Logo A Go-Go.

I was trying to create a logo for my business cards. The simple reason being that logos are apparently meant to create a stand out impression, when promoting yourself. For me the words are all I need to sell my abilities as a writer, but still, in order to succeed in the constructs of this labyrinth we live upon, I am fully aware in the necessities in adaptability - so it is all good, dog.

Anyway, it gave me a chance to be a little more creative in drawing and design - two forms of art I am in general quite bad at; not for lack of talent, but lack of ability in knowing how. Of all the aspects of life I am rubbish at; playing pool, multitasking (I use being male as an excuse), and basketball, as examples - the ability to paint and dance - as separate forms of expression,and not together, are the only two which actually annoy me when I attempt to do them - and then do them so badly; I wonder how it must be, to have a burning passion for something you are innately terrible at? I should thank nature for handing me the gift of wordplay - and the desire to become good at it. I could be shit as a writer, and merely deluded - but if so, this is a good delusion; I am also devilishly attractive, the worlds greatest lover, strong as an Ox, sharp as a razor, and extremely modest... *coughs*.

The logo I initially came up with, was meant to be a signature of my initials; LG. I wanted a more conventional example, then realized somewhere down the line, I would probably find myself being sued by the company, LG; hence the logo resembling a signature. The problem was, it looked like a skewered version of the Nazi symbol, which, considering I am not a hate-fulled fascist, and that many Jewish people work in positions of power within the literary field - would be pretty stupid to print on 250 business cards; unless a 'we hate everything which isn't white and ignorant' magazine needs someone to construct an article about guns, ammo, micro-sized penises, shaved heads, and why every problem of the world is cause by everyone but the white man. Even if they did, I think I would take a pass; I can be dramatic, but I can't produce outright bullshit.

Ironically, the Nazis hijacked the symbol - now associated with so much evil in the world, from Hinduism; where it was created as a statement of universal peace. Adolf destroyed a lot of things in the world; and, much like those odd, staunch, half a flat comb style mustaches, flattened side swept haircuts, the name Adolph (read about Harpo Marx as an example of this), the symbol itself is now looked at as the very opposite of why it was created. Of course, in a few hundred years, all of these will be used again; though I really don't like those stupid mustaches.

So in the end, I designed a logo of a clock with no spherical barrier, and two distorted centered hands; which resemble the initials of my signature. It is somewhat ambivalent and pretentious enough, for high art types to give it a meaning which doesn't really exist. I could have simply written in this blog, that I changed my logo to suit the needs of the times, but that would be dull and boring; This is simply proof that sometimes, it is entirely possible to write an entire article and say many things, without really saying anything.

Now where is my cheque?

Lee.

My Shoes.

Once upon a time, I purchased a pair of shoes. They were brand new, fresh out of the box, and carried an impression of all the miles we would walk along together. The black and white Converse I had been wearing - the third replacement set of the exact same footwear, had served their purpose, and were worn down enough to make me realize I must allow them to find their rightful place in shoe heaven; if such a place exists... I am not sure if footwear are atheists or not.

Initially, the new set of wanderers were a tight squeeze, when placed upon my feet - in order to serve their purpose of protecting my skin, bones, blood, ankle joints and toes. However, after a few short days of slightly awkward pain, they had grown attached to me, as much my feet grew attached to them; we were now associates - nothing was going to stop us from walking towards personal domination.

I loved them for many reasons; they were my favourite colour, Brown. They protected me from hard surfaces. They waited patiently with me, as I traveled through gyms, cinemas, restaurants, coffee shops, shopping centers, cars, trains, buses, houses, flats, and all manner of weird and wonderful places. They were with me when I laughed, cried, came close to giving in, felt euphoric moments of magic, and every emotion in-between. They are the only non-physical aspect of my being, which could explain the feeling of each sensation along every last step of the pathway.

And now these shoes are much older. They grow a little tired. The material has faded, the rubber texture has slowly dissipated over the passing months, and - while still very comfortable when placed upon my feet, will eventually be casually discarded and tossed aside - once I find a new and fresher pair; to begin yet another phase of a continuing journey. As time passes - and, as has been for the past thirty years of me life, many pairs of shoes will come and go from the life I live. Eventually, over a long enough timeline, I shall forget this pair even existed.

But they will always be a pair of shoes which only ever knew the feel of my feet. The only pair which followed me every step of the way. The only pair who know every last detail, of the story of what is proving to be the most bizarre year of my life so far.

This is not a deep, philosophical account of the nature of footwear, I just never truly appreciated how many journeys require a good pair of shoes. Thank you shoes... you served me well. I hope I served you just as much too. :-)

Lee.

Love Versus Everything Else.

It turns ordinary men into fierce, noble warriors; handing them the strength to slay the mightiest of demonic Dragons. It grows metaphorical wings upon women; piercing a passionate fire into the eyes of the most passive of females. And a mere droplet of its potion onto the tongue of any human being, rises them like a rejuvenated Phoenix - from the deepest, darkest of gutters, onto the peaks of the highest mountains within a human soul; affording a view of the world where nothing but clear, blue skies lay ahead, and a feeling of calm serenity in absolute clarity - which both centers and structures ambitions engine, as it grinds out an endless stream of determination, desire, drive, and dedication.

Every last element of positive achievement in this world; from the freeing of entire civilizations, all the way to a small child discarding a sweet wrapper into a garbage bin, is born from this internal feeling. An essence often misunderstood as merely a human to human form which, while the most intense portion there is in the emotional construct of our fragile beating hearts, is only a chapter of its ubiquitous powers. It is not even organism to organism. It is a knowledge of positivity, peace, and a certain kind of submission to all that surrounds the dusty paths of the lives we walk along; we commonly refer to it as... love.

And yet, there is a catch to this small magic potion which contains the liquid called love; when we taste it, when it is offered as a gift to save our souls, from the ruin of believing in nothing but what we see with our eyes; which - by all accounts, is merely a small red bow on the gift wrapping of life, (and who ever retains the bow) we have to accept it; without condition, without hesitation, and, to a degree, without question. Should we decide not to, it manifests itself into frustration, anger, bitterness, resentment, and all forms of negative, destructive outlook. Eventually, it turns into a vile tasting, sour form of hate; a hate which, like all great killers, psychopaths, and fascist dictators will attest to, helps nobody in no way whatsoever - especially themselves.

The love arrives in many ways, millions of times a day, and in an untold myriad of forms; it could be human, animal, inanimate, an energy, an impulse, an act, it is ostensibly limitless. For me personally - on Friday, it was a lift home from someone I had not seen in just over ten years. On Saturday it was the downpour of rain. And today it was in the form of a furry ginger and white Cat I met walking home, who happily let me tickle under his chin, before - from his own acceptance of love, laying on his back and letting me stroke his belly. These are minimal examples, and over this weekend, countless acts of love have passed me by; some I accepted, many, to my personal disappointment, I rejected - some more blatantly than others.

I say the world is becoming boring to me, but it is not true. Each and every day, I grow more in touch with the nature I have consciously ignored for almost all my life; I can feel the life in the trees, or hear it in the whistling of the leaves as they echo along the wind. I see it in animals speaking to me, without the need for the human invention of words - created to organize and remember a world we were adapting to pretend belonged solely to us; we call a Spider a Spider, do you really think a Dog refers to them this way, much less even bother to name them at all?
I want to to feel - to me feeling is to live. And the more I see the beauty of love through nature, I more I see how humanity have been forced to ignore it; chasing all manner of pointless stuff, which only leaves us more insecure than before we attained it. We all desire to be able to give and receive it; and love can only be attained by giving it away.

The best things in life truly are free, we just have to unconditionally accept them as they are. Through a mixture of internal conditioning, denial, and an obstinate attitude to new ideas and formulas, I constantly miss out on so much love in this world. But nature has given me a great potential to offer humanity as much positivity as I can, and I need to fight; perhaps the biggest and only true fight my life has ever undertaken. I have tasted love, many times - yet still I must swallow the potion, without allowing my mind to trick me into yet again rejecting it. But I know I am winning, and I know in doing so, mine and all those around me, will be all the better for it. You just need to be a little patient; my mental templates are very, very intricate - and it takes a long time to strip them down to their bare threads of architecture.

I love you all.

Lee.

Missing Miracles.

It is morning. My eyes peer open to a fresh new day; it is already bright outside. I have missed the darkness as it turned to light - with the rise of the Sun over the Western world. This has been a regular occurrence over ten thousand times, in my life so far. And yet, I have only ever experienced the magic of this event, twice. But, I hardly even pause to consider the beauty which passed me by as I slept, as my thoughts turn to a logical assimilation of organizing a basic structure, of the day ahead.

I lay silently in bed for five minutes, listening to varying groups of birds as they pleasantly coo and chirp in a language my conscious mind has no need to understand, from great distances upon all forms of trees, buildings, and areas of sky. The piercing screech of the alarm clock, and the ever growing roar of car engines, direct me away from the outside tones of nature. I exit the comfort of my bed, as I run a bath, switch on a kettle, and ready myself to find victory in the day ahead. It is only now - when I consider these moments, how these are the minutes of the day, in which I am fully at peace - as I let them slide away, so quickly.

I leave home, as my feet carry me towards my desired destination. The skies darken and the clouds open, as a thunderous, heavy rain streams down from the greying clouds upon the Earth. I quickly scatter for a form of man-made shelter, in order to find haven from the heavens above me. I remember the minimal instances in which the rain implicitly defeated my lack of shelter - as nature soaked my clothes and skin like a fierce, pounding waterfall. I spend the remainder of the day immersed in my personal business, believing the distance is carrying me to the miracle I have searched my entire life. As I do, I habitually allow hundreds of strangers to pass a mere matter of inches from my existence - never once raising my head, to discover a new and unique viewpoint of a soul, who lives in a day which belongs to us all, searching for miracles of their own.

As my tired mind and feet both carry a slight despondency and emptiness, I finally reach home.  And, as the same Sun which I missed arise only sixteen hours ago, decides to say goodnight; as the light turns back to the darkness it was born from, and it sets below the houses and trees in the distance, I remain oblivious, as I chew on a reduced price Chicken Salad from Boots, as I sit before my laptop, reading and constructing historical theories of a universe which sits right outside my window - which my eyes never once care to gaze outside.

The day is almost over. I am sad, lonely, and upset that life has ignored my calls for a magical sight to hit me between the eyes; I wonder if God has managed to forget I even exist at all. And yet, as I ponder this notion, while I lay in the calm serenity of my bed. I think back upon every moment of beauty I allowed myself to miss out on; the silent language of two baby strangers in the supermarket, the fly on the wall, the whistling wind blowing against the aging wooden fence in my garden, the feel of the pillow as my head rests upon it. It is also in watching darkness vanish, light falling, letting nature drench me in water, and in simply letting forever be.

I then understand how every person I avoided, may also have carried the miracle I was searching for, as much as I may have held portions of theirs. In a solitary day, I wondered where the sights I would never forget were hiding. In one single moment, I realize they are all around me; I just need to stop trying so hard not to see them.

Tomorrow, I will remind myself not to miss the miracles again... but only as I lay in the calm serenity of my bed, and try to set my alarm a little earlier.

Lee.