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06:35 A.M. Mood - contemplative, melancholic, cocky

I just went through a giant box of notebooks that I began when I was about thirteen years old. After flipping through them, I decided to toss them in the dumpster. Sure, there were some cool drawings, nifty turns-of-phrases, maybe even a thoughtful meditation here and there, but at the end of the day, none of that defines me. It's time to move on.

What pained me most about my old writing was how poor my mental health obviously was at the time; not because it was filled with bleak and dismal poetry (there was a little bit of edgy poetry in there but not a lot), but because I had written in sometimes small and sometimes giant handwriting, was incredibly obviously disoriented, vascillating between exaggerated naïvety and sage-like wisdom, etc... and while all that is still present in my writing, it's really hard to describe just what I mean. For every cogent paragraph, there were at least a dozen frazzled diagrams and diarrhetic hypergraphs of a spasmodic mind-colon.

There was a time in my life where losing my writing felt like losing a child; each work seemed to be irreplaceable and unique, much like a living person. Now, I don't think that way anymore. It is the act of writing itself that was important; that is what kept me sane for all these years. It is empowering to intentionally rid myself of all this baggage after lamenting many times in the past about writing that I had no choice but to lose.

I've also narrowed myself down to just five physical books, and have purged my digital library. I am starting fresh; neniam interŝanĝu fenikson kontraŭ ĝiaj cindroj, or more vaguelt, carpe diem. If you can think of any other non-English clichés to tack on here, please let me know.

I do not want to go overboard on this though. From now on, I am going to build up very intentionally. I think at a certain point, getting rid of art is basically cultural erasure or even self-harm. But it's important to remember why we're creating in the first place, and I don't think it's necessary for a musician to cling on to every track they've ever put out or for a carpenter to keep every stool she's made.

I first began living more intentionally approximately three months ago, when I decided to create a little document called La Liber Disciplinae. I obsessively recorded everything, from the time I woke up, to the dreams I had the night before, to my intentions and moods for the day, to what I studied or worked on, every cup of water I drank and every bathroom break I took (hell, I even recorded the Bristol scale number for every dump I took), etc. etc... I even took extensive notes on my cat's behaviour and feeding cycles. Each morning, I would make a cup of coffee and savor the flavor through my nose as I set my intentions. I created a rigorous self-study program spanning mathematics, philosophy of addiction, and gospel studies. I assigned myself a certain number of credit hours and awarded myself for completion, and the plan was to do this until I had attained PhD level mastery. I ended each day with a gratitude. Doing this for two months straight showed me what it means to truly be grounded and sincere, and moving forward I think I'd like to resume this, albeit in a liter form.

Liber Disciplinae

I will reprint the opening page of that document here.

"What has been lost, cannot be re-gained; and yet, in spite of the infinitude which we have gained, we yearn instead for that which has been usurped – an illusion; non-existence – a falsity here and forever after. Yet, we can not be grateful for what does not exist, but only for the fact that it is not contained in what is; for instance, we may be grateful for the non-existence of fire-breathing spiders. But for non-existent beauty, we cannot be grateful; only appreciate that it has been revived, and reincarnated with more strength, vitality, and opulence than ever before seen, or known.

In my life, I have lost much – people, habits, works, pets, etc. – and I have been pained ten thousand times and survived. Yet, what is the surviving "me?" It is perseverance; will; fortitude; persistence. Knowing not what I truly lost, but only the residue it has left on my psyche – I persist, like the phoenix; and verily, I say, 'never trade a phoenix for its ashes.'

Let this work and the life of all those it inspires, here and forever onward, be the phoenix; and let cities destroyed and lives lost be the ashes of the forest – and we will never know if that forest was full of tics or full of flowers – but we reason that perhaps it had both, and we will never chop down a single tree from the new growth to restore the branches of old."

God willing,

- Ryan J. Buchanan

"Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and original in your work."

- Flaubert

Moving Forward

I wish to carry forward the spirit that led me to pursue this rite of discipline, and going forward, I will no longer look back on the past, but continue to advance every day. The goal here is to never throw away a crate of notebooks again; I am exercising a form of creative and moral security, if you will. With better systems in place, greater discipline, and bone-deep clarity, the path forward will be grounded and permanent. Of course, there still will be living for the sake of living; and with that, writing for the sake of writing, but I will be quick to discard anything that no longer suits me as soon as possible; and, what I'm left with will actually be worth remembering.

While I want to say, "at the end of the day, what matters isn't a bunch of highlights and sticky notes, but the reality of living with the wisdom I have gained from this journey," this isn't entirely true. Humans are extremely imperfect creatures, and just because we don't remember something doesn't mean we won't get delight out of being reminded, or might need the information later, or... but now, everything is going to be done in a much more curated way. I am going to set up my room as an ideal study space, with lots of amenities.

The Rôle of the Blog

I'd like to think this blog is the first permanent thing I've made. Sure, it's riddled with imperfection, but it is unapologetically my voice here. There's a lot of lore here. This blog is the phoenix; it is not only good because it is a public living document, but also for the intensely personal and private reason that it symbolizes everything I've had to sacrifice over the years.

For every blog post I make, there were copious amounts of equally worthwhile pieces I penned that never saw the light of day. Why? Because I'm a compulsive writer, who for years has written only for myself, because that's what gives my life meaning. Love is only one step on an entire hierarchy of needs, and it's neither the highest nor most foundational need. I could have easily salvaged all the old stuff or reprinted some of the writing I've done for myself, but it's the continual act of writing itself that matters, and this website is just bearing witness to the practice.

When I say that writing is what gives my life purpose, someone out there might say "what about LOVE bro? Isn't it all really about love?" Let me tell you something flat out: if by "love" you mean the love of people, then no, it isn't. There are more things to life than people.

Brighter yet, the phoenix burns, living forever and fervently