Tuesday, December 14, 2010

An Update

Not sure about staying an English major...I mean I'll keep with it for my BA probably, but beyond that I'm not sure.

I'm thinking I should start doing something that will have a payoff, like money. May find a writing job, may not. Looking for opportunities, and a sense of ambition, instead of sitting on the computer all day, maybe I can sit on the computer all day and make money?

Anyhow, turned in a portfolio of my creative works to my professor. Classes are ending this semester. Tomorrow is reading day - no finals.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Don't Wanna Sleep

Its 3:30 am. I don't want to sleep. I don't really know why. I mean, I'm tired, I could sleep. But I just don't want to. I'm not even doing anything really interesting. I think its the waking up that I am dreading, which just gets worse as I stay up longer. I don't even have enough interest to keep writing here, but I'll try. My mind is shutting down, I can only focus on one idea at a time. Its like tunnel vision, something I'm not really used to.

This kid said one time that remembering things throughout your day helped your memory. Maybe. But cells phones help alzheimer's more than anything else (its true, look it up, or I'll put a link here when I feel like researching). But that kid was on drugs, so I don't know if he really knows what hes talking about.

I remember talking about a movie, Mouse on the Motorcycle (thought it was spelled Mouce, and almost freaked out at the red lines). I was wondering why I thought of it, when I looked at my spanish homework and saw I had just read "motocicleta" (I won't bother translating, if you were wondering).

I also wanted, and want to, watch an episode of a show (won't post here due to copyright issues and more importantly, interests that sway me away from the image I would like to portray on my blog of myself, I'll be honest). Blog makes me think one thing immediately. 200 hits! Yeah, alright. Then, about my internet fame, if it would ever be possible. I am narrating this in my "Capitol Bill" voice, that is, the newspaper from School House Rock. I advise that you do the same.

So I was thinking about the movie, and the ambulance in the movie, and how kinda weird the movie was. Some kid going out into a cottage, you know it doesn't really make sense to me now. It was probably the same cottage those twins from the Parent Trap used to share oreos and peanut butter.

What is it with peanut butter anyway? People putting it on things it doesn't belong. Its like ketchup, but not for everything. I realize I am throwing a lot of movie names around and stuff when I denied you, reader, of the show I wanted to watch. Inconsistency eh.

I was dreaming about something this morning. Oh yeah, skis. Skis on the ground though, in the snow. Made me so mad when I woke up in the middle of it. I was about to jump some cars, it was gonna be cool.

Anybody have flying dreams? I guess I'm kinda trapped by my own mind. I have dreams about jumping really high. If I ever fly, I have some kind of device attached to me, or I'm floating, at best. I don't know, but jumping really high, I could do.

And all of you people that think you're so cool with lucid dreaming, get your head out of your ass. Cool, you found something out, but everybody can do it. Don't think you are so original and so powerful because you can control your dreams. Holy crap, I can hear you now "lol cool dream bro, but did you just get up and fly out of there? I did. Because I can control my dreams HA" and then I proceed to smack your face with both my hands with my knuckles. You can't lucid dream when you lose consciousness buddy, and definitely not during a concussion.

Now, ya'll wanna lucid dream, thats fine. Just don't get all high and mighty like Jesus came to you and accepted you as his personal apprentice, which really, wouldn't be that great of an honor since you'd be starving and stuff. But miracles you know? And dying for sins and such. Lots of honorable things, not to mention cult followings.

Which reminds me of the rosary. Who says 50 prayers? I'd be like Hey God, I could be praying right now, or I could be like, cleaning up the streets or something. I think you know whats best so I'll leave that up to you, who am I to tell you how to do your job?"

That sounds like the attitude I should have had when my FACS teacher started yelling at me (I swear this rant isn't forced or made up. I'm just following thoughts, the plot is repetitive, I know it). Something about having to sew my pillow during class, but I sucked at sewing (to tears, really) so I could never get it done. And I asked her if she could have her class during special study hours, which for some reason she never did have it open, then she got all defensive and told me not to tell her how to run her own class. She said hi to me every day after that, but screw that. Not screw her, I don't really care, but apologies aren't flying either way, even though its not really a big deal. But "not a big deal" doesn't really make a story now does it?

I think that about wraps it up. Hope you 200 visitors decide to come again!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

I will tell you

Its been a while since I've updated here...but I suppose its in my nature to attempt to be unexpected. So I'll take advantage of your mindset that I would never update it again, and hopefully catch you when you've checked one last time to be surprised at an update.

I thought about sharing a dream, but no one really wants to read those without knowing me. They aren't really as interesting as you would think, if you didn't know me.

Now, I do enjoy my subconcious. Some ideas, come from thinking about them, but sometimes you get some lines that you didn't really make on your own. Something from the back of your mind sparked and you hand obliged. This is the difference between poetry and prose for me. My best lines of poetry have been unexpected.

"I will tell you what death is like, but you may not be able to hear me"

I don't remember what I was doing when I thought this up. I don't remember even thinking it was good when I put it on my computer, though I must've when I typed it up as a message on my phone. (Boy, for a guy that doesn't like pretentiousness, I sure do talk about how great I am a lot. Hey, its my blog).

I just really enjoyed that line, maybe because it was from me, but from a me that wasn't directly me. Or thats my excuse, so I don't feel bad bragging about my own work. I wish I could think of a poem to accompany it, but I feel like I would destroy it with other lines.

More later.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Academic?

Well, this is my creative blog, which has taken a hit since September, when I started my classes up again. I guess this blog could see some of my academic writing as well.

ALSO can we clear up the anonymous?? I love comments but you can put your name too! I'd like to know who the regulars are around here! Even if its a pen name, it would be nice. Then if you choose Name/URL you can put a link to your blog as well!

This essay has gone through multiple revisions, and has become a lot better than what it was originally (which I may never show you). I think it explains itself;

Dust and Ashes Allusion in “To His Coy Mistress”

“And your quaint honor turn to dust / and into ashes all my lust” (Marvell 29-30). “Ashes” and “dust” are an allusion to “The Order for the Burial of the Dead”. The prayer is as follows: “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed: we therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...” (Booty 310). The repetition of each word signifies a beginning and an end, starting from earth and ending as earth, starting from ashes and ending as ashes, starting from dust and ending as dust. Marvell uses “dust” and “ashes” in his argument to his mistress to convey the idea of death. He recognizes that all humans will eventually return to dust and ashes, and reminds his mistress of this truth.

“The grave's a fine and private place” (31). This line shows that Marvell means death when he mentions dust and ashes, which correlates strongly with the prayer. The prayer is all about death, and uses dust and ashes as a description of death. In the context that Marvell is using “dust” and “ashes” and the meaning that he is trying to convey to his mistress, there is almost no doubt that he is making an allusion specifically to this prayer and nothing else.

Marvell omits the meaning of the second half of the prayer, which continues, “in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life”. Marvell is not trying to convince his mistress that she will be resurrected, but that she will die and her noble efforts will be turned to dust.

290

Works Consulted

Booty, John. The Book of Common Prayer, 1559. U of Virginia P, 1976.

Margoliouth, H. M.. The Poems and Letters of Andrew Marvell. Vol 1. Oxford U P, 1927.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

I don't think every poem needs a title.

I don't think every poem needs a title

He spoke, but no one listened.
His words drowned out conversations
that were more interesting than his.
Never give a selfish man a microphone.

Someone says "smells like narcissism in here"
and you fly to the moon, not remembering what happened
or even what is happening
but only knowing that you are what you are
and always will be.

A fear doesn't have to be real
or necessarily make sense ever
or even have a way about it that
makes another person feel fear.
Like a fear of dolphins.
I do not own this fear,
but could definitely see
redness in their eyes.
Lighthearted, playful yelps interpreted as
battle shrieks.
Red meat tendencies instead of tender fish
Now, I hope I do not see a dolphin today.

I wonder if anyone has a fear of cupcakes?
If they had the same traits as the
previously mentioned dolphins, then I imagine
those would be some frightening cupcakes.

I suppose if a writing mirrored a piece of art
that is, each word matched the emotion of each stroke
how big or small
it wouldn't be so bad
unless perhaps it was a painting of picasso's

I want in this moment,
not more than anything in the world
for that slot is saved for people worthy of emotion,
but likely second most, in this very moment,
to continue to be warm outside of a hot shower

He was pushed aside in the name of love
the third card in a hand that was blackjack
and now the bet has run over.
The player has run back the clock
and chose to discard the overflow.

There is no middle cushion to a loveseat.

I don't really think there will be anyone
that is perfect for me in every regard
or even great for me in every regard
but for you, I will make an exception.

Sometimes when you tell one person something
you feel like you've told the whole world.
I don't like making small talk you say
and the listener, barely knowing you,
cannot think of a way to respond
without making small talk immediately or right afterwards.
You have assumed that saying it out loud
allows you to rudely walk away from another person any time afterwards
who has attempted to curse your day with small talk.

There will always be those people
you know in your heart
don't deserve it

He knew what they would say if he did
the blood on the floor surrounding
his inanimate corpse. He knew no other way.
You don't really find a way out
you just break down the way in

I want a pair of glasses
that have the rearview mirrors on them.
They would probably not be as good
as mothers' eyes
planted directly in the back of their heads
but they would be good enough
to see what kind of wreck was happening behind me
without having to face it.

I pop bubbles for a living
In a literal sense, I am an innocent child
in a figurative sense, I am a mean critic

I believe its when I we must say goodbye
is when we feel most loved

Love stories are like rafts on the ocean
some evolve into yachts and cruise liners,
others slowly get holes pokes into them
from stone tears that fall from their inhabitants

people who dont like happiness
should be shot
with a balloon of course!
because balloons are happy

Friday, October 8, 2010

CK: Question 17

Does anyone still read these? Well, if not, theres only 5 or 6 left, so they'll be over soon. Theres been some inconsistency in the posting I realize, and hopefully that'll change soon. I definitely will be posting some writing this weekend, of my own original stuff, not another question. Maybe I'll write something new, or find something to talk about. Anyhow, heres another one of Klosterman's questions.

17. You are sitting in an empty bar (in a town you’ve never before visited), drinking Bacardi with a soft-spoken acquaintance you barely know. After an hour, a third individual walks into the tavern and sits by himself, and you ask your acquaintance who the new man is. “Be careful of that guy,” you are told. “He is a man with a past.” A few minutes later, a fourth person enters the bar; he also sits alone. You ask your acquaintance who this new individual is. “Be careful of that guy, too,” he says. “He is a man with no past.”

Which of these two people do you trust less?

17. Well, theres three people here besides myself. And how metaphorical are we talking this past thing here? Because if the fourth man had no past, then he wouldn't really exist, so the two men are the second and third guy. And what kind of pasts are we talking here? The soft-spoken acquaintance might be a nutcase who speaks in tongues. This is probably much harder than I'm making it but I'll continue. What do I have to trust these guys for anyway? Not stealing my drink? Do I have to make friends with them or something? Why does this acquaintance have to be so cryptic????
OK I'll just focus on the past/no past thing. I would trust the man with the past less. Assuming his past is something to fear, then we have already established him to be a bad guy. He is a scary dude whether his intentions were good or not. However, the man with no past has nothing to lose and could probably use a buddy as well as someone to be loyal to.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Posting

I suppose I haven't posted anything in a while. I'm not in the mood for writing right now but I'll say a little of whats going on with me and writing at this point in time.

I have momentary thoughts, or quotes, that I think of when paper isn't around. So they go on my phone, which I have to text, which I don't enjoy that much but sometimes thoughts just gotta be put down. I have four now, and I'm planning on getting 100 and then putting them all together somehow in a work? Maybe. Or just posting them. As a preview, one of them is "I can think of nothing more ironic than an anagram of "dyslexia"."

Some are more quirky, others are more personal. But they are all my thoughts.

I was also throwing around the idea of beginning stories by taking one, what I think to be, provocative line from a song and beginning a story out of it. I'd do it now but I have something of a headache and no inspiration. But sometime, hopefully.


Thursday, September 23, 2010

The Valley of Rolling Armadillos

OK so we did an exercise in our creative writing class to make up 3 titles and put them in a bag. Then we pick out three titles and pick one to title our images poem. Which I didn't know we were supposed to do, so I wrote one in class. We had to share one image, so I wrote one down as quick as I could, which was "Scarlet eyes on velveteen clouds" and some other ones later on in class, when I realized we were supposed to have more than one line. And then I added a lot after class.

So, the title of this blog post, was one of MY titles, which I liked a lot more than the titles that were given to me, I guess being much too selective in the writing I enjoy, but the best title I got was The Tuesday I lost my Apathy. The other ones were When the Lights Go Out and While Dancing in a Blackout which I guess in retrospect are a bit better than I had originally thought, but still not my favorites. I had thought of "Valley of Rolling Armadillos", "Scars From Mud", and I will never remember the last one, but it probably wasn't very good. So heres the poem I wrote.

The Tuesday I Lost My Apathy

Towels ablaze from the devil's fire shower

Marbles filled with nightmares

Scarlet eyes on velveteen clouds

A drive in movie in winter

White sheets of dried monterey
creating miniature mountains over
crumbled pieces of unlevened bread

A tie of eyelashes and unwanted shoelaces

A hollywood rendition of playground soccer

The sassafras of zyzzavas in the gazebo

Pointed candy warning the hand that
still contains baby fat

A sugary stare of plush ...

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Link Sharing Time

A mix of other movies with the inception trailer, the first being Up. Pretty funny, and pretty talented video mixing. Check it out;

12 Brilliant Mashups of the Inception Trailer (VIDEO)


Added a copyright so all you chumps can't steal or I'll SUE.

Also, 100 visits yay

Monday, September 13, 2010

CK Question 16

I'm gonna run out of questions here soon. Then I'm going to run out of things to say.

16. Someone builds and optical portal that allows you to see a vision of your own life in the future (it’s essentially a crystal ball that shows a randomly selected image of what your life will be like in twenty years). You can only see into this portal for thirty seconds. When you finally peer into the crystal, you see yourself in a living room, two decades older than you are today. You are watching a Canadian football game, and you are extremely happy. You are wearing a CFL jersey. Your chair is surrounded by books and magazines that promote the Canadian Football League, and there are CFL pennants covering your walls. You are alone in the room, but you are gleefully muttering about historical moments in Canadian football history. It becomes clear that—for some unknown reason—you have become obsessed with Canadian football. And this future is static and absolute; no matter what you do, this future will happen. The optical portal is never wrong. This destiny cannot be changed.

The next day, you are flipping through television channels and randomly come across a pre-season CFL game between the Toronto Argonauts and the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Knowing your inevitable future, do you now watch it?

16. I probably wouldn't look into the crystal ball because 1) its probably a scam anyway and 2) it probably costs a good chunk of money. But I do. I wouldn't want to watch my future anyway, it'd ruin it for me and make questions like this hard. I probably would. If I love CFL so much, might as well get into it as soon as possible, why waste time knowing my inevitable future and seeing how happy I was there regardless of the circumstances? Even if I was unhappy, its still my future. I could've been washing the deck of the Flying Dutchman for Captain Davy Jones but it still wouldn't stop me from jumping into that game of Liar's Dice and risking my entire eternity for my son (I don't even like that movie, but I've seen it twice).

Sunday, September 12, 2010

CK Question 15

I realized a few things today.

One, I really like the sound of shattering glass. Not that overused sound on TV shows, but the actual live sound of glass breaking on tile, or concrete, or whatever.

Two, I feel gigantic sometimes, and I now attribute that to my five-year old personality. I guess theres a little guy in there thats still going strong, and he's got too big of a body. Just typing it out makes me feel like I am maturing way too quickly. Peter Pan syndrome, or Big syndrome, if you know that movie.



15. You have a brain tumor. Though there is no discomfort at the moment, this tumor would unquestionably kill you in six months. However, your life can (and will) be saved by an operation; the only downside is that there will be a brutal incision to your frontal lobe. After the surgery, you will be significantly less intelligent. You will still be a fully functioning adult, but you will be less logical, you will have a terrible memory, and you will have little ability to understand complex concepts or difficult ideas. The surgery is in two weeks.

How do you spend the next fourteen days?

15. My first instinct is that I would write. I would probably enjoy other people's company when I lose intellect and I would probably find it easier to enjoy sex and the like (based on a previous blog post). And who said I was accepting this surgery? I guess Chuck assumes living a life as an idiot is better than no life at all? I believe I would be very frustrated at trying to think after the surgery and wouldn't want to live on like that anyway. If I was an english professor (my intended profession), how could I find work? Theres no way. I'd probably write a little guide - instructions on how to live my life for dummies. This still wouldn't work for my career though. It would also depend on who I lived with and if they could stand living with a dumber me. I would probably spend the next fourteen days doing the regular crap I already do. I guess I could still play drums after the surgery, so not all is lost.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Birthday!!!

I want to give a shout out to my favorite girl - its her birthday!!! You know who you are :)

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

She Was

offtopic: neat trick, if my font is too small to read, or any site, hold the control button and scroll with your mouse up or down to make the page larger or smaller. The font gets larger so its easier to read.

Hello. This will probably be a long post. There are multiple poems that got placed into one, and I will explain to you my process and such. Here is how the poem finished;

She Was

Out cold in a shivering December
holding close to his toes
trying to forget
he had no home

She threw the pills against the wall
her eyes red, her skin blue
She knew no one lived forever
and she was sick of trying to

The cigar rolled from one side of his mouth
to the other
Listening to the silence of the house
as he stared at the moon

He had her cremated
so he would always have her
part by agreement
part by necessity

He stretched out across the bed
awaiting his lover's embrace
but was met only with cold cotton
that will never be as soft as she was

__________________________

COMMENT before you read my thoughts on the poem okay?? For those of you who comment. There is no wrong thought, there is no wrong question, there is no wrong answer. Here are my thoughts on the end poem itself (highlight of course);

Each of the four lines were from different poems. Some of them had sets of four lines, and others were just four lines on their own that got put in. They had been imagined to be separate characters, each set of four lines. I must have been thinking similarly throughout each one, since they all seem to tie together. I wrote all but the second set in one night. The second set was after I woke up and had a dream, which is written down of course, that had nothing to do with the lines at all, but soon I had that idea for her. I wasn't satisfied with any of the poems alone, they really had no endings, so I placed them together and thus, all the male characters became one, and the female character was added as well.

The first (I'll call them stanzas, a set of four lines) stanza is about a man who is homeless. That was how it was written in its own poem, but emotionally, it stands to be true in this poem. Cold as in cold-hearted or lonely. It has more emotional aspects when placed with the others, but on its own, its about a homeless man feeling cold, and that's all.

The woman is blue, because of her veins, which isn't described since veiny isn't a word. She is (was lol) the main point of the poem, the source of his feelings.

The third stanza is simply a man who is almost, almost content with what he is doing. He seems to me, an older version of the man in the other stanzas, but not as old as the first. Oh, I meant to say the first stanza feels like a prelude to the entire poem - thats how he was AFTER she had died. Died being implied, she could be sick. Then it explains why she died, then it explains how he felt. So the first stanza could be physical or emotional or both. So the man feels older, like he is getting over her death simply.

I think the real order of the poem to make sense would be to read the stanzas in the following order; 2, 3, 4, 5, 1. Yeah, that's how I explained it earlier. OK. So she dies, then he feels okay, then he knows he isn't, then he feels lost without her in bed, then he is out cold, homeless. Or maybe that's an emotional stanza, and that should be first? You tell me haha.

The fourth and fifth stanzas are essentially the same man, both very lonely.

OK, now that you have commented, and then read what I was thinking when I wrote the poem originally, now I can show you the remnants of the poems the stanzas had originally come from. They are similar to the other ones, but went through changes as I moved them to the collaborative poem.



1. Starving

Written originally to convey the feeling of starving, but not only for food, but for home, and love, which was what my larger poem was going to be about, people starving for something different all the time. Some don't tie together, but what was on one page is written together as one poem here.

Sharp pangs seeming to pull from underneath
Like a thousand fingers all wanting a piece

Out cold in a shivering December
holding close to your toes
trying to forget
you have no home

Stretching out across the bed awaiting a lover's embrace
feeling only emptiness when you palms rub the wool
that will never be as soft as she was

Ravenous
Teeth sinking into fruit
forgetting to care about your famished brethren

Can famished be used as starving and for full? I think it could be used for both. I don't know which one it means exactly. You'll notice the poem was originally meant to be third person, which I kind of like better actually.

2. Ashes

He had her cremated so he would always have her
part by her agreement, part by his necessity

He had the jar placed in the most intimate area of their house
where he could always see, (where she would always be)
and imagine the rest of her

The line in parenthesis was originally crossed out. I wanted to talk about the jar but had no more ideas to continue through with it. I think the perfect song to accompany the small poem, at least what comes to mind every time I hear the word "ashes" is Porcupine Tree - My Ashes - "where a boy rides on a bike, and never smiles..." That line stands out to me in that song.

3. At the Moon

The cigar rolled from one side to the other in his mouth
He fumbled with the playing cards in his right hand
his arms covered in rich fabric to the wrists -
fit for a king, and not the foolish kind

He sat back in his chair and listened to the silence of the house
as he stared at the moon

This one I used, but left out so many details of what he was doing since it seemed useless in lieu of the mood of the poem it was put with.

The poem about the woman is exactly the same as its own, just the four lines.

I wrote two other poems I didn't use but conveyed some feeling. I guess I might post them later but they are totally irrelevant to this entire poem besides being written at the same time.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Watermelon Carvings

So theres these really cool watermelon carvings that I found a site of. Theres some awesome art, you should check it out. Also thought I would share this site I found called funky downtown. Its a time waster, added to the links list.

Also, Mighty Optical Illusions. Random optical illusions, a lot to look at. Added to the list.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Coma[ternal]

4 days and no posts?? What is going on?
I've been busy.

So I had a very interesting weekend, which some writing might come out of. Been thinking a lot of other story ideas to throw around, I would post some stuff here but its longer than my usual, and so I don't really want to share just parts for a larger story until I have more of it done SO I'm gonna pull out one of my older ones, and share that with you. It's kinda short because I wrote it by hand first and cut out parts to skip to the actual plot so I could finish it in some way or another at least. The title is a mesh of "coma" and "maternal" as in mother.


Coma[ternal]

He walked with a limp and a bit of a hunch, but quicker than a trained indian. Inherently, he was a nice man, but time had worn on his intentions and had destroyed his motivation. He almost questioned his entire existence.
He wasn't religious, but maybe he should be. Maybe it would give him incentive to continue with his life in a jolly manner, but now all he desired to bring among the people around him was pain and guilt. He lived on the newcomer's stares of empathy and thrived in scaring it out of them with his wretched personality.
His ninja waddle, if it could be called so, took him a long time to perfect, but he had learned to enjoy it, as it added to the anticipation of the scare. He loved their faces not only from the intense growling noise he would make but also from his terrifying appearance.
He never physically harmed anyone, and his personality wasn't a result of choice entirely, it was a result of the conditioning of the meann people before him had wrought upon him (does that mean he is allowed to do unto others what has been done to him however?)
He used a cane, mostly to ward off small children and unwanted visitors of his precious personal bubble. He didn't need it to walk really.
His mother stayed in the hospital, in a comatose state. Arguably, she was the only person he felt a shred of compassion for, but she hasn't had the chance to ruin his perception of her yet. He stayed also because he needed physical medical care, whether that was from old age or a prolonged stay in the hospital was uncertain. He avidly denied any medication.
The hospital couldn't have had any positive effect on his mood. It was a bleak white with slightly blue horizontal bars lining from the top to the bottom. While it wasn't a prison in any way, he had decided by choice never to leave. His sour mood never allowed it.
He walked into her room like he always did. Stop at the doorway for a few seconds, giving a small sigh when her eyes remained closed. He pinched the bridge of his now allowed his eyes to water a little and placed his cane against the wall by the door. He walked towards her slowly, trying to make enough noise with his steps in hope that she may wake up. It had never worked before.
He sat slowly in the seat that had been moved next to her. It belonged in the corner but since he had moved the chair by her bead and steadfastly protested it never be moved, it has not budged.
His hands slowly moved towards hers and gently wrapped themselves around her frail fingers as he stared at her restful face. She looked peaceful but extremely weathered. Her chest barely moved up and down from her weak breathing.
As his head stared at the ground, he felt her hand twitch and a surge of joy ran through his heart. His love, his compassion! He brought his eyes up to hers and saw her eyes open for the first time in years.
She let out a small moan and looked over into his eyes.
Her eyebrows furrowed and her hand pulled away suddenly.
"Who are you!?" she asked almost maniacally as she curled away from him, pushing herself to the far side of the bed. She pulled away as much as her frail frame allowed and returned his tearful eyes with a glared pair.
"Mom, its me!" he choked. Tears dropped as he stood and grabbed for her hand, but she swatted it away.
"No beast could ever be my son!" she returned with vigilance. His eyebrows raised and his chin crumpled as well as his emotions.
"Mom please, its me..." he whimpered, his lower lip trembling.
"Get out," she hissed. He receded slightly, reluctantly.
"Get out!!" she repeated, louder this time. She sat up and stared at him in anger, pointing towards the door.
He ran from the room a with a sick feeling in his gut and his eyes to his face. He ran down the hallway crying without pause.
His sobs could be heard throughout the entire hospital.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

CK Question 14

I've been pretty tired lately. Reading textbooks. I'm much too lazy for this stuff. Writing more, but this post isn't for that. Its time for another question.

14. For reasons that cannot be explained, cats can suddenly read at a twelfth-grade level. They can't talk and they can't write, but they can read silently and understand the text. Many cats love this new skill, because they now have something to do all day while they lay around the house; however, a few cats become depressed, because reading forces them to realize the limitations of their existence (not to mention the utter frustration of being unable to express themselves).

This being the case, do you think the average cat would enjoy Garfield, or would cats find this cartoon to be an insulting caricature?

14. OK, the average cat, probably would enjoy it. I assume there are cats like there are people. A tenth would love it, a tenth would hate it and an eighth couldn't give a cat's ass. I imagine there would be a couple cat fanatics that would make blogs dedicated to garfield and stuff, while others would dedicate books to how garfield is an insult to their species and stuff. Think about comics that insult people. People find that stuff hilarious. So I think on the whole, the average cat would probably like garfield, some because they find it funny that cats can be so stupid, and some because they honestly relate to a love of lasagna. And some because this is the only tangible outlet where a cat's feeling is expressed, and therefore the only adventure that a cat can relate to, besides perhaps encyclopedia references on cats, so they may be forced to enjoy it out of a lack of interest in non cat-related media, aka, 99% of books in existence.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

CK Question 13

I dislike spanish. (This sentence has been edited).

Anyway,

13. Every person you have ever slept with is invited to a banquet where you are the guest of honor. No one will be in attendance except you, the collection of your former lovers, and the catering service. After the meal, you are asked to give a fifteen-minute speech to the assembly.

What do you talk about?

13. Seeing as there isn't anyone yet, that'd be a pretty lonely banquet lol. Who asks me to give a 15 minute speech to the assembly?? One of my former lovers, since they and the catering service are the only ones there (and the catering service better keep their mouths shut I paid them for one thing and one thing only)? Seeing as that must be true, then no one asked me to do a speech, meaning the second part of this question is totally invalid. But let's just say I had many lovers over the span of my life and I must now address them. Do they know that they were all my lovers? I mean they know they are to me, but are they all aware that everyone in the room has had sex with me? Either way, I'd probably read some story I wrote dripping with sexual innuendos, and I would make suggestive glances to all lovers still interested while I said each suggestive word.

Also, I'm trying to work on stories a little more productively...some success some not. That's all I'll say for now.

Monday, August 30, 2010

The Pocket Mouth

He walked the sidewalks alone. Taking in the same old views and watching as other people laughed and talked, unaware of his loneliness. In an instant, he was angry and jealous at how happy they could be when he was not, but he sighed, and came to the realization that, really, they weren't responsible for his happiness.

The higher-ups, the ones in charge. They seemed to have a little more responsibility about these things, and where were they? But, they weren't responsible for his happiness either, and how could they? How could anybody? How could anybody have the time for him and him alone to ensure he was on his way to being simply happy?

People didn't like him initially, it was just something he gathered over time and had grown accostumed to. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but it seemed that people were a little more judgemental when it came to him. But it didn't bother him, not in the small scheme of things. One passes, and another. But time after time hurts, and thus he is left to self-reflection and loneliness with no one to blame but himself.

And one could say, really, that it is entirely his fault. But not so entirely as to isolate and blame him fully. How can you approach someone who has made up their mind about you before you had said a word?

Surprise was his friend. Chance, circumstance, luck. If he could catch someone off-guard before they had a chance to think, he would have more of a chance. But this isn't something he planned, this is something he had to wait for, because he had to be surprised too. Forced situations worked towards his favor, as he wasn't an awkward kid, only assumed to be, and therefore avoided. But when one could not avoid, they might learn.

Not to say that everyone that was forced to start conversation, or forced into a position in which he would start conversation, would actually enjoy the company of the kid, but at least he would be given a chance to have them make up their mind before they could ignore him.

In this fashion, he has secured himself many friends. Those who do not know, and he does not know, as he does not calculate when or who to strike, again, merely relies on chance, have become pedastals of conversation, trust and companionship.

Perhaps all of these thoughts brooding in his mind for entire days is what wards off these people. They wouldn't know it themselves, why they had feelings against starting a conversation with a random guy, but subconciously they would realize that the breadth of his thoughts was too much to bear for normal conversation and perhaps he would become clingy or desperate for a friendship when in reality these thoughts simply disappear when a person appears that seems unusually friendly in the large bestiary of shut mouths.

Or perhaps, it is not what they see in his eyes, but what they don't see in his eyes, and the rest of his body. Perhaps these people are only attracted to sexy undertones by the handsome man's physique that they did not see in him (whether he had it or not - and whether the conversation was entirely platonic or not). Men notwithstanding of course, except for the liberally erotic.

Or maybe the people are simply too lazy to add another person to their lives. How easy it is to attach yourself to another being of which you have a non-tangible but somewhat mutually relatable connection to - a roommate, a family member, a peer from your old school who you may not even talk to, someone who has the same birthday, a person you shared a cupcake with etc - which could happen to him on account of chance, something similar to sharing a moment of sameness with another that unites them. Usually in his case, it ends with awkward looks the other way and embarrasment of at least one party involved.

In any case, he fashioned and doomed himself, as concluded with multiple encounters of silence from, what he thought to be, confident "hellos" and "how are yous", as a man not to be socialized with. How can one argue the irrefutable point proven time and time again, regardless of ethnicity, age or intelligence? He will have to await the next time the divine dice rolls triple sevens again to offer him a slim chance at a new friend.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Notes August 28th

Now I don't want to post every little thought I have on here, but some.

I was watching a movie in which a man told a story about how one of his professors told him he had no writing talent, and thus be responded in a vulgar way and moved to New York where he published over a hundred stories in a course of a year. Each one of these stories he sent back to his professor to prove to him he was wrong saying that revenge was a wonderful thing for everybody to experience.

So...if I want people to send me their writing, tell them they will be terrible? I guess that would only work with the most tenacious ones, otherwise they might just give up.

Blank

I wouldn't write a guide on how to write poetry, which is what I was going to title this originally, because I think its a little beyond my understanding. I don't really know if anyone could give a guide on writing poetry unless it included lots of caveats and conditionals, and even then a poet could find an exception to these rules. So basically, there are no rules. No guidelines even I suppose.

Tell me, which sounds more like poetry. Or looks like. Or seems like. Whatever.

There is something to to be said about the single unlit light on a crosswalk. Although it has the misfortune of a broken wire or uncooperative bulb, it stands out from the rest as morbidly unique in its inability to produce light. Its friends shine brightly on without it, and it may feel alone, but it doesn't know that it has surpassed the beauty of light simply by not having one.

Now before I add breaks to the sentences, which seems to me, poetry does consistently, I wanted to first focus on the last sentence. I typed it out and then I thought to myself how unique badness was in the presence of good. Or perhaps that isn't the right wording. Misfortune in the presence of fortune. I know that the light would have never been noticed on its own (assuming its twilight and we can see the light well enough and see that it should be lit and is not - clarifying that we don't see the light not because it is dark but because it is not lit). But when you put it with other lights who shine as they should, one takes a second glance and notices the absence more acutely.

Is this metaphor accurate for people? I always try to apply it to people. My first thought was autism - that a person who has autism is only really noticed around people that do not, but of course, no person could be noticed without other people to notice them, unless you believe in a God, or some omnipresent being (reminds me of the often parodied question: "if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?") And I suppose in that way, the metaphor can't really be accurate for people. But maybe in some other way I haven't thought of yet. Comments anyone?

Ok, so the point I was getting to. Does this seem more like poetry?

Absence

There is something to to be said
about the single unlit light on a crosswalk
although it has the misfortune of a broken wire
or uncooperative bulb
it stands out from the rest as morbidly unique
in its inability to produce light
its friends shine brightly on without it
it may feel alone
but it doesn't know that it has surpassed the beauty of light
simply by not having one


I would agree with the 90% - 100% out there, that the second sounds more like poetry (ignoring that the skill of the writing is nothing close to phenomenal, and ignoring the arguments that it is so badly written it couldn't even be called poetry in the first place, in either form). The breaks between each thought makes the reader think a little more rather than simply reading forward and thinking very little about what has been said. I still think the first example could be called poetry, even though it doesn't follow the standard form as presented by the second.

Maybe I'm just full of crap.

CK Question 12

I saw Eating the Dinosaur in the bookstore today. I wanted to buy it but it costs money. By now I don't even remember what I wrote to each of these questions.

12. You meet a wizard in downtown Chicago. The wizard tells you he can make you more attractive if you pay him money. When you ask how this process works, the wizard points to a random person on the street. You look at this random stranger. The wizard says, "I will now make them a dollar more attractive." He waves his magic wand. Ostensibly, this person does not change at all; as far as you can tell, nothing is different. But--somehow--this person is suddenly a little more appealing. The tangible difference is invisible to the naked eye, but you can't deny that this person is vaguely sexier. This wizard has a weird rule, though--you can only pay him once. You can't keep giving him money until you're satisfied. You can only pay him one lump sum up front.

How much cash do you give the wizard?

12. Let's see, a dollar made the person vaguely sexier you say? I don't know, probably around $50. Now, anyway. Who knows what my financial or physical status will be when I meet this wizard. Is it relevant that I meet him in Chicago? I mean, if I just got in a car crash or something, I'd probably pay him more. But if I just lost my virginity or something I'd probably have pretty high confidence, so I'd pay him less. I know there are a lot more conditionals I add to these questions but hey, these are things to be considered. I'd probably get my friend to try it out first and if $50 didn't make them satisfactorily (yeah that's a word I guess) sexier, then I would pay more than they did. Sorry man.

Addition (I read over it and added this today): Seeing as the person is only vaguely sexier, I would be forced to assume the wizard only acts on placebos, or tricks of the eye. I would first have to see him make someone much more attractive before I could believe that it was true.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Yes - 90125

I was writing something else when I had thought of the album and decided to write a little about how awesome it is.

Yes - 90125 is the best album for getting over a breakup ever. The album seems to go in a row to get you to feel better about breaking up, which could be why my dad likes the band so much, though I have been fortunate enough not to have to use it like that. Heres the song list (thanks to wikipedia);


"Owner of a Lonely Heart" (Anderson/Horn/Rabin/Squire) – 4:29
"Hold On" (Anderson/Rabin/Squire) – 5:16
"It Can Happen" (Anderson/Rabin/Squire) – 5:29
"Changes" (Anderson/Rabin/White) – 6:20
"Cinema" (Kaye/Rabin/Squire/White) – 2:08
"Leave It" (Horn/Rabin/Squire) – 4:14
"Our Song" (Anderson/Kaye/Rabin/Squire/White) – 4:18
"City of Love" (Anderson/Rabin) – 4:51
"Hearts" (Anderson/Kaye/Rabin/Squire/White) – 7:39


It seems to me that the first song establishes that the listener is lonely, and thus captures them into listening as they feel those emotions. The lyrics themselves tell the listener that he must go on, and that you make your own future. Give it another chance. To take it easy and let chances and circumstance guide your adventure because you yourself are great while still reminding you that loneliness is part of life. I hadn't looked up the lyrics before but I did for this mini-review, and I must say they are pretty magical.

"Hold On" counterbalances the first song, by telling the listener to hold on, to keep going. It acknowledges that what happened to the listener may not be fair while others around him are happy, but stays with the message of holding on, to stay happy through the hard times and let life take its course with you, as things will turn up.

"It Can Happen" is another chapter of the same story. It tells the listener that you can decieve yourself by sulking around and believing you've lost your life, but really, it can change. And it will change. It Can Happen tells the listener that love can happen and will happen. Theres an amazing world out there you have to see.

"Changes" reminds the reader again of their lost love, but in an accepting manner. That what they had is now gone. The song is actually kind of spiteful towards the significant other. That one, he is changing in the way her love affected him, and two, that he must accept the change that they are now apart.

"Cinema" is an instrumental track, for distraction and introduction to the second half of the album.

"Leave It" is telling the listener to, well, leave it. Leave the past behind, leave her/him alone. Leave the sad, leave the bad, move on to another adventure.

"Our Song" is a joyful song about travelling around and having new experiences. Its a very happy song, though the title seems to reference the old, "our song" meaning the song you used to share with your significant other. But maybe it means that you can celebrate your song alone without needing anyone else.

"City of Love" is another adventurous song in a city. Talking about people, lights, sights, differences. Having a good time downtown.

"Hearts" is the final song of the album and wraps up with the message that love is all around you. Hearts is referencing all the hearts of the people around you, in the city, at home, wherever you go. All the hearts you have experienced and all the hearts you will experience and all the love they have to give you. To revert you back to days of old when love was new and fantastic. To put yourself out there once again because love is worth it.

Poetry

I'll be short because I feel like I've said this too many times but I know my blog is devoid of this thought.

This I wrote a couple days ago.

Sometimes I think writing (poetry specifically) is simply a celebration of mediocrity. But my peers think otherwise, as they can talk at lengths about an 8 line poem about clothespins. Its a nice thought, sure, but it seems to belong in a larger collection of thoughts not simply on its own. Perhaps writing has affirmative action built in - all sizes, shapes and colors accomodated even if one piece is significantly, and/or obviously superior.

I always thought poetry was writing for those who couldn't write, but my class has taught me to think a little harder than that. Not that poetry is an intelligent act, but it certainly is a thinker's act. Anything that springs a thought counts as writing. I suppose I have lowered my standards, but in doing so, have opened my doors much wider to writing. So don't knock on poetry is what I'm saying.

Interesting, They Are

I believe in innocence
I believe in the kid in people that hasn't grown at all
since their physical body matured
I believe that everyone has a story to tell
and that every one of us can tell it well
I believe that no person is boring
they may simply lack the tools to describe how interesting they are
I believe that any person is capable of believing
anything

And here comes my analyzation of my own text. It seems to me a little odd, to read an author's thoughts on his own writing as a stranger reading. But I guess writers can really do anything they want to. Regardless, this is my opinion on that little paragraph up there.

Its a little sentimental I suppose, and its a little wishy washy, and its mostly hopeful.
That is a poem by the way. I didn't realize since I didn't read poetry, but that potentially is a poem. Now that my thought is separated into different lines, it becomes more than just a thought, or maybe not more than a thought, but labeled as poetry. The title came from a quote my teacher told the class from another poet - to find the title of your poem look three lines up from the bottom and take the last three words. I am a big fan of quirky or oddball titles, so I like to take things like that as they are, to see what kind of weird title I get.

I also think the poem could do without the first line.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

CK Question 10-11

I've been writing but I don't feel like posting anything here. I just don't have the time. I'll post some at some point...but its personal journalistic stuff and I probably won't post anything like that.

10 isn't a good question. Believe me. Google these questions and find out yourself if you don't trust me.

11. You are watching a movie in a crowded theater. Though the plot is mediocre, you find yourself dazzled by the special effects. But with twenty minutes left in the film, you are struck with an undeniable feeling of doom: You are suddenly certain your mother has just died. There is no logical reason for this to be true, but you are certain of it. You are overtaken with the irrational metaphysical sense that--somewhere--your mom has just perished. But this is only an intuitive, amorphous feeling; there is no evidence for this, and your mother has not been ill.

Would you immediately exit the theater, or would you finish watching the movie?

11. Special effects? Maybe the feeling of my mother's doom was a special effect as well?? I'm not really a special effects man, and if the plot was mediocre then why would I really want to know the ending of that kind of movie? (Sounds like Avatar to me). I imagine a feeling like that would probably kill my movie watching mood, so I'd probably walk out of the theater. Call my mom to see if my feeling was alright or not. I think a feeling like that would have low priority on my list (not undermining the horrible tragedy of my mother's death, I'm saying the feeling specifically), but a mediocre movie is even lower on that list. Plus, I think I'm pretty intuitive, so I would probably trust my feelings something on that. I can always see it on DVD or something later.

Also 30 hits! Cool stuff.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

School and stuff

I was thinking about putting some stuff on my blog, but I've forgotten them now.

We had class today, on a sunday. I don't know who plans that but it happened.

Meeting new people here. At college. Might give you a clue about my age I suppose, for all of you strangers to me.

Anyway, I'm real dry of ideas at the moment. I think all day and then come on here and nothing.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Networking

Alright readers, I've been adding stuff so I can track the amount of traffic through this place (more visitors means more motivation means more posts!). I've added a facebook page as well, which will be slowly meshing together with this blog so people can go back and forth easily between them.


You all can click that link and like that page and I'll be updating there so you can be notified on your facebook feed! So cool! This means you won't have to come here to check if I've made a new post or not, but sometimes you probably will since I probably won't post every new blog update. Some of them are kinda meaningless you know?

So you have a few options. You can go there and like that facebook page, which means updates to your feed, you can go to the bottom of every post and click any of those little icons, one of them being for facebook, to share a single post with all your friends on facebook, or you can go to the bottom of the entire page and click Like with an option to share.

Anyway, things are scattered and messy at the moment. Building both pages up one step at a time. Thank all of you for reading and I hope you decide to follow my blog in the future!

Yo Cults

Hey just chilling here. Its pretty late, I mean early. 4 am, you decide. Wanted to sleep hours ago but couldn't get comfortable, as usual in this house. Have been really lazy about my dreams, but listening to some low key music really makes them seem much more interesting. Only got one more day to pack, we'll see how that goes. Trying not to think too much about the future, its a little depressing at the moment. Not in a lot of ways, but one.

Anyway, making a post because a while ago I said something about cults and never followed up on it. But as I was transferring some writing to notepads I found something I wrote in class about cults a little while ago. I'm guessing you want to read that huh?

Realizing things about yourself can sometimes be a little frightening. A cult doesn't seem like a bad idea to me. An alliance of men and women who collectively have an identity and can uniquely carry this identity wherever they go. The mafia, the Yakuza, each person an extension of a union. Individuality is somewhat lost, but in the name of a greater cause. So many intricate lives part of a simpler idea of Union, rather than separate but equal. See, these words may be inspiring, but the word 'cult' still strikes an unneccessary fear.

Eh, so only a little bit, but still more than "more on this later". So I hope all you people who have been sending me so many messages and profusely commenting about when I was going to finish my ideas, there you have it (sarcasm).

I guess I ought to get some sort of labeling system for my posts so you all can search through them easier or something. Whatever, just read everything lol.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

New Stuff

So I read an enthralling story lately. It's really bizarre in its own way but captivating. You'll have to read it to see what I mean. Its called The Terrible Secret of Animal Crossing. It tells a story of one man's journey through the game, though its not what you would expect.

Also stumbled upon (not with the application but on my own), a funny site called Lamebook. Its got facebook posts that are funny and/or lame. Its like people of walmart and other sites like that.

Both links are added to the List.

CK: Question 9

Sometimes, I'll feel really gigantic. I don't really get it, but I just feel bigger than I did yesterday. Like my body is just too large. I tower over tables and they seem much further away than they did only a little while ago. Everything seems shorter. Here's another question.

9. A novel titled Interior Mirror is released to mammoth commerical success (despite middling reviews). However, a curious social trend emerges: Though no one can prove a direct scientific link, it appears that almost 30 percent of the people who read this book immediately become homosexual. Many of these newfound homosexuals credit the book for helping them reach this conclusion about their orientation, despite the fact that Interior Mirror is ostensibly a crime novel with no homoerotic content (and was written by a straight man).

Would this phenomenon increase (or decrease) the liklihood of you reading this book?

9. Probably increase it. I'm all about discovering stuff about myself and if the book just so happens to make me look inward and find something like that, then I guess that's the true me (unlikely). I also believe I have a fairly firm stance on myself already and I'm kind of stubborn, so I don't really think I would fall under the 30% swayed to homosexuality. I would probably do research on the type of people that have become homosexual after reading the book and see if any of them are like me. If every single one of them is just like me...well then I probably wouldn't read the book, even if afterwards I knew I would enjoy being gay. I enjoy being straight too much as it is to risk it. Hows that for not answering the question? lol.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

CK: Question 8

8. You meet the perfect person. Romantically, this person is ideal: You find them physically attractive, intellectually stimulating, consistently funny, and deeply compassionate. However, they have one quirk: This individual is obsessed with Jim Henson's gothic puppet fantasy The Dark Crystal. Beyond watching it on DVD at least once a month, he/she peppers casual conversation with Dark Crystal references, uses Dark Crystal analogies to explain everyday events, and occasionally likes to talk intensely about the film's "deeper philosophy."

Would this be enough to stop you from marrying this individual?

8. Why did you have to make it a puppet fantasy...those are the only things I have nightmares about. If they are anything like those damn dirty muppets from Labyrinth then this makes the decision very difficult for me. I'm not going to google it or something in fear that they will be. Its 4 am here and I don't want to go to sleep with those in my head. Anyway, yeah this would probably kill me. Especially if she kept posters or something in the bedroom. Nothing screams flaccid like a dirty muppet watching me do my thing. And she'd make me watch it too I know it. Maybe if I saw the movie I'd change my mind, but I mean she could be a terrible decorator and terrible at cleaning around the house and lazy, which is equally important to me finding her attractive, so I mean if she was lazy as well as a dark crystal fanatic, then its really no contest. I won't go so far to say I'd rather die alone, but I'd find another woman.

Friday, August 13, 2010

CK: Question 7

7. Defying all expectation, a group of Scottish marine biologists capture a live Loch Ness Monster. In an almost unbelievable coincidence, a bear hunter in the Pacific Northwest shoots a Sasquatch in the thigh, thereby allowing zoologists to take the furry monster into captivity. These events happen on the same afternoon. That evening, the president announces he may have thyroid cancer and will undergo a biopsy later that week.

You are the front page editor of The New York Times: What do you play as the biggest story?

7. Ha, journalism. Well, first, no one cares about the president. Sorry, but you'll be okay old man, lots of people go through bad times. Theres a vice president for a reason (and I hate tabloids, even of important people - quote of the day: "Religion is just one big tabloid").
OBVIOUSLY this would be played as a double feature. Something like "Mythical beasts come in twos!" and I would report info about how the Loch Ness Monster and Sasquatch were found (reported in alphabetical order, so no discrimination over which is more famous). The president will be on like page 4 or something, where the people who care can read about him (or her omg! covering my generalizations for feminists). The Loch Ness Monster is a bigger catch in my opinion however. I mean gorillas exist, but huge sea snakes?

Gods Facebook

http://www.bspcn.com/2008/11/12/gods-facebook-wall/

Its pretty funny. Thought I would share.

Also, if all goes according to plan, I'll be transferring a lot of stuff from notebooks to my laptop and hopefully reworking my "portfolio" (a folder I call "words" with tons of notepad files). So I might post some stuff from that in the coming weeks. Etc etc.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Good Movies List

This would be easier to put on my blog so I can find it. Feel free to tell me these movies suck lol.

(In no particular order)

Moon
AI: Artificial Intelligence
Payback
What Dreams May Come
The Bothersome Man
Bicentennial Man
Being John Malkovich
Blindness
Surrogates (movie was ok, the idea was fantastic)
Shawshank Redemption (should be on everyone's list)
Taxi Driver
District 9
Lucky Number Sleven
Donnie Darko
The Count of Monte Cristo
Time Machine (with Guy Pierce)
Yes Man
Gran Torino
The Aviator
Akira (so weird)
Office Space
The Prestige
Catch Me if you Can
Die Hard
Religulous
Memento
12 Monkeys
Revolver
No Country For Old Men

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Something I wrote in March

Next time you find yourself shopping at the local Cirilla's (an adult novelties and entertainment store), try asking for the return policy.

I was going to put more than that in this post, but honestly, I really only started this to put that thought down. I didn't write the thought down in March, I just changed it because that's what I'm making this post about. This is pretty much what I imagine when I write.


March 3rd, 2010.

It repeated. The desert he was in was flat. It just kept repeating. His life. An endless repetition. He used the same words over and over. He thought the same words over and over. He thought that his life was repeating, but thats all he ever thought, and therefore fulfilled his own self prophecy. He would think, my life is just the same thing over and over. Then he would think it again. And again, and again, and again. His life was a repetition in the practice of repetion. Was it choice? It seemed like he could not get out of the loop.
He drank from his glass and set it back down. He didn't pay any attention to it. He worked for hours. Typing. Typing. Words coming from his fingertips and transforming into pixels on the page. Backspace, he made a mistake. He clicked in the wrong place, starting typing between a word...didn't realize it for a little but then he noticed. He was typing in the middle of nowhere, right in the middle of the h. He took another drink.
The fact that his fingers never grew tired didn't bother him. Why would it bother anybody. He would probably be bothered to know that all text that was not on his screen disappeared forever, but the size of the text file always fooled him. It grew gradually, the more he typed, whether or not the words were visible or not, he took for granted that the computer could memorize words beyond the monitor, which made enough sense in the real world, if he was in it. He took another drink. Tack tack tack tack...ti-tack. The sound of the keyboard with his, at best, chaotic typing.
The font slowly turned into scrawl, but ever so slowly he did not see it occur. It became very similar to his handwriting which was illegible to even him on occasion. The print began to slur its words together as if trying to create a neon sign with the letters, in case he ever wanted to make a full size model to place in front of his home in the desert.
Home? He didn't have a home in the desert. It was the desert. What an absurd thought.
He took another drink.
His fingers began to trace in the sand, mimicking his handwriting. He wrote now in large letters, as the sand would allow no smaller without collapsing upon itself. His finger moved along the sand. It was hot, but he never stopped. His fingers formed the letters he was thinking of that may or may not have formed into entire words that may or may not have began to create a story that someone may or may not be interested in reading. His eyes furrowed, thinking these exact thoughts as he continued moving along the sand. He shuffled like a crab underneath his story, stopping only to take a drink of his water. The glass was always right above his work.
He didn't stop. Oh no, he couldn't stop. Men came and went, women came and went, animals and plants and storms and snows and tornadoes and earthquakes and emotions and suns and moons and stars and tears and blood and old age and childhood and fingernails and colors and stones and cores and papers and pens and offices and depression and thoughts and wrinkles and pina coladas and buckets of water and roads and airplanes and presidents and troubles and robots and cars and pencils and pillows and calculators and languages and magic and pots and pans and drills and gold and space and hands and feet and faces and marks and crushes and let-downs and fathers and mothers and cups and peanut butter and socks and towers and lies and infidelity and keys and hearts and discs and sports and nature and time and...............
He took a drink of his water.
No, never stopped. He couldn't stop. What a life he had to live. It might not even be his choice, the inability to stop writing came over him so strongly like an unquenchable thirst, but that he didn't have to worry about. He looked back on his line that traveled across multiple worlds and shrugged. He looked up and saw hands grabbing for him. They were always there. Waiting. He stood. He took a drink of his water.

March 11th, 2010

The hands certainly took their time. He stood with a slightly confused look upon his face peering up at the wrinkle-layered skin that slowly grew larger and larger in his vision. Carelessness lead him here. The gods must be reading his story from across the world and across universes. Obviously his story had interested someone. He only took a drink from his water, and stared upwards.
Boy, they certainly took their time.
He could feel their grip upon him, He did not resist. He was grabbed underneath, his arms free. The hands were so dirty and dry. Liquid could keep a pretty good hold on these hands. He dipped his finger into his glass of water and began to trace letters on the hands. He left wet marks upon them that continued his story, and they did not resist. His eyes looked nowhere else. He could not see what was above him or below him.
The hand was at least gentle with him, carrying him. He had no notice of it moments after it had picked him up, for his passion for his story was too great and it consumed his being. He took a drink, but hastily tore the glass away from his face realizing it was all he had for makeshift ink around.

Monday, August 9, 2010

CK: Question 6

This is one of the better questions. I'll have a post with a little more substance sooner rather than later (yeah I still pretend like people read this), even if its something that I've already written. Maybe some fiction for once rather than an opinion piece. I don't know.

6. At long last, someone invents "the dream VCR." This machine allows you to tape an entire evening's worth of your own dreams, which you can then watch at your leisure. However, the inventor of the dream VCR will only allow you to use this device of you agree to a strange caveat: When you watch your dreams, you must do so with your family and your closest friends in the same room. They get to watch your dreams along with you. And if you don't agree to this, you can't use the dream VCR.

Would you still do this?

6. Hahahaha. Yeah. I definitely have some dreams that I wouldn't want anyone to see, but really the more the closest people to me know the better they can know me and the better the relationship can be. I won't delve into some of the dreams I have here, but honestly I probably wouldn't tell anyone about them without some serious prodding. Most of them are written down. Not just the bad ones though. Anyway, yes. Even if the caveat wasn't there, I would invite definitely my wife to see all my dreams with me, and my family and friends for most of them anyway. I would assume I have friends that have the same kinds of dreams and would understand completely, and would do the same for me if they had a dream VCR. As long as I don't have to work around their schedules to watch my dreams, then its all cool.

And really, if everyone did this, then no one's dreams would be odd. People would accept each other for the weird crazy sex-driven people that they are in each stage of their lives and I think there would be a lot more understanding between people and how people understand themselves.

Maybe I got a little too psychological there...

Sunday, August 8, 2010

CK: Question 5

I've been too lazy to make actual blog posts so these are just filler for you all. Feel free to answer though.

5. You meet your soul mate. However, there is a catch: Every three years, someone will break both of your soul mate's collarbones with a Crescent wrench, and there is only one way you can stop this from happening: You must swallow a pill that will make every song you hear--for the rest of your life--sound as if it's being performed by the band Alice in Chains. When you hear Creedence Clearwater Revival on the radio, it will sound (to your ears) like it's being played by Alice in Chains. If you see Radiohead live, every one of their tunes will sound like it's being covered by Alice in Chains. When you hear a commercial jingle on TV, it will sound like Alice in Chains; if you sing to yourself in the shower, your voice will sound like deceased Alice vocalist Layne Staley performing a capella (but it will only sound this way to you).

Would you swallow the pill?

5. Well, does she sing? Because if she sounds like Alice in Chains then that could be a quick slope towards her not being my soulmate anymore. But after having explained this to her, I guess it would be mostly up to her. I mean if she was okay with the collarbone thing, then I guess that's what we'd do. 3 years is pretty harsh though. I definitely don't want that kind of pain inflicted on her. Maybe I could beat the system and remove my soulmates collar bones so that when they break it doesn't cause her any pain. I don't know how it would feel to not have collarbones though. Wait, I got it. We put in synthetic collarbones, so its like she still has them, just not the originals. Then the originals go in a museum or something and someone breaks them every 3 years. Everybody wins. But I think I would like to hear some songs being played by Alice in Chains still, it'd be kinda funny, and I'd probably get used to it.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

CK: Question 4

4. Genetic engineers at Johns Hopkins University announce that they have developed a so-called "super gorilla." Though the animal cannot speak, it has a sign language lexicon of over twelve thousand words, an I.Q. of almost 85, and--most notably--a vague sense of self-awareness. Oddly, the creature (who weighs seven hundred pounds) becomes fascinated by football. The gorilla aspires to play the game at its highest level and quickly develops the rudimentary skills of a defensive end. ESPN analyst Tom Jackson speculates that this gorilla would be "borderline unblockable" and would likely average six sacks a game (although Jackson concedes the beast might be susceptible to counters and misdirection plays). Meanwhile, the gorilla has made it clear he would never intentionally injure any opponent.

You are commissioner of the NFL: Would you allow this gorilla to sign with the Oakland Raiders?

4. Chuck has been a sports writer for too long. So much buildup for such a terrible question. I don't have a lot of interest in sports, so I don't know that I would care that much. I guess the Raiders probably need a gorilla on their team to win something.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

CK: Question 3

3. Let us assume there are two boxes on a table. In one box, there is a relatively normal turtle; in the other, Adolf Hitler's skull. You have to select one of these items for your home. If you select the turtle, you can't give it away and you have to keep it alive for two years; if either of these parameters are not met, you will be fined $999 by the state. If you select Hitler's skull, you are required to display it in a semi-prominent location in your living room for the same amount of time, although you will be paid a stipend of $120 per month for doing so. Display of the skull must be apolitical.

Which option do you select?

3. Well, if I choose Hitler's skull then I guess I would have a legitimate reason to decorate it with a little square moustache. I wonder if that would look any good on a skull though. But I guess I could do that to the turtle too. Decisions, decisions. It'd probably cost money to keep that turtle, plus I'd want to keep it after the two years anyway and that's more money. If I choose the skull, then I assume the turtle will go to a good home? That's really all thats weighing on my conscience by choosing the skull. I'll take the money - and Hitler's skull sitting on top of my china cabinet or something. That could be a tourist attraction! That's even more money! And I could sell that skull afterwards. Really, I think the turtle needs to be magic or something for this decision to really be difficult.