Consonance

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Hi everyone!

We do what we do! Well, I do anyway…

I sometimes find myself questioning my work. Like, is it too complicated for the average reader? Does it come off as fluffy or at the opposite end of the spectrum, dense? And when my mind enters ‘the complex’, I literally have to stop what I’m thinking and revert to self-talk. I used to avoid self-talk for fear that it gave others the impression that I was crazy (my mouth moves when I’m thinking too hard), but now I use it as a gentle form of therapy, to get me back on track to believing in myself. That’s why today, when I came across the word consonance, I felt blessed and it quickly resonated with my current circumstance. Anyway, here’s a bit on consonance as it relates to working and the whole job interview process thingamajigger.

Scott Olster, Ideas Editor at LinkedIn, wrote a brief article around “the idea of business trends, perspectives, and hot topics you need to know to work smarter”. He says –

Success can easily end up feeling hollow when it’s defined and measured by other people’s standards. For our work to have lasting personal value, author Laura Gassner Otting writes that we need to focus on developing what she refers to as consonance.

Laura is a writer for Harvard Business Review and she defines consonance as –

“Consonance is not just purpose writ large (and lofty). It’s your purpose, freely and clearly defined by you, and put into action through awareness of and alignment with your life’s plan. Consonance is when what you do matches who you are (or who you want to be).”

As I enter the interview zone, I will remember consonance as another word that will help me stay on track. Thank you for the opportunity, now I have something to say – always remember, the value of the job is to you (Gassner Otting).

Do you relate to this? What is the interview process like for you? Easy? Intense? How do you prepare?

8 – Swimming

The chlorinated water stung her eyes. Daisy continued to grimace, holding her breath and paddling her arms amid graphic stingrays and intermittently exiting, bobbing jellyfish. The clock’s numbers were vibrantly green and for everyone waiting in the pool hall, silence waiting for Daisy to come up again.

That should do it. One red bling and one blue, right? She dove down deep to retrieve the jewels, opened her sight side and slipped each bling around one elbow at a time. She started to feel pressure building up and the water was shifting to purple. She knew, she only had so long to carry herself back to the top.

The audience gasped. Would she make it up in time? Nothing was blinging. The tiny green flags that sporadically twitched began releasing scents of star anise. The animals started to exit. They’ve seen enough of this to know, they had won once again. Even Shady and Slime left carrying newspapers and bamboo fibre mugs filled with nothing.

Daisy was officially up and her yellow-lime, green suit still had a bit of light going off. She carefully pruned her wet hair and felt a bit of black grease on the surface. Her fingers vibrated, making her starved. Is someone going to bring me a ham and cheese biscuit? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed freezing. Off-putting, really. She shook her head in a frenzy.

Down at the discotech, animals mingled with Others and creatures of all kinds. This particular store had been up since 1915, although only known to mankind since 2020. It became an entranceway for exportation. Stuff like new bed reclines or barbecued pork chop muffins. A discotech was not so much for dancing anymore. It was a space for replacing products that required an elevated service.

Daisy only visited once a year. She brought two blings, hoping to exchange them for sweet lemons and grass seed. When she would be able to return home, she would plant both, growing an aromatic space conducive to Each Other showing their faces once again. She missed them. When they left, there were no more sarcastic antics, there was only commenting.

Seventeen clutched her way through the jungly roughage, trying to bring sight back to her millions, in a way so they could both understand. Their relationship was deep, so deep that they barely communicated anymore. Thoughts were transmuted through IT or in sets of threes (the three most dominant voices in Daisy’s mind – Being, Artha and Manipura). It was hard to decipher love during digital warfare. She was right across from him, but they were a thousand years apart. He looked away, confused and horrified.

She sweated once. The mirror sang. They both waited for the reflection of Being; the union of Elevententeen.

Fighting is not complicated, it’s wrong. We should not resort to id. So, where does our ego belong?

6 – The Train Naps

Daisy was out, then she arose. She could feel the left side of her neck, bent out of shape and sore from sleeping on it bent. And the train was still moving across moist carpeted land or moss coloured greenery, however you wanted to see it. The trees, they looked like LEGO pieces. She didn’t quite understand when she transitioned back, but she was glad to be here, smelling the faint stink of a ham and cheese biscuit.

You don’t actually want to see the workings of Elevententeen. What’s behind it is extremely frightening. The framework is made up of spider-like grids, when you see it, they move and pulse like a living thing. Daisy shuddered at the mere thought of it. She quickly patted her yellow eyelet dress to ensure it was still in existence. Another way to halt the screams (screams occur when your brain computes the framework) was to enter Elevententeen with a very specific wardrobe, preferably containing bold colours, pattern and texture.

Sighing, Daisy remembered what it was like in social media school learning about plain stuff. Graphic art and design attributes were existential now, they served no purpose. People only wanted multi-dimensional graphics, that breathed and pulsed and held meaning. I guess altering genetics in 2019 completely erased the human need for new things and surprisingly, technology. It no longer occurred. It was too fickle and rambunctious; nobody cared. It was now about Artha, Manipura and finding pure bling that could get you back through the framework unnoticed.

There were no humans on the train today, only empty seats and a refined beaver quietly sipping Earl Grey. “Well, he looks…dry…and  relaxed…so he must have come from the land.” The beaver heard and adjusted his frames while cocking his head North East. He wanted to see if he could grab the newspaper from thin air instead of having to hold it in his hands. Paper was so archaic, he thought. Daisy wasn’t sure if he noticed her. Her heart skipped a beat and she stopped for a moment memory, as he again adjusted himself out of what looked like discomfort. Inhaling a deep breath, they both fell deeply asleep. The reflection on the mirror was blank. Someone had switched time and space, again. What was going to happen?

Start

Hi everyone! This is a story about taking naps. What would you do if you could start your nap over again?

Day by day, she fought to stay awake. At night, facing the wall, she could see her breath come back, stirring her into place. Her gaze could only see an odd, black shadow.

The plague.

Napping feverishly on an ex-boyfriend’s mattress, my breath came to me, rousing my face. There was no odd black shadow, only the installation piece (University of Calgary, Faculty of Art, 2001) I completed about a red cross and red intersecting paint brushes. Over time, the red morphed into a black matte surface, replacing the glowing red symbols with something different…

The sound.

I gasped for air, clutching my heart staring into Kevin’s barren closet. I saw myself as a ‘doctor’, healing the world from every known pain of mankind. In that moment, my heart sung and I cried. I felt adorned, yet I was confused as to how this could have happened. How could this be a reality that I, Chona Fe, changed the world? Healed it, in fact. How could I be the charging force that put everything into place?

The only other time this happened, I was napping, this time at my aunt’s house in one of the empty rooms. (Note: Filipino homes always have empty rooms; they’re probably accommodating ghosts.) All of the 90s furniture, including a stark, reflective black master’s bedroom set, had no meaning or design in that place. That place where I slumbered and was suddenly awoken again. I think I was 13, sitting up abruptly on the right side of the bed, staring at myself. Yelling. Screaming at the top of my lungs.

Stop!

I wasn’t looking at a reflection of ours.

The reflection.

My brother (Alan Abad) and cousins (Ryan and Vanessa Skinner), ran home from the playground in the centre of the crescent (71 Maryvale Cr. N.E., Calgary, AB). They heard me scream. They were horrified to think something horrible had happened. But nothing did. I was alive. I wasn’t attacked or eaten by monsters. Vanessa grabbed my shoulders, shaking vigorously and I blinked slowly three times, “What. The. I…don’t know what just happened, but I think…I died and saw…a different person…in…” I couldn’t even continue. It was that bad.

Scared?

The Homeless Men

Hi everyone! Sometimes you just have to use your own voice!

I shall embark on this challenge to pull myself out of slumber…

(Seth Godin’s challenge consisted of 100 blog posts a day – this story is a post about 50 homeless men having one conversation…)

TODAY

My vigor is lost and it must be reinstated. So, here goes two months-ish of creative and technical credit. Perhaps some continuation of Daisy’s adventures in. Or should I say, at Elevententeen? Some free photos, you know. For days when I’m feeling too lazy. And what about samples of graphic art? Is there anything else worth more? I’ve been developing at the rate of a rabbit, gosh darn it!

I’ve been introduced to a multitude of applications, which seem to be more about bunnies reproducing. Interesting? Practice. And concepts (of principles and ideations). It’s effective. This is the glory of creation! Making things to build things; systems to make duties simpler (they do that though). I will also be throwing in my work (templates, sales documents and the sort), which I may add, are becoming more and more succinct every day. La la. So keep working, they’re supposed to evolve and eventually become fit!

2 DAYS PRIOR

I am still testing things out and I’m not really sure insight selling is working. But maybe it is? I will give it another year or so to see. Theoretically, it should take minutes to develop. Sort of like walking away. If you are telling me you’re in, that’s what I’m saying! And, I’m sorry if I come across negatively, it’s my army suit and optimism. Let’s start one thing, here goes something!

MAKE SOMETHING EVERYDAY

The outcome of this assignment will be –

  • Improved voice in messaging
  • Happier disposition
  • Greater appreciation of my worth

PS – My intention with this post was to work on said skills above, but it is now (August 15, 2019) to express the right in the right should the right come through. What I mean to say is: Universe, you sure throw a lot of coincidences and happy lookin’ faces my way. Is there a proprietary patent pending that I’ve developed, developing? Sunshine and 80s music all the way?

That is, creative writing. Delving into the unknown, because you know it like the back of your hand. It’s confusing, but works well for developing a screenplay!

Ta-ta for now!

4 – The Sycophant

This cannot be happening right now.

Daisy expired and shook her head as time and time again she did. We don’t exist. We are bars of Nanaimo treats screwed up on Haloperidol mixed with a touch of boxed salad greens.

So where do we begin?

She approached Alice who was expecting her. As she sat cross-legged on a slice of Dream, Daisy asks, “Miss Alice, are you here? Did you have anything?” This role reversal thing was just so complicated.

They were all messed up. The transition from wifi to digitization wasn’t her, pretty much everyone in town KNEW and it felt like people could FEEL the change, but no one would talk about it in actuality.

It’s just so much more interesting. 

What? 

This new job!

I figured out 5 routes to sudden insight in writing, they are –

Fast, 

Open and shut, 

Take your time, 

Who cares and 

Believe.

Shall we keep going?

The weekend felt like an eternity. She wished she could swoon over these feelings, but she just craved having her own office and working. Daisy gathered her yellow skirt which had fine white polka dots, a fine white mesh of squid tulle and an admirable edging of white eyelet lace. She pronounced with a deep breath to whomever was not there – Here ye, here ye are. We are short, we are tall, we are bright, we are dull. We are equal and there is something out there telling us we aren’t. Try not to be confused, but to trace your steps back towards home, it isn’t where you feel your bones turn cold and your face falls flat.

That’s all she had to do for today, but she was exhausted because she spent days preparing. Social media nowadays did just that. Having to bring together Others was painstakingly dull, hence why the word always made its way into her announcements. Daisy tried to remember why she wanted this job in the first place.

I don’t feel right. 

Alice from Wonderland awoke from a banana split second to comment, “Recall in your sleep, then awake and for the next every day of your life, return to your commonplace and remember what stands as your truth and reality – resolve, confidence and ultimately, sobriety.” Then her eyes shut, but bulgy and half-peeped. She yawned, turned around onto her Dream and went back to bed. 

Chona had a look at where she was. White Spot…hmm…Telus and an escalator…as ‘white’ as pine chairs…hmm. She was just waiting to see Seventeen and Each Other. It was A Day and she felt 92, but was probably more like a 93. “Don’t forget to measure your immeasurability.” Ugh. It always came out the wrong way. Immeasurability is when one does not make sense for various points and reasons not to be discussed. Still, wearing a t-shirt from which her periphery seemed pink, she was holding onto a couple of secrets and there was a good reason for it.

“It has left.”, “It has gone for good.”

I just get worried because I force myself to smile for having an image of my face cropped up in my mind where I look exhausted and homeless. Dr. Waterson at least said I always look flawless.

Daisy quipped brightly and dull, “Ya don’t NEED to eat dessert, hasn’t this body image disturbance issue been cured?”

Oh ok, as you say.

They were both wearing matching lumber jackets. Difficulties often arose in their marriage, however as times were different at least they still had the capacity to travel through about the same rate of simultaneous combustive think. It frustrated them both – training – making them more porcelain and less matte.

“We are old.”, “Yes, we are.” 

Daisy remembers crashing the car in 2006, there were banks of snow everywhere as large as clouds plopped down from the sky. She was psychotic and he was possibly Hindu, but as she sped away jacked on thoughts and cigarettes, A Tree followed her, off the main road. She tried to get away, but she just couldn’t and then, they stopped right next to a previous residence to talk. He parked behind the car and walked up to her window that was crusted with ice. 

Daisy remembers the solid air inside her vehicle, her paranoia and delusions stuck amidst cold breath and the dark matter of her leather seats. She was so scared, more scared than she had ever been in her life. A burly thick man with a bushy red beard approached her on her left side. She rolled down the window and two pairs of eyes extremely intense, proceeded to think. There was silence and patches of foggy air between them. He questioned her actions realistically, but Daisy was determined.

“He didn’t die! He was protected by a higher being, I swear this on my life!” It was as if two different realities were panning out at the exact same time, one that was cold and real and the other which was super paranoid and just too hard to bear.

A Tree stood there in silence in between moments of questioning, sort of half-intrigued and semi-empathetic to Daisy’s arguments. And then, he just let her go. Just like that. She drove away, further and further into it all, arriving at an underground graffiti show that wasn’t worth any of her time, but as per usual she showed up, walked around like she gave a fuck, because that was her job. 

Allow me to circumvent. How many years did it take?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe 10.

I don’t think we can act godlike. The brain gets confused. Then, we become accountable for our actions and if we cannot explain what we’re doing (and these days, throw thinking into that pot), we might be in trouble!