process

There are at least an infinite amount of ways to do anything, should I put on my socks first, or my t-shirt? When I put on my pants one leg at a time just like everyone else, should I start with my left or right foot? Writing is no different, there are an innumerable number of paths that lead to the mountain top and thankfully just as many guides. I have been reading Murakami. I have been becoming obsessed with Murakami. I believe I have found my guide.

Broadly speaking writers fall into two main camps: There are organic writers and there are planners. I must admit that I have a genetic predisposition toward anal retentiveness. I manage to temper this undesirable trait by being super lazy. When it came to the thought, but not necessarily the act of writing in the past, my baser instincts would kick in and I'd get all obsessive compulsive, I've got to plan out every detail or I'll go insane, blah, blah, blah (present blog and all its contents excluded for reasons that I can't quite identify). Surely knowing the course you'll take before you set off, is a wise way to travel and many accomplished authors have formulated their novels in this way. Murakami is a fan of jazz and his method for writing reflects this interest. He often begins with a vague premise, rarely knowing where it will take him and then just improvises as he goes.

Stephen King prefers to write his stories in a similar manner. He's fond of the advice that "the book is the boss." For King, writing is an art of excavation and each story is a fossil that he has delicately uncovered from some imaginary realm. Sometimes I think writers are utterly ridiculous with their "my abilities are a mysterious gift from the muses" type of carry on, but as I experiment and delve into their world I get the feeling that maybe, they might be right. I'm going to just relax and let my stories unfold naturally from a dark scary place deep within.

workout time:

pull ups me/3*8

OHP db 2(22.5)*8,2(25)*5,2(20)*8

something to think about next time you go to the gym

On Gyming It Up part 2 (here's part one)


Certain sensibilities have crept to the surface of our collective conscious over the past few decades. Somewhere close to the top of this heap of human conceptions is the desire to promote a healthy lifestyle. This desire to transcend the natural deterioration of organic matter is probably an offshoot of the oft-lamented Enlightenment project[1]. Among the many parts which gave shape to the body of this intellectual movement (along with the promotion of rationality, equality and subsequently the dispersion of superstitions, holy blood-lines and the like) was the establishment of the human being as the new centre of the universe. Nature was a chaotic malaise that would soon bend to our unreasonably impressive reasonableness[2]. It is implied then that humans possess an immense power, the power to control reality through reason. As we harnessed the combined powers of our considerable intellects we would conquer nature and leave some of her less than desirable aspects like (but not limited to) ageing, sickness and death bruised and beaten into submission...

and bada bing bada boom a work out
bench 60*8, 95/4*5
chins 95/4*5
seated row 94/4*5
OHP 2(22.5)*8,5


[1] For the purposes of this essay, the idea that the Enlightenment was a phallocentric phenomenon will be treated as axiomatic.
[2] Nisbet: The Sociological Tradition, pp 21-44

escape from imminent destruction

Getting stapled is not a flattering experience. What it is, is simply a failure in an attempt to lift a weight, resulting in the entire gym populace laughing in your face while you try to rack or deload the weight without causing yourself grievous bodily harm. The ego hit is always bad, but things can and do get uglier: last week I saw a guy drop a barbel on his head while benching pressing. In less than 2 minutes it looked like he had a plumb growing out the side of his face. Kids, always use a spotter! I don't recommend getting stapled, the psychological and physical damage just isn't worth it. Conversely some of the most satisfying moments you can have in the gym are when you straddle staple territory and somehow complete your lift. Today I had one of those moments. I was benching. The weight, which was underwhelming as usual, slowed as it came off my chest. Gravity my, arch nemesis in the weight room, thought it had claimed another victory. I think that the bar actually reversed in it's motion momentarily, my gym life flashed before eyes and I decided that I didn't feel like eating any barbell today. I squirmed, I cursed sub-vocally, I bargained with the weight and still it didn't budge. I clenched my but-cheeks and for some reason felt like I was going to tear asunder from my crotch on upwards. Then it happened, like Deus ex machina, except my escape wasn't facilitated by an outward source it was all internal. I finished the lift and lived to see another day. Words can't explain how satisfying this feels.

power snatch: 40*3, 45*3, 50*3, 55, 60, 65, 70, 75
power C&J: 80, 85, 90, 95
bench 60*10, 80*5, 85*5, 90*4
chins (n) me (97kgs)/3*8, 6
db OHP 2(20)/3*10

volume: