From Appalachia

Since I am fairly confident in my ability to procrastinate through the holidays, I will wish you a Merry Christmas now, and I'll see you in January.

Somewhere Between Friendship and Howard

I rode out to Jamestown, which from where I live, is about a five hour drive one way. It's a rather brain-numbing experience to go such a long distance and back in a day. To top it off, my friend and I hadn't slept well for a few days before that. By the time we hit the halfway mark on the way back, we had become delirious, laughing over two towns, named "Friendship" and "Howard". I promised to write about them, and as much as I'd like to take back that promise, here they are in full splendor.

In other news, I found a notebook filled with poetry I wrote from 2003. While most of it was abysmal, some of the poems were gems, and will eventually find their way into very harsh, but nurturing, revisions.

And, in domestic news, my room's carpet is now visible.

Adieu.

The Phone, it Rings

The semester is over, and I’m starting to work at the office again. While not a cubicle labyrinth, there are still the typical office perils. Phones constantly ring, the printer runs out of paper, and the four people that work here constantly fight over the cd player.

I’ve been employed to be the nameless voice that greets and redirects callers. I fix the printer and the network should either break down. I put labels on envelopes, stuff manila folders, and grab pizza and coffee from down the street. To my horror, I have become the office bitch. I’m hoping to not stay here long.

In the meantime, however, I am readying a manuscript of five poems to submit to a literary magazine. I’ll keep you posted if I get published!

Dodecahedron Dreams

I'm still persisting through Moby-Dick (my reading speed is somewhere between slow and obtuse), though I am greatly enjoying every word. I am now back at home, and have consolidated my dorm life frivolities with the mess of my bedroom. Suffice to say, my work is cut out for me if I wish to see my carpet again.

So, instead of working on tidying up, I am now working on another post, and a second blog! This will contain drafts of my works for anyone who is interested in reading my hyperbolic mind.

As if by prophecy, I now have to clean my room a little, so I can leap to my bed.

Adieu.

The Heart of an Arctic Crystal

I'm approximately one-hundred pages into Moby-Dick, and I am having serious issues in putting it down for the evening. Everything about Melville is gripping, and sublimely eloquent.

This great novel is just my first step in a greater task. My professor has given me personal assignment, so to speak; I am to read the Western Canon, to wake my Orphic voice from its blatant sleep-talking. The list is comprehensive, and it will involve delving into other languages to fully complete. Though the prospect of diversifying and enlightening my mind to the entirety of European literature is thrilling, I might be compelled to limit myself to English and the Latinate.

If anyone is interested in a collection of good works to read (I know that reading can't be quite dead yet), then go here.

My social world, on the other hand, is a gripping tale of another level entirely. My institutionalized academic world is waning into dormancy, perhaps even death, my love life is in proverbial shambles, and I'm in a struggle with what my counselor says are traits and symptoms commonly associated with bipolar disorder. My life's throes are synonymous with the rolling snowball.

And now, for non sequitur; my psychology professor, distraught over the poor turnout to the last day of class, entrusted the students who did show up with the answer to a bonus question on our final. The question, the only one not a multiple choice, is to correctly identify and write down her youngest nephew's full name. Respect can be earned in sometimes the most peculiar of manners.

I do enjoy these bitter nights. To quote Melville,

Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so for a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable anymore. [...] For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. There you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.

Moby-Dick, Chapter 11

And with that, I bid you adieu.

Scenes From the Archivist

After I got out of work, I got caught in a massive detour around Main St. They decided to shut down the main road so people could have horse cart rides down Main Street. Historic downtown, and all that. I was stuck outside a parking lot for 15 minutes, and before I knew it, the sections of the lot were different government types, allocating their parking spots preferentially, according to their political alignment. Big freaking whoop.

I bought another collection of Bukowski's poetry, and I am, as always, impressed at how blunt he can be. Also bought a sketch pad for inking things; I want to be artsy, apparently. A friend from the interwebs is coming to visit next week. I hope she's not a sketch.

And, for tonight's great endeavor, I've decided to consolidate the entirety of my myspace blog into one giant chunk of relevant and worthwhile chunks, starting now.



"For some unforseen reason, I feel compelled to talk about absolutely nothing."
November 09, 2005

"...next time you think about criticizing me, ask yourself why the hell you're on my blog. And how many chromosomes you may or may not have."
April 09, 2006

"I no longer have to drink water, I just open my mouth and inhale."
June 04, 2006, on the humidity

"too much water... I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything. I want to do something, let people know I'm alive.. anything at all will do."
June 30, 2006, on the flood

"I'm going to try and appreciate what little free time I have left in my life. Guess I'll go watch MASH"
September 27, 2006

"The message was worth it, in a world where music and poetry [lost their] meaning in a post-modern tempest"
October 9, 2006

"I would now like to reproach my younger, far more naive self."
December 9, 2007

"Haha, you increased by blog views."
January 29, 2007, the entire blog

"Actually, it's more like watching the stupidity drain from my writing."
January 30, 2007, on reading old posts

"My IP address is 127.0.0.1, I dare you to DOS it."
May 28, 2007

"It's almost like I'm waiting for something... some whisper"
June 08, 2007, listening to the rain

"I am shutting down my account."
June 18, 2008



In retrospect, what a pathetic blog. I had to weed through pages of drivel to find halfway decent lines.

Building Block Towers

A month is the only time element that is both intrinsically eternal and microcosmic. I was going to say that a lot has happened, and it most likely has, but of what consequence is it? I have a guaranteed F in two classes, a guaranteed A in one, and maybe a B+ to show for my half-assed work in yet another. And I'm dropping out of my school. These days, I feel like Holden Caulfield, I really do.

Then, after writing it, I realize I've given you the Caulfield joke before. This is the monotony of my life, if complete incoherence can be described as monotonous.

My professor of writing suggests that I continue with school, and to read the great literary canon to help dig my niche in the writing world. I enjoy writing, though you could have gathered that. Perhaps, if you're in my first group of followers, I'll give you all signed copies of my first work.

And of course, into the greater scheme of things, I will now extract a quote:

Mankind, ignorant of the truths that lie within every human being, looked outward-pushed ever outward. [...] Eventually it flung them out into space, into the colorless, tasteless, weightless sea of outwardness without end. It flung them like stones.

Kurt Vonnegut

The greater things in our life are the things that tend to take place in our minds, in the great microcosm of neurons. My great things are all quesetions, as it were. And tonight, or today, or whenever it is that you so happen to read this, I would like to develop a more informed understanding of nostalgia.

It's been well established that nostalgia is a depression of varying intensity, over the longing for the past to return. It's the feeling that gives us an excuse to remember ex's, old jobs, places we lived, and all of the etceteras. Our beautiful past, as it were.

At my present age of 20 (going on five-thousand it seems), I have finally hit the surface of reality. To explicate, I have now completed my second decade on Earth, out of a projected 7.8. Sometimes, in my disorientation, I'll earnestly consider what middle school like will be like, or where I put my blocks, before realizing that those days are a part of a different life.

Which leads me to wonder if we were ever what we remember. We can have our memories, and we can the meaning and nostalgia for these memories, but did the past ever actually happen? There are times, occurring sadly more often, that I believe the more grim answer.

But what can you do, you know? I guess complaining is the most that can be done. But hey, if you have an answer, inform me!

À bientôt!

A Critique on Writing Workshops

In a word, I find creative writing workshops to be utterly terrible; my pomposity tends to get the better of me in there. Either I'm forced to endure poor criticism, or I get to listen to poor Nickelback-based lyrics.
If you're serious about writing, go to maybe one workshop, just to see how ridiculous it is. Welcome to the subtler world of mediocrity. You'll find that a workshop can only provide so much for you, if anything at all.

Maybe I've had a bad experience with workshops. My Intro to Creative Writing class is filled with students who are barely even there for the grades. I don't know if most of them understand the art of the pen.

The bed calls, my rant is through. À bientôt!

The Weekend - A Reprise of Values

I can understand why some people refuse to drink. I watched a woman contort her face into the most disgusting, anguished shapes as she cried into her booze. My stomach turned for alcohol, and now I’m a far more conscious person about downing a drink or two.
Of course, that didn’t stop me from getting snookered on Halloween. I went down to a friend’s party, played a couple of drinking games, drank some more, and then attempted to play freecell solitaire on the coffee table. Aside from the punch tasting like Dimetapp, the evening was pretty enjoyable.
After I got tired of drinking cough suppressant, I trudged back to my room and slept off a potential hangover: a fitting welcome mat for the weekend. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday catching up in Questionable Content, and I’ve been thinking over my life on and off.
I was thinking about dropping out of college, seeing as I can’t come back in the spring anyway, but I’ll live here for a while longer. I feel like Holden Caulfield these days. I really do. I’m on the verge of publishing something of worth, so I think I’ll concentrate more on my writing than my classes. These lectures are only to guide us as far as we’re willing to go, of course.
So, the ultimate moral of the story? Friends are precious, and enjoy your time with them, because no matter where you go in life, the times you have with your friends will be more important than any job you find. And keep away from Dimetapp, it gives a hell of a hangover.

Homage - Things I Enjoy

I've been reading a few webcomics lately, among them XKCD and Cyanide & Happiness. There's a certain charm knowing that these comics are free, up-to-date, and beyond readily accessible.

I was speaking with my counselor the other day, and it led my thoughts to the concept of self-fulfilling beauty, or art for art's sake. Many of the things I find most satisfying in my life are branded as pop art, and while I don't know if it is our great cultural phenomenon, I do know that these are artists who appreciate the value of their work. They are my, our, lives drawn to page, and posted for everyone to see. And the best part? It is a secret everyone can share.

I'm reminded of Unbreakable, where the antagonist spoke of comics as an accentuated call to our ancestry and to ourselves.

For the sake of brevity this morning, however, I'm just going to list off some of the better web comics for anyone's particular enjoyment.

XKCD
Cyanide & Happiness
Achewood
Questionable Content
Chugworth Academy

Carpe Diem

Eternal Transition

I watched one of the live-action Scooby Doo movies earlier. I was disappointed with how subliminally adult it was. In an early scene, Shaggy and Scooby were appealing to a group of Rastafarians surrounded by smoke. It seemed like an appeal to the newer generations of viewers. It was a pointless movie, and I'm glad I left before it was through.

I spent the other day reading through Ecclesiastes, or "The Preacher," the book that talks about the vanity of humanity. The read reaffirmed that Christianity is truly the primary source of existentialism; the idea that everything we do is for naught is isolating. It's no wonder people that think too much end up killing themselves, giving a new perspective on why "ignorance is bliss."

It also helped me rationalize the duality of the things that go on around me. Look at the pictures in the links below -- they are of the same scene. There is only about a month and a half between the two pictures, and they could not be any more different. There is something beautiful about superimposing the summer picture with the night-time winter one, something revealing and abysmal.

Summer
Winter

I feel again that college is just a pointless transition in the greater scheme of things; that I am bound for other things that do not include writing papers for arbitrary grades and critiques. It could be Seasonal Affective Disorder (I refuse to refer to its acronym), but I think depression in general is when we realize the starker nature of things.

So with that, I'll probably leave school after this semester, if I decide to stay that long. I'll pay off my loans, then move away from the grey Catskill Mountains. There's a big world that doesn't involve the frivolous ramblings between the hills.

Fifty Dollars and a Clock That Won't Stop Ticking

As much as I would have liked to see a secret welcome party for my induction into the blogosphere, I'm glad I'm writing my first post incognito. All I need tonight is the hum of my computer, Zamfir's wild pan flautistry (is that a word?), and a good chat online. Of course, my good chat has reduced to which games are worth their money on the current generation of gaming systems.

It seems like over the years, even the video game industry is plagued with consumerism, with charts and graphs determining why you should pick up every game manufactured. Maybe I wouldn't complain under other circumstances, but the prices of games have skyrocketed since I was a tyke. You might be able to buy a game for $50, if you can find a decent deal.

I sold most of my systems over the summer, in part to help pay for school, but more to show myself I didn't have an addiction to gaming. It was rough, and I therein proved myself wrong, but now I find myself to be a more fulfilled person without flashing projections beating against my retinas. In short, I've lost weight, my self-esteem has gone up, and I'm the light of the party when I show up to events these days. It's amazing what perseverance will ultimately reward you with.

By the way, none of these new systems are worth it. Save your money and wipe the dust off the Super Nintendo; everyone could use some nostalgia in their life. Or better yet, step outside and realize that you're living in something so vast and beautiful that no one can ever fully appreciate. And save that $50, you never know when you might need it.