Complaints and Blackouts

Complaints

Some of my best times have come from long strolls through the store on a Sunday morning where I don't plan on buying anything, and just want to chitchat with vendors and eat their free samples.  Or late at night when I'm a little drunk and realize I'm the oldest, or worse, the last person at the party. It's simple moments like this that allow you to reflect on your self, not the image you act out. It's a timeout from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But life doesn't have to be so bad, so busy, so meh. Change is just a left turn away. I'm sick of seeing people butthurt over things they can change.  Hey you, complainer, you're an adult and have a big boy car, go get yourself some god damn cheesy fries.  Or leave that terrible boyfriend, there are BILLIONS of people in the world, don't fret for sec.  Life ends eventually, don't wade around in floaters at the local pool, go find yourself a board and hit the big waves.  In summary, remember what the Snickers guy said:
"Happy peanuts soar
Over chocolate covered mountaintops
And waterfalls of caramel.
Prancing nougat in the meadow
Sings a song of satisfaction
To the world."


Blackouts

Every year has its trends.  Some trends are good, others are slightly disastrous   It's all part of growing up, I guess. Making bad decisions, and realizing you probably shouldn't do that again. Anyways, one weird phase I went through a couple of years ago was blacking out. And within that phase there were other phases of activities.  These ranged from wrestling strangers to sleeping in weird locations (which might still happen).  One particular favorite blackout activity was a collaboration of philosophy, booze and digital ink.  Basically, every morning I would wake up to a new notepad text saved on my desktop with a singular title, usually in all caps.  Titles varied depending on what I was drinking.  Tequila featured "REALITY SHOWS" while vodka starred "DIAMONDS". Here is a pretty good one entitled "MONEY".  I can't exactly recall a specific sustenance during the night, but it seems like a combination of gin and lots deep-fried food.  Enjoy, and beware, a lot of this does not make any sense and is very repetitive.



Money
Money is a bitch.  It's a rightious notion of sophistication.  Life is not happy making money.  It involves a job that takes long hours and a waste of time.  Some people make it easy.  Some people are born with that silver spoon.  A life of endless pleasures without any steps or procedure of securing a spot in time.  I would like a life like that. Where i don't have to produce the time nor fabrication of life.  Ideas are all part of the mind.  It's a object that enjoys itself in your mind.  A counterpart to reality;  a concept of what could be.  Most ideas are those constructed in your mind and hold no real truth.  But there is still those ideas that could make profit.  If you pursue it, you could make a wealthy living or forever be in debt.  It's the risk of following a passion.  A life assessment that not only follows a continuation of possibilities  but also attributes to your own belief of life after the next.  Don't follow money.  Don't hold it as an asset.  Let it be as itself.  Let it progress with time with no dependency.  With a job it will grow and appreciate.  Without one it will stand the test of time.  Don't worry about.  It will grow in time just like life.  It will shrink and it will bulge.  If you worry, you will know nothing but misery.  Money has a way of blockading your life.  It shows itself at times of need and hides during times of relaxation.  Money is a bitch and shouldn't be perpetuated with the philosophy of happiness.  Happiness is the key to life.  It's what we strive for in life.  To be happy and not care about the monetary or greedy things in life.  Once a week I get a statement from my bank.  It's a accumulation of spontaneous spending and the usual utility bills.  I don't look at it.  I see it in the mail box; standing on it's own next to other bills and common discount pamphlets   I walk into my house and greet my roommates.  Then I proceed to my room, sit in rolling chair and find the nearest pair of scissors.  I take the scissors and start cutting the statment without indulging on my curiosity.  Why bother?  I know the statement has a number.  I know these number will concern me.  I know I have enough money to cover it.  I don't front.  I just rip it, or in most cases, cut it up into pieces.  Numbers have a way of complicating things.  It creates the illusion called reality.  It fills life with propagation if responsibility and responsibility   Who needs that shit?  It only complicates life and create a burden of weight on your back. I'm sure there is morw dire measures that need attendance   Why add money to your list?  Yes, money allows you to fulfill most of your desires.  Traveling, luxurious items, and the random freemason messages, but worrying about it does not make it progress.  Worrying about money only creates censured consciousness.  I'd rather be thinking about random shit than worrying about number.  Pandas, space ships, and tolken elves are more important and more predictable than the propagation of money.  Spend your attention on something more concrete.  Find time to enjoy yourself.  Buy a sandwich and beer and head to your favorite park.  Take a stroll outside your neighborhood and enjoy the outdoors.  You only live once;  find time to enjoy that life.  Money is a bitch that only distracts you from the limited time of life.  Don't be worried about things outside your controls; enjoy things that you can actually make an impact on yourself.   A reasonable perception is one that digs through the dirt and finds that gem.  It can be a diamond or a quart. The value is dependent on yourself.  You create the valuee thus creating the adventure.  Live free without responsibility, and take a walk on the side you've never ventured.

Top Tens and A Twist of Fate

Top Tens
I know I'm a little late to this party, but here's my top tens.  If it makes you feel better, I wrote them up several weeks ago and have been carrying them around in my right coat pocket along side an eye-patch, chapstick, and loose coffee beans.

Movies
1. The Master
2. Silver Linings Playbook
3. Anna Karenina
4. Beast of the Southern Wild
5. Skyfall
6. Looper
7. Life of Pie
8.Project X
9. Prometheus
10. Moonrise Kingdom
Still need to see: Les Miserables, The Session, Holy Motors, Beyond the Black Rainbow, To The Wonder

Music
1. Mixtapes
2. Wild Nothing
3. Hot Chip
4. Eternal Summers
5. Japandroids
6. Ravonettes EP + Dum Dum Girls EP (I know this is cheating, but go fuck yourself)
7. Chairlift
8. Ice Choir
9. Teenage Botttlerocket
10. Title Fight

Honerable Mention: Gaslight Anthem, Menzingers, Cheap Girls, Titus Adronicus, Fidler, Tamaryn, Frankie Rose

Favorite song playlist:
http://open.spotify.com/user/kingfunk/playlist/7r3JhMimgXhW6fygEuKltP


A Twist of Fate

I've never understood it, but one word can completely change a situation (or warp it).  For some, one word makes outcomes become switchable, actions seem tangible, and motives logical.  Maybe cinema is the one to blame, where hours are stressed to come up with that one heart-throbbing phrase.  I think people blur the line between fantasy and reality.  I think people expect too much.  Not all humans are created equal. Our differences are what make our species unique.  Some stay focus, while some digress.  Some talk fast and on-queue, and other's best ideas are moments behind their time.  It's the total package that should matter, not the wrapping paper.  Don’t fall in love with someone by the twist of their tongue; fall in love with someone by the sum of their parts.

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".