withered and died
sadness surrounds
I persevere
this lonely pain
from what I hold dear
too much is obscured
from all other stuff
unconditional love
is simply not enough
perhaps if things settle
if things are more slow
love will be returned
and I’ll again grow
give what is not received
keep dreaming and cope
please have patience
and continue to hope
6. Essay – Inspirational
Of Impairments and Improvements
What happens to a man without sight? Is he simply left to wander the darkness, alone, and impaired? Unfortunately, yes, in some cases. However, in his journey he will develop new abilities, improvements, that the people in his midst may not be so keen on. His other senses will sharpen in the absence of his sight. They may not all sharpen equally, but he will improve in other areas as a result of being impaired elsewhere. He may be able to isolate a scent you cannot. He may be able to notice a sound you did not. Whatever it may be, it is a part of his journey now and over time it will just be a part of who he is.
What, then, of a man without much of his past? We learn from our past, it shapes us into who we are. We look back with a myriad of emotions, depending on what we’re remembering, and draw from them. There are things we wish to repeat, and others we wish to avoid. What of us, who don’t have that? What of us who only have certain events and fragments here and there? It makes us keen on the present and the future. Without a past to reflect on, we’re very aware of the here and now. Without much of a back then, we want to make the most out of every day. We never want to miss an opportunity. Few know just how short and fleeting life is than we who essentially have experienced (remembered) so little of it.
Close your eyes, and envision your loved ones. Does it make you smile? Picture your room, or office. Retrace your drive home. Can you do it? I hope so, it’s a normal thing. Being able to use your imagination and see things in your mind is a common thing. It’s good. There are those of us who can’t. We see nothing. Let’s expand this. Imagine the taste of your favorite good. Sing your favorite song, and not just a little snippet but as much as you can. We can’t do these things either. When we close our eyes and try to mentally recreate these things, it’s just blank.
It certainly isn’t that we don’t have loved ones or favorite things. Of course we do. We just can’t summon them in our minds at will. So what happens to us with this impairment? I’ve come to learn that we have very deep hearts. We feel things intensely. Just as the blind man may have more sensitive ears than you, I may have more of a sensitive heart than you. We will cry at your stories, and be passionate lovers. We will be ecstatically happy, or be furiously angry. We have depth and range of emotion. It is wonderful when it is and not…when it’s not.
We’re not better or worse people, we just have impairments and improvements. We love and want to be loved just like you. We may have to take a different approach to get to the same, or similar, point, but we’ll get there. You may just get a flash of memory and become very excited and go off on a tangent and we’ll be very happy for you and listen with genuine interest (and learn as we go, we’re good at that). We’ll just be resourceful and keep up the best we can, you may not even know the difference sometimes. We’re: wise, insightful, intuitive, inquisitive, loyal, creative, and patient. Sadly, though, people like me are also lonely and unwanted. For all the good we are, and do, it seems like the impairments outweigh the improvements.
8. Essay – Other
‘Of Fathers and Figures’
Every year we have a day for Fathers. Cool! What does it mean to be a father? According to much of what we can see in greeting cards it is a mixture of sports, beer, food and mentoring. Oddly enough, there may be some truths to that. However, there is a lot more to it.
From sports we learn: how to work within a system, how to work hard and excel, how to be both individually successful and team oriented. From beer we learn how to simplify! After all, Beer only has four ingredients. We learn there is a time to work, and a time to play. In the modern world, this really isn’t as true anymore; however, in lieu of it we now have to learn how to play at work, or how to enjoy work more: how to be passionate.
From food we learn how to take care of one’s self. We learn how to develop a skill and become a master at it. How to make things look easy. Mentoring is the truly important aspect, though. How to teach people things others (mothers) may be afraid to (or at least not care for). We offer insight on how to be disciplined, how to set goals and work towards them. We give guidance on how to achieve a sense of balance between one’s expectations and one’s setbacks and how to point someone in a direction and guide them along, without doing the work for them.
All of the above lessons are valuable, but one does not need to have their own children in order to be proficient at being a leader. Father Figures (FFs) can be found anywhere: Businesses, Schools, Government, Next Door, etc. We, as a species, grow on top of the shoulders of those whom came before. We honor their progress by picking up the torch and carrying it forward. FFs however, do much more than carry their own torch: they develop throngs of other torchbearers.
Maternal Figures are awesome too. However, there are some key differences. Maternal Figures (MFs) are often unconditionally supportive. They want you to chase your dream, regardless. Your FF may actually sit you down and explain the logistics (finances, physics, etc.) of what you’re actually trying to accomplish. That is not to say your FF is going to just say ‘no,’ but after learning the reality of the situation, you may have a better grasp on what it is you’re trying to do and how to do it. FFs feed on results. Having passion is great! Having a dream is great! Let’s see some results. You think you can do it better? Show me. FFs answer the question “How?” Often, FFs answer “Why?” too.
FFs form the foundation of a situation. Good FFs enable others to succeed. MFs may do an awful lot of the tangible work in many situations, but if done right, that MF has the support of the FF. The FF is the first and last line of defense (while the MF makes up a large middle between the lines). The FF sets up the system for success. When the FF has to step in again to enforce something, it’s too late (as many of us WELL KNOW). FFs are visionaries, arbiters of yes and no. FFs are harder to sway than MFs. FFs seek to improve, to consistently come closer to that impossibility of perfection. FFs tread the line between being content with that you have and what to change.
FFs are the unsung heroes. While MFs get most of the credit (and do a lot of work to deserve it), it is the absolute responsibility of the FF to ensure the success, sustainability, and happiness of the MF. When a good FF’s system is running smoothly, no one really notices. Things just happen as they should: calmly, peacefully, and allowing the mental space to look forward. When a good FF’s system is running smoothly, the FF should only be called as needed (as opposed to the MF who is still highly visible). Naturally, the FF is not content to rest on its laurels and is looking elsewhere for things to do.
MFs do not like to be feared. Loved? Yes. Respected? Yes. FFs, though, are more ok with being feared. In the long-term, which good FFs tend to think in anyway, fear often turns into respect. FFs are selfless, always putting the needs of the system above their own. If done right, the FF will benefit from the systemic work though.
FFs are a strange bunch: simultaneously drawing from tradition whilst pioneering new frontiers. You may not always like your FF, but you should never let it go – until it is time. That’s the thing about mentoring, about being a FF: success means obsolescence. FFs are impactful, challenging, and strategically patient. Neither FFs nor MFs are gender specific.
Have you thanked your Father Figure today?
10. Personal Experience – Inspirational
‘Multipotentialite’
I am a multipotentialite. I could also be called a polymath, or a renaissance person. I just prefer Monk, but I digress. I am socially and emotionally homeless. In the modern world of singular passions and dedicated specialists, there is no place for people like me. I am knowledgeable, to various levels, of a great many things. I am also reasonably talented at a fair bit too, and would be even more so if I wasn’t disabled. I am a lifelong learner, infected with wanderlust and an insatiable curiosity. The primary aspect separating me from well-behaved children is knowledge and/or fear of consequences. In many regards, this is a wonderful thing. Like them, I am inquisitive, intuitive, and innate chances of failure do not automatically prevent me from trying.
I enjoy being both creative and technical; we have two halves of our brain, why not use them both? I embody fusion. It is not uncommon to see me practice Internal Martial Arts to Metal (music) or become noticeably energetic for something Ambient. My average music composition, despite being highly mechanical in structure, flows and combines ideas from several genres simultaneously. I enjoy originals, covers, remixes, and mashups with equal fervor. My visual art is often brightly colored accompanied by dark written reflections. I’ve frightened people away by being unconditionally welcoming. I am in-the-box, out-of-the-box, and pondering the box at the same time. I ponder pondering.
Beyond just written, visual, and aural works, I am also highly interested in the affairs of the world. I will talk: politics, religion, philosophy, economics, and ethics. I will happily go deep with you, provided we can remain respectful and err on the side of objectivity. I’m good with pattern analysis, but I’m always looking for how it (they) will be broken. I can appreciate a joke as much as the next guy, directed at me or not and I understand the value of well-placed humor.
I’m also consistently researching, learning, absorbing. Astrophysics, agriculture, alternative energy, and alliteration, just to name a few. The advances of human knowledge and potential fascinate me. What we know now, in comparison to what we knew even a short while ago is profound. I enjoy learning how everything is interconnected and our triumphs against ourselves. I like to dream big. I like to play ‘What If’ scenarios in my mind, wherein we no longer sabotage ourselves. Then, I turn on the news. Even then, that means more research.
I am always incorporating stimuli from my environment into myself. If you enjoy being with a stoic, static, individual: avoid me. I will change my mind, and respond accordingly. I am also not of one to have assumptions made. I may be boisterous and passionate for a short burst, then be quiet in subsequent moments. No, I’m not upset. I enthusiastically shared what I wanted to and had nothing further to add. Perhaps my silence is due to mental processing, or, contemplating. Quite often, I am quiet simply because it is not my turn to speak, I have said my share and am waiting for a response. As a chronically lonely person, I am nothing if not patient. Once you have given your response, you may have opened the floodgates! I tend to be able to listen, process, and respond very rapidly. User beware.
I am kind, but disciplined. I have a sense of hope, but it is guarded underneath experience. I am passionate, but measured. I am talented, but underutilized. I am aware of being taken advantage of, but accept it as the price of visibility. I am mentally quick, but do not expect you to be the same. I am a mentor, a prolific communicator, and exceedingly trustworthy. However, I know when to listen, how to learn, and things must be earned not given. I am just as comfortable maneuvering the areas of the heart as I am the mind. I am most often not appreciated until I am gone. I am a tinkerer with foresight; plan slowly and execute quickly.
I know of no one else who has accomplished so much, given away almost all of it, and has so little to show for it. Despite my abilities, awareness, adaptability, and alliteration (boom!), I am my support network. This is where the true tragedy lies: social and emotional homelessness; I can succeed, within the realm of my disabilities, at so much, but not the one thing I want most. Please, give your loved a hug for me. Enjoy it.
12. Personal Experience – Other
We had but I have a dream.
I had a dream and that dream gave me a home. That home gave me a purpose. That purpose gave me goals. Those goals gave me ambition. That ambition gave me energy. All that energy gave me hope. At the heart of hope was a dream and when we held that dream together, we redefined what it meant to live: one positive word at a time. We amazed each other, and were happy to hold onto the dream together.
When it was our dream, I was happy to live within the warmth and safety of our home. From within it we could call out to each other, through our connection to our dream, and soothe one another. I had a purpose, a sense of belonging, and an inner tranquility. Our plans were fluid, yet firm. We were the place to which we would return. From our home and purpose, it was easy to set goals. We accomplished so much, individually and collectively. Our goals were many, mundane and massive, multiplying from the merits of our marriage to our dream. As the list of successes kept growing, so did my ambition.
Through our dream, we laid all the groundwork necessary for forever. However, I found myself the sole caretaker of our dream; such a burden should never be borne by one man alone. It was my dream! It was our dream? What did I do wrong? I poured every resource I had into keeping it alive. There was only this one dream, all else is insignificant to our dream. I wanted nothing more. Perhaps it was naiveté, perhaps it was stubbornness, I would not admit you let go of our dream.
Having let go of me, of our dream, it all unravels. From there our home collapses. Gone is the calm serenity of forever, but I will not let go! As homelessness sinks in, I scramble to maintain my purpose. I continue to succeed, with unparalleled effectiveness, in supporting the dream. You may have left our dream in my care, but I will not let it die. I can’t. It’s too important, but I continue to be pushed away from the warm core of where our dream used to live, our home, and our joint purpose. Our goals are no longer shared, nor collective. My goals become to repair and rebuild, instead of improve and enjoy. I am thought of as a means to an end. Further into space I travel. My ambitions become even more resolute, but tainted. Doubts creep in, but I’m cherishing our dream nonetheless.
I get pushed into the final layer of it all, one I was always enveloped in but never before needed: hope. I wonder if I will be saved, or finished off, out here so close to the cold void. With only hope left, I look at all the empty space that once was. I look at where our energy was, where our ambitions were, and where our goals were. I look at how we used to be unified in purpose, and shared a wonderful home. I look at our dream, and wonder if it means anything that I still hold on to it so dearly, when you let go of it so long ago. I look at the decaying layer of hope and before it, and I, are gone, along with the dream you once held with me, I leave a final message: Thank you.
Thank you for redefining life with me. Thank you for the radiant bliss of love. Thank you for the incredible intensity of passion. Thank you for the fulfilling depth of peace, before you left. Thank you for this dream, it’s all I ever wanted. You are all I ever wanted. I will always hold you dear, and remember with great fondness the times you held this dream with me. I will never let it go.
I have a dream.
14. Short, Short Story – Inspirational
‘The Wizard and His Grimoire’
There was once a young wizard, powerful beyond his years, living on the outskirts of the town markets. The wizard tended to keep to himself, but would always offer a helping hand or join a conversation when he had something to contribute. He was frequently seen in the markets and all the merchants knew him. He always carried with him his primary project: his grimoire. His grimoire was full of his notes, lessons, and spells, that he had learned and created along his journeys; it was not uncommon to see him open his book and reference it for others mid-conversation. It seemed like he had a spell for everyone.
One day, near the markets, the wizard met a woman. She was the most captivating woman he had ever seen and it wasn’t long before he had fallen completely in love with her. In a way, you could say she cast a spell on him. The wizard did not have much to give her, so he gave the most meaningful thing he could: his heart. The woman received the gift with much joy and cherished it as a child would with a new toy. They would commonly meet in the markets and make their rounds together. They were very quickly inseparable, and the wizard wasted no time making the woman’s dreams come true through the power of his dedication and spells. She was happy seeing reality manifest before her very eyes and the wizard was happy being with her. All the merchants in town loved seeing them together, they were a radiant pair. She was good with everything he wasn’t, and their natural compliment was self-evident. It made them strong.
It not to last. Like a child with a new toy, the novelty wore off. It wasn’t long before the wizard’s heart found a new home. It wasn’t in the care of the woman, but in the corner of the bottom shelf of her room. It was all but forgotten. Sadly, for wizards, the heart is the source of magical power. Having given his heart away, he relied on her to care for it in order to keep it strong. He felt not only her absence, but his power fading away. He retreated to his home near the markets and fervently worked in his grimoire.
One day, in the markets, many of the merchants began asking the woman about the missing wizard. His lack of appearances lately is conspicuous. She had no idea, they stopped doing rounds together a long time ago. More merchants kept asking her about him. Part curious and part irritated, she went to his home. Upon entering, she did not find him. Things appeared to be mostly in order, but she found his grimoire upon the dais. He never goes anywhere without it, and so she was troubled.
She had never really looked through the wizard’s grimoire before. He had referenced it, for her, quite a bit but she had never gone through it of her own accord. She casually flipped through the first half and glanced over the notes and spells. Then, she got to the second half and froze. The wizard’s grimoire had turned into a series of love letters, and they were all written to her. Her eyes furiously scanned the pages. Each one seemed to be more intense than the previous. He loved her and he was gone.
She snatched up the grimoire and hurried home, running to her room and collapsing to the floor. She shoved other things out of the way and found his heart there on the bottom shelf, covered in dust and cobwebs. It still had power, but it was not as vibrantly colored as it once was. Armed with the power of the heart and the grimoire she could try to find the missing wizard! Or, she could relegate him to the eventual antiquity of memory, and be grateful for making her dreams come true.
What does she do? What would you do?
16. Short, Short Story – Other
‘The Memory Tree’
Once upon a time, in the middle of the world where everybody built their lives, was a great big tree. The tree’s trunk was so massive you couldn’t see around it yet it was so soft you could hug it and rest against it. The tree was where everyone came to in a time of need, for after you carved your problems into its bark you could hear its response through the wind. Actually, the tree always tried to talk to everyone, but no one listened unless there was a problem. The tree absorbed each of its carvings, dutifully, and converted the memories into new branches and roots. The Memory Tree was always there for everyone.
No one has any idea how old the Memory Tree is, where it came from, or much of anything at all about it. They just know it’s wise and reliable. They have forgotten that the Memory Tree’s roots form the foundation under the ground on which they’ve built their life. They don’t care that the Memory Tree feels pain when it gets carved into. All they know is they can always come to it for help, it is in the same familiar place; all one needs to do is take minimal effort to reach out to it and it will respond.
The atmosphere around the Memory Tree is always calm, even though most people are, themselves, too tense to appreciate it. No matter how busy life gets, you are always welcome. No matter how lonely the Memory Tree gets, it will continue to try to talk to you as you pass by. Everyone knows about the Memory Tree, and everyone can commonly see it during their normal routine. However, it is almost always just taken for granted as it stands watch over the people. No one bothers to find out how, but the Memory Tree keeps its area: neat, open, and inviting. The Memory Tree is a bastion of sanity, and solace, in the busy modern world.
The Memory Tree itself is a testament to patience, understanding, and unyielding love. Its branches intertwine with one another, forming a dense canopy of shelter. Its leaves are vibrant but not glaring. It’s grand but unassuming, one would think you couldn’t miss something of that size but people find a way to forget it anyway. Despite its convenience, it seems like people go out of their way to avoid the Memory Tree. If it wasn’t for the services it provides, it is likely no one would go near it at all.
With everyone so pre-occupied in their own lives, no one realizes the Memory Tree is dying. Having absorbed so much neglect, malice, hatred, betrayal, and corruption, the Memory Tree is dying from the inside out. The massive, supportive, centerpiece of the world, as they know it, is fading and no one even bats an eye. All it would take to save it is to give what is given; to do that, however, would imply people actually care. If people would just care for the gentle giant the same way it has cared for them, it wouldn’t be a hollowing husk. What will people do when the Memory Tree is gone? Will they remember the Memory Tree? Will they regret?