Photo: Me with a temporary tattoo.

Me // I’ve been through a lot in my life. It’s not always been easy not knowing where you’re going to go or if things are going to work out. Over the years I’ve been hit with so many things it’s left me with scars all over the place. Not just the kind you can see though, but the kind you can’t see. I’ve been through a lot it goes without saying. Over the years I’ve made many mistakes. I’m about as flawed as I can be. I’m also wiser than I am old. —- But I still make mistakes and live in my mistakes.

Atheist blogger // ”I don’t think I’m strong enough”, will then soon become – “You’re not strong enough.” “I don’t think this is right,” becomes – “That is wrong.” When people are against you, for whatever reason they have chosen to be so – anything they can expose as “flaw”, anything they could even possibly try to use as a weapon against you – trying, all the time, every minute of each hour of every day, to wear you down to the breaking point – because, everyone has one.

Nobody can hold out forever, there simply comes a point where no person can withstand the abuse put on them by the torment of having their life, their liberties granted to them with that life, and the freedom entitled to all human beings on this earth – stepped on, spit at, and otherwise trodden on as though they were nonexistent. The courage, and more so – the pride of this Unknown Rebel, symbolizes the struggle of man as he faces that which destroys him. The Unknown Rebel is simply the personification of any of life’s struggles, played out against a turbulent Tiananmen background. The demons of our lives may seem as tanks, yet it proves that one man’s courage to stand against it can make even that tank budge.  —- This is how I think each time I start writing a blog entry reaching out to Atheists & Theists alike.

My Writings & Paintings // Everyday, I wake-up saying, today isn’t just another day! Today, I’ll create something beautiful. Let it be an essay or a digital art. —- They say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But sometimes, some people can see through mine as I see through theirs.

There are hidden depths, rich pools that lie between the billow and surge of my mental landscape.  They crowd and overflow with a secret color that is unceasingly impatient to be loosed upward.  These images are embryonic, straining for the chance to thrive and transfer.  They would revel in the shape and vibrancy contained by something as simple as the entry “Untitled”  But the path from these hatcheries of vision, down through the veins coursing in my arms, and into the muscles of each of the fingers of my hand…that path is a very hazy one. Is it a wannabe blogger’s hand? or a painter’s hand ? I still ponder over the names I’m being  called “A wannabe maddox”? …Wtf is that all about?

I sit here pondering the path of expression, but I have not expressed.  I have not moved.  The screen is still, and the document untouched.  If making the decision to show up is eighty percent of the matter (Woody Allen), then what of the other twenty percent? Perhaps it is the knowledge that I have a verdant imagination, ten capable fingers, and one keyboard and a trusty mouse to make it all a reality.  Nothing more is required, except that I step past hesitation.

Oh, I can feel it now.  When I give in and let go, the strokes will be fluid and light.  They will curve and twist in firm and bold touch. And my words, they will be freed with time, after the streams of mind have eroded and smoothed away every resistance along the surface of my fears.  They will be transformed.  Bleeding and rushing.  Applied rich or running with spidery fingers.  Living and open, falling over the virtual texture of vast parchment that waits, blanched white and bare.  Every pixel will sigh within the wash. And my curser will awake from suspended animation, as if they have been holding their breath the whole time, like I have been holding mine.

Thought. Keyboard. Imagination. Photoshop. Fingers. Mouse. 

My heart descends upon that knowledge. With deep breath I examine my upturned palms.   Then, my hands reaches forward, presses down, and settles. Either the mouse draws in the energy from my hand to make a picture with the colors that fill my heart, mostly black and gray. Or my keyboard pulls in my fingers towards its keys.

Then, they move.

Hey there! Ru has been a little busy for a while, so he is averaging about a blog every moon cycle or so. If you are lucky, you'll get to see a new blog entry and know what he's upto. And when you are here, just let him know by leaving a comment.