Oh, poor me.

It's far too easy to focus on the negatives. They overpower the positives without effort. I think it's because people are inherently selfish. No matter how much good they have in their life, they always want just that little bit more, just so everything can be "perfect."

I want a bit more money so I can afford to buy comics, or I want this girl to like me as much as I like her, or I wish I could be in Rome instead of Seattle.

Those are just some of the examples that run through my mind at night. I never think about how lucky I am that I already own 1,000 + comics, or that I've been in relationships with girls who were head-over-heels for me (too much, even), or that Seattle is a pretty damn cool city that many people would give the world to live by.

I guess it's just human nature.

Living in America, Part 2

The view from my balcony consists of a paved alley, four garage doors, and another balcony.



Oh,


and the top of a tree.

Thought for the night: 8/31/08

If a group of men got together, wrote, and performed "The Penis Monologues," they would be mercilessly ridiculed.

A random thought about The Iliad

I think most people misinterpret "The Iliad." I know Hollywood did ("Troy," anyone?). Homer's epic isn't about Achilles' greatness, or power, or fall. It's about Achilles' weakness and how it leads to his fall. No, not his heel. His heel was his fleshly weakness, yes, but not his true weakness. It was Achilles' rage that ultimately lead to his downfall.

The Robert Fagles translation of "The Iliad" is my favorite for many reasons, the biggest of which is his strong focus on that theme.

The first lines of the Fagles translation read:

"Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed,
Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.

Very blunt. "The Iliad" is a tragedy about a flawed hero, much like "Hamlet." It's unfortunate that too many see it as a swashbuckling adventure. Thanks for that, Brad Pitt.

Nicotine Hourglass

It takes two good cigarettes to write a poem.
Three means it's taken too long; the creative burst is gone.
Scrap it.
One means it hasn't been long enough; there's not enough substance in the words that have been penned.
Scrap it.
Two is just right. Enough time to fully create. Not long enough to fill in loose ends with valueless dribble.
Sometimes, though, on a crisp Summer night, when the stars shine in just such a way,
It takes four good cigarettes to write a poem.
And in that case,
All bets are off.

http://laliusl.deviantart.com

Nothing isn't Nothing

"Nothing really matters,
Anyone can see.
Nothing really matters.
Nothing really matters to me."

- Queen, "Bohemian Rhapsody"

Nothing really matters. I think it's the impulsive reaction of a lot of people my age. I know it is for me. When someone asks me if something is wrong, or what's the matter, my instinctual response is to say "nothing."

In reality, that could not be further from the truth. But I have found that saying "nothing" is a good way to shut people out. And to shut them up.

I do this for a lot of reasons. One is because actually talking to someone about something weighing on my mind is an admission to myself that something is not quite right. Which I don't want to do.

Another is because, frankly, I'm scared it will hurt more to talk about than it already does to not talk about.

What I've recently (as in, tonight) realized is that saying "nothing" is unfair to those who care about me.

Usually, your friends and family can tell when something is not quite right. I know mine can. Saying "nothing" might shut them up, but it does not allay their worries that something is wrong.

On the flip side, it may be unfair of them to present themselves as help for a problem in which I have asked no help for.

I think, however, on most occasions, they are simply presenting themselves as a sounding board for me to let out my issues, not to find solutions for them. Their intentions are not intrusive.

I'm going to try and do a better job of not shutting them out of my mind. Because they love me. And I think I'll feel better for it.

Life

Seven billion.
Such an enormous figure.
It can fall by a few hundred, or thousand, or hundred thousand;
You won't blink an eye.
You can't tell the difference.
It can fall by one;
Your world comes crashing down.
It always falls by one to someone.

"Do the Right Thing"

It's one of the most powerful films ever made.
It moves me to the ends of my emotion every time I watch it.
If you don't get it, I'm sorry that you live in a fantasy world.

Mini-Time Capsule

I just found a school bag from last year that I haven't opened in probably nine months. Let's see what's inside:

*A lot of Shakespeare plays (The Tempest, King John, Henry IV Pt. 1 and 2, and Richard II). Apparently I was really into the Histories at the time.

*A Sports Illustrated and ESPN magazine with the exact same cover (remember that, Mal?)
- It was of the Boston Celtics, who wound up winning the NBA Championship.

*Nirvana: With the Lights Out box set. I've been wondering where that was.

* "Candide" by Voltaire. I'm such a loser.

* "Awake in the Dark," by Roger Ebert. A must read if you possess a love of film.

*A Dictionary (Webster's of course)

*Plato's "Republic" (a must read if you are interested in humans on any level)

*A biography of Honus Wagner, a turn of the Century (last Century) baseball player. (I repeat, loser).

*Wow! The DVD of "Talk Radio," a play I was in! I thought I'd lost it!

Overall, not that interesting. I thought I might potentially find something cool. I was wrong. This was a bust.

Of Conch Shells and Literature

A conch shell.
It used to be so beautiful.
It used to remind me of the ocean.
Now it only reminds me of the evils of humanity.
How wicked we can be, when reverted back to nature.
Thanks, William Golding.

A Renewed Sense of Self

Barack Obama made the single greatest speech of my lifetime tonight.
It made me cry.
It made me feel patriotic.
It made me feel proud of my country for the first time since right after September 11.
It also helped re-convince me I was right about him.
A lot of things lately had made me think twice. Things Obama has (hasn't) said. Talking with other people.
Don't get me wrong, Obama has been my choice over McCain since day one. But until tonight I felt like I was picking the lesser of two evils.
Now I feel like I'm picking the next President of the United States.
Barack Obama is my president.
And it makes me feel good inside.

Oh, and Joe Biden - best V.P. choice ever. He's one of my political heroes. Go Joe.

Living in America

We're a nation of pavement.

Suburbia is soulless.

Aspirations of a 19 year old

I found this just a moment ago. I wrote it on July 25, 2006. I love how idealistic I was then. Brings back good memories:

I really think I want to make movies for a living. Or write. Or write movies. I think it's because I like the idea of creating something. The thought of being able to put what's in my head into words or images really excites me.

It's not just that. If it was then I would just keep a diary or something. The idea of sharing my thoughts, my views, my stories, with others is what really makes me want to be a filmmaker, writer, etc.

Film is the more powerful medium now. Words are best used for philosophical theses and scientific reports, but images are more powerful when telling a story. No matter how great (or pitiful) the dialogue of a film, images are the first thing that come to mind when recalling it.

In "A Streetcar Named Desire," the most powerful image that comes to mind is that of Brando standing on the sidewalk, shouting that infamous line. It's not the word, "Stella," that is imprinted in the mind. It is how Brando says "Stella." The obvious torment in his face - those raw, animalistic expressions - those are the images that I always remember...and no amount of words could convey emotion on that level.

How I Sometimes Write Poetry.

It's really easy for me to write poetry. Some of my poetry comes from real, true emotion. That is, I'm feeling very strongly about something and need to get it out, and it comes out as poetry.

A lot of my poetry, though, I just write it. I can look at random groups of words and objects and just create an emotion out of them for me to write about. Is that wrong? I don't know. It's artificial emotion, yes, but it's still emotion where none existed before. And as long as it could potentially mean something to someone else, does it even matter?

This is something I think about frequently.

I'll give you an example of how I can just write something.

I'll take 5 words that I see from stuff around me:

Green
Pillow
Sock
Cross
Railing

It's 10:38 PM as I write this. Let's see how long it takes me to create something out of those words:

I watch her, fast asleep, head tucked snugly into my pillow.
I rise from the bed to pick up a sock strewn across the window sill; half way across the room, I turn and look.
I can't stop watching her.
Though she sleeps, I still see her eyes, a deep, rain forest green, pulling me into her soul.
I cross the room again, this time to the deck outside.
As I lean on the railing, I watch her still.
Waiting.
Forever.
For always.
For the moment her eyes drift open, and she pulls me in again.


I felt the emotion as I was writing it. I imagined every little detail of the room. Of the man. Of the woman. But nothing before and nothing after. Just random words into a small scene in my head. Is that really poetry? I don't know. But I like doing it.

(It took 13 minutes)

Oh, being human

Why is it that there are some people whom you have a hard time connecting with, no matter how much you want to?

It's annoying.

And why is it that there are some people whom you can get along perfectly with, even if you don't want to at all?

It's even more annoying.

I'm having trouble reconciling these two ideas at the moment. I'll try not thinking about it. That helps sometimes.

Entropy

The butterfly
God's majestic illusion
An endless array of colors
It dances through the night air, this king of tiny creatures
Yet it takes but a simple net,
A curious child,
And a few tugs of its wings,
To turn a king into a peasant.

The Men and the Goddess

Venus, the Banshee Queen, the delusional Goddess of strife,
Set out to conquer the men of the land with promises of power, wealth and women.
She said to the Man of Law:
"I will make you the most feared man in all the land. No one shall ever think to do you dishonor, in your presence or otherwise."
The Man of Law succumbed.
She said to the Cook:
"I will teach you how to make the most wondrous food in all the land. Lords and Ladies will give their Kingdoms for one dish made by your hand."
The Cook succumbed.
She said to the Shipman:
"I will give you eternal beauty. Women of all castes will flock to you for the rest of you days."
The Shipman succumbed.
She said to the Monk:
"You will receive, Monk, the one think you have always desired.
"I will show you God."
But the Monk turned away.
He said to the Banshee Queen:
"I know my God; you are not Him."

Success

I wrote this about two and a half years ago, right after I turned 19. You'll be able to tell, as my writing style veers towards immaturity in an attempt to get laughs during the final third of the piece. I'm still posting it, however, because I feel the first two-thirds are as good a logical progression brainstorm as I've ever done.

As a whole, it still works as it is. If I were to go back, edit the first two-thirds a bit, cut and rewrite the final third, it would be far better. We'll see if I'm up to it. I highly doubt it though. So, without further ado:




"Success"

What does it mean to succeed? Is it really the achievement of goals one sets for oneself? Or is it the achievement of goals that others find to be extraordinary? I believe that it is the latter.

Take, for example, the common usage of the word “success.” Hardly ever will a person be found saying “I really feel as if my life has been a success” or “now that I’ve succeeded on this project, I can move on to the next one.”

Conversely, one rarely goes a day without commenting on, or hearing about, another man’s success. The word “success,” it seems, is not usually attributed to oneself, but to another.

One more commonality can be found in the usage of “success” - namely, it is used when describing those wealthier than oneself. Whether one is describing an athlete, businessman, or even a relative, the one common factor is that they are all wealthier than oneself.

“Success,” in my eyes, is nothing more than another way to put people into classes of rich and poor. It is not the achievement of goals one sets, nor is it the achievement of goals others find to be extraordinary (yeah, so I was wrong at first…shoot me).

“Success,” at least how it is commonly used, is just another way to applaud the wealthy, to grovel at their feet, while simultaneously spitting on the face of the poor.

What word is the opposite of success? Failure. What word is commonly used to describe those in poverty, without assets and motorized vehicles to transport them from one place to another? What word is commonly used to describe those that have drug problems, that made a mistake and don’t have the ability to pull themselves up on their own?

Failure.

The words “bum,” “druggie,” “crack head,” and “hobo” are also used quite a bit, but these all essentially mean the same thing - they have the same connotation - failure.

Unless, of course, someone is wealthy.

If someone is a rich son of a bitch, they go from being a “crack head” to “someone with a drug problem.” Depending on how rich the person is, it can even wind up being the drug company’s fault the person became addicted (provided, of course, the person is hooked on prescription drugs rather than methamphetamines).

“Those companies make drugs that someone can get too easily addicted to! They should be sued!”

Well, when someone is popping five pills every 3 hours, they’re probably going to get addicted.

Which brings me to my final point. Words like “success” and “failure” are destroying our concept of what the most important things in life really are. My solution: start using the two words properly. Believe me, it’s not hard to do.

To truly be a “success” in life, one only has to fulfill 3 objectives:

1) Don’t kill yourself. Killing yourself, whether it is intentional or inadvertent (included in “inadvertent” is being a whore and winding up with AIDS), means you fail.

2) Don’t kill someone else. If you kill someone, you fail. If it’s in self-defense, then you don’t fail. As for the would-be killer, he fails twice for inadvertently killing himself while attempting to kill someone else. Don’t go there.

3) Don’t rape someone. Raping someone is a good way to fail. If it’s one of those situations where you were both drunk and she’s embarrassed so she says you raped her, then you both fail - the guy for being stupid and the girl for being a super bitch.

So, in conclusion, if you are alive and haven’t killed or raped someone, then you are a success. Congratulations. If you are dead, or have killed or raped someone, then you are a failure. Boo on you.

The Pond

Put into your head, for one second, the vision of a pond.
One second, and one second only.
Why one second?
Because this second, and this pond, link together all of humanity.
Your vision of the pond will most likely be completely different from my vision of the pond, and mine from that of another.
Some will envision a pristine glade in the center of an evergreen woodland.
Some will picture a murky, swamp-like puddle in a wilderness corrupted by the eternally spinning turnstiles of industry.
Some will cast their imaginations upon an exotic, refreshing oasis surrounded by an African dune.
Some will simply remember back to their youth, when their grandparents would take them skating on that sheet of ice in the center of town.
Now that you have the image of your pond firmly in your head -- forget it. The pond is not what matters.
Remember only the water, the essence of the pond, which allowed it to be.
For no matter how different any two ponds may be, they are fundamentally the same.
Every pond has water.

The Champion

Glory, fame, wealth - all of these await those who enter between the ropes.
Yet for the old man, those days have come and gone.
The man continues on, this aging, broken warrior.
The man has no choice, for this is all he knows.
The man leaves himself between the ropes each night.
Each night, a little less of the man is left.
One night, the man will leave himself, as he does every other.
When the night is over, there will not be anything left.
The man knows his inevitable fate. He embraces it without fear.
For a warrior cannot run, even when the battle is lost.
Unfortunately, the man doesn’t realize he’s not a warrior.