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.