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.