Booze Clues and Ballet

Booze Clues
I'm working on a new short called Booze Clues.   Here's a small sample of it transcribed into a narrative.

It's Sunday morning, Anthony wakes up on a couch half his size and a head throbbing something awful.  First thoughts are a series of questions: what time is it, where am I and what happened last night.  It's time to play a game of booze clues.  First clue, the phone.  Now, where the hell is the phone?  Back pocket, no.  Front pocket, no.  Anthony scans the room, only to be paralyzed by the shock that he's lost his vision, and then moments later realizes his glasses are not on.  Finding them stuck to the side of his hip, he rescans the room.  Nope, no phone in sight.  Sitting up, he realizes the vacuum-like presence of the couch. Tearing it part, removing one overstuffed cushion after the next, the black hole nature of the couch starts to reveal all the poor saps it's consumed over the years.  Toys, monopoly money, real money, lots of hair, and yes, his phone.  Now he's got the evidence for the next set of questions: who did he call and what kind of crazy shit did he text.  Jane, Judy, Rosie, yep,  he had a typical liquored up, horndog agenda.  Wait, those are all characters off the The Jetsons, maybe he had two agendas.  Regretting a lot of stuff, he decides it's time to get up and find out where the fuck he is.  Clue two, the house.


Ballet
Everybody has got something that just works for them.  For me, it's ballet. I love ballet.  It opens up new doors and speaks directly to me.  It defines love, and it's the closest thing to perfection I've ever known. Ballet is a language that transcends the delinquency of reality by creating an isolated alternative between the dancer and its viewer.  For the dancer, each move, from grand-plie' to demi-pointe, visualize brush strokes of color on a canvas of sound.  And for each viewer, a different image is painted.  That's the beauty of it all.  There is no wrong; there is no right.  There is just the truth that unfolds for each individual.  As one act takes place on stage, another takes place in the mind.  Every detail, from cosmetics to choreography, intermingle with thoughts already present and adapts accordingly to each of their needs.  Each step, each note, mold into answers to solve riddles once neglected.  It's magically wonderful.

Here's one of my favorites, a scene from The Red Shoes.  It's a performance of the play The Red Shoes, which is an adaptation of a fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen.

And here's the opening scene of Pina Bausch take on Stravinky's Rite of Spring.

Writing and Sanity

Writing
I'm definitely better on paper than I am in person. With a pen and some paper, ideas are easily transcribed into flowing text.  The intangible becomes tangible, with abstract thoughts becoming clear, detailed paragraphs with a punch.  It amazes me, how I can write something with power and emotion, but when telling somebody similar thoughts, my mouth becomes an idiot box oozing out nothing but gobbledygook.  I bet Bill Cosby is an excellent writer.  Maybe it's the benefit of time.  Time to think, time to explore new words.  Maybe it's the time given to reflect on the first thought, which for me, usually makes absolutely no sense.  I enjoy writing a lot, and I've been spending more time translating my bad ideas into words. It's not only fun, and sometimes very amusing, but also extremely cathartic.  It's nice to just vomit out my thoughts rather then let them manifest into some crazy Japanese creature, like Godzilla or even worse, Mechagodzilla.  Some wild beast that is continually biting at my heels and haunting me with sequel after sequel.   It's like stepping on an ant before your Dad accidentally makes you and your friends tiny with a shrink ray.  You know what I mean.  It feels good.

Sanity
The real difference between a sane and insane person is the insane person shows it.  In truth, we're off our fucking rockers. Instead of focusing on what's on hand, the present, our mind distractedly take us back to the past or unreliably predicts the future.  Bored and in search of a challenge, our minds ignore the controllable and explore the deceptive nature of our shadows. Reminiscing on old conversations, a habit that won't die young, by replaying and rehashing actions taken and words spoken at different times to different people.  Like re-questioning oneself open-ended riddles where the answer doesn't matter.  Time after time, we ignore the ability to forget, rather than remember.  We need to let time be time and allow it take part in resolving issues past due, and what it doesn't heal, we need to grow up and be a fucking adult.


One of my new favorites

Short Story and Hidden Evolution

Short Story
A boy walks down an abandoned trail.  It's quiet, only his foot steps and the wind can be heard.  Fall time is here, and the trees and the ground are vibrant in hues of orange and amber.  Once plump in for the summer, the trees now shed pounds to fatten the ground.  Walking along this scene, the boy keeps hearing sounds in the distance.  A snapping twig on his right, a wounded animal on his left.  One after the other, he turns his head towards the source, only to just miss their presence.  The wind begins to pick up.  The trees begin to wheeze, their leaves start to dance and twirl.  Twisting and turning, forming, the leaves shift from random to sequential, and move around the boy as a troupe of cyclones.  Clanking and clonking, they rise up and down along the path like a bunch of bullies.  The leaves soon begin to form patterns.  The boy recognizes this at once and begins calling out their outlines in his head.  It's a game of "I spy" with nature as the narrator.  First, he spots a large lion's head, then a flock of of birds.  The cyclones merge together to form a wall, or a canvas as the boy would like to think.  Shapes immediately begin to appear in the thick brush.  A tire swing, a car, the grand canyon, and maybe a house.  The images go away and multiple types of clocks appear.  Two wall clocks on the left, two pocket watches on the right, and a large grandfathers clock in the middle.  The grandfathers clock belches a violent chime and the leaves cave over each other forming a waterfall.  Out of the center of the waterfall walks out a leaf doppelganger of the boy.  The boy stares at this makeshift mannequin and it stares back.  They acknowledge they are the same.  Moments later, an adult leaf-man walks out of the same foliage waterfall and places his hand on the boy's head. The leaves blow off the adult to reveal a flesh-toned young man in his thirties.  The makeshift boy explodes into a random assortment of leaves, and the waterfall ceases to be.  The young man walks towards the boy.

Hidden Evolution
Contradictions.  Everyday, I change my mind on how I should act, what I should do, and how I should do it.  The day I stop contradicting myself, is the day I die. Life is a perpetual equation of ideas of the past and experiences that might change current pretenses or solidify its undertaking. Evolution does not stop at the physical, it only began there. I once read that "we've limited ourselves as the top of food chain, and thus, stopped evolution in its tracks."  I don't believe this.  Everybody is constantly evolving, be it their physical persona or mental state.  We continually stride to understand our surroundings and adapt ourselves to its will. Yesterday, I might have toast after reading an article about the benefits of wheat, but today I eat beets for its defensive ability against cancer. The material we digest results in the behavioral changes we proclaim and encompass. Reading a book might change one's mind about drugs, or open a door way to a more sustainable life. Ideas are power, and the better presented, the better used. Evolution hasn't stopped, it's just taking different channels.  Through literature, film, and stills, ideas can be presented in multiple mediums that can speak to the masses.  One by one, we find what works for us, and use it like a medicine. Prescribing daily to its doctrine.  We take information and evolve it to fit our own understanding. Our minds then disseminate its meaning to further its own agenda. We use analogies for comparisons to complete the sentences we once started. Evolution has not stopped. It's only buried, and wrapped up in our brains.

Death Metal and Songs

Death Metal
What do members of death metal bands do in their spare time?  How do they interact with everyday chores?  These are the type of questions that has been haunting me for the last couple of weeks.  I know, I should probably be worrying about climate change or the election, but death metal and summer camps fill my every thought.  So here I am again, lobotomizing myself on the internet's basement floor. Here I am to explain some common scenarios of death metal members in the off season.

• Sally was excited about the jewelry box her dad got her for Christmas until she opened it.  Twirling inside was not a ballerina in a pink tutu, but a black-gowned, massacre-dripping princess spinning to the tune of Hellhammer.
• Backyard chores are a bit more exciting.  With trebuchets launching leaf piles and trash bags from one side of the yard to the other, and Billy using his recently sharpened broadsword to trim the hedges.
• Birthdays are no longer quiet when Killroy starts blowing out his birthday candles.  From a low, rumbling roar, he conjures the spirits of hell itself to not only diffuse any trickery the candles might have in store, but create a small tremor throughout the city.

Songs

Songs are pretty powerful stuff.  They can change a mood or explain a situation.  They can bring people together to dance, or get someone a kiss.  Everybody has their arsenal of noise grenades, an evolving playlist to get the job done, and I'm no different.  If I'm feeling down, I can play Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" to perk up my spirit and get me off my ass.  If I need a reminder of my current relationship status, I can listen to Todd Rundgren's "Hello It's Me".  I can start an impromptu dance party with some Elton John and slowly transition into a more electric feel with Daft Punk's "Voyager".  If I'm looking for some nookie, I might play "Kinky Love" by The Pale Saints.  Or if I'm looking to get laid, I might step aboard the Mothership Connection with some Parliament. A pair of headphones is easily morphs into a transportation device, taking me back to the 80s, with one or two Depeche Mode songs.  And I can take a road trip from my office pod with Big Star's "September Girls" or Abulance LTD's "Stay Where You Are".  Thanks jams.

Summer Camps and Cyclic Love

Summer Camps
I never went to a summer camp.  I remember begging my parents to let me go, but they would not hear anything of it.  Maybe it got in the way of our family vacations, or maybe it got in the way of yard work my dad had planned for me.  Anyways, I feel like I missed out on a lot of adolescent development. Yes, I agree there is a natural course for things to work themselves out, but a catalyst would have always been welcomed. Even if it was an atomic wedgie or getting tea-bagged by the counselor. Maturity comes in many forms, from second base with Becky to victoriously climbing the tallest tree, then falling out and breaking your arm.  It comes with pain, embarrassment and glory.  Camp offers a healthy dose of all these things.

Anyways, I'm currently working on a new script with a friend and it's about summer camps. Since I've never gone to one, I've had to research. Watching movies, playing pranks on co-workers, and referencing vocabulary that just doesn't register for the average adult.  It's been a fun trip, and I'm still enjoying it.  For a preview, I've added a short description of two of the many characters I'm currently shaping.  Also if you have any good camp stories, please post them!!

Maggie:
She's 12 years old and idolizes her older sister.  She watches her everyday, jealous of her stage 4 areolas and punk rock shirts.  She's a rebel at heart too.  She wants to meet people outside her boring town; cool people just like her sister.  She finds out about summer camps. Here's a place she can fit right in with the older girls without her sister standing in the way. She'll mature, and learn all the Ins and Outs of boys and their ways.  Camp starts, but not everything goes according to plan.  She tie-dies things when she gets upset.

Simon:
Simon is your typical nerdy guy.  Fluent in obscure alien languages and pre-cuts his underwear before heading to school.  He finds out about a camp outside of town where he might have a chance to be cool.  He signs up, starts working out, and gets immediately ridiculed the first day of camp.  His best friend gets taken under the wing of one of the jock and becomes a bully. Simon learns a lot about himself, even gets some action.  His big comeback involves challenging the biggest jock to a game of ping-pong, one game that nerds can succeed.


Cyclic Love
It all started with a kid's game.  That game where you pick up a beautiful flower and remove the pedals merrily chanting "They love me, they love me not".  Slowly, one pedal at a time, the flower is transformed into a useless weed, lost of desire and enchantment. It was at the early age of eight or so we started preparing ourselves for a vicious cycle we did not quite understand.  How everything starts with a bang and ends with a crash.  A type of cyclic love, flower to flower.  It begins with something great, several weeks of excitement and getting to know each other.  This is very similar to the blooming of a flower in the Spring.  Then something happens, you either settle, and plant your roots, or start looking for faults.  And one by one, contemplating love and hate,  you pluck away until you have no beauty left. "They love me, they love me not".

Fresh Markets and Space Sharks

Fresh markets have always been a first choice for me when buying groceries.  The quality is better, the taste is better, and transaction between consumer and product is better.   They help support the community while providing a healthy alternative to processed foods.  The problem is location and frequency.  America is not compact, it's far from it; one could even say it's segregated.  The nation itself is split into states which is split into counties which is split again into cities.  Locations are isolated, and per capita averages are skewed.  This aspect makes it very difficult for people locate and support fresh markets.  In a more compact environment, business is plentiful and more food received by more hands.  Another issue is frequency, or lack there of.  Most fresh markets, especially ones outside large cities are not frequent, running weekly or couple times a week.  For a shopper to consistency rely on their alternative, it must be available every day.  And in the realm of organic foods, with their shorter shelf-life, the idea of "eat what you buy today" should be promoted.  Less waste, a fresher meal, and more variety to a diet.  And finally the push for fresh markets comes to its similarities to currency.  Businesses are built around it, different foods hold different values, and no one is really sure who touched it last or where it's been.  This last part is the real problem.  This last part is where fresh markets and other local initiatives are putting down their foot and making a change.  They are creating transparency between the supplier and consumer, and in turn, providing a safer, more reliable product.


Here's an idea that doesn't make sense.
Right now, in the 21st century, humans are cognitively smarter than animals.  We've developed TVs and Legos while animals hunt and sit in trees (I'm generalizing a whole bunch here, humans have also perfected the burrito).  But what if this superiority only applies to earth?  What if animal's creativity and critical thinking abilities are suppressed by the earth's atmosphere?  For instance, you put a shark or a moose up in space and they are suddenly smart as shit.  Drinkin' martinis and playing chess.  They would probably figure out time travel in a matter of seconds.  And maybe the reverse is also true and humans are real dumb in space.  Maybe that's why we can't find anything. There could be a lot of stuff out there, but we don't even realize it.  I bet if you interview like Bruce Willis or someone and ask him how his trip to space was, he'd probably be confused.  "Oh man, it...it was crazy.  I'm a little foggy on the imagery, but it was real cool."
There you go conspiracists, that's yours for the taking.  Take it and run with it, it's on me.  And hey, you might even want to jazz it up a little with a few quarks, maybe some twists and turns.  For example, the reason sharks attack people on earth is to chase them into space so they can rule us.  Actually, this is probably solid enough to even build a religion on it.  Not sure what you'd call it, maybe "Sharks in Space".

Romance and World Music

What happened to romance?  Did it die, or do I still misunderstand it?  I feel like today's romance is a drunk girl in a bar.  I want more.  Maybe I listen to too much shoegaze; I do.  Maybe I watch too many sappy romance flicks, check.  I'm sorry, but I want what these mediums portray.  A happy couple, through good and bad, living together, leaning together, and talking through the difficult parts.  A tub of popcorn and a cheesy movie, that's my kind of date night!  Sex gets old, real quick.  Sometimes I'd rather just jack off; I know myself better than anybody.  Every time I date a girl, I grow farther and farther apart from this so called "romance".  I'm losing touch, and that scares me.  I don't want to become apathetic, I want to feel something real.  I don't mind crying, but I haven't done it in years.  I'm feeling a bit empty.  A bit deserted.  I've never told a girl I love her, and I'm scared I won't be able to when I find her.

Indie folk, world music, whatever the fuck people call it, sucks real bad live.  I'm talking about those bullshit bands that show up at a photo shoot with a ukulele and some African tribe getup.  Beurit or Gogol Bordello are good examples.  I've seen both live at Bonnaroo, and it was just as I expected.  Slow, boring and pretentious.  "No, our band is far better and more advant-garde than any other band in the land, and we'll prove it with an overabundance of brass and tambourine players."  These bands also seem to be a callout, or maybe it was the triangle dinner-bell they were playing, to all the hippies at the festival.  Here they come, with their hula-hoops and dirty skirts, marching away from their nesting tree in an unbathed routine that can only be described as communal.  Yeah, all a hot summer day needs is more stinky people.  As soon as this gathering arrives they move from foot to mexican blankets, unknowingly knitted by kids in a factory.  During one show, a girl looks at me and notices my grim disposition. "Aren't they great?"  No chick, they are not great I explain.  No chick, they only sound good cause you're on drugs, I explain.


I probably shouldn't be writing to the internet when I get real drunk alone.

Picture of day and new favorite meme.

Star Trek and Anti-Wingman

Ever been driven to learn something because you didn't get a joke?  Well, the other day, I was having a long, in depth conversation about the paradoxes and time periods in the Back to the Future series when some guy abruptly threw in a Klingon joke about Christopher Loyd.  I didn't laugh, but everybody else did.  I was like why you got just throw Star Trek in here like it's relevant.  And that's when I realized my reputation was on the line.  I was about lose some major street cred. So I went back home, paroooozed the internet, made a couple bags of popcorn and revisited some old lost friends, Captain Kirk and Starfleet Enterprise.  Below are some notes I took along the ride.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture

• Learn how to wink with Kurk
• Long sequences of the Enterprise with epic music
• Sulu has the widest eyes of any Asian
• Bald chick is real bald and real celibate
• Kinky machine sex

Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan

• Veronica left her secret closet as a Vulkin
• Main theme of the movie is Khan's kentucky waterfall
• Subplot is Khan's pecs
• First sign of boost mobile
• Genesis is not just a video gaming system
• KHAAANNNN!

Star Trek: The Search for Spock

• Christopher Loyd is back as a cleon
• Where in the worlds is Leonard Nimoy
• Men in purple suits can't fight
• Vulcan puberty 

Star Trek: The Final Frontier

• Maniacal laugh
• Three titted cat dancer
• The axil rose version of klingon
• Definitely directed by William Shatner
• Spock: "Please Captain, not in front of the Klingons."
• All shots fired at the enterprise hit the cockpit

Let's talk about the idea of an Anti-Wingman.  I propose that you should have one for every drunk situation.  This would be a clear-headed dude that works like a censor.  Whenever you think something is a good idea, you tell him your idea.  He'll then put logic behind it and probably tell you it's a terrible idea.

Example situation 1:  You've had a few and you're about to text this girl.  You type up the message, and show it to your anti-wingman, let's call him Tom.  Hey Tom, I'm about to send this message,  Tom replies "that's a bad idea, and she will not think that her and the band Slayer will have a lot in common."  

Example situation 2:  You've had a few and you're thinking about going home with someone.  You let your anti-wingman, Tom, know that you're about to home with a girl. Tom replies "no, that's a bad idea, that's Molly.  You just tried breaking off a relationship with her 2 hours ago.  Don't be a fuck up!"

Thanks Tom, you've saved my ass once again.

Poems and Dick Pics

Poetry is kind of a funky turkey.  It's something people write for themselves, and then, sometimes, share with other people who are suppose to interpret it.  Poems are not meant for the reader, and considering the several factors leading up to its invention, no one can really understand it besides the one who created it.  Yeah, he might be talking about the girl that got away, or maybe he's just really pissed that someone took the last cookie at the dinner table.
Well, here's a few poems I wrote a while back, sometime in the past with many influences leading up to multiple ideas that made sense at the time.  They are both untitled to make them even more vague.

Untitled #1



A friend is a foe, for one minute's loss

An idea loses its shape

Five hands at one throat.

Compass turns south,

Entropy reaches a singularity.

Untitled #2

Busy is the bee called mother

Sacrifice one life to feed another.

Fire yields and fire burns

Everyone must take their turn.

To fight is to live another day

While death is on step away.

I don't understand the reasons dudes send girls dick picks.  Do guys really think girls want to see their penis on a tiny cramped screen at low resolution?  If they are lucky, the gal wont' figure out what it is.  Seriously, what girl gets a dirty text and is like "Oh, what a beautiful dick", then immediately sets up a date.  It would be a touching story when they grow old together.  Imagine the family sitting around the fireplace, enjoying each others' company, when little Timmy asks "Grammy, how did you and Grandpa meet?'. "Well little Timmy it all started with a dick pic."

Top Tens and the 80s

Well, another year down.  And this year was by far the best.  I did a lot of crazy shit, some good, and some bad.  Got some body art, made a lot of friends, and had a lot of fun.  So here's some top tens for ya.

Top Ten Albums

1. Bright Eyes - The People's Key
2. Graveyard - Hisingen Blues
3. Girls - Father, Son, Holy Ghost
4. The Go! Team - Rolling Blackouts
5. Deer Tick - Divine Providence
6. Touche Amore - Parting the Sea Between Brightness and Me
7. M83 - Hurry Up, We're Dreaming
8. Real Estate - Days
9. Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues
10. Tennis - Cape Dory

Top Ten Movies

1. Hugo
2. Drive
3. Another Earth
4. Attack the Block
5. Melancholia
6. The Skin I Live In
7. Hanna
8. Take Shelter
9. 50/50
10. Bridesmaids

Movies I need to see: Carnage, Shame, Sleeping Beauty, The Future, The Seperation, or The Artist

Top Ten Foods

1. Reuben
2. Fish Tacos
3. Beer
4. Bloody Marys
5. Meatloaf
6. Rice cooker surprise
7. Anything my neighbor brought me
8. Juicy Lucys 
9. Chocolate
10. Beef Stroganoff

Another thing happened this year.  I moved back to 80s.  Seriously, I listened to more Depeche Mode and New order than any other year.  Call it maturity.  I found a new lust for leopard leotards, poofy hair, and started calling tits ta-tas again.  Every girl in sixteen candles is now attractive, and  I'm showering less.  Also bought myself a whole set of puffy paints, made a sweat shirt for my teacher, only to find out she's dead.  Following my dad's adivce, "put on some pumps, and don't ever go anywhere without a trapper keeper", I was able to make create some wicked good times and totally meet some bodacious broads. I had love and loss, but didn't forget to hold on to the 80s.

This picture pretty much sums up the year.