Thinking with Therapist (3/x+1)

"What gets in the way of writing like that?" Therapist asked; and so we continued the conversation from earlier.

"Time, mostly," I responded. I think it's less that, though, than timing.

The big glaring issue is accessibility. Samsung is not Blogger-friendly, which means that the two blogs I write on can't be worked on from home - anchoring me to public terminals to keep them updated.

This week in Andalusada blogging: 6/9/2012

In the beginning, I wrote "Not much killing this week." That was wrong; this week was when, to the best of my memory, I first seriously discussed the Thousand Days, which more than decimated Sweden. But the most important things I wrote about this week, I feel, were about writing:

• About the single biggest thing in the history of Moorish Islam;
• About a brütal Bible;
• About somebody real;
• About something that won't exist for another 800 years, nor matter for 5d6 after that;
• About words not meaning what you think they mean. 

Thinking with Therapist (2/x+1)

"How much would you like to write a day?" Therapist asked.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a hugely productive discussion. Anyone can quit smoking every day; I can set goals every day too. Getting them to stick is a bit more challenging. Some people need to sit down and write for, say, an hour each day; I can do that easily. But that day, I actually came up with something:

"At least two hours," I said. "But writing multiple things."

Thinking with Therapist (1/x+1)

Last week, my therapist asked me to think about my long-term goals. To my shame, I didn't until I was on the way in, and confessed as much.

So instead I talked, a bit, about my writing. And that digression yielded some interesting fruit.

My words flow not as freely as before

My words flow not as freely as before
To vocalize my love and sing your praise.
It pains me, cuts me deep and to the core
To struggle when I strive to count the ways
You are to me: the holder of my heart;
The harbor for my loud and storm-tossed soul;
The woman that I love; the one last part
Apart from which no part of me is whole...
Beloved, held in every thought of mine,
I walk the widow's walk with tear-streaked face
Until you cross that far horizon line
And I can hold you tight in my embrace...
I broken sing, until your drawing near,
My love for my love, too removed to hear...

Communicating myself: 6/3/2012

Several years ago, I was talking with Chris about the "personal relationship with God" routine. I don't buy the "personal relationship with God" routine, especially not one that argues from there that Christianity isn't a religion. (I get the point he was trying to make, but it was still simply wrong; other religions are significantly different, but they are not simply magical-going-through-the-motions, and it's bullshit to claim that "Christianity" - by which he meant Bible study - is both magically exempted from that and the true, rightful practice of what was first done in Antioch.)

In the end, to stop his well-intentioned efforts to proselytize me, I told him very simply that I did not attend church, and if and when I was ready to do so, I would do so with integrity, and not a minute before.

This week in Andalusada blogging: 6/2/2012

It's been a relatively sparse week writing Andalusada. Sparse enough, in fact, that I have only two really new posts to note:

• One about what happens instead of denominationalism, and
• Another about what happens instead of the Thirty Years' War.

And both of those, it should be noted, are still works in progress because they're so damn big.