untitled

i am happy.
not just because school is basically over.
not just because i have my avatar ticket.
not just because i am writing again.

but because i have a woman who wants to share these things with me.

that is why i am happy.

what shall i do

it has been a tough night. thank god tim came home. he may have talked me out of making a major decision. and he doesnt even realize it.

what a night.

for your consideration

you were there for my delivery
you were there when i turned two
the first time that i broke a bone
i was told to trust in you
fighting with my sister
in our milk-truck minivan
once a week we rode together
proving that our family can

look to you

and after years of trusting
all the men who stood in front
i came to reconsider
and rejected their stunt
you were there for my doubting
you were there for my pain
the last time that i fell apart
i was told that it was plain:

look to you

you were there for my curses
you were there when i said no
when i emptied my belief in you
you stayed home and didnt show
so as i look to progress
i have one final plea
could you take care of a woman
who seeks you desperately

and looks to you

be there for her mother
be there in her jobs
hold her little sister close
and comfort when she sobs
you and i have made our peace
and you're leaving me alone
please stay with the girl i love
and let your self be shown

when she looks to you
looks to you

a few things

-since yesterday i cannot stop writing.
-i walked by a friend today on campus and he shouted to me as i sprinted by to class, "It's nice to see a smile on tay mckay's face finally!"
-last night i was completely blindsided by a good friend when he asked me to be in his wedding.
-i had the wonderful opportunity last night (thanks to my kick-ass sister) to see my favorite band of all time play the best show i have ever experienced.
-im figuring out if god exists and it is really enlightening.
-there was a debate in my advanced composition class today on twilight, and i was naturally the lead spokesman on the anti-twilight side, only to end the debate thinking "who cares if its shitty, who am i to bash that trash."
-yesterday, from completely out of nowhere, i was presented with the idea to apply to teach at a waldorf school. and i actually want to when i graduate.
-i am trying to put out positive energy.

these are good things in a time where all signs point to "i should feel bitter, angry, and depressed". i am choosing to grow up and move forward.

daydream #1

ancient tree deck
anchored in
forever easter-green
miniature paws navigate
uncharted
miniature me's and you's
sweet tea air our noses drink
our lips exhale, soft
translating single syllable-
little-speak conversations
purr-giggle-purr-coo
our eden yard
my forest face
your willow tangle hair
dusk love together

the great upstaging

i told you my dreams i couldnt repeat
so i'll write em down
maybe then you can see
i dont have a rational sense
i'm going to the garden
and im chopping down the knowledge tree

i'm told i gotta believe in somethin
so i remember what it was
that johanna said
"you aint dead"
no i aint dead

give me reason
or give me discontent
im finding neither after casting out
on both sides with my net
ive been bullied out onto the water
i was told when i almost drowned
that i showed bravery
but risking everything with someone
breeds stupidity

i'm told i gotta believe in somethin
so i remember what it was
that johanna said
"you aint dead"
no i aint dead

one day when tyrants fall
and lovers run to embrace
i will be in a museum
trying to remember your face

dream #2

features blurred beautiful
unrecognized
yet, voice attaches
my plunge irrational quiet
my misplaced belongings
and a chuckle
pure existence liberated
you vanish
stretched hallway universe
planet elevator
thermosphere slides away
you
subtle request
"follow"
magnetic fingertips
orbit swings, rotation: one around
the other
clouds tangle legs
space-sea-carpet underneath
nuclear fusion strangers
at once-everything
we, the supernova

dream #1

cracked limbs waltz
penetrating door-frames
spines, sun-burnt golden
snap from scalp to neckline
whipping like fishing wire
cast dipping in crisp atmosphere
lightning joy captured
secured behind your ear
sing
creaky chorus naked
wood floor
sing as
feather feet sweep melodies
along your giving face
your fortune exists
within intimate dances

i need to be up early tomorrow

its ten thirty and im tired. from what? i slept till noon today. give me a break. and then i have the audacity to ignore any sort of homework that i have.

i keep saying i will wait until thanksgiving. i will catch up on everything then.

i dont think im shitting anyone. i just have lost the will. it is really that simple. i went on a walk with johanna chase last night, i wanted her opinion on the certain "issues" that i am grappling with. the list is so basic it makes me sick: school. relationship. god.

but it was insightful. johanna has this quiet wisdom, and this look in her eyes that tells you she is really listening. she cares. we talked outside on a curb while a party was kicking in to its highest climax of joyousness in the house behind us.

johanna is smart. and incredibly understanding. when i told her of my beliefs, and my relationship problems, and school, she just sat there and listened. and then instead of saying that what i believed was wrong or destructive, we talked about it. we talked like the adults that we are. it was conversational heaven.

and then i went back inside and laughed with friends that i havent shared a laugh with in a long time. and then someone picked up a guitar, and i picked up a melodica, and i think it was johanna who picked up a harmonica.

and i did something else i hadnt done in much too long: i jammed. and it felt fucking phenomenal.

so im sitting on my bed typing this, kitty curled up next to me, eyes half open. and i want to turn this around. i want to stop waking up and feeling like everything i care about is quickly slipping through my fingers. i want positive energy. and i got a slight glimpse of what that could look like last night. but my will seems to have been stripped from me.

gone.

optimism keeps eluding me. and my heart is collapsing on itself like a dying star.

one night, months from now, i may be able to see clearer, to grasp reason. but tonight is not that night. im a wreck. and thats the truth.

tim quote of the day

"pathetic doesnt even describe, its on a whole other level, but pathetic is the best way i can describe how twilight is affecting the world. i look at people waiting in line and i feel sad for them."
-tim d'amico

its amazing to me how he and i are almost the same person

its good to know others feel the same things

I would be sad because you left me all alone.
I would be sad because the lies that you had told.
I would be sad because I got left by a girl that I adore.
I would be sad because the love I had before.

I meant what I said when I said I would settle down with you although I know it's not something that you were asking me to
do.
And I know we are young but we won't always be, so marry me; lets not be that predictable young couple changing, moving on.
But I can tell by watching you that theres no chance of pushing through.
The odds are so against us; you know most young love it ends like this.


I would be sad because you left me all alone.
I would be sad because the lies that you had told.
I would be sad because I got left by a girl that I adore.
I would be sad for all the love I had before.

I meant what I said when I said I would rearrange my plans and change for you.
You know me; I've always been the kind with easy confidence.
Confident enough to honestly beleive that nothing out there stopping me especially not someone who's not loving me.
Now listen here I told you I could live on with out loving you.
I was bluffing then, but it seems that just might have been the truth.
Well my dad told me, "One day son, this girl will think of what she's done and hurting you will be the first of many more
regrets to come."
And he said, "If she doesn't call, then it's her fault and it's her loss."
I say, "It's not that simple see, but then again it just may be."


I would be sad because you left me all alone.
I would be sad for the lies that you had told.
I would be sad because I got left by a girl that I adored.
I would be sad for all the love I had before.
I would be sad for all the love I had before.

quoting a song in your blog is totally cliche

totally. and this is how i feel


Memories & Dust
by Josh Pyke

First I was a hatchling waiting for my little bones to form
Next I was a fledging leaping from the nest despite the fall
oh they fall, how we fall
But if I speak to you of days upon the ocean
I can speak to you of memories and dust
There won't be time for all of us, I know there won't be time for all of us

I landed in the garden longing for the view behind the fence
Oh my god I prayed my bones weren't brittle
For the air we float on can feel dense
Oh the weight of it aches
But if I speak to you of days upon the ocean
I can speak to you of memories and dust
There won't be time for all us, I know there won't be time for all of us

'cause I saw two fall before they were ready to
and I found no sense or gain to bear the cost
comfort comes to those with faith in mysterious ways
But for me faith don't make up for what we lost

But if I speak to you of days upon the ocean
I can speak to you of memories and dust
There won't be time for all us, I know there won't be time for all of us

But in the morning I can smell you on my pillow
I need to know we won't get wrung out in the wash
I need to know there's time for us
I must believe there's time for some of us

'cause I saw two fall before they were ready to
and I found no sense or gain to bear the cost
comfort comes to those with faith in mysterious ways
But for me faith don't make up for what we lost

preface

it is loud. i am 20 years old and this place is a hyenas clubhouse. every hello breathed on me smells like cheap rum or vodka or any high proof liquor that is poured from a plastic handle. i am underage and glassy eyed. i am embarrassed because i dont have a brown coffee mug with chipped plaster that is getting me drunk. i stand in the corner and i look for spencer. he had grabbed me after creative writing for drama and film and told me that there was, what he called, "a gathering of the campus intellectuals" getting together tuesday night for a reading. i looked at him for what he considered a second too long without offering a response and he cut off my silence with "just go, man."
the drive was painful. i felt like i had chewed and forced down gravel and followed that with a tall glass of warm milk, before i was a block away from my apartment they were slushing around in my stomach evolving into a semi-hard milky concrete block right above my large intestines. i knew that if my bowels allowed, i could have given life to the phrase "shitting bricks". i suppose nerves had something to do with it.
somehow i managed to find myself knocking on the front door of a ranch style house, the rails that led up the steps had been chained, without their consent im sure, to about ten bicycles. each of these crude, mechanical leeches had only one gear which i thought completely foolish. it gave my confidence a little boost thinking that i would be dealing with moronic pseudo-cyclists who probably sweat out half of the light beers they pounded before the party just getting from their places around town to this central meeting house (i later was informed that this idiotic idea of gutting your bike down to a single gear was "trendy").
which brings me to the circus. i am still sifting through sweaters and old summer dresses my grandma used to wear for spencer although my anxiety now has impaired my vision. this lanky, thin bearded guy mistakes my frenzy for an invitation and my fear of meeting new people hits orange (this is a reference to colors that correspond to danger levels at airports that, if you are a somewhat paranoid hypochondriac like me, you pay attention to). i try and maintain mannerisms that would tell most socially adept human beings that i am not interested in small talk about how you have been getting into new-wave-post-fusion-jazz-electronica-drone-rock. as he introduced himself as drake i found out he wasnt a member of the socially adept party. mumbled something about leaving college a few years ago to live in a "commune" which i responded with absolute shock (sarcasm). as he began to ask me what psychedelic drugs i had done, spencer walked into the living room.
"aaron! you made it!" the dropout hobbled away to find someone else to suck the life out of as spencer handed me a warm beer.
"yeah, sorry about that. these are leftovers from a few days ago and they have been sitting in my back pack."
"oh, yeah. no big deal. beer is beer." i tried to say it with all the genuine conviction i could as a gulped what tasted like rotten peach juice mixed with flat club soda.
"so are you havin' a good time? i saw you were talkin' to andres. his brain kinda works like half melted peanut butter but he is actually a decent painter."
i nodded my head a gave the "yeah totally" look as tried to finish my beer as quick as possible. i trusted spencer's critical opinion and felt myself getting a pinch of curiosity at what mush-head andres' paintings looked like.
"well i'm glad you are having fun, man. these are some pretty cool people."
"didn't you say this was gonna be some sort of reading?" i crushed my can in my hands and felt the superman strength that came from the feeling of aluminum giving way to my closing fist. this didnt feel like a meeting of great minds, but a meeting of pseudo-creative types using a pseudo-creative type of excuse to get hammered.
" yeah yeah, people just like to loosen up a bit before they read, more people participate, you know?"
"yeah i guess that makes sense." and it did, actually. after a few more warm beers and spencer snatching for me a floral printed mug filled to the brim with red wine, we were all summoned to the back patio for some "sharing". i took a seat near the back of the group so i could lean up against the side of the house (i cant sit long without proper lumbar support). the first person to slosh their way up to the front of the pack was the actual rent payer of the establishment, a short and slender girl with greasy brown hair that dropped down right around her shoulders and bangs that covered her eyebrows. she chuckled her way into an introduction of what was to take place for the rest of the night.
"hello everyone, i am tanya and i live here." most of the group clapped and raised beer cans to salute this petite ring-leader of young adult madness. "please come to the front if you want to read. and please please please everyone, you must read." just as she had arrived, she gigged her way back into the mass and waited.
why i left my seat against the house most likely had to do with the combination of a mug-sized amount of wine and four warm beers circulating through my blood stream. somehow i found myself standing in front of twenty-five strangers and i was emptying the last line of my most recent poem out of my mouth. and then there was clapping.

bravery as baby steps

it was a slow drive on the freeway. the personalities of the surrounding vehicles intimidated him, and he drove in feverish anxiety. massive eighteen-wheelers kept a consistent speed, like galloping giants or ancient gods, conceived from the very gravel of the highway they now reigned above. his tiny sedan could be swallowed whole with just the slightest twitch of his stubby fingers. a miscalculation could send his toy of a car into auto oblivion, so he tried to stop his hands from shaking.
an hour before he got on the road, he was nursing his last whiskey sour. a new coworker at the office, jonathan, had coerced him into a tradition he hated. he hated most traditions that involved social bullshitting. every time someone dragged him out to a gathering of business class bottom-feeders, he would leave with an irritation, a rash-like film all over his mental state as if he had been a statue in a basement left to collect dust for decades. that same film was now causing his hands to shake and his driving induced anxiety to double.
he had read a few nights prior to tonight's outing about a man who was completely conscious, but could not move a single muscle in his body. nurses would cart him around on a wheelchair around the hospital's corridors; the fluorescent light fixtures installed in the ceilings had replaced the sun for five months and counting. no one could say they really knew how this man was feeling, but every doctor, nurse, and visiting loved one all had a similar guess. the article was cold and arduous and ended with the line "even modern science has yet to discover a cure for isolation." it had been published in a health journal.

the lights around him grew softer as his progression from the city to his small suburban apartment was paralleled by the evolution of scenery. this was his detox. the mundane slime had slipped out the window with the smoke of his cigarette, his hands had relaxed to a mere trembling. the large, green overhead sign attached to an oncoming overpass educated him that his exit was approaching: 2 and 1/3 miles to go. he let his cigarette shoot out his window and curve back behind his car, hitting the asphalt of the freeway a few feet behind. 2 miles to go. whether the initial pressure was an intentional movement or not, he still hasn't decided. but he certainly did press down on the accelerator a little further. the engine did whine a little louder. 1 and 1/2 miles to go. he loosened his tie and rolled the cuffs of his starched white dress shirt to right below his elbows. 3/4 mile to go. he felt a lurch and a sudden growl from under the hood as his steady fingertips choked the leather steering wheel. exit. slamming on the breaks he swerved onto the off-ramp and burned to a stop at a glaring red light. was it ninety-five this time? he couldn't be sure. but it was faster than the last mark of ninety. as he pulled into his assigned number sixteen parking space he was sure he would hit a hundred the next time around.

getting there. or here. or.

i think its time that i started writing. i have relapsed from this for too long, and now i feel no addiction. i craved, at some point in my life, to put words into sentences. now, i had to drag my mind into this. in an empty house with a glass of water and sleepy suns playing through my laptop speakers, i am attempting to catch that sting, to push deeper. yet, i end up writing about trying to write. a pointless exercise to get to the point. the point. the point.

what?

oh i didnt mean to be so self indulgent. excuse me while i go distract myself.

cloud travels

{for linds}

rocket wings

attach

white anvils

silently drip

from deep above

tree waves chomp

distracting arrival to

brunette topped 

paradise

tasted

once in time

anchor knowledge

is brief

in sky-sea

telescopic glimpses

reveal distant

navigation

ghosted cliffs

since past eternity

destination

it is the beginning.

goodnight.

future-present

early summer

sun birth

6:30

morning exit-fades

cross dissolves

found

theatre gutted

where hands should

erupt

a monster

intimately invades

wood skeleton teeth

fingers

bone

tight canvas skin

wyoming face

work dream instant

throat slit

awoke in gasps

strangled midday

sleep

of the great spines

the dinosaur

my begging to be

swallowed whole

new porch qualitatively 

separate

slanting words

of my city bride

beautifully filthy 

never claiming her

perfection

only willing chains

gorgeous bound and

being

ancient in earth

conceived in

galaxy

a pin prick

a rebirth

two things

two things put me in a good mood today as i stumbled upon them:





it's a good day.

my hiatus

sometimes its ok to take a break.

i will start posting again soon...

"You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when its waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye. "

its really nothing of consequence. that is, when you really do think hard about it. how reading old letters (or those loathsome excuses for letters we have so aptly named "emails") will make one consider all that he or she has done. and then one thinks, "good god, what am i doing here?". then one would have to consider their degree of happiness. another perspective or lens in which to view this is to ponder satisfaction. maybe entertaining thoughts of self-productivity would be in order since, now that one has suddenly shot off their synapses like firecrackers in the hands of nine-year-olds, they need their brain to make sense. "well if im not happy, then surely i am at least satisfied." one says quickly. however, this response evolves to the shattering, "but im not satisfied. well im damn well sure that at least im productive." but then they soon realize that they arent.

so whats not of consequence is simply this: achievement. we have all achieved in some way or another something expected of us. 12 god damned years of school. for most of us this was barely an achievement since already our parents, along with society, was shoving applications for universities in front of us, saying this was the appropriate and "smart" next step. so most of us got accepted to a junior college or a university. we begin to feel the sting of accomplishment, like a tiny dose of heroin pricking its way into our bloodstream. we begin to crave success.

but now, as i sit at my computer, a twenty-one year old with almost three years of "higher education"behind me, i despise success. i want to wrap my fingers around the throat of all my academic achievements and whisper "you almost killed me you bastard. almost."

i am not happy academically. i have indeed gained from my experience at the university. i have learned from some fascinating professors, i have written things that i am deeply proud of, and i have come to know intimately many wonderful human beings. but i say again, i am not happy academically.

i am not satisfied, and rarely do a feel productive when i am engaged in the academic year. as i look at the coming conclusion of my third, not only am i engulfed in apathy towards the "grading system", but i am enraged that the one major identifiable OPPRESSOR in my life is academia. i feel crushed by it. i used to have this incredibly disturbing nightmare when i was a child that i was being crushed between huge rust-covered gears the size of houses. as i felt the unbearable pain pressing in from all sides of me, i was slowly being pulled through this machine. i would wake up drenched in sweat, smelling offensively, shaking and not knowing how i had escaped the machinery in which i had been trapped only moments ago. this nightmare is slowly and hauntingly creeping into my reality as an adult. as i try to shake from this frightening anticipation, i feel as though i cannot.

so this all then asks a very formidable question: what will i do?

i can continue to submit myself to the oppressive gears of academia, if only for another year, just to gain a degree.

or.

i could take time off. escape the machinery. will people then ask me, "what the hell were the last three years for if you dont get a degree?" the answer is simple for me now.

"i gained relationships and understanding. i know now what i wish to really accomplish, and how to become satisfied and achieve happiness in a way in which it isnt just about how i live, but how i can encourage others with the way i live."

so will i escape the machinery? that has yet to be seen. but i am considering my routes and drawing up maps, just in case escape becomes necessary.

trudging, through afternoon

i woke up this morning, late. it has been that way all week.
i was up late visiting with kalib last night, who was in town, but left this morning.
he is off to austin, texas.
he is the new kerouac. i somehow always thought he would be.
he stopped through town only to see a few people, and he did, so now he is gone.

it is a strange thing, how envious i am of his life.
yet i choose to stay here, graduate. hopefully.
i was on my bed a few minutes ago, and i told myself it was time to get up and eat something.
"you will feel better if you do.", i said.

i dont.

transmetropolitan

i just read the first trade of my new favorite comic:



and im about to go get the second. i need more spider jerusalem in my life.

this is the funniest comic i have ever read. if hunter s. thompson lived in a cyberpunk world, then the result would be transmetropolitan. really, really great stuff.

my friends are really talented

noah hershman and heather busse told me to do this

i dont know if they were counting on me publishing it publicly. but what the hell, right?

intelligence, like being able to teach me about things i dont know a whole lot about.
independence, but still loves to hang out all the time.
outgoing, not obnoxious, but makes friends easily.
sense of humor, dark and sarcastic with just the right amount of vulgarity
thoughtful, dissects film, music, me.
appreciates my passions, even if they are hard to fully understand.
has passions, the quirkier the better.
enjoys silence in conversation.
will keep me in line, without being too hurtful.
gets along with my family.
will let loose on occasion, and let me let loose on occasion.
doesnt need to travel to feel complete, but looks forward to a time when it is affordable.
extremely open-minded, but still maintains certain, foundational beliefs.
creativity, however it chooses to manifests.
a deep sense of individuality.
a heart for social issues.
who dosent need me, but says it to me anyway.
appreciates sappy romanticism (not the literary movement).
doesnt always need to be out doing something, ok with just hangin.
but likes to go out and do things as well.
spontaneity that doesnt become overbearing.
will challenge me in everything i do and believe.
has some sort of idea about what to do post graduation.
words of affirmation.
nostalgic.
hospitality.
can appreciate brutal honesty and will be brutally honest.
genuine.

and most of all:
super hot.
hahaha.

but seriously.

ok im kidding...

if i think of more, i will add them. noah and heather, this was helpful. thanks.

tonight

one of the strangest experiences i have had in a while.

i saw the cold war kids play in front of about a thousand Loyola Marymount kids. im standing next to noah, wes, mackenzie, and leon and we are the only ones who are clapping after each song. im watching kids stumble around, drunk and obnoxious, and i cant believe how they have no idea that one of the greatest bands from at least the last ten years is playing for free on their campus.

damn. ignorance.

anyway,
the cold war kids kicked tons of ass, and i hope that, somehow, they know that there were at least five of their fans mixed into the sea of fratboys and platinum blonde hair.

one of the best movie one-sheets i have ever seen

from a man (first draft)

a response to a poem by amy scott


say that word
no
that pathetic term
void of
meaning
thank you society
say that "sorry" word
i could say that
i am sorry
should i?
for the smoke
soaked hotel sheets
and the clothes piled
mounds of used shirts, socks, boxers
on my bedroom floor
the alcohol breath
saying "this is for you"
for my jr. high silence
when john put his hands on you
for my selfish disrespect
when i loved you
your half moved in apartment
your boxes watching us
and i convinced you with
a bottle
you finished
and i took
and came back
with more bottles
more nights
kept taking
caught in your mother's car
when i didnt know what wine tasted like
young
now
just flashes of memories
manifest as bricks
in my stomach
trying to vomit out my shame
instead
learning
from women
beautiful
willing to sit with a man
this man
and give him
reason
to make words from
stomach bricks
that read, "fuck patriarchy"
reason to
admit
everything
to admit
i was the bullshit
you believed in
and the fingertips
you trusted
the voice of oppression

sorry.
no
i am more than that
more than a goddamn word

i am
a belief
a feminist.

backward/forward

do you see it?
the light heat
energy centered
sure, i will
only after you
come here
feel warm
i am moving on from
philosophy
universe-speak
how about just palms
pressed against
each other
or playful eyes
or existing young
do you see it?
golden farm
lets be children
together

north

walked out to the lakeshore
left open the front door
took my time
the morning shines

say what you want
the foxes run
while shoes hang from branches
i threw my keys
in the leaves
making room for the sun

my blessing follows
you traveling, gone
hello god
hello god
and my porch
no one's wrong

sailing, fishing line
no mistakes, just mine
eyelashes fall
our garden's growing tall

hang up rusted frames
stitch up the quilt
while our skin's still young and warm
new bird nest
passed the test
rid us of our guilt

my blessing follows
you traveling, gone
hello god
hello god
our empty bed
never wronged

as much as i dream of space travel...

on more thing, this song came on my ipod today, and i forgot how much i truly loved the lyrics.

Eclipse
by Thrice

call everyone to arms
we'll fill the heavens
with the poisoned dreams of man
call everyone to arms
we forged these weapons
with the strength of our own hands

we shot the sun from the sky
apollo dead at our feet
we wander lost in the rye
we gather round in the street

for centuries we watched the sky
and burned to bridge the great divide

call everyone to arms
we'll fill the heavens
with the poisoned dreams of man
call everyone to arms
we built these weapons
with our pride and with the strength of our own hands

eclipse the body with stones
and lay him down with the rest
i smile when i am alone
and shed a tear for the press

for centuries we watched the sky
and burned to bridge the great divide
cause we dug the body up
we drank his golden blood
and light shone from our eyes
but it was not enough
'cause we still dream of deicide

for centuries we watched the sky
we burned to bridge the great divide
but now we burn with power and pride

hope you are well, mr. bridge

eric bridge. i knew eric in high school. he had this really intense chiseled jaw and huge biceps. women loved him. i hated him. well, i hated him until he started hanging out with us. when i say us, i mean me and my six other friends. eddie, cj, dominic, joe, nick and mj. kevo too. sorry kev. i guess eddie knew eric from jr high, so it made sense why he started hanging around with him again. but initially, my first thoughts were, "you guys want to hang out with this jack ass?" i mean, we werent the kinds of guys eric usually hung around. we were seniors in high school and wore skinny jeans, baseball hats, band shirts and vans. we went to shows every weekend and even started our own crew, the "mosh monsters". we ate lunch either in our cars in the parking lot, or in the art quad where no one else hung out except for a few other antisociables. we talked about bad horror films, new bands we had found on myspace (bands that we swore were the heaviest we had heard yet), graffiti, and nick and mj even talked about world of warcraft more than they probably should have. so when eric bridge showed up, i assumed he was gonna beat the shit out of one of us. i mean, just a few weeks ago mj had fought some prick who was throwing half full soda cans at us. the thing was, although we kept to ourselves, we were not about to just stand by and let some sophomore dickhead throw his coca cola at us. so i was prepared for the worst when eric showed up. turns out, the kid is hilarious. not only hilarious, but one of the nicest guys i have ever met. he didnt hang around long, i guess we were sort of his "in transition" group while he looked for another sect of high school popularity to squeeze into. i was legitimately sorry when he stopped hanging out with us. he even went to a few shows with us, even kicked the shit out of some kid while the acacia strain was on stage. i dont know where eric bridge is now. the last time i saw him was a few years ago and he was working construction, we talked for a few minutes and that was it.

i was thinking about eric bridge today, and it reminded me of how good people are.

DP #3

wouldnt you love to be
on the cover of a magazine
healthy skin, perfect teeth
designed to hide what lies beneath.


i dont even know what to say right now.

DP #2

the waters rising now.
and we will surely drown.
if we dont turn around.

this nation. politics. everything.

dinner

i had dinner with the busse family (including paige) tonight.

i love that family. amazing food, laughter (especially the banter between chris and heather), and the scattegories.
how encouraging it is to be around good people who love each other.

this is an example of the morning.

late afternoon, irrational fear

i hate the time between 230pm and 600pm. the ominous, fading light of the day so closely resembles my attitudes. my growing descent into cynicism once more, as my optimism and progressive spirit dissipates. its not the night i fear, or the midday vibrancy. no. its is this time, where i become aware of the transition, and feel that it will inevitably lead to shadows and dark streets. these are the moments where i am not so sure why this transition is occurring, yet it is rooted in some natural phenomena.

yet.

the notion that time, in itself, does not exist as we perceive it, gives me an almost transcendental hope. the cycle of my perception of the world can be comforting. just as the day melts into the night, so does it birth the morning. my fear of transition within the cycle proves to be an irrational one.

and this actual night, as it approaches, may indeed hold peace as well as beautiful connection.

NOTICE:

PLEASE DO NOT READ PART II OF THE REVIEW FIRST!

PART I IS BELOW PART II.

AND I HIGHLY RECOMMEND NOT READING THIS UNTIL YOU SEE THE FILM, BUT THE CHOICE IS YOURS TO MAKE.

watchmen review pt.II

so the question is, did the film work?

the honest truth: i dont know..... completely.

there is no question it LOOKS like watchmen. i think people who will come out hating this film wont be able to deny that the look of the film captures the graphic novel's dirty, rotten, dark, gritty city streets of '85 new york with filthy brilliance. mars and antartica are absolutely, draw droppingly, panoramically awe inspired (especially viewed in an imax). the setting and atmosphere exist in this film in stunning perfection. and it really really helps the film, almost becoming a crutch at very rare moments. it is no surprise the film is visually spectacular. but the visuals arent enough. i honestly believe snyder knew that he couldnt carry this film on visuals alone, because that isnt the case. not by a long shot.

the films ultimate success, and ultimate curse, is its striking faithfulness to the source material. even when snyder changes things, when he seems to have cut dialogue or important exposition, it comes in later. maybe the lines are said by a different character, or at a different point in the film, but the important thing is that everything that was critical to the original source material is there. somewhere. but yes, there are a lot of cuts. but before i get to that, there is something else that needs to be addressed.

there are a lot of people that will see this film that havent read the comic. this is why i cant say if the film works completely. my bias is much too large, my lens in which i view this film is too thick. i dont think i will ever be able to separate this film enough from the comic to make a call on whether or not it can stand by itself as its own film. so what i am really curious to hear are thoughts of friends of mine who havent read the comic who see this film. i want to know, do the costumes work? what about the dialogue? the sex scene? the plot? the ending? does it makes sense? does the pacing work? these are things i want to know from folks who havent read the comic. so there is a huge bias.

ok, so back to the cuts. as a fan of the comic, they work. they all work in their own way. no newsstand vendor dialogue with the comic book reading kid works because the black freighter wasnt in this cut of the film. so they are unnecessary. the black freighter is necessary and that will be coming out as an animated feature film companion in a few weeks on dvd. so there is no need to waste screen time on them. at least not in this cut of the film. the psychiatrists home life has been cut. if you were to ask me anything i would cut from the comic to make the film, it would be that. even in the comic i felt it a bit to redundant. we know how rorshach affects people through his relationships with the other masked adventurers. im glad they made that cut. like i said earlier, i wish there was more unmasked rorshach in general, but i understand the need to shorten it. maybe we will get a little more of that in the extended directors cut when it comes out on dvd. i hope so. the other cuts all have to do with the ending, so i will address this next.

i have already been hearing that the change of the ending is going to be the most controversial directorial choice in the film. i dont get that. snyder recently said in an interview that he really didnt change the ending, just the device in which the ending was accomplished. i completely agree. in fact, i more than agree. i think this ending, for me, may work better than the original ending. i know, blasphemy. but it seems to make more sense. although i loved all the build up to the squid in the comic; the disappearance of the famous authors, artists, scientists, the psychic explosion giving all of new york disturbing visions of aliens and whatnot. yes that is all great. but it never quite worked for me because i felt it was too "other-worldly" for ozymandias. the fact that he uses dr. manhattan as the "practical joke" against humanity fits his character much more comfortably. turning humanity towards a fear of a KNOWN GOD who is always watching, making sure humanity doesnt start fucking up again, works. it works seamlessly. AND it keeps all of the other main character's reactions to this the same. dr. manhattan is still displeased, night owl understands that he has to stay quiet, even if he doesnt agree, silk spectre is lost in a situation much larger than her own understanding, and rorshach faces his own ultimate moral dilemma. its still all there. even ozymandias catching the bullet and dr. manhattan killing rorshach. its there. the ending hasnt changed. the device has been changed, and it works really damn well.

the other scene that was brought up after the viewing last night was the sex scene. i was told by numerous people that it was unnecessary. i dont agree at all. yes its campy. really, REALLY campy. but thats the point. this scene is supposed to show a few things. 1) that laurie and dan NEED to feel like they are doing something worthwhile, and after doing so their passion spills into love making 2) its to show the slight fetishistic side of superhero costumes 3) its to show that dan and laurie need each other, dan needs laurie to feel alive again, laurie needs dan to feel connected to someone. yes its cheesy. yes the choice of "hallelujah" played over distorted guitars is silly. but thats the point. two of the characters have finally rediscovered what was missing, and that is a campy comic book-y idea! to me, it works. but i can see why some would call it silly or ridiculous. it was. was it unnecessary? no. because it keeps these two characters progressing into doing what they do.

ok, yes yes yes. i DID in fact have issues with the film. rorshach taking a cleaver to the criminal's skull in the rorshach origin sequence didnt quite fit. honestly, i didnt like it at all, but i could see how some could make a case for why it works. i just personally didnt care for it. rorshach getting his mask back from the psychiatrist in the prison through me way off, i didnt like that change at all either. musically some of the choices were distracting, but only with a few actual songs. the score of the film i thought was moody and terrific (reminded me of vangelis' score for blade runner). but as you can see i didnt have too many issues, and most of them were minor.

so, my thoughts overall? even with its minor flaws and one almost complete miscast, watchmen did what i was really hoping it would do, it brought to life my favorite comic. the themes are there, the characters are there, the city is DEFINATELY there. not only does the film work for me as a film (remember my bias), but it also works as a companion piece to the comic. snyder and his team created the best pure comic book adaptation i have seen yet. and dont even talk to me about the dark knight. if you so much as try to compare the dark knight with watchmen i will laugh in your face. they are so completely different types of films that it would be like debating if resevoir dogs is a better crime film than goodfellas, or vice versa. they may be the same "genre" but they are completely and utterly different TYPES of films. watchmen serves a completely different purpose, and strives for a completely different goal than the dark knight did. so please, dont try to argue with me by asking which one is the better film. i will just respond "both".

so my hat is off to snyder and his entire team. they have created a film world that is watchmen. and i cannot wait to see it again.

watchmen review

i need to preface this review:
i have spent all day so far debating whether or not i should write a review after only seeing the film once.
i decided that after seeing it with my father tomorrow (which will be a whole new experience in itself), i may make some changes to certain points i will be covering in this review. so keep that in mind.

here we go.

one thing needs to be made clear from the very start, as a fan of the trade (and when i say "fan", i mean i think it is the greatest comic series i have ever read) i was on the side of never wanting the comic to be made into a film. however, about a year after i finished reading watchmen the first time, i heard that it was being adapted, and that the person helming the project was none other than mr. 300, zach snyder.

my initial reaction? shit. please not him.

this is not to say i didnt like 300. i did. as a film, 300 worked in kind of a crazy, bizarre, kinetic way that i felt actually represented the aesthetics of the graphic novel. frank miller is crazy, bizarre, and...crazy. so it worked. snyder's obsession with over choreographed fight sequences and grainy, over-saturated colors fit the the bat-shit world that 300 existed in.

watchmen is not this world. its not even close. so throwing snyder in the director's chair and saying "go ahead man, make this movie." was like saying "hey lets get dr. dre to produce taylor swifts new album." all those 15 year old girls would have their favorite little superhero chick singer shattered into big beats and talking about 40s of king cobra.

i did not want watchmen handled that way. but then something strange happened. zach snyder gave an interview at the very beginning of pre production, before they had casted a single actor. he said he wanted to use the comic's panels as a storyboard for the film. he said he loved watchmen. he said he was keeping it in 1985. what he was saying was, he wasnt going to make taylor swift sing about cocaine and gats.
so i got excited.

then i saw the first stills of the set. i was shocked. shocked at how much the world of watchmen transfered beautifully to tangible reality. after those two stills, i was on board.



the stills were released during production, so by that time they had already cast most of the characters. the casting did not get me on board, those stills above did.

then, after months and months of more information being released, i felt i was not quite prepared for what i was about to see. i had read completely divisive reviews from fanboys and straight-laced movie critics alike. i knew about the changed ending. i had heard about the terrible aging makeup job. i had heard about jackie earl hayley's portrayal of rorshach. i even heard about the screen time given to dr. manhattans florescent blue penis. so what were my expectations? i knew i was about to be thrust into some mad machine, and had no idea how i would come out.

so i am now going to actually get into reviewing the film. and yes, there will be spoilers. i am going to discuss the ending. i am going to discuss the changes from the comic to the film. im going to be discussing a hell of a lot. so if you havent seen it, i would suggest not reading further, unless you want to know all of my opinions, biases, and critiques beforehand (i do not recommend this plan of action).

the opening sequence drags. im going to be honest. the newsroom commentary on the state of the world during nuclear war was completely unnecessary, even if it was a device to both introduce the comedian and set up the world. it falls so utterly flat. at this point im already cursing snyder under my breath, and man did snyder just bitch slap me saying "dontchu ever talk back to me boy!" because in less than a few seconds, i forgot all about the newsroom. i watched the comedian get the shit kicked out of him, and as he fell towards his death, my eyes widened, my jaw slacked open, and i knew i was watching watchmen.

the opening credits are great. a quick backstory and history to the world offers up some great little geeky jewls and a brilliant way of getting the attention of watchmen first timers.

then we hear rorshach. i mean we HEAR him. this isnt some actor trying to PLAY rorshach, this is rorshach. and this will lead me into my character analysis. so i will start with the insane, morally compassed, rorshach:

jackie early hayley not only does a great job, he becomes the character. his narration never feels stiff or forced, it just feels dark. dark and angry. and perfect. while behind the "mask", hayley commands attention with body language. yes his voice is perfect, but to me, the body language was what really convinced me i was watching a living breathing rorshach. once the mask is off, hayley does the unbelievable, he gets even better. my biggest, and i hate using this word but it will have to do, disappointment, was that there wasnt enough time spent with unmasked rorshach in prison. however, i do understand that this is a film, and sacrifices have to be made. i will get to that later in my critique of the film as a whole. so although we dont see enough of hayley unmasked, he is still the second strongest performance in the film.

so who gives the strongest performance? well, it depends on what you would define as a "performance". in my book, the strongest and most convincing of anyone in the film is billy cruddup as dr. manhattan. now, i put performance in quotes for a reason. apparently (thanks to geek intelligence handed to me by myles gilkey) billy cruddup's performance capture was not used all that much in the final film. for those of you who i have lost already, basically to give manhattan the body of a god, the makers of the film decided to use motion capture. its what was used to get andy serkis' movements as gollum in LOTR. its a suit that translates a human body's movement to a computer, where it can be digitally changed to look like anything. so, billy cruddup went through the entire film with this suit on, and then, most of it was not used for reasons, i assume, are not yet known. all of that to say, just cruddups VOICE convinces me it is manhattan. completely convinces me. i was blown away. his acting as jon osterman in the flashbacks is great, but there is very little of that in the film. its his voice that does it, and gives cruddup the voice acting award of the last ten years at least.

now, patrick wilson as dan dreiberg(aka night owl II), and jeffrey dean morgan as eddie blake (aka the comedian) work perfect.
although not to the convincing levels as manhattan or rorshach, they still convinced me. there was not one scene where i felt like i wasnt watching dan or eddie, night owl or the comedian. i even leaned over to busse a few times during patrick wilson's scenes as night owl and whispered, "damn he is perfect." the reason i say they arent on par with hayley or cruddup is that those two performances were just completely unbelievable. morgan and wilson are spot on, but they just dont quite hit hayley's and cruddup's level.

matthew goode as ozymandias. throughout the entire movie he was unimpressive. not bad. not by a long shot, just sort of bland. he works as ozymandias, but his performance doesnt stand out. its almost as if he is a walking, pontificating, good-looking prop. however, the ONLY way the third act of the film works, is because matthew goode turns ozymandias from a prop into a character. for the final few scenes i finally felt like he was alive. thank god for that.

malin ackerman as silk spectre II. here's the rundown. her acting is stale, forced, flat and distracting. easily the sore thumb in a group of brilliant performances. but she is incredibly attractive. and you know what? that saves her character. really. im sorry if that upsets some of you, but heres the reality. she is supposed to be attractive. in the comic she is written as a neglected, lonely woman who finds her worth in the love of, at first, manhattan. once he begins to drift away from humanity, she turns to dan, and dan cant get it up, even though she is an incredible gorgeous woman. her beauty is part of her character, and its the only thing that keeps malin ackerman's silk spectre from being a complete miscast.

there are some other minor character problems, including nixon, but they dont distract from the film. there are some surprise performances including moloch, the detectives, and hollis mason, all who help support the film rather than detract from it.

now on to the review of the movie as a whole. but thats coming in part 2 of my incredibly lengthy watchmen review, after i get back from sign language class...

SNACK ATTACK!

this is what is currently in my apartment to eat:




this is what i want:


i want some snacks, dammit!

be back later with more unimportant and totally frivolous posts.

DP #1

first of all,

where was shawn morones tonight? the little bastard never showed up.

talked wathcmen with busse and myles. perfect. less than 24 hours i will be deconstructing the film.
in bed now thinking about so many things at once. have a poem in me that must get out:

rocking mind flutters
through picture book
reminds of adventures gone and now
romanticized
anvil fingers crunch
metallic sections
waving endings to decisive evenings
moon falls below
sun will arrive with obnoxious
"hello!"
leave me to my pillow
please

newish...

i read this a few weeks ago at a fundraiser to turn my friend's garage into a recording studio:

"to whom"

reason disintegrates
in chords violent
rumble through pointed bone
exhale the nothingness
throat tubes exhaust
slicing the holy umbilical
bookish mumblings as
compass
shatter minimal reality then
exclaim
"o' righteous regret!"
to keep from clenching fist
and convince
self
refusal
of glass graves
plead for
infinite womb, infinite birth!
with child visions of that eventual stop
turn blame toward climacus
all of his alternate egos
press cheek against entis cheek
sculpt analogy
transfer doubt to grievous cloud
from chemical breath
wake to foreign faces
wiping ghost tangles from
bed frame
up coughing shouts
naked
fuzzy actuality attached
'til sun setting
then tearing part from
whole body
saturate portion
prepare
the shattering no
with fetal yes
infinite womb
for infinite birth

alright so i didnt write the next day.

soon. (jamie, you need to keep me on track.)

beginnings

jamie criss told me to start doing this.

i did it awhile back, but i think i can actually keep up with this one.
i feel awkwardly optimistic.

look for a new post tomorrow.