Hello everyone. Just wanted to give a quick introduction of myself. My name's Theo. I'm 33. I live in New York, the Bronx specifically. I used to work with Maisha back in Philly before coming to the glorious New York Post. Home of the unsubtantiated news story and the thinly veiled racist screed. But I'm a graphic designer in sports so I KIIIIIINDA get a pass. Well at least I hope I do. Fuck it. I get a paycheck.

I was excited to get an invite to join this little sliver of goodness but was at a loss for what to contribute. But I think it came to me this morning when I was half dreaming/half awake. For some reason I was yelling at myself to get going. I mean I was going hard. I felt like a drill sergeant. "Get up you dumb bastard! Move! What are you scared to move? I bet you'd like to stay in that bed you punk ass! You like snuggling into that pillow, puddin'?!?" Just uncalled for, early morning type stuff.

But you know, it got me up. I mean it more than woke me up. It got my HYPE! I damn near did a kick flip to my feet followed by a James Brown split. And it got me to thinking. What do other people's inner motivational voices sound like? I mean if someone else ever woke me up like that or tried to spur me on with those words, I guarantee that I'd never do what was demanded of me. But I know me and daresay enjoy berating myself into action. I thrive on it. But I could never do it to another person since I know it's some weird shit to have fly outta your mouth. So with all that...what does your inner drill sergeant sound like? Is it even a drill sergeant? Is it a polite grandmother promising you a slice of pie? Is it a hot ex promising you some alone time? And by the way, not all my posts will be nutty. I just had this on my mind for a few hours.

This is Larisa

perhaps playing sauerkraut sorbet

Intro

This sounds like a wonderful idea, and I'm honored to be invited. And, since procrastination methods are foremost in my mind at present, here is my intro. My name is Larisa, I am 33 years old, and I recently graduated from law school and am now studying for the California bar exam (hence the need for procrastination methods). My avocation is music; I play the piano, specializing in ragtime, and perform at ragtime festivals as often as humanly possible. And, on the subject of music, here is (as requested) the upcoming concert information (Aug. 14-16 in Sutter Creek, CA). :) And here is a Youtube video of one of my performances from the last festival I attended.

My participation in this blog will have to be somewhat minimal until the bar exam is over, but I do hope to open my big mouth (and insert my big foot) at least a few times. On the subject of creativity - does creativity and imaginative activity really have to be purposeless and disconnected from the working world? Is all art "quite useless" by definition? Is it possible to be creative in a typical white-collar office job? To be creative as a lawyer? As an engineer? As a janitor?

Self/Beauty/Community

Continuing the dialogue, somewhat, in regards to beauty and our extant conceptions of what it consists of in our daily lives. I believe that our identities consist of everything that informs them, whether that be conformation to social realities and formal career necessities, or our inner perceptions and emotions and thoughts, or the visceral, undeniable touch of the boundaries of skin, or the face in the mirror that restricts us more immediately to what we can't avoid. I believe that we are all--and none--of these things. We are gods, terrible and beautiful. The only thing that would confine us is our own lack of vision. I have different masks that I can put on and take off, dependent on the situation and with who I am dealing with, but the inner integrity of who I am remains constant. Because I am also you. Because everything is also I. We. Us. Empathy and intuition is the only way into this understanding. I believe such things about beauty.

We scribe our differing perspectives, for example, onto this communal blog. And it begs the question of how one could ever rightfully be lonely. We listen to ourselves through each other, hearing ourselves echoing deeply through the chamber of multiple existences. Nothing that anyone could write could ever be wholly alien to our understanding of ourselves. And that's beautiful.

My name is Mark, and I am at a kind of transitional moment in my life in many ways, which makes it difficult for me to articulate simply what and who I am without seeming overly self-absorbed, which I've probably already succeeded in doing. But I live in NYC and I am recently become a NYC Teaching Fellow, and it is certainly a pleasure to have yet another venue to share deeply with others in a cyberspatial sort of way with mostly complete and total strangers. I have a blog that I have been updating less and less frequently, and I hope that this opportunity to jumpstart the creative juices will assist not only myself but others in the good cause of creative thought generation. At the very least, it's fun. Cheers! And hello Maisha and thanks for the invite.

Reality

Hi everyone, my name is Ashley. I'm 26 living in Philadelphia and I work as the Master Electrician (I make the lights work) at the Wilma theatre. a diatribe on thoughts of the matrix.

Have you ever been driving and come to a turn in the road that looks strikingly familiar to another place you have been? I think its the Matrix running out of ideas. How many ways can you make a landscape look? if we Begin their programing with all of the basics then as the machines developed AI wouldn't the base level of information be influenced by the data we imparted to them? What about corrupted information? that might explain why EVERYTHING tastes like chicken, they where unable to recover the files on what foods should taste like. how do robots really know what Tasty Wheat REALLY tasted like? did Tasty Wheat ever really exist?

One thing I would like to know, how did the city of Zion come to be if everyone was in the matrix? it must have really been hard for the first person to be flushed to build a ship, then find a place to build a city?

like how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tossie pop, the world may never know.

Want to play?

Welcome, welcome.

I wrote a blog last summer that was a lot of fun, and now that I am back in a situation where I can go home and relax after work (as opposed to the academic year's go-home-and-work-after-work), I'd like to start writing again. I've had phrases and stories scurrying around my head like mice in the Inquirer Building. If you've never been there, it's like this: You open a drawer and find a nest of baby rodents huddled for warmth. Or out of the corner of your eye you see a shape racing along the floor, and just as you begin to think hey-what's-that-shape-moving-over-there, it's gone. But I haven't caught any of these ephemeral stories with words yet, and I think perhaps it's overdue.

Not to mention you. I want to hear more about you. I've seen a few blogs online with multiple authors, and I really like this idea. I would love nothing more than to be able to invite all those people I find most fascinating and have them writing in the same place. It could be like Twitter -- one liners about happenings and interesting finds. It could be like Live Journal, whole diaries that we share with each other. It could be reposts of our own script, or of other people's. The point is to have an intimate collection of minds and conversations with editors and activists and poets and lovers and friends and technicians and thinkers. My only request is that writers avoid gratuitous content that would force me to mark this blog "adult." (I don't mind candor or art, and I don't propose to censor anything. This is just a request.)

Well, what do you think? Do you want to play? Imagine that I am five years old, and have just knocked on your front door and asked your mother if you could come outside for a game of hide and seek, please. Imagine becoming five years old again and running around with boundless energy, eating grass, scraping knees, and making up the rules to suit ourselves.

I want to talk to you, and I want you to hear me. And I want to really listen to you.

I'll start with a story of my own on the next post ...