Origins and Explanations

                So if you’ve happened to stumble upon this tedious little slice of the internet you’ve probably got a few questions. To answer the first one: there’s an “X” in the top right corner that’ll help. For those of you who decide to stay I’ll try to clear up what I imagine you’re asking yourself right now.

                Why is this blog called Zebraflowers? Well, Zebraflowers is a word I made up. It’s the name of a song I wrote, but there’s also a ragged and convoluted definition behind it. It sorta goes like this:

                Basically every possible question can be distilled down to having two possible answers; positive and negative, or, yes and no. If it’s not one then it’s the other. This has often been depicted as things being black and white. When a small child has a crush on somebody one of the stereotypical things to do is to pluck the petals from a flower while saying “he loves me, he loves me not”. In essence, every petal is then representing one of two possible answers: the yes or no, the positive or negative, the black and white. So I’ve come to call any flower used for such a purpose a Zebraflower. Make sense? I dunno.

                What is this blog about? Well, anything really. There was no particular reason to start this blog, nor is there any particular style I see this blog going in. I like to write and collect my thoughts and this is just another way to do so. I do plan to write about certain things in the future, things that hold interest for me, like religion vs. non-religion, comedy, music, books, poetry, my disapproval of pop culture and society in general, perhaps some politics and miscellaneous thoughts that collect in my brain. I do want to continue with two styles of blogs already found on here; the “Open Letters” and the “Musings”. The Open Letters tend to be angry, ranty things that I write in about as much time as it takes to read them. They are completely reactionary to certain things. The Musings are just curious little thoughts I’ve had that entertain me and serve no real purpose at all, which is why they’re so fun.

                These things having been said, I’d like to end with a short bio about myself for any creepy strangers who happen to find this, perhaps to make it easier to understand my ramblings.

                I’m 22 years old. I am an atheist, always have been. I’ve mostly lived in rural areas. I’m skeptical of many things. I really enjoy making other people laugh. The craft of comedy can be quite rewarding. I write. I make music, although it remains to be heard by anyone. I have only a few friends, but I much prefer having a few close friends than having lots of jerkass acquaintances. I collect CDs. I have a pet turtle named The Great A’tuin. I generally dislike people. I want to learn about politics but I can never force myself to get involved. I’m quite apathetic. I’m Canadian and I enjoy it. I’ve unfortunately never been out of my own province, something I hope to change sometime soon. My favourite writer is Stephen Crane. My favourite movie is The Big Lebowski. My favourite musician is Tom Waits. I don’t much care for cell phones. I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs and I don’t drink alcohol. None of it seems that interesting to me.

                Well that’s about it for now. If you have any questions feel free to leave one below. If the explanations were less than coherent let me know. If you feel like saying anything at all, go for it.

Musings #2: iPods

The world outside is a very dangerous place. There’s an infinite number of ways to die in public, which is why I make sure that every song on my iPod is one that I wouldn’t mind listening to while dying.

Send in the Clouds

               For as long as I can remember I’ve been fascinated by clouds. I don’t even know why really. I learned long ago in science class that they were just a mass of water droplets suspended in the atmosphere. But still, to me they are synonymous with imagination. They’re so captivating. They are so unlike anything else really, and yet, are so simple and commonplace that they should hold no interest to anyone. But they do. And, quite fantastically, I’m not the only person to hold this view. A while ago I found a group of like-minded individuals online: The Cloud Appreciation Society. The group is exactly what you would think they’d be; a bunch of people sharing pictures of clouds and talking about clouds. I find myself every now and again on their website watching their slideshow of the latest photographic additions to the site. I can watch the thing for half an hour sometimes. The pictures just seem really beautiful to me.

                When I’m watching clouds I have a reoccurring thought. I like to think what the first sentient thought about clouds might have been. These things have been floating up above every creature on earth for a very, very long time. But there had to be a time when a human, or ancestor thereof, looked up and thought: what are those? What are these things that have roamed over the treetops for eternities? It would be an interesting situation to be in; with no knowledge of what these things were, just knowing that they are always floating around.

                Perhaps they thought they were some kind of animal, flying up above like a big jellyfish in the sky. Perhaps they thought that’s where the gods resided and watched over the world below. Perhaps they thought they were gods. Or spirits. Or magic baskets with rain.

                Of course I am completely glorifying and romanticizing these thought. I can almost guarantee there was never a moment that occurred in the way I described above. But I like to pretend.  

                But the question remains: why do I associate clouds with imagination? Is it simply due to pareidolia? Is there more to it than just pattern recognition? Perhaps I was just indoctrinated as a youth to have that point of view. Think about it. Every time there is a cartoon or a drawing of somebody thinking or dreaming the thought/dream is always taking place inside a cloud. Coincidence? Probably. Ok, this blog has devolved into utter nonsense now. But I can’t help but feel like I may have had a concept in here somewhere. Damned if I can comprehend it though. Thoughts?

An Open Letter to Assholes

Dear Assholes;

               I am completely sick and fucking tired of seeing photographs like this:

 

               

              
                What a bullshit, half-assed attempt to achieve something. Let’s start with the picture itself. What the fuck am I looking at? So you took a picture of a road with a concrete ditch with a sign post in the foreground. Holy fucking shit! Why aren’t museums lining up to collectively kiss your ass?! But that’s not all. To help frame this particular photo you’ve made sure that some hipster’s ass is plastered on one side of the picture. I’m assuming it’s a hipster, judging by the pants and the shoes and the particles of pretentiousness seeping into my brain by looking at this monstrosity. Seriously, what the fuck? Why does this picture mean anything to you? Why should this picture mean anything to anyone?

                And if that weren’t enough to piss everyone with half a brain right the fuck off (which it is) you’ve gone and added one of the single most mind-numbingly, clichéd, pseudo-intellectual phrases I have ever had the displeasure of reading in my entire fucking life. Am I supposed to feel sympathy for this selectively mute character? Am I supposed to assume that there is some terrible burden upon this person’s soul that when they feel they must speak they find themselves unable to do so? Well, I don’t. I could, if the background picture displayed even the slightest fucking hint of those feelings. “I have so much to say…” so why am I left looking at someone’s backside on a bright, sunny road? There’s no silence being portrayed in this photograph. There’s no depression here, since I assume you are depressed that you are being silent, so how does the text in any goddamn way relate to what I’m looking at? What the fuck is wrong with you? Also, you missed an apostrophe in the word “I’m”.

                 Let it be known that my vehemence here is not solely directed at this picture, it’s just that this picture was the final straw. I’ve seen innumerous photographs agonizingly similar to this one and they all manage to instill within me a feeling of absolute disgust for my fellow human beings. I hate you. If you’re going to compile an image like this then please, make sure the picture is interesting. Make sure that the text you include is relevant to the picture. And especially make damn sure that the text is not some fucking stupid-ass, clichéd phrase people have heard ad nauseam.  These few simple rules will make you a significantly more likable person, instead of the hipster douche that you’re colouring yourself as.

Thank you and goodbye.

Musings #1: Rainbows

I was riding on a bus and we drove past a big semi-cylindrical concrete culvert under an adjacent road. It was a basically a big semi-circle so someone decided to paint it as a large rainbow. I guess to make the world a better place. But they forgot the colour violet. Idiots.

No, Not Like Inception

               I’ve never had a lucid dream, but I am really intrigued as to what it would be like.  For anyone unfamiliar with what a lucid dream is; it’s basically a dream where you are aware you are in a dream. I’ve had friends who have had lucid dreams, I’ve heard neat stories and I’ve read a lot about them but I’ve never had one myself. It seems to me that it would be really cool.

                I’ve read that for some people it’s really difficult to have lucid dreams and for others it comes very naturally. This kind of perturbed me so a while ago I decided I was going to try to have a lucid dream. I read on the oh so reliable internet that a good way to get your mind in the proper state is to record your dreams in the morning in journal or something. I’ve been doing so, for the dreams I remember, since April 9^th, 2010. Unfortunately, I don’t have very many recorded. There were some mornings where I just know I had a dream but I just couldn’t remember it at all. There were some dreams I deemed unworthy of writing down due to the boredom involved. But mostly I just woke up without remembering any part of any dream at all. The notebook is barely a quarter of the way full.

                I haven’t read through it. I don’t know when, or if, I will. I just write down the dream immediately as I wake up and then go about my day. I haven’t re-read a single entry in there and I can only remember a few particular moments. I think it would be interesting, and probably amusing, to sit down and read through the thing. But there could also be a productive reason for reading through it.

                I also read online that it is easier to have a lucid dream if there is a reoccurring person or object in your dream that you can recognize and use to remind yourself. If I read through my dream journal I’m sure I could come across some sort of subject that keeps appearing. I could then concentrate and constantly remind myself that when I see this person or object it means I’m dreaming.

                Then perhaps I could control the dream. I don’t know what I would do in that situation, but it seems like a very fascinating prospect to me; to be the perpetual architect of world around you, to be able to change things on a whim. Seems like fun.

                So, as of today, I’ve yet to have a lucid dream. But I really do hope I can experience, and remember, at least one, once. But what about you? Have you ever had a lucid dream? Were you aware you were dreaming; could you control things? What was it like? Care to share?