Music Spotlight — Ginjineko

Recently, through the wonders of youtube, I've discovered the tunes of Ginjineko. It seems no matter how wound-up, angry, depressed, or tired I am, his playing makes me smile. Because of this effect, I've taken to calling his music "Happy Guitars.

 Anyway, this is my favourite song so far, and it is (in my humble opinion) five minutes of undiluted awesome. Enjoy.

Ginjineko's music can be purchased from Itunes, amazon, or (if you want cd) cd baby.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Random Piece of Writing

Alright, that last post was exhausting to write. It was Serious. I hate being serious, but it is good exercise every once in a while. Now that I'm done with Serious for the week, I can now move on to other, not so serious subjects. Like writing!

Okay, so writing's still sorta serious, but not the way I do it. What's the point of writing if not to have a little fun, putting imagination into words? True, at times writing can be emotionally or mentally painful. Sometimes I sit and bleed onto the page… but in doing so I find release from whatever emotions had hold over me. Nothing is so comforting to me as a prayer, a pen, and few hundred sheets of empty paper longing to be  filled with beautiful flowing letters and drawings…

So here's a little writing for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, if you happen to dislike it). It's just a scrap. I have many scraps filed away. Still, I'd welcome critiques from anyone that gets the urge.


*Matthew did not always make a habit glancing over his shoulder, but there was something about this place that felt utterly disquieting. Part of him rationalized that it was merely his anxiety acting up again, that there really wasn't someone—or some thing—watching him, waiting for him to let down his guard…


No, stop that thinking! He shook himself, but it didn't do anything towards stilling his inner paranoiac. 
There was something out here. He knew there was. Why hadn't he believed the villagers? Why did he always have to see things for himself? Sometimes it seemed the battle between curiosity and paranoia left no room inside his mind for rational thought.


Angels defend me, he pleaded, fighting back a fresh wave of fear. He felt the flight urge forcing its way in, but his curiosity stood unyielding, would not let him move.


Something clattered in the darkness, echoing in the open space, and Matthew spun, knees bent and ready to run at the first sign of danger.


"Who's there?"


The darkness refused to answer.


After a moments silence, Mathew began to relax. There was nothing out there. It was just his his imagination acting up again… He nearly choked on the relief, but then he heard it. A second clatter.


In an instant he had the shockbow unhooked from his belt and ready for action.

"Who's there?"

The darkness… giggled?

Matthew cursed himself, cursed the darkness. Obviously, it was simply children playing some prank on him. It was not the first time in his search…

With a weary shake of the head, he returned the weapon to his belt. "You children should know better!"

He turned to the light of the entrance way, fully intent on not wasting another breath here. He had barely gone two paces when it dawned on him that the light was no longer there. Impossible, he thought, it's high noon outside.


The darkness giggled again; Matthew cursed. He spun, hand going to unhook his shockbow, but it was already too late.  The shockbow was gone. He was disarmed. There was nothing he could do to defend himself now. With that realization, all the fear melted away, and he laughed. If he was to die anyway, what use was fear?

He laughed, and the darkness said, "Um,  you're supposed to be afraid."*




And that's all I have of this s-crappy bit. Again, I'm open to critiques from anyone that feels the urge.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

Edit: Unlarged font size on writing scrap because it was a little hard to read once posted. Marked beginning and end with asterisks.

Adulthood

Dear Reader, whoever you might be,

Now that I am recovered from the festivities and labor activities of the previous week, I feel up to tackling a serious subject … or attempting to, anyway.

What is adulthood?

There is the biological definition: one who is fully grown and developed.

And there is the legal definition: one who has reached the age of majority, which is in most contexts either 18 or 21.

But there is also a third definition that does not always go along with those mentioned above. This is a maturity of behaviour, of thought, of recognizing and accepting responsibilities. Some people think, or seem to think, that this form adulthood is magically granted by the Maturity Fairy, when one turns the age of 18. As such, they do not allow people below that age to make decisions for themselves, disapprove of people who do allow them.

This is illogical. Behavioural and mental maturity does not come from being told how to act. It comes from independence, from being allowed to make your own decisions and suffer the consequences of them. To learn from mistakes.

How is one to obtain the independence and the maturity of this adulthood if they are not allowed to think and act for themselves? If they are not trusted to make mistakes and grow from them, then how will they grow at all? How can they be relied upon? Trust is a two way street.

How do you raise responsible adults? You do as my parents did, and allow children to be responsible. Let kids be kids by allowing them to think and act for themselves, to grow naturally in mind as well as body. Do not tell them what to think; instead tell them what you think and why you think it—use logic. Listen to them. Respect them, even if you do not respect their beliefs, even if they are wrong. Especially if they are wrong. Because if they are truly wrong, and you respect them and allow them to act on their beliefs, then they will eventually come to realize their wrongness without a divide forming. And who knows, you might be the one who is in the wrong. Remember that possibility, that you are not infallible simply because you are older and have experienced.

Actually, I think this is how we should treat all people—not just children.

An aside: two hundred years ago, there were sixteen-year-olds in navies being given command of prize ships. In the middle ages there were fifteen-year-olds fighting and dying in battles—and not just because people lived shorter lives. In fact, if one survived the diseases and the war and reached forty years; then they were likely to live to sixty or seventy, some even reached eighty or above.

Anyway, these are my thoughts, the wonderings of Scribe Traceur. You might disagree, or you might agree. Either way I'll be respectful towards you, just so long as you are respectful towards me. If you become insulting, however, then I'll ignore you.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.

P. S. Yes, I'm aware I used the Brit spelling of behaviour. I often do the same with colour, grey, and many other words. I also use oxford commas. I'm sorry if that offends you, but I think they are more aesthetically pleasing than our American spellings. Shallow, I know, but sometimes form and function go hand in hand. And leaving out the oxford comma can cause unnecessary confusion.