cuz i havent posted

Begun - writing a childrens story, steve the bean farmer, reading All the Pretty Horses

Done - seeing avatar

Avatar actually opens an interesting discussion on the nature and value of reality for which I'd like to voice my opinion. It's impossible to actually define the concept of reality and the more technology advances the more blurry the line becomes. For me and my generation the boundary has barely existed at all, every hour there has been a new virtual life for any of us to assume at any given moment. Like phosphorescent bookworms, our entire concept of reality has been shaped through experiences and messages contained in worlds unrelated to our own present situation. Worlds created entirely out of imagination, and catered to our convenience.

As a child I was practically raised by video games, television, and movies as a third parent, I value the experiences of characters contained within these mediums on an almost equal level with that of the physical world. They have allowed me to live many different lives, many of you may even know me solely as an Avatar, I've had many names, MeltdownX, Altimax, Raj, Link, Ness, Etzio, etc. and each of them I directly connect with myself. By engaging in these imagined scenarios, stories of glory, triumph, hardship, love, betrayal, we are able to catharsize without any actual reprecussions. Well... when me and 39 of my closest online friends slayed the dragon Vaelstrasz (an idea of how complicated some of these worlds are) for the first time I was sweating profusely with about a 200bpm pulse, may or may not have release my bowels. Perhaps spending so much of my life virtually has put a damper on my sympathy and my ability to connect with the real world, but I don't really think so. Virtual worlds have simply provided me a point of relativity which I can learn of the potential consequences of my actions in the real world. They also can provide a sense of purpose external to the systematic and often nonsensical reality, and with enough passion you can translate what youve learned and felt in an alternate space to your psyche. Avatar really exemplifies all of these things. In the wise words of Colonel Quartrich it's all about "taking the initiative".

Clearly everyone is willing to accept alternate realities as something worth throwing money and time at. In that sense we all speak to their value. The understanding achievable with the assistance of modern media expression is something worth writing science fiction about ;)

Off to Killington

goin big but tryin not to die
its a tough balance
when you wanna fly
the trees become rails
no biting fingernails

nerves are forgotten
hit the jump!
no return.
longest second
painless wind burn
spinning and grooving
the flow is soothing

IMPACT!
OH GOD!
Wipeout!?
I think not.
stay centered, feel the potential.
speed here comes at no cost.

the weightless have landed
the moment is through
carve out your future
only powder ahead of you

Power

Too often, though, the revelation that nothing is true undoes them. They lose their morality, certainty, security. Many are driven mad. We must guide them. Help them to heal. Their minds must not be filled with more fairy tails, but with knowledge instead. Let them have answers - and let those answers be difficult and complex. Such is life.

Anatomy of a fairy anyone? my next painting perhaps...

Winter

Break is upon me, which just means my inspiration is preparing an offensive in the absence of work's wards. My notebook is finally full so for portability and practicality I'm transitioning to the full keyboard on my phone. I have come to literally carry around poem drafts everywhere I go, working on texts to no one. I do hope I get a new notebook for Christmas though since nothing beats the intensity and intimacy of scribbling by candlelight outside in a whiteout.

On the plane back to jers I started a short story peering out of the window. It began reminiscent of my last short story, published below, but criticism from friends, colleagues, and myself led me to take a new direction, steering away from my poetic comfort. As if rhyme and alliteration give me more credibility. This new approach is an expression of my sense of humor and befuddlement with the world in the same sort of limited-life landscape where everything that is there becomes that much more significant. Anyhoo here's that old story posted up in the spirit of the wasteland outside. I've never written anything quite so dark and pessimistic but that was my full intention. It is followed by a commentary of sorts because I admit it's hard to interpret.

_________________________
Slate colored skin, his arms cross his chest, between his hands and his heart he huddles his words. Charred lashes and hairs against the whites of his eyes, the inferno rages inside.

Quaking horrors fill a dark space, screams of birds unseen. The growl of the omnipotent bleeds into the black. An uneasy laughter echoes, angry one moment and the next moment mad.

This is the opacity of his mind.
A crow lands outside his window. The man’s vision is unchanged, he stares at the ceiling where the shadow of his yard’s one tree paints the wall at dusk.
There is no comfort here.

A grove of gray dogwoods once stood where this cabin lies.
The crow flaps onto the shadow of the only tree left unsawed. Its cry brings forty black birds to the branches. These souls of the fallen find solace in the shadow. At this late hour their feathers make the only noise.
Together they fly.

Veiling the trunk and its bare branches in a torrent of dark fire, circling, engulfing, as an avian insect swarm. Like gnats in the air, the crows cluster, feasting on the energy of their brother’s shadow in a ritual of ashen arbor.
A crack resounds as bird and branch fall motionless to the ground.
Like a pack of matches, one strikes, a chain reaction, all the air aflame.

The cabin has no way to understand, but let it be a witness. It contains the man’s world, as large as it grows, and from its logs the crows were born. A box in a field, the birds found their fathers’ bodies stacked in columns and rows. An ancestry of souls. The cabin moans in the wind of the vortex, the birds blur into black.

Windowpanes crack.

Man clutches tighter to the words at his breast, his eyes torn open, he holds his last breath. The book dissolves into the crows’ flame.
Death has destroyed its own name.
____________________________


It is supposed to speak to the futility (working title) of everything that we do. huMANity has built a legacy of enslavement, especially now through the written word. The crows are the sons of the free minds (trees) we've destroyed to build our comfort zone and concept of reality in which we find shelter. They also act as the wardens of time. They ensure that all is eventually erased and forgotten. Our consciousness is completely malleable, evident in diversity of tradition which we've made hobby of eradicating.

We (man) wish we could control what we think we wish we could be happy in our ignorance forever, but there comes a time when justice is dealt or nature runs its course. In thinking of the nature of humans as curious but insecure explorers, we will naturally be afraid of what is on the other side of the ocean, of the monsters deep inside our heads but we also have to think about the possibilities. It is important to face this fear and recognize our ultimate power of reason and our ultimate transience simultaneously. Life is designed to end . Like a sailor from the 1300's I imagine that the sea of time too has its monsters and they have their rituals of chance, destruction, creation, and maybe even a sense of justice. Our minds are more subject to complete annihilation than most people understand. I can't help but imagine a creature who perceives a million years in a second. Death doesn't exist save in our words and when we're all dead it won't exist at all. HOORAY!

OKAY that was heady I'm sorry if you hurt. I know I do.

Done - fifth semester at UM
Begun - a period of intensive writing and drawing. no reason to stop.

Begun - Matt Rein concert footage, Mom cancer audio documentary, amping for snow (be in killington 21-23)

Done - 3 of 5 finals

to think that I believed
there could be something better
and the best way to achieve
was to try a little harder
that would make entirely too much sense
so instead I think I'll build a fence.

a practical application of exclusivity.
in the new bordered lightgarden of eve
all of our weaknesses grow on the trees.
warding the imminent temptation to feed
is as meaningless as the need to say please

musical healing

Live Stuff