In the Forge of Words

some people get caught up in the number chasing, you know? we...

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 12:07:25 -0400

some people get caught up in the number chasing, you know? we so often lose sight of the things that really matter when we’re in that mentality. to climb is a priviledge - to have found climbing is a privilege. for me, the feeling of climbing something for the first time - not just bolt to bolt; or piece to piece; not just move to move - but climbing it from the ground up in one go… that feeling will never get old. it reminds me of sunsets, and the soft light leading up to them.

(photo: top of clippity doo dah, rumney. matt richter)

"I’ve been in the habit of making things for public consumption so long now that a lot of the mystery..."

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 10:05:00 -0400

“I’ve been in the habit of making things for public consumption so long now that a lot of the mystery that is bound up in Creative Endeavor evaporates. Patrick Rothfuss had me on as a “beta tester” for Wise Man’s Fear, which I was more than happy to do: I wrote NO in thick black sharpie over entire pages, and I think I even shook my fist at one point at an impotent God. I don’t know how the book turned out because I never read the “real” version, but this very act horrified Gabriel. He thinks of books as being Absolute Things, like Sandwiches, as opposed to something that vibrates or shifts in any particular. I didn’t find it particularly weird, but you come into this stuff with a lot of your own shit. Perspective is, to him, more or less inviolate. That’s something I get.”

- - @TychoBrahe

I love Tycho’s position on editing. Words are his thing, and he wields considerable power both on them and how other people use them.

Can all outdoorsy type blogs repost this so I know who to follow!

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 00:46:53 -0500

Yes.

rockywoodling: Me on High Exposure The Gunks NY, August...

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 00:45:39 -0500

rockywoodling:

Me on High Exposure

The Gunks NY, August 2010

photo by Seth Derr

The aforementioned pants splitter. NSFW?

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 12:32:19 -0500

The aforementioned pants splitter. NSFW?

mattrichter: Some things are universal.

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 07:54:12 -0500

mattrichter:

Some things are universal.

meet trixie

Thu, 29 Dec 2011 22:35:00 -0500

It’s the third day of war and already I must admit a grudging respect for the enemy - for it hath singlehandedly (pawedly?) administered a great many defeats unto me. First came the storming of my villa - before sun’s light had even cast a glow upon the world - and lo! in that moment I beheld several portents that filled me with dread.

Was it that my mousy foe, it of the diabolic disposition and intellect that I had formerly reserved only for collective intellects (re: corporations, thinktanks, etc, etc..), was not content to simply make me aware of its presence in my room - allowing itself to be captured before darting nearly quite literally out of these hands - and in doing so, displayed a pride that reminds me of Man?

Could it have been the taunting on Day 2? For upon breaking my fast, I found my companion’s eye both constant and critical - it wanted to observe me having my oatmeal. That’s fine. It doesn’t behoove a gentleman to go about chasing a legged bottle-rocket, anyway. It didn’t bother me - oh no! Starved of company as I am in this seasonal intercession period, its company would have nearly been comforting. The fear of its gnawing on my valuables….ate…away at my heart, though. As it sat there, sarcastically observing me taking my meal, I resolved to kill it through a game of wits.

Turns out that’s easier said than done. I imagine I could have much more easily murdered my dog (perish the thought! …and all the puns) - but regardless of my intent, little amount of malice and practiced lore has come in handy. It seems that either my subconscious like for the little thing has interfered with my desire to truly see it die at my hands (or because of my hands), or my pace is actually being set by a taskmaster so devious that no deficiency of size will permit it the lack of a good meal of peanut butter (let the record state at this point that the mouse has no apparent interest in apple chutney; though perhaps its nose is better than mine in sniffing out the expiration of items left in our fridge by roommates). Neither the “ramp leading up to the bucket filled with watery doom” nor the “toilet paper roll with treats on the end that tips into your watery doom, damn you” method has yielded much results, though the rim of the bucket filled with aquatic malice has in fact been cleaned much more thoroughly than I might have managed by myself; as of several minutes ago the same can be said for the edge of the toilet paper roll.

I consider the ante upped. Last resort (offensive to both my character and want of wit to win) are the sticky traps, but for now the game goes on with gravity as my weapon of choice. Stay tuned.

(return of the) prodigal son

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 02:20:40 -0500

Just as I have found myself in this house, so too do I find myself on this tumblr. What I thought I would do with this and what I haven’t done aren’t that similar; the only thing I can think to say is that if intentions were responsible for governance the world might be a better place and I would be a full fledged novelist by now. I still have some hope for at least one of these things.

this won't ever stop impressing me

Thu, 02 Jun 2011 07:57:00 -0400

I did not expect it to be so easy to find happiness. I was twenty one years old when I met her. I still drank Bailey’s Irish Cream and I still listened to Oasis. I feel funny even writing that down. Six years later, I don’t do these things. I pour M red wine and we put on Ethiopiques. In the morning we kiss goodbye and in the evening we ride our bikes over overpasses, along canals. You cannot see the stars in the city but still we lie on our backs in the grass and we pretend we can, like when I was twenty one and she swept me off my feet. Six years. I did not expect it to be so easy to find happiness.

Last night she turned to me with colour in her cheeks and she said something that felt complicated and direct and unwavering, like she was taking my hand and putting it in a fire, and taking my eyes and making me see that our hands were in a fire. As she spoke, I listened without any confusion, because she is M. I watched each expression flicker across her face. Colour in her cheeks. In my heart I said, secretly, Okay, enough. Let’s. Let’s. All our lives, we shall lie in the grass and see certain stars that one-another has imagined.

"The only thing I've learned is how to be a student!"

Fri, 28 Jan 2011 11:05:00 -0500

I suspect that we are circling some kind of grand truth. The way we are raised to constantly judge ourselves based on how well we do versus the performance of our peers lead me to dissatisfaction. What I hated most about myself over the years was that my enjoyment of events hinged less on who I was with than on how I stacked up compared to them. Each time I found myself circling the cause of my unhappiness, I denied even to myself how important performance was to me. This behavior is ingrained within me, and I have worked harder to rid myself of these chains than I have on any homework assignment short of the classes that I truly cared about (as opposed to those I was arbitrarily made to take). With all of that being said, I think that you will enjoy the following video. It truly lines up with how I feel about my recent exit from the educational system.

Day 11 - Another picture of you and your friends

Thu, 07 Oct 2010 07:53:47 -0400

fembutchily:

For two years I formed memories in this hallway to fill a lifetime. from 321 to the point to ben and tony’s room. I can’t even explain what 3rd floor means to me.

Get to the point,

M

Watch: gerunds (striving)

Fri, 01 Oct 2010 18:22:08 -0400

Watch: gerunds (striving):

the song is radical face’s “welcome home” (type that into youtube, though i think what the song does to me is conditionally linked to having first seen this video)

the point is that when I watch this video, I feel inspired. To climb. To write. To ride. I feel that I have been sleeping for some time, and have only now awoken.

I am part of a large family

Tue, 28 Sep 2010 23:48:28 -0400

There is a method of speaking that uses no words. An eyebrow raises. Foreheads crinkle in consternation; in complaint; in comedy. This constitutes the missing dimension from my dialogue with you, and for that I apologize. Read this as sardonically as you dare.

I live with a married couple in a single room in a large house. I couldn’t honestly tell you how many other people live with us in this house. What I can say is that I live in the belly of the beast - I have no problem with the people that I live with, nor do I have qualms with my roommates; yet I spend as little time here as possible. Our basement living space is not intimidating aside from the logistics of three people living in a room meant for one.

My time is spent divided between my job and my labor of love, and so far I have few regrets. For now, my time is spent trying to be a better man.

Look forward to: thoughts on biking!

Be the author not the actor of your Chapter Two

Mon, 13 Sep 2010 00:02:00 -0400

“Do my thing - I do what I do, whether I walk the line or play my kazoo.”- Grand Analog

Picture this: 6:30 AM on a Saturday morning. Bleary-eyed as weak rays of sun only serve to illuminate how dark the room is. Packing with a head-lamp in a chill indicative of early onset Autumn, perhaps. Wheels are rolling a car towards you, a car with space to spare. An eclectic menagerie of objects begins to be maneuvered by hands weary from use - dimly lit pads, oddly lined shoes, camping gear.

——

A climbing trip! Packing the car in the soft morning sun. The surprisingly chilly September air. Coffee at Twin Donuts before the open road with close friends. The Shawangunks drawing into view with crosby, stills, and nash urging us ever closer. Climbing. Watching others climb. Personal journeys spanning the defiance of gravity. Getting to see my family. Large, extravagant dinners before returning to the campsite. Warm fires and sleeping underneath the stars. Waking up early and group caffeination.

——

The leaves are more vibrant in their Fall colors in New York. That single sentence attempts to encapsulate an incredible weekend of crisp air; bright leaves and spirits; our complex relationship with coffee and mutual love of climbing. It can only fall short. These are the days I live for.

(Innuendont's)

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 01:12:06 -0400

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line.