I arrive in a sleepy coastal town. I don't know why I'm here, except that I have to solve the mystery of a series of killings that have occurred here recently. The fog rolls in. I'm alone, walking the main street of the town, and I notice a road leading up a hill to a sea-cliff. There is a young girl playing nearby, and a house not too far off from the peak of the cliff. I don't see anyone else around, and so settle on surveying her for information. She tells me a local girl had been crucified recently; called it suicide.
Suddenly an image flashes into my mind: a dark haired girl, not unlike the one I am speaking to. She is bruised, bloody, and limp, nailed to the cross 'of her making', betrayed and hanging on the crest of the hill overlooking the sea. Her long hair whips tattered in the wind, her eyes are vacant.
I know immediately that her soul must not be at peace, for all it has endured, and for the injustice of her death(her 'suicide'). I vow to see her killer brought to justice.
I don't remember much else from the case, except interviewing the townspeople. though one instance does stand out. I met an intimidating fisherman with piercing blue eyes who I'll not soon forget.He was tall and white, balding and thick with muscle, his handshake was firm, overpowering almost.
Our meeting played out like this: He welcomes me to their town, though he gives off no warmth in the greeting. He states that he is devastated by his daughter's suicide, and his eyes make contact with mine at this time as if to drive the point home that suggestions of foul play will not be entertained. Inexplicably I fear this man, and seek to leave his company as soon as I am able. I understand now, that this man is the deceased's father, and an agent in her death.
I continue my investigations, and a slow fog rolls in. My memory from this time is spotty, although I am cognizant of the girl at play rolling in and out of my peripheral knowledge; I get the feeling she knows more than she has told me. Concluding my investigation I call a town meeting, really a wake of sorts. Something close to 200 people crowd into a barn so converted for the purpose. the meeting time is 8pm, when the last traces of light have fled the sky and a chill has crept over the land in lack of sun.
As I enter, my eyes survey the room: a podium up front for the berieved to eulogize the lost girl, and a seated populous in fold-out chairs below. That podium would also be where I was to make my final speech (an event which would never come to pass). Two sets of heavy wooden doors stood on either side of the waiting and seated congregation, providing convenient exits at the conclusion of our wake, and yellow-brass lights hung from an unnaturally grand ceiling.
My tension at this point was tenable, although I could provide no reason for this feeling, nor explanation as to its origin.
The girl from before greets me at the door with a solemn face, and I realize at once that the whole of this sleepy town has congregated to hear this night's drama.
My stomach knots, and my eyes turn back to the girl. She warns me most gravely to leave when she 'starts messing with the lights'. Feeling entirely unsettled, I take my seat in the front row beside Jake.
The first speaker begins; the victim's father. He plays the perfect part of the berieved man, though I am inclined very strongly to believe otherwise. The over-head lights dance, and fear floods through me. I grab Jake by the hand and we flee without a word to the congregation. To hell with them, I think.
The girl at the door smiles at me with a perfect serenity I would not have, in a thousand years expected to see, and like an executioner before the slaughter
she turns to them grimly. We lock eyes, and she whispers a "thank you" before we part. The doors slam behind us, her doing I'm sure, and almost immediately their shrieks begin, and then the flames, those God-awful flames. Her smile haunts me even as the barn shrinks with distance.
Several meters down the road and Jake demands explanation, but I can't give him one.
What can be said?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
F*ck you, I won't do what you tell me to.
Narrative Response (½ single-spaced page, 10-12 pt. Times Roman font): Based on the lecture “The Masks of the Universe” and the two readings this week, is it going too far to conclude that doubt is a virtue and certainty a vice?
Professor Wil van Breugel’s lecture asserts the superiority of disprovable theory over the un-provable, faith, basically, or ‘certainty’ if you will. In its most basic argument it places the two on opposite ends of a spectrum forcing the student to choose. It takes this polarization one step further in that it asserts that an absolute truth exists and can be found if only one is skeptical enough to rigorously examine the evidence, check their facts and premise, and keep working at it. Through science this truth takes the form of a universal set of laws that govern the actions of the world macro to micro—which is noteworthy in that it has yet to be discovered. Yet there can be no such process for the religious who must rely on their certainty of faith to sustain them. To further Science’s legitimate claim of truth, professor Wil van Breugel asserts that the scientist’s only aim in the practice of his discipline is the discovery and application of his discipline, implicitly adding ‘the same cannot be said of the faithful’ who lacking evidence must find other means of legitimizing their certainty. This in itself a specious claim-- all individuals in the scientific community have their own motivations in the conducting and presentation of their research (just ask Barry J. Marshall whose motivation for scientific recognition drove him to ingest the causal bacteria of peptic ulcers) and in making this claim, weakens the argument of science’s superiority. The argument presented in the lecture places a highly flawed discipline of academic study of academic pursuit on a pedestal, presenting some its flaws (inconsistencies for example) as virtues while completely overlooking others and worse, implicitly juxtaposes it with faith. Never mind that these are two completely incompatible issues (as in, do not belong on the same spectrum), but the task set for the student is nevertheless, to deliberate on the constructive doubt of science vs the omnipresent certainty in faith.
To begin I am not a person of faith, nor am I a person of science. And I do not believe there is any inherent value in either of the words ‘certainty’ or ‘doubt’. There is only the meaning we as a society give to them. And to that end, there is still no value in either having certainty in something, or being doubtful of it. The virtue, in my mind, applies only when one acts on his or her certainty or doubt. And of that, the situations are so vast it is impossible to judge merit or vice.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
profiles of a narcissist.
The vicious contradictions of thought in my dear Auntie Louise's writing and ideology (I believe) is thanks to her inability to analyze the contradictions within her religious faith.
Isn't this the way of things with zealotry?
Isn't this the way of things with zealotry?
When Life gives you Lemons..?
Sometimes life can't express gentle beauty very well. Sometimes it can, and the subtitles are overwhelming and sublime. This is an instance in which the later is true- expressed in music.
Please enjoy
Please enjoy
Song: ?
I'm grateful to those Creators who bring new life into a dead world, and who make when others destroy.
Here's looking at you, Kids.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Common sense by the cup
My eyes are going in and out of focus, and my head feels kind of fuzzy. I can't imagine why this might be.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Snide, Closeted, Bisexual Boys
I dated one of those once. It was a lot of fun. It was also one of the darkest times I've ever lived through, but generally speaking a lot of fun.
Fiction is so much more interesting than my reading for school. Seriously.
Fiction is so much more interesting than my reading for school. Seriously.
Monday, January 24, 2011
85 or Bust
Lately I've been reflecting on the nature of friendship.
Recently I have been party to some of my friend's more intimate experiences, most of which involving love. In some cases, it is love departed, but as of late the trend has been towards the ignition of new love, and the fanning of nascent flames. And I'm happy for them. I want to see them blossom and prosper in all their ventures.
My philosophy is this: we can't all be perfect, but we keep good friends... I think of it like building a good party. Fill the weakness of your character with the strength of others. The key is compliment and balance. That is how I always thought of my friends, the good ones at least. Everyone has their time and place in our lives, their "role" so-to-say. We all need each other to get by, fight the demons and make it out alive. Life and friendship aren't simple and can't be reduced to these maxims. But there are time we must grind, and those times require our friends.
Recently I have been party to some of my friend's more intimate experiences, most of which involving love. In some cases, it is love departed, but as of late the trend has been towards the ignition of new love, and the fanning of nascent flames. And I'm happy for them. I want to see them blossom and prosper in all their ventures.
My philosophy is this: we can't all be perfect, but we keep good friends... I think of it like building a good party. Fill the weakness of your character with the strength of others. The key is compliment and balance. That is how I always thought of my friends, the good ones at least. Everyone has their time and place in our lives, their "role" so-to-say. We all need each other to get by, fight the demons and make it out alive. Life and friendship aren't simple and can't be reduced to these maxims. But there are time we must grind, and those times require our friends.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Hyperweak Interactions
G/I/R/L/F/R/I/E/N/D
I want a fiction that will blow the walls off of this fucking reality. I want a H-bomb in the livingroom, napalm in the streets of this boring suburban nine-to-five, and just for once to breathe in the morning air.
I want an escape from things- a grand exit with the stereo blasting and the cacophony sounding out our destruction of predictable life. I want to feel the dust of our brashest deeds, shake it from my coat and walk the f*ck away from it all while the cinders smolder in our past malice.
I want raucous laughter, manic glee and camaraderie in the endgame....
I won't get these things, not now at least, because tonight the words have run dry. Some time other than now I will be able to detail the words for this experience, or they will be lost. I am in no hurry to find them.
I want an escape from things- a grand exit with the stereo blasting and the cacophony sounding out our destruction of predictable life. I want to feel the dust of our brashest deeds, shake it from my coat and walk the f*ck away from it all while the cinders smolder in our past malice.
I want raucous laughter, manic glee and camaraderie in the endgame....
I won't get these things, not now at least, because tonight the words have run dry. Some time other than now I will be able to detail the words for this experience, or they will be lost. I am in no hurry to find them.
Friday, January 21, 2011
(Shay) took me into the city, to see a marching band...
This is where I post a memory. Right now, I'm sitting on the express bus home, and watching the sun sink over merced's perpetually hazy horizon. I'm typing my thoughts away on the tiny keyboard in my palm. When I get home, I will sit at my desk, and read my assignments dutifully, after practicing bass.
These are commonplace things. And as I anticipate the end of my evening, I go back to another time.
...I'm sitting on the train leaving LA. The windows are tinted in a warm, summer orange. Shayne sits beside me, his arm draped over my shoulder in a paternal gesture of closeness. My ipod is on shuffle. We each share an ear-bud, although neither of us is paying too much attention to the music. We are pleasantly exhausted after a day of shopping in and exploring LittleTokyo. The rock of the train is soothing, and we get a clear view of the city's majesty as we exit. It is a very calm moment, perfect in its simplicity. The iPod changes songs without fanfare. It begins with the solitary sounds of a piano open, soft and familiar. And then chimes in the clear, perfect voice of a male tenor. And at this point we have turned our full attention inward. Then begins the military-style drumming- playing in the background like a call-to-arms, and the triumphant sounds of a guitar. . . A song which encapsulates our day, our mood, our everything victorious, exultant, powerful- his and mine.
There are no words adequate for a feeling like that.
These are commonplace things. And as I anticipate the end of my evening, I go back to another time.
...I'm sitting on the train leaving LA. The windows are tinted in a warm, summer orange. Shayne sits beside me, his arm draped over my shoulder in a paternal gesture of closeness. My ipod is on shuffle. We each share an ear-bud, although neither of us is paying too much attention to the music. We are pleasantly exhausted after a day of shopping in and exploring LittleTokyo. The rock of the train is soothing, and we get a clear view of the city's majesty as we exit. It is a very calm moment, perfect in its simplicity. The iPod changes songs without fanfare. It begins with the solitary sounds of a piano open, soft and familiar. And then chimes in the clear, perfect voice of a male tenor. And at this point we have turned our full attention inward. Then begins the military-style drumming- playing in the background like a call-to-arms, and the triumphant sounds of a guitar. . . A song which encapsulates our day, our mood, our everything victorious, exultant, powerful- his and mine.
There are no words adequate for a feeling like that.
Descartes was Wrong
I'm sitting in Core, wondering where we got this idea that it was OK to lie to our freshman. The sad thing is my disillusionment is so high that I can't believe in the academic dream.
Burning in the Skies
No complaints, none.
How these little things turn into fights is beyond me
I have enough school work to keep me pleasantly busy,so things are fine.
This is a common coping technique, and a not-very-effective one.
The heater in my room drones on efficiently keeping the temperature a regular 75
But I'm still cold, I don't understand it
I have enough school work to keep me pleasantly busy,so things are fine.
The heater in my room drones on efficiently keeping the temperature a regular 75
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Early Sunsets Over Merced
I feel extremely dehydrated. There must be some reason for this, but I can't think of a logical one at this point.
These thoughts leave my head aching. I keep coming back to the uncomprehending 'why'. I can't answer it, why that logic comes tumbling unbidden from your lips- which I used to so love. These cold thoughts can't be your own, and if they are, can I ever have said to know you?
Collateral damage. I hate that phrase, when incorrectly applied, when applied to people.
Life doesn't force you to do a triage of friends, categorizing some as worth preserving, and others as unworthy of their maitinence.
While I understand the logic, the words still sting. You say "acceptable loss", like it isn't even a matter of consideration, like a person is replacable, or expendable.
So, then, why?
These thoughts leave my head aching. I keep coming back to the uncomprehending 'why'. I can't answer it, why that logic comes tumbling unbidden from your lips- which I used to so love. These cold thoughts can't be your own, and if they are, can I ever have said to know you?
Collateral damage. I hate that phrase, when incorrectly applied, when applied to people.
Life doesn't force you to do a triage of friends, categorizing some as worth preserving, and others as unworthy of their maitinence.
While I understand the logic, the words still sting. You say "acceptable loss", like it isn't even a matter of consideration, like a person is replacable, or expendable.
HATE
I'm feeling self-satirical and reflective. I'm SOC blogging again. That can't be good thing. Or maybe, it can't be a bad thing either.
I came across the most amazing article from the maddow blog recently
the long and short of the blog was in the title: "Never let hate diminish you". I believe that it does, not only to those effected by another's hate but to those who in turn feel hate themselves. I refuse either of those influences in my life-- it's too short for that kind of thing.
F*ck hate, and F*ck negativity.
Today's the first official day of classes. Wish me luck, world. ^.~
I came across the most amazing article from the maddow blog recently
the long and short of the blog was in the title: "Never let hate diminish you". I believe that it does, not only to those effected by another's hate but to those who in turn feel hate themselves. I refuse either of those influences in my life-- it's too short for that kind of thing.
F*ck hate, and F*ck negativity.
Today's the first official day of classes. Wish me luck, world. ^.~
Monday, January 17, 2011
Coming Home...(more S.O.C)
Today is my second day in Merced, though it still feels unreal.
I've been psyching myself up for this semester to begin, but I'm not sure I feel it just yet. I've finished my first assignment of the semester, which is comforting.
I still miss my hometown, and my Shayne, but those are things for another time. Thinking about them now, mourning what I don't have is senseless torture.
I haven't slept yet, haven't been able to. I've been sharing a room with Jake, since his mother's temporarily occupying mine. I don't mind. I didn't even need to sleep last night, so the lack of a bed to claim as my own didn't bother me like it had in previous nights. The backwards view from his desk isn't so bad either. Sleeping in another person's room is awkward and fucking foreign for me, but it could be worse I guess- and the company's not awful, so I shouldn't be complaining really.
This isn't one of those blogs where I answer a question, or where I make a resolution. I don't feel like I posses any real clarity here. I think in this case, I'm just writing to work something out within myself.
For some reason, halfway through this blog, I walked down stairs. The heater was humming in the background, adjusting the chilly morning air to something more hospitable. I could see the barest hint of dawn under the curtains, peeking around the blinds, pushing in through the horizontal slats covering Jake's bedroom window.
And out of nowhere, I had the urge to go grab a cup of oj,and just stand in my kitchen watching the sun rise. There were many times I did that in days gone by, all of which are associated with one fuzzy memory.
When I think about those times, I smile, and reflexively reach back into the archives to treasure those early mornings. As if testing its reality, I delicately run a finger over that mental file, brushing off the dust. It should be more of a wince, but it's a crooked, half-smile that I have to repress upon revisiting those memories.
I'm not the same 20-year-old-girl that I was back then, lying on my roomie's plush white couch and listening to-- what was it we were playing? I forget. Those hazy sunrises aren't lost to time as far as I'm concerned. But I'm happy to think back to them in the context of who I am, and how far I've gown past them.
Eventhough it's meant loss, I've grown up a lot in such a short time.
I don't use that term as a matter of finality, where 'grown up' is an end. In my mind, life is evolving, ending only with death
But I do feel like something within me has changed, progressed, and for that I am grateful.
I've been psyching myself up for this semester to begin, but I'm not sure I feel it just yet. I've finished my first assignment of the semester, which is comforting.
I still miss my hometown, and my Shayne, but those are things for another time. Thinking about them now, mourning what I don't have is senseless torture.
I haven't slept yet, haven't been able to. I've been sharing a room with Jake, since his mother's temporarily occupying mine. I don't mind. I didn't even need to sleep last night, so the lack of a bed to claim as my own didn't bother me like it had in previous nights. The backwards view from his desk isn't so bad either. Sleeping in another person's room is awkward and fucking foreign for me, but it could be worse I guess- and the company's not awful, so I shouldn't be complaining really.
This isn't one of those blogs where I answer a question, or where I make a resolution. I don't feel like I posses any real clarity here. I think in this case, I'm just writing to work something out within myself.
For some reason, halfway through this blog, I walked down stairs. The heater was humming in the background, adjusting the chilly morning air to something more hospitable. I could see the barest hint of dawn under the curtains, peeking around the blinds, pushing in through the horizontal slats covering Jake's bedroom window.
And out of nowhere, I had the urge to go grab a cup of oj,and just stand in my kitchen watching the sun rise. There were many times I did that in days gone by, all of which are associated with one fuzzy memory.
When I think about those times, I smile, and reflexively reach back into the archives to treasure those early mornings. As if testing its reality, I delicately run a finger over that mental file, brushing off the dust. It should be more of a wince, but it's a crooked, half-smile that I have to repress upon revisiting those memories.
I'm not the same 20-year-old-girl that I was back then, lying on my roomie's plush white couch and listening to-- what was it we were playing? I forget. Those hazy sunrises aren't lost to time as far as I'm concerned. But I'm happy to think back to them in the context of who I am, and how far I've gown past them.
Eventhough it's meant loss, I've grown up a lot in such a short time.
But I do feel like something within me has changed, progressed, and for that I am grateful.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thoughts of a sleepy Atheist.
I think I may have accidentally knocked my sleep schedule back into place without meaning to. It's amazing how sometimes fortune intervenes when we least expect it. From this point I have three days to shed my dyed hands, clean up my room and right my classes.
Looking back, I had a wonderful, though somewhat uneventful break. The days I spent just loafing around, or playing videogames with Shay were restful and calm. What more could I have asked for? Comfort and stability are what I truly long for anyway.
I'll come back soon enough....
Looking back, I had a wonderful, though somewhat uneventful break. The days I spent just loafing around, or playing videogames with Shay were restful and calm. What more could I have asked for? Comfort and stability are what I truly long for anyway.
I'll come back soon enough....
Friday, January 14, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
F*ck you you stupid f*cking f*ck. (AKA- some people have real feelings)
Monday, January 10, 2011
Pressure!
One state away a congresswoman is fighting for her life in the hospital. She was the victim of a crazed, and well armed man's delusion.
(Pushing down on me, pressing down on you)
Thanks to his failure, she lives, although just barely. This makes her one of the lucky ones following yesterday's shooting. Six people, including Christina Green (a 9 year old child attending the rally to feed her budding interest in politics)were not so lucky. I hate such violence...
(That burns a building down, splits a family in two, puts people on streets)
More insulting than that innocents pay the price of one man's insanity is that he use something I love-- politics (the polite discourse of ideals and theory) to incite such an atrocity.
(It's the terror of knowing...what this world is about...)
the incited violence, the depths of brute action and simple cruelty that make things unbearable....
(Pray tomorrow takes me higher)
Ten miles from my mother's home, a man is dying. He is a friend of the family, a dear one, and he is dying. Mom is taking it hard. I knew she would break down when his time came, but it's effecting me more than I had anticipated.. In all honesty, I think anything I'm feeling now is due to a kind of empathy for her, but it might be linked to a feeling of much deeper loss.
(Pressure on people...people on streets)
Perhaps it's that I've lost some hope in the promise of a new year, or maybe it's the feeling of powerlessness that accompanies witnessing an injustice done to a friend ...
(Chippin' around..Kick my brains round the floor)...
or the feeling of frustration that results in fighting the urge to demand a fucking answer for it all.
(....These are the days it never rains but it pours!)
.... My Redbull is almost empty, it's my third of the night. I'm almost worried about my caffeine consumption over this break- or I should be.Caffeine is a tame addiction anyway, I rationalize.
pray tomorrow takes me higher (higher!)
Yet still I ask myself why (in the midst of all this loss)others still manage carelessness or cruelty. Who among us is so isolated and cold they can treat their friends and loved ones casually, and discard them? Who can afford to treat his fellow man with irreverence or contempt? Who has that much to lose anymore? The heartless bastards who think that such things are acceptable nauseate me.
I can't even manage neutrality to it.
(Turned away from it all...like a blind man...sat on a fence but it don't work)
I have had to fight for my beliefs against a brutal and at times hideously unfair set of circumstances. Fuck, I'm still fighting, and I will continue to do so until the end of my days. And yet I am convinced to the marrow that at every turn this world is worthy of believing in, and that the Spiritus Mundi is benevolent. I will die believing that-- fighting for it, even. My reasons for this are varied....
(keep coming up with love, but it's so slashed and torn)
I take it to be a validation of my life, and as sure as I breathe I will love this world and its people.
The devil himself couldn't persuade me otherwise.
(........Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking!)
Destruction will never be rewarded with creation, and no amount of misery can create happiness in anyone, even the least miserable among wretches. Sadly, there are many men who can't see this. These are the men who kill, hurt others, and spite those who care about them.
What I'm feeling isn't bitterness; what I'm feeling is tragedy compressed. Will it be enough? The only thing I can return to is hope, and my faith in humanity's potential for good...and love
(...'cause love's such an old fashioned word, and love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night. And love dares you to change our ways of caring about ourselves)
I'm not giving up.
Creation is worth something. Faith is a rewarded leap. These thoughts are spotty and passionate, and probably chemical induced, but I'm not fucking giving up.
(This is our last dance...
This is ourselves....)
Thanks to his failure, she lives, although just barely. This makes her one of the lucky ones following yesterday's shooting. Six people, including Christina Green (a 9 year old child attending the rally to feed her budding interest in politics)were not so lucky. I hate such violence...
More insulting than that innocents pay the price of one man's insanity is that he use something I love-- politics (the polite discourse of ideals and theory) to incite such an atrocity.
the incited violence, the depths of brute action and simple cruelty that make things unbearable....
Ten miles from my mother's home, a man is dying. He is a friend of the family, a dear one, and he is dying. Mom is taking it hard. I knew she would break down when his time came, but it's effecting me more than I had anticipated.. In all honesty, I think anything I'm feeling now is due to a kind of empathy for her, but it might be linked to a feeling of much deeper loss.
Perhaps it's that I've lost some hope in the promise of a new year, or maybe it's the feeling of powerlessness that accompanies witnessing an injustice done to a friend ...
or the feeling of frustration that results in fighting the urge to demand a fucking answer for it all.
.... My Redbull is almost empty, it's my third of the night. I'm almost worried about my caffeine consumption over this break- or I should be.Caffeine is a tame addiction anyway, I rationalize.
Yet still I ask myself why (in the midst of all this loss)others still manage carelessness or cruelty. Who among us is so isolated and cold they can treat their friends and loved ones casually, and discard them? Who can afford to treat his fellow man with irreverence or contempt? Who has that much to lose anymore? The heartless bastards who think that such things are acceptable nauseate me.
I can't even manage neutrality to it.
I have had to fight for my beliefs against a brutal and at times hideously unfair set of circumstances. Fuck, I'm still fighting, and I will continue to do so until the end of my days. And yet I am convinced to the marrow that at every turn this world is worthy of believing in, and that the Spiritus Mundi is benevolent. I will die believing that-- fighting for it, even. My reasons for this are varied....
I take it to be a validation of my life, and as sure as I breathe I will love this world and its people.
The devil himself couldn't persuade me otherwise.
Destruction will never be rewarded with creation, and no amount of misery can create happiness in anyone, even the least miserable among wretches. Sadly, there are many men who can't see this. These are the men who kill, hurt others, and spite those who care about them.
What I'm feeling isn't bitterness; what I'm feeling is tragedy compressed. Will it be enough? The only thing I can return to is hope, and my faith in humanity's potential for good...and love
I'm not giving up.
Creation is worth something. Faith is a rewarded leap. These thoughts are spotty and passionate, and probably chemical induced, but I'm not fucking giving up.
This is ourselves....)
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Transmission 006: Private Log from Zone 7
April,9, 2022
I'm lucky to have found this terminal. I can't imagine there are more than a dozen left in working order outside Battery City. I'll have to report back to Dr D. about this as soon as possible. Who would have thought to look for a working station in the back room of a condemned diner? That makes tonight's find especially lucky. As soon as it's light, I'll pack up my belongings, send a message to Dr. D, and head out. It won't be safe here after first light with those cop-bastards scouring the Zones as aggressively as they've been. Word on the airwaves has it they're gearing up for something big. If that's right this place will be crawling with Exterminators or worse come morning. They’re death in white-faced Halloween masks. Rumors of them lurking around are enough to give even the bravest of us pause. Out in the desert you either play reckless or you play smart. I learned fast which one keeps you alive, and which gets you ghosted.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I can't think of what might be. It's best to focus on the immediate, otherwise things get confused, emotional.
In times like those the only thing that helps me stay calm is to think of the Before, but that's an exercise in futility. I can only remember fragments anyway, though I suppose that's still better than most can say.
I bet by this time DtK is worried sick. It's almost 4am by this terminal's clock. I should have sent word back to them by now. I'm sure also the Twins are raising hell...
It's time for me to go.
[LOG END]
I'm lucky to have found this terminal. I can't imagine there are more than a dozen left in working order outside Battery City. I'll have to report back to Dr D. about this as soon as possible. Who would have thought to look for a working station in the back room of a condemned diner? That makes tonight's find especially lucky. As soon as it's light, I'll pack up my belongings, send a message to Dr. D, and head out. It won't be safe here after first light with those cop-bastards scouring the Zones as aggressively as they've been. Word on the airwaves has it they're gearing up for something big. If that's right this place will be crawling with Exterminators or worse come morning. They’re death in white-faced Halloween masks. Rumors of them lurking around are enough to give even the bravest of us pause. Out in the desert you either play reckless or you play smart. I learned fast which one keeps you alive, and which gets you ghosted.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I can't think of what might be. It's best to focus on the immediate, otherwise things get confused, emotional.
In times like those the only thing that helps me stay calm is to think of the Before, but that's an exercise in futility. I can only remember fragments anyway, though I suppose that's still better than most can say.
I bet by this time DtK is worried sick. It's almost 4am by this terminal's clock. I should have sent word back to them by now. I'm sure also the Twins are raising hell...
It's time for me to go.
[LOG END]
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
When I was a bear...(s.o.c blogging)
While working on the storyline for the transmissions, I found my old formspring thing. I don't check it anymore, but those were good memories.
On another note, my Sam finally dragged me to the salon to fulfill my destiny- ie, getting my hair done. I think it looks nice. I'm sure pictures will follow, soon, as will an update on the transmissions (although that will have to wait until I know what in the hell I am doing as I am present am absofuckinglutely clueless with regards to the form this thing is taking).
Tomorrow's meeting with Anthony and Carrie should be fruitful- I've missed the old gang, and I'm sure they have more than the usual to catch up about, considering it's winter and we haven't seen each other for a while. There's something like coming home in hanging out with them- I always know what to expect, good and bad. It's nice.
Enough of my talking. More working on the transmissions.
Later, Children!
On another note, my Sam finally dragged me to the salon to fulfill my destiny- ie, getting my hair done. I think it looks nice. I'm sure pictures will follow, soon, as will an update on the transmissions (although that will have to wait until I know what in the hell I am doing as I am present am absofuckinglutely clueless with regards to the form this thing is taking).
Tomorrow's meeting with Anthony and Carrie should be fruitful- I've missed the old gang, and I'm sure they have more than the usual to catch up about, considering it's winter and we haven't seen each other for a while. There's something like coming home in hanging out with them- I always know what to expect, good and bad. It's nice.
Enough of my talking. More working on the transmissions.
Later, Children!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Transmission 005
This world sets the landscape of my dreams: it is a place of camaraderie forged in the most unthinkable conditions survivable.........
That's life in the Zones at it's simplest. We live under constant attack and are always on the move for fear of extermination or worse. Though, as harsh as a Killjoy's life often is, it comes with the promise of friends, and passion, and a life free of BLInd's pills.
To set the backdrop it may be necessary to divulge a bit of history; some of the information may be missing, but in a world like this you take what you can get.
First to explain, since "The Incident of 2019" the world we now know had been pitched into chaos. What was this incident? Who in the hell knows, or cares? Few documents remain that tell the tale. Nukes, war, what does it matter really, in the long run?
All we know for sure is that life was never the same after that day; not the water, nor the sky, nor any of us. Everyone lost someone. Weather to the heat or to BLInd's sterile white cities, their pills, and promises of a better "after", we all lost someone.
So there it is, just them, and us, and the war between us in this never-ending wasteland.
"They" are the de-facto law- Better Living Industries (BL|IND. And to say that they profited generously from the state of things after the Incident of '19 would be a gross understatement. In the fallout of 2019, BlInd erected cities to shelter the refugees and orphans, and offered the first batches of 'medication' to the berieved masses.After that they swore to clean up the filth (read: rebels) in the Zones surrounding their capital, Battery City. They promised utopia; and most people bought it, took it home, and swallowed it-- three times a day with food.
Que "us": the freedom fighters, The Killjoys.
`We live in small groups, or alone, united under the common banner "Killjoys". To keep in touch across the desert, we communicate over the long-abandoned air-waves. And as for supplies, we scavenge as we can to survive. No one ever said life like this was going easy- but I can tell you one other thing it isn't: numbing.
We are the scattered and brightly colored last stand. We are the runaways, the lost and the desert-hardened rebels. We rejected BLInd's lies, and fled to the Zones in search of freedom. We chose to live on our own terms even though to do so was treason.
So, why do we fight? We fight because clean, predictable life without feeling isn't living at all, and we know it, despite what they say.
I still think of the bombs they built...
It was the end of the world,or something like it. I got lost in their desert, a world where truth exists hidden in the ever-present dust, and where self expression is lost or hard-won. I wanted to see myself there rather than here, which at times in itself is a veritable hell. It was a world of secrets and comrades, of vibrant colors and stark white, where the only certainties were life-long death or extermination; and in this land where unsung heroes masqueraded the wastes in identity-concealing masks and pseudonyms, I pictured myself free.
I liked imagining myself in that world-- despite it's macabre nature, as a painted freedom fighter, sticking to my guns and my morals come hell or high water (more often the former, climate considered). I wanted to picture my friends there as well, with me as I knew they would be- Pen and Cass, DtK, Kami-chan, and the others.
Once we had assembled we would be unstoppable. I imagine how things would play out...
I can see Pen as our primary tactician, Cass as his equally logical, and quick-witted (not to mention sharp-tongued) female counter-balance. They would keep us moving through the zones- below the radar, tucked away in whatever hole we could find. They would help us fulfill the Zones' single edict: keep running.
Then, Juice and his LadyFriend, I suppose. They would handle domestics of course, as we all would. But bearing the rare gift of music, he would also play for us well into the night, and she would sing out our lives in melodies as we drifted off into sleep. That in itself is more precious than gold, I would guess, in a world where creation and expression are subversive, dangerous, acts of rebellion.
But after all, Art is the weapon- and we are the dreamers of dreams.
Which brings me to DtK-- our lover of all things that go "boom" in the desert. The Jack-of-all-trades of the group to be sure, I can't picture that life without him. I expect his affinity for the unstable and chemically hazardous would be an asset to us as we marauded the brush and vast, open expanse. I see him making quick work of covering our tracks, and also of tending our wounds, given his extensive medical knowledge. Always ready with a smile and a joke, he'd be one hell of a traveling companion.
And then there's Kami-chan. He'd no doubt hold us together then as he does now-- the heart of the group and fearless little dictator. Inasmuch as I can tame morale, he has persuasion in spades over me, which he does with that too-innocent smile of his,or did. I suppose we'd follow that kid into the fire, if only to keep his ass safe.
We'd all risk life and limb if need be for our brothers and sisters in arms. That's what I'd like to believe anyway.
Losing any of them would be unbearable, but the days we lived and fought-- I know those would be the greatest days I had ever experienced.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Zero
Alright, let's be frank, chemical dependency sucks. The same can be said of any vice, past a certain age.
I say this as I take greedy drinks from a redbull, and that either makes me the best, or the worst person to be preaching about vices. Acknowledging this I have one thing to say in my own defense: I am in every way only human. Above all that means I am a creature rife with insecurities and imperfections as plentiful as my virtues. And in this moment, I'm not afraid to admit them, even celebrate them to the extent it doesn't over-glorify the things I'm trying to better my self from.
Breaking the blogger barrier for a moment, I insist that this will be the principle difference between 2010 and 2011's blog: balls out honesty without much regard for self-censorship.
Of course there is a chance you will still notice my usual penchant for the dramatic, or self-deprecating wit cropping up now and again. As for circumventing that, I will make no promises. I will, however, strive to be as painfully honest as possible and for the sake of posterity, use a lighter hand while editing.
That is my goal.
And so, for the first of these posts, I start off with a scathing comment about one of my oldest and dearest friends, my sweetest and most intimate foe-- addiction. Expect more of this.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a way, this post became something I wasn't ever expecting-- a mission statement of sorts to artistic bravery and self-actualization. I realize that's a tall order, and one not soon achieved. But I value the process of becoming, and so I know I will feel accomplished even if my primary goal isn't fully achieved.
I'm pretty sure that's new for me too.
I say this as I take greedy drinks from a redbull, and that either makes me the best, or the worst person to be preaching about vices. Acknowledging this I have one thing to say in my own defense: I am in every way only human. Above all that means I am a creature rife with insecurities and imperfections as plentiful as my virtues. And in this moment, I'm not afraid to admit them, even celebrate them to the extent it doesn't over-glorify the things I'm trying to better my self from.
Breaking the blogger barrier for a moment, I insist that this will be the principle difference between 2010 and 2011's blog: balls out honesty without much regard for self-censorship.
Of course there is a chance you will still notice my usual penchant for the dramatic, or self-deprecating wit cropping up now and again. As for circumventing that, I will make no promises. I will, however, strive to be as painfully honest as possible and for the sake of posterity, use a lighter hand while editing.
That is my goal.
And so, for the first of these posts, I start off with a scathing comment about one of my oldest and dearest friends, my sweetest and most intimate foe-- addiction. Expect more of this.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a way, this post became something I wasn't ever expecting-- a mission statement of sorts to artistic bravery and self-actualization. I realize that's a tall order, and one not soon achieved. But I value the process of becoming, and so I know I will feel accomplished even if my primary goal isn't fully achieved.
I'm pretty sure that's new for me too.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
2010, So-Long, and Good-Bye!
My first impulse of 2011 was to cry, though I can't imagine why, my second was to take a long, hot shower.
2011.
Fuck yeah.
2011.
Fuck yeah.
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