FEEL THE RAIN ON YOUR SKIN

THE SONG

I have made this song to replicate the feeling of being trapped underwater (due to your own intentions). The long, drawn out chords depicts a deep darkness: both the bottom of the river and the inside of your soul. The ethereal sounds permeates deep into the water, and the death of Virginia is made even more sorrowful. This song is meant to be played quietly, and during the final moments of Virginia's life: at the point of no return.

Is Nothing Something?

Today I realized how few of us actually go out of our way t help one another. In no way do I mean for this to be a "wow everyone is a butt" post. It just irks me (rather deeply) how we can easily pass on a chance to help. I think we forget to walk a mile in other's shoes, you know? To empathize with someone is to truly extend the handshake of goodwill. A simple gesture of sympathy can make waves larger than one could ever expect.

So, perchance someone is struggling. Will you be the one to find their misfortune amusing? Will you be the hand that reaches out and offer support, or will you simply do nothing? Will you walk past the one that need your help so dearly? Why do we constantly pass the buck and assume somebody else will do what needs to be done?

That is a question that only you can answer. Actually, you are the only one that can answer all of these questions. So, will you step out of your own personal bubble and extend the arm of good will, or will you let someone wilt at your own expense?

Seraphic = Cool Word

As I read D's post , I realize how much I miss the years that I will never get back. I'm not necessarily sad about it; its more about how much time has passed. I sit and think about all the work that I have done. However, its all okay. All the work is worth it; it allows me to make work like this!


I sit in wait for inspiration to come. What if it never does? Could I stay in this perpetual purgatory for eternity whilst my assignments slip out from my grasp? I aspire to be more than the average slacker sitting at a desk ripe with clutter and memories. See the sand in that jar and remember days past? No, I guess I'm the only one that does... I need to clean!

Seriously though. If you rub my ears together you could probably start a fire, and in this fire you could throw your ambitions for the future. Burn you illusions of grander! Heat my body but leave my soul desolate and yearning for something more! Burn your ambitions! Feel the flames slobber upon the soles of your feet; they're there for their recompense and your damnation.

Did I mention damnation? I damn myself for such images. How could I e'er bring such harsh and unwelcoming words to a place so foul and fraught with pessimism. Perchance a place worthy of such desolation will cast a shadow greater than what can ever foretell, but this scant opportunity will hopefully pass us all bye; spreading of wings will facilitate a trip far beyond the normal capacity.

These horns will sound a fury of seraphic sounds, hale and hearty in the attempts for succession. Perchance they will bring about real and fruitful change, these wings o' mine. Maybe the life lived with wings spread wide will encourage a renaissance in our culture that depends so much on oneself own self-deprivation.

On that note, I will write another blog post!

5 Carrhhd Fish-sticks

These images retell the story of the hours.

One person alone

a vast world awaits

yet wall prevent me 

to see the finer things in life

so here I am trapped 

S A M

What does it mean to no longer have the innocence that we had as a child? As K references in her post, a loss of innocence should not be thought of as a negative thing. I seek to validate this claim. What does it mean to lose one's innocence?

Many people would say that we lose our innocence after we do something we can't get back. Once we cross the threshold into adulthood, we find that the world is a dark and scary place. Is this true? No. I don't feel as though it is. Think back to a traumatic event in your life. Did you change because of it?

I remember when I was deathly ill and rushed to the ICU unit Portland. I was only 14, but the stark realization of how near death was never became apparent to me. You can read more about what happened here. (Mind you that I wrote this a few years ago)

Either way, innocence is a human incantation. We put up these supposed walls to keep us feeling safe. We make these visions of grandiose, perfect people living far from sin. Unfortunately, no one is free from the shackles of reality. We all mess up, and we all make poor decisions here and there. Even if this is true, it doesn't really matter. We as a people need to look past the shortcomings of our fellow men and women.  So what if we mess up? We need to be there for others, and do the right thing when it counts the most.

We strive for greatness and often fall short.
We strive for perfection but it will never come.
We strive to be average but we are all more.

Mrs. D, You're a Hipster

Mrs. D, you're a hipster because all you seem to talk about is the walls you put up between yourself and others around you. The constant struggle of understanding what is actually going on overwhelms many, but also paints a narrative unlike any other. Through your sophistication we are told a powerful and artistic story, but does it really have to be that freaking hard to read a damn book? Seriously Mrs. D, I'm all for being somewhat cryptic, but would it kill you to dumb it down a little? Actually, understanding what you write has more merit that I could actually hope to achieve. Either way, you book it still critically approved and loved by many, including myself.

Now, time for some mustaches, super expensive coffee, avant-garde music and poor fiscal outlook to complete the hipster transformation.

:O

Yo. Motivation time!


I decided to use this quote: “We welcome, the world seemed to say; we accept; we create. ” page 73

Excerpt From: Woolf, Virginia, 1882-1941. “Mrs. Dalloway.” iBooks. https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewBook?id=18A23F6CDFA377934153B3A9515A9405

(Found with help from ibooks)

 I used images from movies and a couple iconic people to help inspire the creative process. I feel that these images show what we as people can create when we put our minds to something. All of these works were someone's brain child, and took the efforts many to complete. I feel that passer's by will appreciate the quote and the design of the poster, and they will be able to tie it all together. The artist and the athlete I used were to appeal to the smaller more "niche" people that would be walking down the hallway. I feel that if we can bridge the gap between cross sections of people, we will be able to find a more prosperous place to study, and live together.

Oh, and this file can be make into a sticker/wood burning/whatever-takes-an-AI-file

A List

I found something I wasn't expecting in S' post  (a conglomeration of somewhat nutty musical stylings). I found a great amount of unorganized thoughts; something scattered an unrecognizable. My first reaction?

Wow, if my desk had a music track, it would sound a lot like this.

Take a gander at what it looks like.

The item that call my desk home (and wall space):

•  A Hunting Cap circa 1970

• Pile of college stuff

• Muller Water Bottle (XMAS '09)

• Headphones (SkullCandy Hesh)

• Wood Shelf I Built (In it there are 4 yearbooks from 7th-11, Hat from china, various books)

• Athletic Tape and pre-wrap

• Pocket Knife and Flint (Uncle Gave it to me)

• Artwork circa 7th grade (Sub-par at best)

• A Little Globe (I look at it and wonder where I will be some day when I need a break from school)




You know the saying...

A desk is like a desk: full of crap

Self-Immolation and a Sense of Belonging ( It feels kinda nice, you know? The breath that burns your lungs)

Well, it appears I have lost my copy of Mrs. Dalloway... but I wanted to address some of the topics we brought up today in class. One of them way pertaining to the idea of questioning things; the Socratic method and ways of living life. The way the conversation went really intrigued me, and really couldn't have entered my life at a better time.

You see, now is a funny time (not in the LOL way either). I've never been more present; never have I had more opportunities than now. Presently, there has has never been a better time to be alive, but I've never felt more conflicted. Each and every mold I try to break from is pulling at me, tearing me limb from limb until only a stump is left. Roots begin to grow from the places where my legs used to be. A canopy forms over my head.

Honestly, the shade feel pretty good and I'm content to stay where I am. This place is warm, safe, nourishing and my friends and family are here. I see the sun rise over the mountains every day and squirrels often come to perch on the long branches that have exploded from my heart. My bark has grown larger than I've ever expected it to be; moss is forming on my north side. I see the deer run into the mountains and I see the hunters chasing them. I see the snow pile up, and the mountains turn into a pure white hell. I see their tracks, and I long to follow them.

Whats on the other side of those mountains?

See the flames behind us? I can't turn my head anymore, too much moss. I see the smoke though, and the rabbit told me that it was near.  I looked into his eyes and told him that everything was going to be okay, and he let out a cry for help. He said that his home was back there and how desperately he wants to go back.

"It will all work out. Go, outrun the flames licking your tail."

"But what about you? Are you just going to die here with the rest of the forest?"

"You forget little rabbit, I can't move. I'm stuck in this self-perpetuating cycle."

"You're using word I don't understand... it's scaring me!"

"I'm sorry little one, but its the truth. I know how you are feeling, but I'll be right next to you every step of the way."

"No! I'll stay here! With you!" 

The tears began to flow down his white pelt leaving ice in their wake. He began to tremble; the whimpered incomprehensible syllables only added to the stress of the situation. I had to make him leave. My own demise was crushing me far more than I expected. Rabbit would only suffocate me more.

"Leave Rabbit! Go! Leave me! Don't die here with me, escape the tongues of firs behind me. Run to a new life! Let me burn, die here by myself!"

With those words, rabbit scurried to safety. He left me and my dry tinder box of a body behind. I wish he had never stopped. He made me think about what was to come next. What is the next stage? The fire began to embrace me in the typical way; slowly at first then all at once. It tickled for a moment, then it engulfed my entirety.

My branches; seared and dying. The heat generated from my own appendages make loud cracks and pops; it was all very satisfying. I wonder if all my self loathing made me so dry, or was it just the diet?

I fall, fall down to an earth that I have been avoiding for so long. The thud of my being and the frozen ground sends tremors all the way to rabbit. I know he felt me hit the earth. If he followed my directions, he should be gone by now; far enough to feel and hear but a safe distance away. You know, like the little section of pie on the venn diagrams that overlaps. Now, back to death..

 I am dust, and you too will know the feeling? It gets in between your toes, you know. It feels kinda nice, you know? The breath that burns your lungs, you know? We enjoy the pain. We enjoy our roots and our inability to move. We like being tied down to one damned spot forever. We like to spill out blood for something, and to watch others burn just for the hell of it. Why? Why do we love to watch other self enlarge; immolate and crumble for something "larger" than ourselves. I don't understand.


Oh, how I long to see the other side of those mountains...

A Visionary

Mr. Ryder asked us to post about certain topics this week (Drafts, Notes,) and one really stood out to me. He asked us to post about our thinking, and I find this to be really intriguing. For example, how many times has someone asked you to explain your line of though? Bear with me here.

Tell me exactly what runs through your head when you read this post.





Now, take even more time to listen to the song. I will share what I feel after you've had ample time to digest the song below (mentioned in A's post)

and this song

Now think.

THINK ABOUT WHAT THESE WORKS OF ART MEAN.

FEEL THEM.

DO THEY

make you feel?
                       ask a question?
                                               make you want to cry?
                                                                                    make you want to die?

                                                                                                                        make you want to scream 

FROM

the
nearest
mountaintop
with
you
and
your
lover
arm
in
arm.

YOU

watch

as

you

both

jump

from

the

largest

rock 

you

two

find

EVEN

though

you 

are 

afraid 

of 

falling

to

your 

death

but that doesn't really concern either of you because the moments of weightlessness overcome the fear 

and the time you spend in the air 

means more than any

hospitalization

broken bone

death

You refuse to be afraid. 
You refuse to let doubt into your being.

You can't face reality because you are too afraid.

And by you I mean myself. 

ANTHONYTRAVISFRANCHETTI

AONYAVISRI

A VISRIONY

Look at the title. 

So Mr. Ryder, sometimes I stray from my education and listen to some insightful music. Honestly, I worked all this junk out with I was planning on typing up a blog post. I couldn't stop in mid-thought, so I kept going. This is what I got. It may not be the most useful or class related post I've ever put on a blog, but I've learned more about myself than when I started. Funny how it all works out. So thanks A, for the killer music and place to start from.

I look to the horizon.

Sketchnote City

I Didn't Even Load My Gun Today.

Few things are more rewarding that watching the sun go down over yonder mountains. Ithis moment is a much needed hiatus from college applications and the stress that seems to pie out from them. I enjoy these moments more than almost any other. The solace of the woods welcomes me. The quietness makes me feel at home; safe. 

When I leave the woods today, I will return to the monsters that lay ahead -infringing in my personal freedoms. Nonetheless, I will endure, and continue on, waiting for these moments of natures beauty. Nothing can ever take this away from me. Not even a college.

Now, it is time to go. The sun has sunken below the mountains and the sky is darkening. I will be back soon, oh relaxing wood. I will be back soon.

Sketch Notes

I did this for Miss Rosie

What Happens When You're Out for Blood

And you didn't get it?

Do you Stay Angry?

Do you hate even more?

Why did you hate so much in the first place?

Did you feel that they were inadequate?

Were you dealt an unjust hand?

Were you insulted?

Were you embarrassed?

Did they make you feel something you didn't want?

Why are you mad?

Did you objectively view the situation?

Are you even that mad?

Are you being pressured to feel this way?

If so, why?

Do you still want revenge?

Is your vengeance even justified?

Are you the most important being in the world?

Can money really buy this too?

Now that you have asked yourself these questions, do you even have a right to be angry? Are your feelings really worth the destruction of something that is so pure and extremely beneficial to this community? Are you really that damn selfish? Apparently you are. The world revolves around you. No, apparently you are the fucking world and we are the blessed that get the grace of revolving around you.

This is what happens when you are out for blood and you don't get it. Sometimes, the other sides prevails and good overcomes evil. Maybe it's not so much that one side is wrong and the other is right. Maybe it's more about the old ways of doing things is actually remembered and valued. Maybe this new age of constant coddling and sheltering is going to make this world a better place. Unfortunately, I don't feel this way. Life is a cruel, cruel being. X/e will not only rip you limb from limb, but take everything you thought you had down with Xe/r. Life is not about those moments though. It's about the beautiful moment you share with your loved ones.

This will not outweigh the good moments. This will fester, but it won't completely destroy. You see, we are resilient. We are built to overcome these moments. Our skin is thinker that your bullets. Your deep pockets can't take away what we have. We've declared victory over this evil.

So I'm sorry for this. I'm sorry you feel this way. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but its over. Revenge was not had. It's done. You didn't get the blood you were after and we are thankful. Now let it go. Move on.

No hard feelings, but you are still an @$$

I, Photoshop

I really enjoy messing with images. I may not be great at it, but I like it none the less. This image represents some of the poetry that we have read. Death is reaching out to life, or is it the other way around?

I kinda took the same approach as D did in his project. I enjoyed the process, and it appears that D did as well. I don't know what software he used, but he has some skill for sure. D's use of faces really has some similarities with this work (D's third work also uses a face in similar fashion). I feel that faces are an open door for interpretation. They can be taken numerous ways, but are always strangely human no matter the amount of distortion.

I think D and I are really going for the same message at hear. We should not fear life. We should embrace it. Time is short, and life passes us faster than we think.

 'Nuff Said.

Take that Mrs. Dalloway!

As I have been reading through Mrs. Dalloway,  I have discovered that this book is far more cryptic than I have first thought. Mrs. Dalloway -the character- is the narrator in this story, this stream of consciousness, and I've found that her thoughts are jumbled and terribly mixed up. She constantly goes on tangents and branches out from her original idea. Clarissa, why do you do to me?

I've thought about this and I feel that if I try my hand at writing down my thoughts, I may be able to better understand what (and how) she feels about things around her.

Here goes.


Hey look, I just made eye contact with JT. He is talking to Levi who is learn on a green chair. Whoops, he moved it and it made sound that echoed off the walls. Zack had a pedal that did that. Lots of echo. All the echos. What if an echo could feel? Would they be sad or happy? I like to be happy, it is a good feeling. Feeling is nice too. All those emo-punk-new-age-post-rock songs about how drab it is to not feel anything... those self important hipsters. TWINKLY GUITARS 

SUCK

As I took the AP Form Z exam, I got exactly what Daniel-san was saying. He feel that test are sucking him dry. But the question arises, how much do they suck?

Well, they tend to suck us dry. The suck so much, they actually suck the fun out of our young, virile, and energetic teenage lives. I mean, would in their right mind would let a freaking test suck their teenage years away from them? We constantly toss ourselves into sucky test preps, readings, and meticulous worksheets that have no merit besides their use on the actual test day.

Look at this fact from as an alien sucked in from outer space. Suckish, no? Yes indeed, you intergalactic brain and well traveled eyelids are making quite an earth shattering observation on this issue of suck. The idea of spending a plethora on a stupid (s)ucking test has no usefulness to me, or the betterment of society. So what if a damn sucky college wants your number to be higher. It sucks, it sucks hard but we HAVE to play their game.

Wait,  does the suck have to be real? A wise man once told me "Hit those (s)uckers hard enough and money comes out of their ears" and know I realize what he means. Sucks to be you Colby, Bates, Yale, and Harvard. You produce some of the smartest people in the world, but you fail to realize what your institution sucks at. Your affluent institution sucks at making a kid in rural Maine feel as though they are good enough to attend your school without drowning in a mound of loans (that suck).

You know who's fault this is for sucking so much? Me, I suck at playing the "do this for college" game. I'm not apologizing for this suckish fact. It is what sucking is. An action that sucks crap from other crap. Life is a sucky vacuum. Sometimes it sucks hard. Other times it sucks softly.

Either way it sucks, and sucks often.

(Total number of time the letters S U C K are used in this blog: 30)

You'll See These Again... Soon

Thought provoking stuff, no?

...Save one.

Thanks for all help. The interviews would have been nothing without your help.

Credit to the original photographers and the website (this one too) that ripped the photos from them.
(where I ripped the photos)

0230

I had a really, really strange moment this morning. It has lingered at the front of my mind since. At about 2:30 this morning, the wall between the dream world and reality faded. Injury and nightmare became one. A place where pain is not allowed became real, and almost incapacitating.

A injured shoulder should heal with proper rest and treatment, right? Unfortunately, this is not the case. My injured wing has lingered for three years. Don't get me wrong, my shoulder hasn't been debilitating for the whole period of time. Like anything, it has had good moments; pain was not an everyday part of life. I almost felt -if only for a moment- normal.

But like any good thing, this too will not last. In my final football game my shoulder spoke up again as if to tell me my ticket is due for processing. I refused to quit and continued to ignore the accosting words of orator. The louder he spoke, the more I refused to listen. The cost of disobedience was great, but little did I know what was to come.

When my eyes opened, I thought that it was time to get up for school. No. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The usual suspect was to blame, but for a different reason. My first reaction was to get up out of bed; maybe a glass of water would fix this. NO. The orator was exacting his revenge! I nearly cried out in anguish. My worst nightmare was realized; my shoulder was out of socket.
   
 ***BACKGROUND***

• Shoulder has "popped" around 40 times
• Always returns to for relatively quickly (within seconds)
• Pain was bearable, could always keep playing

From my experience with this injury I knew what had to be done. I needed to get it back into its place. Every movement resulted in sharp pangs, grinding of bones, and little progress. I was stuck on my front, arm extended. I realized I couldn't move with pain. This was not a typical pop out. It was far from it.

Panic. Was I ever going to get back to normal? I looked at the clock, 2:40. My parents were surely asleep. I thought about calling out to them and decided that it was my last option. I needed to beat this on my own. I pushed past my threshold for pain, kicked off the covers, and began the process of beating the orator at his own game.

We were locked in a chess match. Sweat dropped from my head leaving droplets on the board. He wasn't making it easy for me. Every step forward was met with grinding, crunching and more pain than I've ever imagined. I think he took pride in this battle. He laughed at my efforts! I would not give in though, I was too close to be defeated.

Finally, after much struggle and profuse swearing (into my pillow) I heard the clicking noise that signaled the end game; checkmate. With a rush across my left hemisphere, the orator went back to his regular housing; his dominion. I turned to see the clock, which read 3:00. The battle lasted hundreds, if not thousands of times longer than it ever had before. I was drained, and immediately fell asleep.


I've never felt more helpless in my life. It took me more effort to move centimeters than it had to climb mountains. Much like hoe Ender in Ender's Game, I was locked in my position; there was no escape. Ender was relied on by the world. His pain was felt by the world, and he felt the world's. My shoulder effected no one but myself, but the parallel was uncanny. I needed to get it back in so I could go about my day. Ender needed to save the human race (...commit genocide, depends on how you look at it) or there would be none to save.


Either way, it hurt like a Witch.

The Other Side of Oblivion

As I sit here in silence
I remember what it was like to run into oblivion,
to throw fear into the wind
and sprint for the unknown,
Honestly, I've feared this day
since I've first laid eyes upon it.

The work
The hours
The love
The passion
have shaped me like human clay.

I regret not the fear I had,
for oblivion is a scary place
-is anyone really ready for it?
But I guess that doesn't really matter now,
because it is here
I feel it
It isn't that bad.
I'd give anything to go back

Rewind.
Rewind.
Rewind.
the tape.
But I can't.

And thats okay
because I'm on the other side of oblivion
and its not so bad.
A new direction will be found
wounds will heal
vocal chords will mend
as will the teeth be filled in.

We will endure
we will rebuild
we well conquer once more
because we embrace oblivion  

M(ark)ed

As I looked through some of my fellow compatriots blogs, I came across a compelling post by TU (found here). TU openly states his personal mark of almost constant sarcasm, how it is used in his life, and why TU thinks he uses it. I find his reasoning for this extremely interesting, and wish to delve deeper into my own mark, or lack there of.

In honesty, Foster would point out my ability to throw myself into things as my mark. He'd probably say something along the lines of Anthony chooses to do these things to remain happy and because he enjoy them and he is right, to a point. Some of the best parts about being involved in so much is actually really simple. Nothing else matters during the X amount of time spent doing SOMETHING. The world stops and the outside issues don't cast their shadow when I'm occupied.

It's an escape. A place to go when far too many things are pulling at you in different directions. The beauty is found in the simplicity; do this and as a result X will occur.

That is my M(ark).

Gr(a)(e)y

I had a free period this morning, and I figured that I'd try to do a blog post. As I typed away furiously on a different post (found here) I realized what Robert was feeling on the ship. Yes, I do have my headphones in, but that's not a sign of not wanting company. As I look yonder, I see groups of friends talking and conversing about what they did yesterday, over the weekend, or about today's social issues.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not here for social justice. I'm just making an observation. It's an interesting experiment, how youths react to others who are "plugged in." They almost respect the idea of being left alone; they understand notion wanting to be lonely. Isn't that an interesting notion, wanting to be lonely.

So often do we hear about people being pushed over the edge due to this idea and to want to be solitary is such a strange notion. It's almost as if we've lost touch with human interaction. It is easy to get excited about a notification or a buzzing of a phone. When we slide our fingers across the screen we wait in anticipation for the message to become visible. Don't deny it. This idea is rooted deep within our being. We are rewarded for our interaction!

To have lots of facebook friends and a lot of followers is to be exalted. You are praised for you individuality while you are really following the norms of the culture around you. The number of likes, favorites retweets means little in the world or normalcy. Ironically, by expressing you own individuality, by shouting from the room tops that I AM AN INDIVIDUAL, you are just like everyone else.

Congrats, you are another person in grey.

Abrupt Lingering in a World Full of Haste

Much like the efforts of Robert Walton, we all come to a point where out life's work come to an abrupt and sudden conclusion. The point at which this occurs, we find ourselves in our finest hour. We are truly pitted against our daemons. If looks could kill, we'd be a mass murderer.

In truth, is our life's work really over at this point? Have we done nothing to that lasts longer than the few fleeting seconds we share with the subject we've poured ourselves into? The reality of the situation states the truth; it is never really over. With all the late nights, early mornings, heartbreak and joy, we can never truly loose that part of ourselves. It will stay strong in some, and linger in others. Either way, the responsibility for what we've created, the work that's manifested from our inner beings is a direct result of our future potential.

We push our youth to be involved in almost everything. We encourage them to be more and push harder. Every moment they should apply themselves, no moments left to chance. To linger is to be lazy. To be lazy is to be sinful. To be sinful is to disappoint.

To disappoint is to leave questions unanswered (the worst thing in the world).

Poe-try

This three by three displays how the Monster perceives the life around him. The first line, Reflect Without Knowing depicts a world in which the monster looks deep inside every person around him but has little tangible evidence to actually go upon. Yes, he does see the village for a long while, and sees the life of these though varied perspectives, but he has no interaction with these people. Is it possible to understand a person without ever meeting them? 

The next line reads Reality Regretfully Corrupt(s). This statement reflects upon the Monster's inability to move past revenge, and forgive his creator for the terrible things he has done. When the Monster seeks his revenge because of the pain he has endured. Is it possible that the monster could have never killed if he was nurtured and taught how to live a fruitful life? Alas, we will never know. 

Eternity Is Crushing is my favorite line within this 3x3. It states the reality of the Monster's situation. Eternity is never more apparent when one is by themselves. Loneliness is possibly the most powerful human emotion and will drive the person mad if experienced too long. This notion drives the Monster and causes him continue his journey to find a companion.

Paint

 Much like the Monster in Frankenstein, we all share a feeling of ever changing environment. The monster doesn't truly understand the environment around him and I am not sure I do either. The world changes so often. Nothing remains the same for very long, or at least it never seems long enough.

It is like the experience I attain after I become acclimated to a room with new paint. When the new color wears off, a desperate knocking at the door draws me close to the door and when I open it you say hello. After a nice visit I return to the room to find that the walls have changed again. "Dammit, not again." I almost feel sorry for myself, but its all relative right? Its just a color, the physical space is still the same aside from the nanometer thick paint that has made the room that much smaller.

Another knock at the door. I am drawn from my pen, and answer the calling. This time, there is only a package at my feet. Not really a package, but a cardboard box with tape over the end to keep the contents inside. Whatever. Still a box. I sarcastically swear under my breath and welcome the box past the threshold. With a flick of the wrist and a slashing of the tape, the contents of the box is revealed. A single match.

 I rush back to my cell to find that the walls are soaked with some kind of liquid. I put my finger to the wall but instead of the normal finger-bending hardness that a wall typically produces I find something different. The wall seems to shake my hand, actually forming a hand. I'm taken aback by this strange occurrence. With my free left hand I dig into my pocket only to find that nothing is there. I push back with all the might I can muster, and break free of the walls clutches. I go back to my package and pluck the match its resting place.

As I walk back to my hell, I understand why the walls crumble with light pressure. They are soaked with gasoline. Who would do this to me? Who would send me this package? Why the hell did they send me a  single match? I don't understand. I thought I was supposed to save this dwelling, but the only tool I've been provided with can either light my way or destroy the demon that grabs at me. What am I to do? More hands come out of every wall. They grab for me. They try to suck me in.

I sit in the middle of the room, far away from their reach. I ponder reality and my place in this world. The hands that grab are too easy: not the path I want to follow. I strike the match on my jeans, and throw the burning dream over my back. I watch as the room around me turns to flame, but I am unaffected. One of the hands reach out with one final act of defiance. It makes a symbol that we are all too familiar with.

At that moment, I wake up from a dream/nightmare no more enlighten than when my head hit the pillow that night.

Smiles in a Lonely World

As Foster eludes to in his writing, How to Read Literature Like a Professor, we all have our physical, mental and emotion defects. These defects define who we are and how we chose to live our life. The mark that I am blessed with is the gift of not knowing. This strange mark is not physical, mental or emotional. It simply is.

I choose to call this aimlessness a gift due to necessity.  If I was to tear myself apart over this situation life would become unbearable. How would I survive? The constant questions that plague everyday are the vise around my head. With each question of college decisions or future intentions brings only more pressure. I feel as though I am about to pop. I feel desperate for a direction. What option do I have?

1. Join the Circus 
2. Stay home (Work at Reny's)
3. Go to school 

• WHERE!?!?!
• HOW LONG!?!?!
• $$$$$$$? (Don't give me the scholarship junk either) 
• Degree in _________ (____ __)

Well, I guess this gift of aimlessness is less a gift and more of a burden as of right now. Instead of panic, I am shooting more for a calmness that exudes confidence. No cracks shall form in this driveway! Well, no new cracks anyway. I will play this game until the end. I will make everyday count. I will count on the concrete things in life:

The Sun will come up tomorrow

The world will keep on spinning

Without a doubt I will be followed by sorrow

But a life without sorrow is a life without feeling

And to feel nothing is to be dead

So take joy in the little things

Watch the setting sun

Watch the rising moon

Swim in the starlight

Caress the zephyr

Because you may never get it again. 

Foster, you can use me however you like.  I guess I am just another teenager that thinks s/he knows more than s/he does. Sometimes s/he uses word s/he doesn't understand, but likes the sound of them. S/he is a flawed charioteer, doomed to get caught up in her/his spokes at one point or another because s/he like to go fast and feel the wind pass through her/his hair. Foster, you can use me in the most appropriate way that you feel. I am at a crossroads in my life, and have been thinking deeply lately. Am I in your book a couple hundred years from now? 

Or am I just making this up to make myself feel better about who I am today, and what I have done over my short existence on this really large piece of rock. I don't know Foster. I am Anthony Franchetti. I love everything I do and push myself everyday I wake up (and sometimes when I don't). I enjoy lots of things. I hope to one day find somewhat gainful employment, have a nice or nice enough house, and a family. How I will get there? 

Mail me suggestions, or just shoot them in the comments. 

After all, life simply is.

Wind Up... and the Pitch

One of the themes that arises in Frankenstein is that the weight of life can sometimes be a burden. 

Jake talks about the "miserable survivors" in his blog post,  Connection Section - We Are What? . I find the idea of "life being too much" very interesting, but I disagree with the sentiment. 

Life is neither easy or steady; it jerks us around at its own will. We are the pawns of her game. Our will is not our own. This idea is rather tragic, and hard to swallow. However, would a life of ease and simplicity be more rewarding? If we knew what every day entailed the luster of life's curveballs would no longer fool the hitter. He would swing and slap it to the opposite field Every. Single. Time.

Does the hitter get any better from success at every plate appearance? No. He doesn't learn anything about the game, or about failure.  Far too often do we shy away from falling flat on our face floundering in our own defeat. We choose no to raise our hands in class for fear of the wrong answer. 

Failure is not a thing to be afraid of. Failure is the best teacher. A life full of successes results in softness of heart and weakness of mind. Only through our most pressing moments do we realize what our true talents are. Don't get me wrong. I'm not recommending putting yourself in a pickle just for the sake of doing it. We learn from our mistakes and they should be embraced. We are designed to fail, and we all will. 

With this in mind, go forth and embrace tomorrow and what she has waiting for you. Good or bad, she will give you what is just. We may (and probably wont) understand it, but we are not ment to. 

We are the pawns of her game.

We bend to her will. 

Powerhouse Casting (with DJ Qualls thrown in because we ran out of money and he said he would do it for the free snacks)

In the new short avant garde film entitled Frankenstein; Lost and Misunderstood, the main lead of Victor would be voiced by Sean Connery. His presence on screen would command the respect of the viewers. Connery, while charismatic and handsome, would also challenge his viewers. After all, this story is word-of-mouth. Could this entire creation be thought up? Connery would only allow for the notion to be realized at the conclusion of the film, making a story so full of questions even more questionable.

As for the monster, I would have Lawrence Fishburne play this role. I understand that this choice is not common, but it is true to the style of film I wish to create. Fishburne would elicit sympathy from the viewers just as he did in The Matrix. Could one not feel the pain he felt during his interrogation? Fishburn would do the same thing in my film, but also have the brutality to kill when needed. Fishburn is well spoken, and would nail the monster's monologue during the middle portion of the story. 

Robert Walton would be portrayed by Liam Neeson. Neeson would play the level headed survivalist that takes in Victor during his time of need. Neeson would also need to whip out his mysterious Scottish accent for this part; it would help him appear more interesting and sophisticated. Oooh, I think of his voice reading over the letter Walton sent to his sister... He is perfect for the part! His mannerisms would only add to the betterment of Walton's character, which would promote the film to a whole new level of artistic merit.

William Frankenstein would be played by a young DJ Qualls. Qualls would be perfect for this role. His weak and feel appearance would allow for a the audience to feel much sympathy for him. He would fit the role of a pure, innocent, angelic being so very well. Seriously, who could kill off this guy? Look at him! His face so welcoming; he couldn't hurt a fly. Besides, I think Qualls' scrawny neck would fit well in the infuriated clutches of Fishburn. I'm not his biggest fan... so I would really appreciate his death scene... probably a little too much. 

I did not just pick this actor for his death scene. 

I promise.

Question!

As we learn the true intentions behind the monster's actions, we begin to feel for the horrendous existence of the beast. The monster wishes to be alive as much a student wishes for homework; death would be his true solace. This idea of sympathizing with a monster peaks during the following lines,

"My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? (page 152 in e-text, 91 in printed text)

Can one not feel for this miserable wretch? He is distraught; dead inside, knowing nothing of what he is or what his origin comes from.  His name warrants fear. We have names for people in this condition; at risk. If a comrade found this passage scribbled in a notebook, one would hope they would reach out to the individual. The monster is lost and feels as though he has neither option nor binding condition. He simply is.

Much like the monster, youth question what their meaning is. In their last year of high school, many face large questions that most are not ready for. Moments ago, you expected them to ask permission to go to the bathroom. Now, you expect them to choose a path to success. Colleges are many. So are scholarships. 

Grades are good. We want you. Major?

Engineering.

Wonderful. We make good ones here. Do you like math?

No.

They why be an engineer?

It makes people stop asking the same damn question over and over. I have no clue what I want to do.

Just go undecided. Problem solved.

I spend money without direction. Sounds like you make out better than I do.

No No. We have a plethora of counselors that work day and night to better you and find you a major. We'll just focus on gen ed classes for your first year.

What happens after that?

Hopefully we will have something picked out. We do a great job.

I'm sure. Why don't I just join up instead?

Well, that would be very brave. Yes indeed. Why would you do that?

Because it would give me a purpose. Something to do. A direction.

So very patriotic of you.

Not really. It would simply pass the time.

That doesn't seem like a good idea.

Yeah. It's pretty terrible actually.

Long Silence

Back to majors, what interests you?

I like everything really. But, you know. Liking everything is sorta liking nothing. Get me?

No, I don't. I don't understand.

If I like everything. I can't pick just one.

Sure you can. We will help you pick one.

I hope so.

What do you mean you hope?

I'm not convinced.

So all your work these past years was for...

I like what I do. I didn't do it for your damn school.

Oh, I didn't mean for that to come the way it did. That sounded pretty narcissistic didn't it.

Yep.

Well, looks like were done here.

Yep. Thanks for you time.

No problem. Hey, do try to think about your future. Alright?

Future?I'm just trying to get through the week. I juggle so much and it all pulls me in different directions. There is only so much I can do, and I've worked so damn hard for it all. I love what I do, and once its gone I... I don't know.

It will work out, have faith.

Oh, I do. Lots of it. That's all I've got.

At that moment, the student walked out of the room, down the hall, out of the building, and into their car. The car bends at the hands of the diver and drives out off the parking lot. The student now heads toward the next stage of life

not

    knowing

           what

                    the

                               hell

                                           I

                                                  am

                                                         going

                                                                    to

                                                                              do.

A Sense of Morality

To be responsible for the demise of another is truly a terrible realization. Without Frankenstein's creation, William would still be alive. The monster is (though to be) responsible for the death. What does this say for the monster's creator? What are the consequences for the doctor? 

One can almost look at this situation the same way a parent looks at their child how has committed a foul deed. Is it possible to loose all love for your offspring because of what they have done? I feel as though this situation is not an easy one to come to terms with. Parents almost always unconditionally love their child (one should hope). However, they may not always understand the motivations behind what they do. 

Victor is not the monster's father. He is its creator.; his God. Weather Victor realizes it or not, he is responsible for what he has brought to this earth. With that in mind, the next course of action for Victor lies in his sense or morality; he will either let the evil run rampant or put an end to the monster's miserable existence. 

Mortality Rules

Mortality is something that all living people are confined by. Mortality confines us; we must play by her rules or we will perish. When we bend her meaning, she strikes back will little hesitation. We are simply the puppets of her game.

When I read Apples and Franky (link at bottom) brings an interesting idea to light, being that the best things in life sit upon the boarder of refinement and rot. I feel that this truth is almost universal - certainly when applied to the ethics of Dr. Frankenstein. The good doctor is merely completing the work of another professional that couldn't carry out his work. Dr. Frankenstein literally uses rotting flesh to build his masterpiece, but at what cost?

He fundamentally disobeys mortality's confinement; he plays God. His hours, days, and years spent not only constructing his piece, but studying about his craft have been in vain. His work has completely wasted away in his hands, and he has little to show for it. The normal procedure of sickness, dying and ultimate death, and has taken been evaded.To spite mortality is to spite mankind's role in the universe. Without the possibility of death, life is less meaningful. 

Without meaning. 

We have? 

Our purpose? 

We live?

Life?

Link to poster's blog: The Flaming Scandals of Cat Lady

Link to post used : The-sweetest-things-in-life-sit-atop 

Going a Little too Far (nothing to do with Frank)

As I wait for my my music to complete its download, I posed a question to myself; why do I feel compelled to do nothing while (insert something here) to download. Am I not worthy of multitasking? Am I dependent on the screen that displays progress I front of me. 

From that instant, I decided to break free of my technological dependency. I will now become something different. Someone who had no need of electronics. Be gone you damned demons! I curse you to unending rain and water logged-ness! Next time I see you I will drop you in a bucket of watery substance! 

Wait... But that means no more iPhone...computer...ps3...IPOD.


Nope. Never mind. I will just write blog post when I have a loading bar from now on.


AF

Color Me

The reality of Walton's situation is twisting around him (regardless of the storyteller that is present). The first color on our palette represent the ever-present cold that penetrates past the hull of the ship. With ice constantly marching forward at an ever steady rate, Walton and his crew do what any man would do in this situation; keep the hellish cold from penetrating their souls, and ending their endeavor.

The next color represents one of the most important yet trouble some aspects of isolation within a group. I envision Walton and his friend speaking; letting time pass whilst the man recounts his deeds. The crew appears in good spirits, but as the hellish cold finds its way into the ship, the crew will rely upon one another's kinship to keep their collective spirits afloat. This color appears warm appearance, but when one looks deep into its nucleus they will find that it is not as warm as first thought.

As the doctor tells us of his past, we learn of his plans to continue the work of his professor. The Doctor is consumed by this; "Such were the professor’s words... enounced to destroy me." (pg 45, Frankenstein) The Doctor will not let anything impede his progress. His intense passion warrants red, but his maniacal perseverance darkens his passion into something barley recognizable. Thus, the typical color of passion has become darkened; less wholesome. Brown.

After two years, we learn that the Doctor is still steadfast in his pursuits. His passion is still darkened, but we empathize with the Doctor.; "Two years passed in this manner[.] [I am,] heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I hoped to make." (Pg 50) Reading these line, I feel compelled to accept the doctors work. It is as if the Doctor is a performer that absolutely and unconditionally loves his craft. We, as a crowd looking on from the sidewalk, see the man juggling eighteen chainsaws whilst playing a kazoo to Metallica's Enter Sandman. We appreciate the effort put into the work, don't truly understand it. Therefore, the color of dark passion has been lightened, and we as an audience feel for the Doctor.

Finally, we have the future of the Doctor's story. With a bleak outcome hinted at the end of Walton's last letter home, we as readers anticipate a story wracked full of terrible monsters and villainous deeds. The bleakness is portrayed through the palette's last color, or lack there of. Sand depicts perfectly what I expect from the story; much angst and many upset villagers. I expect the monster to have little joy in his/her/its life; it too will be full of angst and upset villagers.

Robert Walton's Northern Passage Playlist

Narration for an epic voyage is a given. Musical works play loud within one's mind but none can compare to an ipod with some gargantuan diamond encrusted headphones that are way, way ahead of their time. 

Jon Gomm's Everything

     This song embodies the sentiment of the second letter home. Gomm's musical work defines the meaning of going all in. This voyage is Everything to Walton. His search for sailors, boat, and supplies will but more than just his wallet at risk; the place he is going could (and probably will) kill him. However, Walton would have this on his ipod to remind him of his investment (and hopefully the reward). 

 

John Butler's Ocean

     The harsh environment of the North Pole is as unrelenting as the tear-jerking-heart-stings-pulling-awesome-part of this song. Butler's fingers break into a fury at about the five minute mark. The unmerciful wind whips the side of Walton's boat just as Butler's hand make sweet music to one's ears; without fatigue. But, Walton would use this song as an escape form this howling wind outside. As the wind strikes the bow, Walton tunes into the Ocean and escapes into a world filled with warm emotion. Even on the coldest and most hellish of nights, Ocean will sooth Walton's soul, and envelope the adventurer in warm embrace. 

Otis Redding (Sittin' on) The Dock of a Bay 

     As Walton sits and speaks to the man that boarded the ship, I envision the two chaps sitting on a bench within the ship sharing a cup of 'joe/tea with each other. The pair is passing time the same way mankind has for centuries; story telling. This song would be playing in the background from Walton's ihome super deluxe due to its bright and conversation starting qualities. Walton would enjoy the tune and warm up to the traveler. (The pair would eventually become the best of friends and open a martini bar in Ecuador because of the low cost of living.)