Writing Our Own Paragraphs

Since the earliest of ages I’ve called myself a name. Something unique, and akin to a dying art in this modern Artificially Intelligent world. I’ve brandished myself with this word to separate from the crowd, to feel unique, to feel talented and to surprise others. That word is writer.

It’s a strange sort of behaviour. As writers, we self-indulgently talk about ourselves as if we are some special breed that experience life differently and more vividly and more intensely than anyone else, but the reality is that we are just another product of existence. We have been given words which allow us to speak these experiences, in the same way a musician or an artist has been bestowed in their own medium.

Looking at it through a wider scope, I guess this isn’t a trait of creative-types only. In all walks of life, people are writing their own paragraphs, in their words and actions, as to how they fit in this existence.

In a world where purpose and longevity are two innately difficult concepts to keep aligned, each day we change, or are perceived to change, in minuscule or major manners. But what we often forget to appreciate, is the bearing that we ourselves can have on the experience.

Guise.

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A Broker named Existence

We’ve heard the term “borrowed time” in films, songs, books, tv and probably even used it ourselves at least once in our lives. It’s one of those paradoxical idioms we glaze through, unfiltering what we actually mean by using it other than colloquially whipping off some response to make it sound like we’re listening.

But it’s quite a morbid term to use as liberally as we do. Tugging at the existential heart-strings of our psyche. Whether we’ve done deals with the devil, or simply been graced the chance to live a life we didn’t ask for (that I know of), we exist within a bracket, a set of two dates. A set of time which is not ours, but with which we use.

It makes you wonder, maybe even ponder, the purpose of this debt. The reason we were granted a chance to achieve a goal we were never set.

I guess that is the beauty of this existence. We are given a chance to do whatever it is our minds and hearts desire. A chance to choose our outcomes, or at the very least influence the path we are walking on. Making as many poor decisions as we do wise ones. Learning new skills, having unique or common experiences, creating memories for ourselves or others.

Want to make a lot of money and obtain a socially valued status.. go for it. Want to travel the world and share your stories with anyone willing to reach with an ear.. knock yourself out. Want to have a family and pass on your genetics to survive another generation.. heck, life doesn’t even care if you should, so why not? Maybe you want all of the above and more, well, nothing is impossible.

It’s a beautiful life, or maybe just a beautiful concept. Either way, you’re in debt, so go and enjoy it whilst you can.

Guise.

 

Mother

Endless, unwavering love, 

Giver of life, 

Feeding from the spring of existence. 

Dreams made capable, 

Power beholding, 

Your grace and love a pillow on the dreary bed of days. 

Worthless words, 

Juxtaposed, 

Your deeds,  too great for words to know. 

My endless love, 

And gratitude, 

To you, sweet nurturer. 

Guise. 

Sibling Separation

Separation appears to be the flavour of the month. 

It’s a strange human experience, to willingly watch normal become odd, routine become disruption. The ever changing reality of life means that we are often separated from friends, colleagues, family members, pets, familiar places and spaces. 

I say it is a strange experience, but if anything, with modern medicine at the level it is now, conflict being confined to far fewer countries, and rising property prices, we are actually separated from what is familiar far less than ever before in human history. 

But I think strange is still fair word for this experience, because for some, separation is good, for some it’s bad, and for most it’s often a balance between the two. 

It is strange to make decisions which removes us from familiarity, but we do so anyway. 

And so I think the emotion involved in separation is an example of the advanced nature of human consciousness. Our pets don’t feel any positive being separated from us, nor would they willingly separate themselves from this familiarity (assuming you’re not an abusive owner). 

But I digress.  

Happy House-warming. 

Guise. 

Why Guise? 

Since putting myself a bit more out there in the last few months, I’ve been asked the same question a lot. Why Guise? (Which has been pronounced “Goy-se” “Gwe-se” amongst others, innocently). 

I guess it’s a good question. A questions which sparks many others. Why hide behind a pseudonym? Why do I feel the need to disassociate myself from my work? 

To be honest, it started off just as a gimmick, a character that I could bring to life and bring meaning to later. It evolved from that, though, because I soon developed a great insecurity about the quality of my writing, and the topics that hit close to loved ones. So it soon stopped being a character, and started being my shield. Guise had become a representation of objectivity, free from prejudice with which people may associate with my true being. 

Now, Guise doesn’t hold such a grim definition for me. This moniker of an “appearance other than me” is no longer a shackle to my work, but for me, it is becoming that character that I hoped it could be. The question is, how much longer do I need it. Time will tell, and I will grow, and needs will change. Until then, you can call me Guise. 

For the record, it’s pronounced “Guys”.