The Addiction of Blogging
It’s ironic for me to be writing this right now seeing as it is currently 10:42 PM, 42 minutes past my bedtime, as I merely tap the first keystrokes of this article. But I must simply stop for a moment to think that the sheer thought of blogging is addicting. The blog feels far more personable than the typical sort of well-contented website, and it seems to invite a scope far beyond the technical writing required for the making of a helpsite. It’s a nice break from writing guides and making tutorials to simply relax and let words flow freely as ever.
And I have while thinking of the joys of blogging, chosen to change the name of this place to “Randomness, Rambles, and Reflection,” mostly because I realized the name “Ramble Corner” was bland and a little cliche. It is a small thing however for a still fresh site of any sort to change this name, and this blog is still young. But, aside from that, I have decided that I will plan to create a customized template for this blog to replace the default WordPress theme I use upon reaching a certain number of entries.
Anyways, you may judge from the clumped dates of my recent entries in the blog that I have been going through a blogging phase, and thus, it’s pretty self explanatory what life there is to be explained in this lifepost. In the span of a few days since my last lifepost entry, not much has drastically changed in my life. I still go to school every day, and I could started posting about the background of my life, but it has been 11 minutes past the 42 minutes past my bedtime of this blog post’s beginning typing time, and I do believe the bed and promise of a school bus are calling.
August 27, 2009 at 10:53 pm | Lifepost | No comments
What’s that word? Ahh… Diction.
I have before said to myself, “The definition of a word is an average of all its contexts, weighted by usage frequency.” It has been about a year since I first made this proclamation and I have yet to find reason to retract it.
Multiple definitions arise when averages float around various peaks. The evolution of language can be attributed to changes in the use of words. An author creates a new word through his influence by inserting it into a context. It is from observation that one realizes the dictionary is only a field guide to the organisms which are words, constantly adapting themselves to specific contexts and changing in character over time.
A context is a created by a combination of words. Just as in an ecosystem, each individual word works with the others to create the whole, and each word finds itself a niche, a place to fit in. As most of the words used in English today are already well adapted to certain contexts, a writer searches for the best fit. The writer must evaluate the value of its candidates, a task which may either involve scrutinizing the pages of a thesaurus or completing a cursory scan of a few preset options.
It is when a niche is left unfilled that a writer goes in search of a perfect word, but when all in unsatisfactory, a word may be adapted to fit into the context required of it. However, if a word is too far from fit for a context, it breaks the sentence by changing its meaning. A daring author, though, may choose to simply create a new word, fresh in its first context with a perfectly molded definition for its initial niche. All who speak or write, thus, influence a language through their word choices.
And it is such that diction–or word choice–is considered one of the most important components of writing. It is such that in everyday life, people might pause to recall that perfect word. Words work together amongst each other to fit, and meaning is created. Diction is an ongoing vote for both the future of language and the message of a moment’s writing.
August 27, 2009 at 9:18 pm | Reflections | No comments
The Quintessence of Rambling
Because quintessence is a so very fun word which wound its way into my vocabulary list of this week, I shall resume my chain of daily blogging through the absolute nothingness that is occupying time by the typing of an article based about the word “quintessence.” About halfway through the previous sentence, I may have noticed I was trailing into the territory of a run-on, and may have committed the act of comma splicing so as to inevitably advance the destruction of the world. Such is true logic that the grammar Nazis of the world–both internet and real life–are only hindrances to the eventual Armageddon that is being catalyzed every moment by each breach of grammatical convention.
It is then that I upon myself commence to be more clear-sighted of my own grammatical mistakes in this article in which grammatical mistakes are perhaps of minuscule significance. But, without my own prescience–no less than my most enviable watch over the future of my own typing–this article may lose all traces of its claim in being the quintessence of all that is rambling, and it thus that my mind must scavenge for material in a pseudo-logical fashion which may tickle the brains of all readers.
Thus is the nature of the ramble and all that is to be in this section of the blog introduced by this article which may or may not be the quintessence of rambling or which may describe this section in whole as the quintessence of rambling. However, if the most idealistic model of rambling is never to be wholly achieved in any of these entities, it is then that the writer of this article must strive for the alternative which is to create an article informative of its title, an article which may serve to perhaps educate rather than to merely entertain(or bore).
So, as this writer chooses to speak in third person and lets her thought processes flow on in a very naturally disorganized fashion so as to inform all readers that there is no method to this madness, the writer will choose to define the word quintessence, given that it is indeed among her school vocabulary words of the week. Quintessence, with all its many synonyms including paragon and epitome, is a word which is eloquent to all who choose to mark it as eloquent and a word which is truly an impetus to the writing of this article though not wholly at fault for the creation of this section for which the word pioneers. It is a word which refers to the purest form of something such as the purest form of a ramble which may not show true of this article given that it has chosen to trail off from the trailing off that which is rambling by defining a word, and therefore giving it merit towards being a to-some-extent intelligibly useful article.
The density of that extent of usefulness need not be pointed out given that an article truly naming itself as the paragon of all rambling must–by standards which are by no means completely self-defined–be thoroughly seclusive of all that is serviceable. It is thus that to be the quintessence of rambling my be a far-fetched goal, justifying the author’s previous abandonment of the thought. Nonetheless, so long as there is more material by which nothingness can be extended ad infinitum, I must cordially invite the reader to accept by bona fide statement that any ramble eventually becomes wearisome and the writing of oneself in third person is all too naturally simple to break.
It is thus that the author shall from textforth refer to herself as ‘I’ as I so casually did during the infancy of this now many minutes-grown article. I speak onwards to abolish further rambling in that doing so may tarnish this article’s claim to the quintessence of rambling, an assertion which was never firstly to be enforced.
August 27, 2009 at 6:59 pm | True Rambles | No comments
For the Love of Autobiography
To write of past experiences in life is to strive to recollect those little beads of memory so as to string them into a necklace, idealized and molded to perfection beyond their first reception. Liquids are known for taking the shape of their container, and it is thus that these beads of memories are like dew droplets, lingering from the day before yet fragile to reshaping by the merest of touches.
There is an enchantment to collect them for their rare inspiring beauty, but if they must be reshaped by touch, it is then that the speaker’s job is to be deft and let an elegant grasp form these beads into a container worthy of their worth. Henceforth, these beads are strung into a necklace to tell a story, ongoing and personable of humanity.
In now that I speak, I recall the times I wrote of memory and know all too well that like the dew drop beads shaped by a writer’s hand, I fool myself to remember that which is more magical in essence. It is by this means that tact prevails, but it is also by this that what was born the eloquence of life becomes literature–or some combination of honesty, insight, and fascination at the past.
The autobiography is a magnificent form where the author adopts a pseudo-fictitious persona to judge and reflect upon his own life. Unlike the biography, objectiveness is a far-come goal, which only serves to heighten the depth of revelation at all truth in life. It is upon reading, writing, and appreciating the autobiography that the essence of all literature–in its power to give depth to existence–becomes clear. All literature is to some extent autobiographical as the experiences of its authors peak through.
So then if I were to choose to idly pass my time, I would dress my white pages in my own necklace of dewdrops though malformed the beads may be. My fashion is the pen as I experience the journey of the autobiography, giving facet to all loquacious squalor through the endless footage that is my own life. I will embrace this joy that my ink trails dare to embrace upon this article, and know well, the heart of reflection.
August 26, 2009 at 10:10 pm | Reflections | No comments
Rambles and More
Okay, so it has been a very very long time since my last entry on this blog before today, although I haven’t been completely barren of inspiration. I do believe, however, that in me old November 2008 article “Urges”, I discussed that inspiration to write never takes form unless the pen (more commonly the typewriter) is readily available. That indeed has been the case with this blog. Freshman year in high school was a stagnant year for me writing wise. Looking back, I’m not sure where all my time had gone through those days, but I suppose I knew where my time was going back then.
But yeah, I have started a little black college ruled notebook with 70 sheets(minus however many I’ve already ripped out) to record my random sudden writing ideas in. So, hopefully, this year the Ramble Corner may actually see more than three new entries, and random people who happen to be interested in reading rambles may have more material with which to entertain themselves. Also, if you may have noticed from the previous post “Inspiration”, a new category has been added to this blog: poetry. I have no clue how frequently I plan on writing in this category as, from experience, I have known myself to generally prefer prose. However, sometimes, poetry forms its simple elegance amongst the confines of the mind, and it thus finds its own form of superiority over prose.
Either way, this blog will continue to be a gutter for the things I write which can truly be grouped together by no means other than that they are of relevance to my life experiences. Thus, I give welcome to this 2009-2010 school year of rambling. Oh, but I am late by 15 days given that the first day of my Sophomore year was actually the 10th of August. Nonetheless, I believe it is time to make no further commentary and, in the tradition of a truly meaningless ramble, adjourn this post.
August 25, 2009 at 9:26 pm | Lifepost | No comments
Inspiration
I had an epiphany today,
So suddenly I see,
Gifts of perception, giving way.
My edges are gone
and tree by tree
Leaves level to splatters
On this Monet sky.
Horizon is but a word,
Faded in memory,
for green becoming of blue,
and blue gorging on green.
Meaning is a cirrus-thin cloud,
Escaping reach yet
Ever so sweet; Let it flow
and squint your eyes.
To see like a blind man
Who still knows a blur
Is to understand the
Beauty of color. Neglected,
When from this world,
We found form.
If upon my own,
Of this canvased foresight
I tell. It is with
The vivid and livid, colors
I spill.
In leaves of paint splatter I say,
“I had an epiphany today…”
August 25, 2009 at 8:35 pm | Poetry | No comments