smashedmotif's journal

It's 3am, I'm a super green at programming and an assignment to write an ELIZA program is due in seven hours.

I've the chapter from Jurafsky & Martin, Speech & Language Processing, 2nd edition 2009 (don't bother to search it just yet, the 2nd hasn't been officially published -- we as a class have special rights), but the point is, I've barely got anything down and here we go, full-speed. Sure, I'm learning. Learning to pick myself up from being dragged all over the place.

Writing about it helps and also I needed this break. Netalive to the rescue.

Dear Journal,

It would be just my luck that, when arriving home a box of wonderful chocolates would have been left in the sun by the postman.

The chocolates were saved, however, as I placed them in the urgent care unit referred to otherwise as, a freezer.

Much to my pleasant surprise, the box was filled with many luscious chocolates of which many I previously have never heard of or taken. And there is so much chocolate, too!

This entry cannot be closed, nevertheless, without my mentioning of how much I appreciate these chocolates. To be sure, I love chocolate and am very joyous about their arrival.

Thank you, null, for the wonderful box of chocolates and for the opportunity to win them.

I am totally stoked.

Dear Journal,

It is my hope to post more in the future.

This post was edited by smashedmotif on Apr 09, 2007.

Dear Journal,

Two weeks ago I misplaced a nice book that was published in 1956 by the University Press, Berkeley. I about died thinking of what a loss it was to the library.

Today, I wanted to inquire on what it would cost to replace the book. The library personnel relayed to me that it would be eighty dollars to replace and that wasn't including the restocking fee and the sanction for my losing the book.

The news was bad, but believe it or not, I found the book. Well, I found the book online at a site that sells books.

Who would of believed it?! A book, published in 1956, there online and only for 5 dollars.

There were other books like it, one going for 50 dollars. I though of how great it was that I wasn't too late in buying an inexpensive copy.

In fact, the prices for a couple copies of the book were nice enough that I bought two copies; USD$4.50 and USD$5.00. I'm not taking any chances on the library refusing a single choice that doesn't fit their requirements.

Whew! That was a close one.

This post was edited by smashedmotif on Apr 05, 2007.

Dear Journal,

Today marks a new day on which I will embark on a writing spree. It has long been my desire to write and thus, in order to accomplish this desire, I will write, starting now.

On Writing.

Writing as an expression may be equivalent to music as expression. Being one who has not learned how to play music or write music beyond a once-upon-a-time seven-month long piano class, I have spent my life yearning to express myself musically.

In the same sense as needing to express expression through music, I have also desired to be able to use writing as a means to express expression.

There was even a time in my life where I had a stockpile of old journals, four years worth, to be exact. The journals had writings that included stories, poems, babbles, dreams, etc. Whatever had come to my mind that I thought worthy of writing down, I did just that.

In the context of writing for expression, it has occured to me, previously and now, that though words are seemingly limited in expressing the intangible, that is emotions, words used well, using style, skillfully put to thought, may be able to express in a succinct and clear way. Thus, the wishes of the writer being realized.

On Expression.

Expression can not be merely seperate of our physical world, as we sense objects and what not through our five senses. In the case of sense, what of the perception our senses allow us to experience. Are we able to grasp the exterior world, internalize it, and then place it in "tangible" expression via words.

For example, restricting the elements grossly to water, earth, air, and fire, what is it about the elements that allows us to experience them and then write plainly, here, on NAO: We are able, if by the ocean, experience a wonderous ocean breeze filling up our lungs, relaxing us as cleansing, salty sea air rushes through our nostrils, the rising of our skin as the cooling spray of the oceans water washes through us, the light chill we fill when the wind gently brushes over our bodies, the warmth of the suns rays extending toward us, calming us to a nice state of reality.

On Time.

Time as a factor, in using writing as expression, may have a significant influence that could be viewed as positive or negative, depending on the way it is viewed. Or something.

Positively, time may be an aid to us, allowing us to develop a "sense" of what we wish to express in writing. Negatively, time may play against our need to express in writing in that, if what we wish to express is allowed to go too long without writing it down, our expression may eventually leave us.

Of course the desire will remain, but the inspiration of what to express in writing will have desolved and become a captive of the annuals of time and desire. Much like this exact post, in where I really, at least, am expressing that I really don't know what I am doing, even.

On Practicality.

Practically viewing the desire to use writing to express, a person can not wholly and entirely only write. There are the other matters of the conscious to attend to. That is, one would need to take time off to develop inspiration.

Desire alone may or may not be able to spur one to write expressively, but desire could play a part in initial ramblings, even if the words are of common everyday use. Take this journal post for an example. There is nothing special about it, no complicated words or terms are being used. It is just a simple post or an initial ramble, so to speak.

In the end, we have the desire to write, knowing it will always exist and we have expression that will continually develop, change, and be available for our conjuring when the time comes when we desire to write.

For now, I feel that I have made a headstart in obtaining a benevolent outcome in writing as a way of expressing expression.

To what end will it lead, this beginning embarked upon? For now, I feel enough about writing that I may have for this post, expressed enough.

This post was edited by smashedmotif on Apr 18, 2007.

Dear Journal,

Todays journal title includes nothing more than a couple of Latin words. These words help in describing an odd occurance that took place today.

Driving home, cutting through the airport, a huge sports utility vehicle (SUV), came looming at me from my right, attempting to overtake my two-seater sport car's position.

As it was, the SUV's lane was merging into the lane my car was occupying. At this point, it just so happened to be that my vehicle was in front of the SUV.

As a natural response to the huge SUV about to enter in on my three-o'clock position, I pressed on the acceleration pedel, wanting to give more space to the SUV that was now, trying to race me.

That's when it happened.

A flash of silver-bright light blurred my vision. Along with the flash of light seemed to be a twitching of my eyes, but only for a microsecond.

My head seemed to convulse quickly from left-to-write, no longer than one would see a flash of lightening in the sky.

Actually, the latter is probably the closest to an analogy I have in explaining what I had experienced.

My mind seemed to calm in a split instance after the "flashing" subsided. As if I had passed into the eye of a storm.

This being my first attempt in writing any of this down, it catches my attention and had become an interest to me that I referred to this as a "storm."=

Did I have a storm of synaptic messages, decussating as they did in fluxuations as thoughts of intolerance surged through my brain. To be sure, I wasn't initially pleased with the SUVs manuever.

Thinking clearly and consciously, making a choice to play into the game the SUV driver seemed to want to play, I stepped on the gas, my car keeping his SUV from passing, whipped around the next to turns, yeilded at a red light - before making a right turn -- raised my arm up and outside the window in a victory salute "hang-loose," and continued to leave the SUV in the dust. My dust, to be exact.

By then, it didn't seem the SUV was into "playing" anymore, and I understood why when the SUV ended up pulling into some far-behind-me parking lot.

Though, it had been many minutes since I had gained my composure from almost being rammed, I couldn't but help to think what just happened.

Really. What just happened?!