The people of UH seem to have a new hobby. It is neither a sport nor an art form, but is still executed with flawless consistency. It isn't time consuming, so practitioners can squeeze it in while walking between two buildings. And it apparently brings a lot of amusement to those who've tried it, because they seem to do it all the time.
What is it you ask? The name of it is "Stabbing Heather's Rear Bike Tire".
The first time the tire went flat, I thought "Darn. Stupid flat tire."
The second time it went flat, I thought "Darn. Stupid rocky pathways."
But when dad put a new tube in, and I attached it to the rack that night, and then came back the next morning without ever riding it, and found it FLAT, I thought "Darn, somebody is stabbing my tires".
I don't think I've made anybody angry with me enough to drive them to stab my bike. So I'm going to believe that this is just random vandalism. I mean, bikes are stolen here every other day, and general crime is on the rise. I wonder just how much money it would take to install some kind of video surveillance? It wouldn't have to be a huge operation... just set up webcams and wireless radio things in a few windows. Have it take a picture every 3 seconds. Send it to a computer that could keep track of it. Gosh, it wouldn't even have to be a smart computer. Somehow I feel that this is feasible for much less than $1000. Of course, this wouldn't STOP the bike from being stolen. But it might help police track down the thieves. And a sign that says "This bike rack is under video surveillance" under the camera might deter a few criminals.
And even if no one is ever caught, I could see who on earth is stabbin my bike wheel!

I've finished 5 pages of my webcomic. When I complete 6, I'll start posting them weekly. That will get me through finals, and then I'll have tons more time to devote to them in the summer.  ¶ 11:05

I never intended to be a philosophically-bent blog. I know people are going to stop reading me because they probably are already sick of this kind of questioning from the University of Houston's "Human Situation" course. I'll try to correct this soon, and step back from these kinds of rants. After this rant.

An anonymous commenter quoted some Nietzsche at me concerning the nature of goodness in my last blog.
An apt point: the feeling of moral security is just a clouding of the mind's eye to the more subtle evils one takes part in. Like holding the strong back by uplifting the weak, and placing more emphasis on the afterlife than on the current one. Such things are considered good, but admittedly degrade the value of ones current existence. This is where I feel like I've got that "terminology" problem. I don't want to talk about the significance of spiritual practice in terms of a particular religious faith, since many faiths have these images and prejudices attached to them for so many people. If I say salvation, its not the Christian water-dunking kind. If I say enlightenment, its not the trippy abstract eastern thing that so many people want to imagine. Let's be more basic than that, let's not think of it as the "final step" of anything. Let's not say that this "salvation" is the crossing over into the "realm of goodness". Let's not even WORRY about where we look to discern good in this dialog.
In fact, I guess I could just as easily make use of Nietzsche's "overman" in my conversations. The overman has been described as a man who could embrace "eternal recurrence" (reliving his existence over and over and over again) without remorse or self-deception. My ranting on religious practice is supposed to advocate awareness of one's being. Awareness of what one is really choosing, and more importantly, why one chooses it. I can't say that striving for self awareness necessarily creates an overman, but I'm sure that it is in the direction of that end. Of course I over-simplify Nietzsche here, and take him a little out of context. But that's because he works beyond good and evil, where I feel like maybe I'm thinking below it.

Phew. Anyway.

I'm so depressed because I found out the closed the best ride in Disney World five years ago and I never knew about it. Epcot's Horizons was the one I looked forward to most as a kid. The trips were so rare, and I haven't been back in 7 years. I always held on to the hope that someday, sometime, I would be able to go back to Disney World and relive that particular childhood memory. But no, the ride was closed in 1999. Gutted. It slipped away forever without event. I would have taken part in some kind of protest or restoration campaign. But I didn't know. Darn it.

Another thing to be grouchy about: I just got my brakes fixed. I have the sneaking suspicion that everything related to the acquisition and maintenance of cars is shady. I know these guys are required by law to tell me that everything is wrong with my car, but seriously, why do they have to SUCK the money out of people's bank accounts? I think I am going to make an effort to learn more about cars so I can change my own stupid brake pads in the future. Rotate my own freaking tires. I'll be able to lift them by then because my arms will get all beefy from hauling fat patients around at the hospital.
The Matthews were very very helpful to me. They gave me a lift back from the brake place and Jeff's dad talked the price down for me a little. I have been spending every weekend there since Jeff got this summer internship (and he comes home every weekend). I am so lucky that his family is so kind. Its a great bonus to having a great guy like Jeff.

Final note: Jeff's internship is organizing a painting business. If anyone in the Houston area needs their house painted this summer, contact me and I'll refer you. Collegeworks painting has the price and it has the quality, plus you'll be supporting Jeff's business (rather than some kind of shady, money-sucking establishment).  ¶ 22:49

So, I thought more about the book since last blog. Another quote from it speaks of how man's mind generally narrows with distance from the self and becomes sharper as the differences between the people increase. It then says that the object of religious practice is to turn the point upon one's self, and constantly examine one's own mind and motives for validity and virtue.
This doesn't answer the question of what is "good" or "right", nor whether that good is universal. It simply claims that the fundamental of faith is introspection. When I consider the quote from the last blog "To take the posture of meditation at all is to have the right state of mind", I begin to think that one's salvation, one's enlightenment is reached when one is willing to stop justifying all their actions and work from the assumption that their modes of being need improvement. Or, at least, the beginning of that enlightenment.
How to measure the standards of virtue is another matter entirely. I like the idea of Quality addressed in Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (I've already read it, Jared, though I thank you for your taking time to suggest it ^_^). But I don't want to get into talking about that one since I've not read that book in 4 years. Which means I've forgotten most of it.
Enough philosophizing.

I took a statistics test today. It was much easier than I expected. Thankfully. I hate trying to jumpstart my brain for 8:30 math tests. My math teacher is adorable in his way. He's old and deliberate, and really cares about his job. I wrote a short thing about him called Impressions of Kip in the project section a while ago. The most striking part of his ensemble is his headgear. I don't know whether you'd classify it as a fedora, Quaker, or pilgrim hat. Picture it: indented, wide-brimmed, and tall.

Their is a lot of graffiti on this campus. In the stairwell leading up to Horizon's cafeteria, there is a small skeleton stick man on the left wall. Katie took a liking to him and decided to take his picture. He's now her buddy icon for AIM. If you're at UH, look out for him; his overbite hilarious. And his name is Stanley, apparently.

Final news: I'm starting a webcomic. Yes for real. Its only got 2 pages, and I'd like to make a few more before I begin regularly posting them. I'm still trying to work out some plot stuff, but I think its off to an interesting start.
  ¶ 20:14

There are new pictures in the artbook, just click the projects square above this post.

Spring break is over, I think I slept through most of it. I really loved seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with my sister. The story made me lonesome for Jeff, but the girl's hair inspired me to re-dye my own in bright colors again. My tiny strip of pink will morph into a red layer of hair. We'll see how that turns out.

The other day I picked up an old book of mine, Zen Mind, Beginners Mind. Every time I go back to my eastern texts I come away with something different. I have been sitting here trying to write about what I gathered from it this time, but I find that it just comes out over-simplified and hollow-sounding. It had to do with the Golden Rule, which I find to be a prime philosophy for life. Because of it, people try to cultivate compassion in their lives; we form some kind of religious practice to help us improve our state of mind. But then I read this line in my book. "To take the posture of meditation at all is to have the right state of mind". What does that mean? That enlightenment is the very thing that drives us to meditate? That salvation is the spirit that causes us to pray or repent or act compassionately? I'm not talking about the fear of hell. This force is that other thing. That thing that makes us treat people right for no reason, and causes us to want to become a better person, even though we're okay to begin with. Don't even think of this in terms of a particular religion. Speak of it like the 'virtue' of Greek philosophers if you like. Its just a question of what causes these questions to arise to begin with.
It seems like such an obvious statement when I read it. Or an obvious question. Whatever. That's why I have a hard time talking to people about it anymore. I wanna talk about subtleties, but everyone, including myself, gets tied down in terminology.

Instead of scratching my head over it, I'm going to go get some ice cream.  ¶ 13:09

Start a new book. Start a new book.
How many half-filled journals do I have lying around my home? There must be ten or more on the shelf that I'm staring at. All mixed up so the dates are inconsistent. Skip back and forth. Half the entries online, half on paper. Start a new book.
I feel like I'm losing something every time I pick up another blank journal and start over. Let me write these same introductions and hope that this time the entries will be consistent and the words intelligent. Let me later reflect on the dreams written here and find them realized. Let me finally tell the story of my life with honesty, and let me like what I read.
I am compelled. The empty page mocks me. There are books and books of them awaiting my pen. Blank paper stacked to the ceiling. I feel like I have something to say, not because I'm wiser or wittier than other people, just because of that singular compulsion. I've a story that I'm waiting to tell. It's because I somehow know that it will be the words that will define me in the end. The letters. All my love and smiles and relationships will show the world who I am, but this paper keeps calling me back and demanding ink and answers.
I know I could write anything. I really want to write fiction most of all, and I've dreamed up great heroes with quests to break destiny. But again and again I only end up writing what I know. All I write are more journal entries, wherever they might be. And when I'm finally offered a free scrap and the freedom to create a story that isn't centered on myself, I hesitate. And hours are lost to silence.
I have this over-arching awareness of my own mortality. My mother says to me "Heather, you just don't realize how young you are. You're not even twenty." But I'm all too aware of the way it will happen. I'll wake up one morning to the shock of my own gray hairs. I'll realize that I've been waking up to the same routine for fifteen years, years that seem like no more than the space of a breath, and that the sun is no longer rising, but setting. When is that opening line going to dawn on me; when am I going to get about what I really want to do?
I feel like I have lost touch with something important. That something is missing. But of course, when I read older journals, I talk like I've been missing something my whole life. My entries are longings; sometimes for God, sometimes for Jeff, sometimes for justice. Today, I long for the opening line to my story. My defining story.
A professor once told me that we are nothing more than the tales we tell. We are limited editions of short story collections. Assemblies of letters. Scratches on a page. Sounds spoken. I have just cracked the spine of another blank journal, and I hesitate. Then these same struggles pour out again, and I discover my story is more about second-guessing than originality.
After a while, I'm going to read these words and think "what a melodramatic sap I am".
If only I could stop starting new journals again and again and again. I'd just stick to the old book, because the old way is good. Float away from these moments of frenzy when I burn with this expressionless passion and come back to something calm and centered. Quit straining artistic muscles, and let strength build slowly. Quit holding my breath.

~~~

The template needs fixing, but I'll get to that later.
Today's strange quote "Oh Heather, I'm so combustible right now!"  ¶ 21:44

Okay. Looks like everything is up and stable...
Welcome to what I hope will be the final version of esunasoul.com. I have thrown away a lot of the mess on this site because it was impossible to manage. All I really want from this space is a chance to blog my thoughts and post my various little artistic hobbies. I'm nowhere close to complete right now; everything is on my computer in the dorm. Look for more pictures in my artbook, the addition of the Tangerine Petri and Cobb comic, and the re-addition of my photo albums.
I feel so lazy because I've been sleeping until about 1 since I got home for spring break. I don't have an alarm clock in my room--its also at school--and I've been reading Steven King's Wolves of the Calla until those hours of the night called "wee". I never get the chance to read for fun anymore. I hate to put down a text book and pick up a novel to relax. It give me eye strain. So I end up drawing or doing something that requires less attention. Messing around online. Now that I'm home, its been great to bum around with a book. Build websites by day, read by night.
Tomorrow I'm doing boring stuff like renew my license and go to a hospital volunteer office. I might even (ick!) hunt for a job. I really really wish there was a way I could work in a hospital, but its not very easy to do temp work in a medical office. I'll probably end up volunteering. We'll just see.
My sister is trying to sleep while I type on her machine. Guess I better leave her alone. I'll be back when she's as school and I'm feeling awake enough to be witty. Go read one of my stories if you need more words for your brain.  ¶ 20:59

If this looks weird, its because I'm in the process of rebuilding this site using Blogger. It would really help if I knew something about programming languages. As is, its just me battling Dreamweaver. So far, I am victorious.

This is my project for this week. I apologize for the mess. Check back after spring break to witness the glorious evolution from a static to dynamic page.  ¶ 12:34