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.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
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?
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?
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
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!
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!
Friday, December 12, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
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.
Friday, December 5, 2014
: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
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
Thursday, December 4, 2014
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.
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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
Wow, if my desk had a music track, it would sound a lot like this.
Take a gander at what it looks like.
• 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
Monday, December 1, 2014
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...
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...
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