Friday, 7 January 2011
Have you ever noticed the way the simple thought of someone's name can result in an unexpected phone call from them?
Have you ever walked through the woods and felt as if the trees moved along side of you?
Have you ever caressed the velvet frailness of a rose petal and felt it shudder beneath your touch?
What if the reality of our existence was simply a thought in the mind of something else?
Are you curious? Visit the website at http://witanvid.com
Sunday, 2 January 2011
It is a new year! Like peering at a blank canvas, the year ahead is filled with infinite potential. The emptiness of the canvass reflects against the now fully developed landscape of the year past. Do I really love what 2010 became?
With the question of what was looming, my mind turns again to what is yet to come. As the momentum builds towards the release of The Green Man's Curse I begin to feel as if I am turning my child over to a stranger without properly checking their background. Will the readers love my work or will they hate it? Will they hold my brain child in the palm of their hands and see the beauty between its covers that I see? The fear of an author. Always looking to the other side of the coin, my mind wanders to the possibilities. The excitement of receiving the reviews, the debut day, and beyond.
Staring at the unwritten page of 2011 I dare not limit the possibilities. The year is new, like a babe in a hospital gown, and only time will tell what it will hold.
So as for my goals for the year to come? Simply to stand on my tip toes and reach for the stars. If I happen to fall a little short I'll still catch the moon on the way down. With that I put on my hat,lace up my boots, and begin the journey down the long dirt road without a map. Don't worry I will let you know every mile marker I wander past. To health, happiness, and the pursuit of everything Hello 2011!
Thursday, 30 December 2010
The clock is ticking
With the wick of 2010 rapidly extinguishing it is time for the year in review. We will not delve into the redundancies of everyday life or focus on the accomplishments of the year now gone. I will walk through the lessons learned, as those are what I hope to carry along for many years to come. It is through trials and tribulations, the proverbial skinned knee ,that most of the light bulbs in my head have found illumination.
It is said in like a lion out like a lamb, however I find this far too delicate an explanation for the year soon past. Much more appropriate would be in like a tiger out like a dragon. Odd explanation, but fitting as you will see. The beginning of 20 ought 10 rushed down upon me as a lion to its prey bringing feelings of foreboding and certain impending demise. Having lost some one close to me only shortly prior to its arrival, a midlife crisis ensued as I struggled to find the meaning in my existence. Something I had always felt comfortable in, constant self sacrifice for the benefit of others, no longer felt fulfilling. The voids that had accumulated over the sum of my existence, as of thus, seemed at the beginning of the year ,to be a massive black hole swallowing me deep inside to be forgotten.
Enter the new job. It was a welcome change. The benefits far outweighed that of my prior position and the hours were to be less. Oh nobody told me about the fine print. You know that tiny lettering they put in invisible ink that exclaims you have sold your soul to the company and will forever be a slave to their demands. Hence the depression of loss, became closer to retreat and surrender as the first of the year my neck lay in the mouth of the lion awaiting the final rip of flesh to end the agony of wonder.
It is not in my nature to quit, although at times I would be far smarter in doing so. It was actually through those I had relinquished my happiness for, that I was able to see the graces laying in my hands. As they say, my day was bad until I met a man who could not see. But the blind see far more than sighted and my eyes began reopening to the world around me. The wind renewed its whispering in my ears, sometimes so loudly I could not sleep, and Witan Vid drew its first breath. My head was no longer peering down the salivating pit of the king of the jungle it was now running, albeit without looking at times, into the wind.
As the year draws to a close, my novel awaits the approaching rabbit of wisdom and luck to carry it high into the new year. 2010 has reminded me that in life we must let go when people move on, we must hold on when we feel like letting go, the blind truly can teach the sighted to see, and the first no simply means you are on the right road to a yes.
To all who read this now and in the future may the luck of the rabbit carry us all into the new year and keep us safe to the other side.
Saturday, 25 December 2010
Three am, eighty miles away from home, sitting at a Denny's waiting for our oder to be filled, and a Christmas miracle walked through the door. Half delirious from the fatigue of an endless work life, I sat quietly back watching the people around me. A set of bright headlights caught the corner of my eye through the distant window. From behind the wheel of a full sized truck a man climbed out and made his way through the restaurant door. His brow was furrowed from years of hard work and worry with silvering, brown hair disheveled at its crest.
The way his body moved made my heart cry. His medium built frame hunched slightly from the weight of his fatigue. As he mas his way past our table to an empty booth I noticed the bloodshot look of his eyes. It was a look I had grown to both love and loathe, as if the weight of the world rested on his weary shoulders. The same look my Dad had whenever he was alive.
Oddly enough, I had subconsciously avoided Denny's since he passed away. I found my self struggling to choke back tears as he walked past. The same half walk half swaggered run, as if he felt a compulsion to hurry even at waiting. Normally, I am not the type of person to approach another in conversation, I prefer to study human interaction from the outside. After the waiter took his order, without ever receiving a menu, an odd sensation over took my feet and I found myself standing next to his table.
He never questioned my sanity as I broached him in conversation with the awkward opening of "How many miles have you put in?". In retrospect I would have understood a brush off. Instead, he shared with me his travels, he had just finished working 36 hours, driving 300 miles, and still had 150 miles before landing at home on Christmas Eve. As he spoke the kindness of his heart radiated beneath his fatigued physical state. Our conversation only halted when our meals arrived and we bid casual adieu.
Instead of returning to my table I diverted to the restroom to regain my composure. My head swam as I tried to wrap around the oddity of the encounter. My Dad had a habit of showing up out of the blue, his semi parked somewhere most cars would be afraid to park, and taking me out to an all night restaurant, usually Denny's to catch up on life. He was always tired from logging too many miles. Always in a hurry to get to the next destination, but always ready for a conversation.
Over the years, I witnessed many random acts of kindness performed by him to random strangers. I was also privy to the harshness of judgment passed on him by people incapable of seeing past the outer layer of his flesh. He would always tip the wait staff well, when they were cold and rude to him, he would tip even better. I would protest, of course, the tip should reflect the service, he would say nothing and leave it. Looking back, I can understand why. We can not judge what is happening in another persons life. Regardless of their reason for being rude, cold, or hateful, maybe that extra tip made them a little nicer to the next customer. At the very least, those late night meals taught me to look past the clothes on a persons back, or the motions they are going through in the moment, to what makes them an individual, the potential beneath the circumstance. As I walked from the restroom my eyes wandered toward the table the man had sat at. It was now empty. When I returned to my waiting group and cold food I was surprised to hear the stranger had picked up the bill for our table. Yet again, my composure was lost, as the tears trailed my cheek I could barely whisper ,"Of course". It is what my dad would have done. The happenstance occurrence of lives filtering through each other.
It has been over a year since my Dad died, but at three am eighty miles away from home, on Christmas Eve, I shared a meal with him. The mark we leave on the world can burn far beyond the wick of our lives.~R.M. Brandon
Sunday, 12 December 2010
What do you think?
With the setting of the evening sun as darkness takes over the land it becomes blatantly clear, lingering beneath the shell of flesh, lies a person few have ventured deep enough to meet. With a multitude of hats comes a complexity of persona's. Yet when a fellow from one avenue of life meets another while donning a different hat, it is with dismay and bewilderment he is greeted. Why?
The answer is quantitatively simple. Yes, I do understand that complexity and simplicity are opposite creatures. Though I must propose to you ,is anything simple truly easy to define. Consider this, if you were to describe to someone who lacked the ability to taste, the experience of eating a creme chocolate, the texture, the flavor, the differences in each minute bite, could you achieve it? We each have our own view on tastes. Hence something as simple as a chocolate,fleeting in its experience,is simple yet complex.
What does any of this have to do with people? Quite simply, it is the human condition that determines the category by which things are placed. From childhood we are taught to classify and categorize. All too quickly in grammar school we develop social niche's to which we feel everything must belong. The problem with this classification system are the “others” or should we call them non-categorized. A unique individual who refuses to wear only one hat, care about only certain things, or behave in a predetermined manner. In the scientific world it can be easily accounted as a variable. Therefore the human condition consists of a human variable.
Who cares? Oddly enough you do. Why you say? Because inside, each of us are variables. We are given the ability to choose, to become constant or a condition, or to change repeatedly or evolve with experience through trial and error a variable.
With complacency comes routine. With routine comes tolerance. With tolerance comes stagnation. Basically if we do not challenge ourselves to grow, only ever look through one set of eyes at the world around us, we wither and die. As I said initially, complexly simple. Should we all be raving lunatics who through caution to the wind and run stark naked down a busy street? Probably not, well unless you want medication or posses an abundance of money for bail.
Then what does any of this actually matter? It is simply this, when an individual you had clearly not looked deep enough to truly know reveals an aspect of their persona please do not look at them as if they had just grown another head. Unless, of course, they did. If they did please share so we can all stare in bewilderment at the continuous evolution of life, or point and laugh, whatever.
Instead simply listen. Then take a moment to ponder on who deeply you see life.
Are you lingering at the surface? Has complacency taken hold? I venture to offer this explanation for your quandary, what if inside of the shell of each body lives a hundred souls. Each soul longing for a different goal in life. We choose the most dominant part of our many personalities to conform with society at a young age and lock the others tightly up inside where usually they are forgotten. The variables could not choose which to keep and which to lock away, hence they explore each of their many avenues as they continue through life. As with any simple explanation this only leads to more questions. Here is where I turn it over to you. What are your thoughts?
Monday, 6 December 2010
A glimpse of a beutiful life
How does one sum an entire existence into a few words? I have been blessed to live a hundred lives within the short time I have tallied on this earth. This section of the blog is to take you, my reader, deeper into the thralls of my subconscious. Ultimately to reveal to you, and maybe even myself, the fuel for the fire of my literary insanity. If anything you read within this blog makes you question my work, good, if it helps you question your life, great, if it makes you question reality, my mission is accomplished.
Walking down the street, your breath visible in the chill on the wind, your overpriced coat wraps tightly around your healthy flesh. As you round a busy corner you notice a shell of a human peering up at you beneath ragged clothes. Her naturally straw colored hair is highlighted with punk colors vaguely bringing back memories of Rainbow Bright from your childhood. Her face is a thin tanned leather with worry lines far past her years already creasing the corners of her purple lips. Looking up at you with sky blue eyes sharp and bright like peering into a reflection pool, she holds out sock covered hand and asks simply, "Could you spare some change?". With disgust in your face you utter back ,"Get a job" as you scramble past her like running from the plague to your warm awaiting home. Briefly, your mind wanders through questions,"Where are her parents at, she must be older than she looks, Society is falling apart from all these leeches Why don't they fix it themselves?." Yet, You never stop to ask. So I will answer your questions.
Once, in another part of my hundred lives, I was that girl, here is what she was thinking as you hurried past. I am not invisible, am I? You approached and I could hear the change jingling in your pocket. The hunger pain in my stomach had become a constant reminder of the absence of the people who had brought me into this world. It was almost a comfort in its persistenceas if to say it would always be there for me. Part of me envied what you had achieved in life, the security, the steadiness of your gait, you must have friends waiting for you. The friends I had made on the street where running through my mind as you walked by. Street Kids, Uptown throw away's, street rat's, we knew the names.
It was one of those disposable people that weighed so heavily on my mind that particular day. She was two years younger than me at the time. Her story was far worse than mine, she had fled a sexually abusive home, to this. I had to protect her, to keep the world from hurting her anymore, but I was running from my own demons. She had become sick that week. The condemned apartment building we squatted in provided minimal resistance to a northeast winter chill and pneumonia was known to claim more that one each winter. The fever coursing her body had us all worried, but we had no where to go for help. If we took her to the doctor, like a few had done before, they would contact authorities who would either send her back to the abusive home she left or to kiddie lock down for being born into a crappy environment. No she was one of ours and we weren't going to let her down. She needed medicine, we had a guy that could get us the antibiotics we needed, but it wasn't cheap.
We tried the safe house for help first. They were always great for letting us shower, giving us a warm meal, and helping us find education and yes, even jobs. Rebuilding a life when you're not old enough in the eyes of the law to have one can take time. Time that you have to spend keeping yourself alive. We were an odd makeshift family of lost souls. Kids and throw aways to the world, to you. Inside, I still held hope that someone out there could look past the bag of bones that carried my essence through this world to my heart. Someone would be willing to see the diamond in the rough that was me. I digress, so back to the moment.
As you walked by in your Armani suit, leather shoes casting a high polished shine to the sky, breif case clutched tightly by your side as if protecting the hope diamond,the change in your pocket gave a sweet ring. The ring of hope. By the sound it was a few quarters, a couple of dimes, and a handful of pennies, not much in the grand scheme of things. When added to an entire family of misfits, six at the time, willing to sacrifice what little dignity they had left in this world keep another alive, it would have been plenty.
We made enough by nightfall to get the medicine so your scoff did no harm. It did strike a cord in my soul that I carry with me to this very day. I no longer wear rags, or sleep under the stars, unless I want to. I am now the person the hand is held out to. Each time I find myself confronted with that multilayered, raggedy shell of a person I offer my hand out. It is not a hand out I give them, but a hand up. A tug back to their feet so they can walk on their own once again.
In this life we can be the change we want to see in the world, we can ignore the need, or we can the lift the weak that they might once again stand on their own two feet. You never know, they might be the one to carry you when you find yourself on the ground.
Posted by witanvid at 3:38 PM CST
Updated: Monday, 6 December 2010 4:07 PM CST
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
The building begins!!!
The nightmare is dawning with the trucks loaded down. Anticipation builds between the the group as the engines roar to life.The city skyline becomes a dot in the rearview mirror as the horizon streches wide in front of them. The sound of a screaming guitar fills the cab......
Follow http://gypsyshadow.com/default.html for upcoming release and experience a new kind of reality.
Monday, 29 November 2010
Witan Vid : The Green Man's Curse has joined the publishing house of Gypsy Shadow!!!!
Developement details are in the works and updates will be posted regularly from here on out.
Monday, 15 November 2010
News from the trenches
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