October 11, 1011...
I’m afraid to type about anything this week since it’s mostly very personal. Also, I have a crapload of work due next week, but that’s probably everyone’s situation. My brother hastily admitted that things have taken a turn for the worst since I left, and although it’s an expected reaction, it doesn’t make me any less guilty for “causing” it. My brother is only 13 years old, and only begun to realize how many challenges life will give him, and while I can advise him on most things, saying goodbye to your big brother is something he and I guess, all of my family, will have to learn to deal with, eventually. And to think the only problem I thought I had this week involved telling someone my religious affiliation (that doesn’t exist…yet.) As a creative thinker, an occasional thought can be something I love to dwell in for hours at a time, but sometimes, I suddenly get shoved right into a really uncomfortable thought that takes much effort and/or time to escape from. This week’s really terrible thought stems from the ongoing feeling I’ve had for this friend of mine. I never would’ve assumed anything about her, as to the possibility of a relationship and would’ve just waited to see what happen, but that’s never the way it works for me. The minute a conversation ends, my mind races with the numerous amounts of possibilities that this may lead to. I don’t know why that always happens, but I just can’t help it. It’s an internalized bad habit, and that much more difficult to break. In other news, I have a job. It’s not a very intense job, so…yeah, progress all around. Truthfully, I have nothing else to say about this week; in fact talking about anything just stresses me out further as I have to analyze on the many mistakes I keep making, and I’d prefer to just sleep on it right now. Sorry, bit of a cop out, but I couldn’t give any less of a damn right now.
October 25, 2011...
The wheel of life continues to spin on a flat. Since last week, and although I’ve had the support of my friends and loved ones, I’m still in a state of shock. The whole matter seems to be very simple and almost painfully complicated all at once. People keep asking me how I feel, and I can’t answer properly. How am I supposed to feel? Should be I grieving immensely, faking happiness to fill the hole, crying uncontrollably, or damning cars forever for being people killers? In a specific sense, I feel absolutely nothing at all, but much like there was no time in the beginning of the universe, at this moment, I might be experiencing every possible emotion but choose not to decipher any of them. To assign a feeling to my current state of mind feels cheap and artificial, just posting another symptom on the goddamn bulletin board, and since there’s no pin, it’ll stick right off. It’s been more difficult than on Saturday, when I went shopping for the first time (don’t judge me, at least I did it), it was the first time I realized how distant we truly were: the distance of myself at the ancient, filthy bus station and her body back in El Salvador. The distance of her and I: infinite. Life does go on, and much like Spielberg bringing Seinfeld tapes with him on the set of Schindler’s List, I will do the same by listing off my favorite Seinfeld episodes on my blog, an unoriginal idea but…fff!! Also, my feelings towards a certain someone grew unexpectedly. As I’ve mentioned, life can be pretty complicated about things like that.
November 1, 2011...
This is it! November will be my
month of triumph. No longer will I hinder my own progress on long-term
projects by watching comedies until 1 in the morning. No longer will I
stare at a blank page for hours with all of my books and resources
carelessly spilled out onto the tables. No longer will I grovel about
how much of a failure I am. No, enough is enough! I will be a college
student! Wait, hold on… How many papers have I written in two months? 5,
technically, and have I enjoyed writing those papers? Well, yes, since I
chose the subject for each. As it turns out, I’m already a college
student and have been one since August 24. There might be one
overarching problem that continues to be a problem, but in all other
regards, life as a college student has been wonderful. By joining a
fraternity, I’m learning about how to be a responsible person in an
irresponsible world, whatever that means. I set my own schedule, do my
own laundry, and so on, and so forth. I finally have two jobs and making
enough to live by, and overall, I’m amazed at the amount of friends
I’ve made in the first 2 months after fearing I would only make a
couple. Of course, seeing if those friendships will remain by the end of
the year is another story. No one ever considers that unless they have a
personal relationship with their friends; usually, we stroll across the
days thinking it’ll be the same for the rest of our college experience,
unaware of the possibility of change. Whether or not that possibility
makes us happy or not is another question to ask on another day. Either
way, it’s going pretty well so far, and aside from the warmth that grows
in our dorm, I’ve got no complaints…yet.
Editor's note: October 18th's entry was The Twentisecond One, with a few edits before posting.
NW? - This Room... NW? - Fixing the Flat
Showing posts with label a. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
A Polychromed Sequence
Originally typed on October 4, 2009. Completed on August 23, 2011.
The last assignment for the poetry unit in 11th grade creative writing class. My teacher noted about how the result to transforming the original text into a poem more resembled a story rather than a poem. Makes sense now that I think about it because poetry is really complicated to consider and some people are naturally poets, others are...well, what can you call us? Storyteller is too vague. Anyway, the following was my failed attempt at poetry and my successful attempt at a short story. A quick note about the original: we were told to close our eyes and write down whatever thought came to mind without explaining it or changing it. If you notice how grammatically incorrect the original is, you'll see quite a bit of mistakes. But that's what I wrote and that's what I'm posting. Revised is mainly what this post is about. The story is an unusual one but refreshingly unusual. The reason I'm posting it is that while I'm in college, things have an added significance and everything matters, somehow. This post harkens back to the experimental timeframe of 11th grade where anything made sense under a certain context. It may not in this story for some people, but if it does, you're in for a treat.
Original
Good morning. I see the bird in the sky.
The white is trying to win over the black.
It sees the eye inside my eye. Its opposite
color damn the mind. Lots of pressure have been
placed on my eyeballs. Many colors are flying, zooming
across the page. The colors are smiling at me. I try to
understand what they saaaay…Does this make any sense?
What am trying to do What is the purpose of these colors. What
Revised
The sky is showing off a beautiful ruby-sage combination,
mocking him with it across his field of view. The aggravated man
hurls his briefcase and breaks off the handle, his hands glowing
with a purple imprint. He strokes every flabby part of his face, waiting
for nature to take control it. His body becomes magnetized to the grass, and he has
no need to reverse the effect. His failures decide to leave the case,
one by one, single-file, to become next week’s trash. Horrible images
plague his mind, cold, heartless images want nothing else but
his suffering. His only haven is himself.
The world becomes half-covered in complete black, then full.
A second goes by, then a few more. Hold on...
A red being is plucked from the ground. Then a yellow, and a blue.
The general keeps plucking till almost every possible color is at his control.
He energetically lifts his hands and his soldiers follow the command.
At the other side, the general’s nemesis, plucks out her own
warriors. It’s very easy, she sees a shadow of herself, grabs it, and makes it
tangible. No thought process or special technique needed.
An entire army created under 27 seconds.
She lowers her hands, bows her head, and sits with crossed legs.
The assault begins.
As a rainbow floats across enemy lines, a sharper whip of shadows
slices it in two. A torrent of color splashes onto the ground,
soaks into the grassy fields. The droplets levitate upwards
and attach themselves to the shadow troops, sending out a surge of electrical
punishment, illuminating the grass to colors on a neon sign.
Her emotions are a mystery, as she can express nothing.
Fists clenched, one index finger in each hand is let go, falling carelessly
To the ground. The digits spiral like a DNA strand, drilling into Mother Nature’s
brown flesh and traveling at an incredible rate. The general turns back to his soldiers
and describes his fears. The digits fly out, under his feet,
like a geyser, and self-destruct. The impact instantly
destroys almost all in its proximity.
About 200 meters, to be exact. Instead, it gives the general a sinister shade of red.
A splash of it, across his body. He is uninjured, but his soul has changed.
Confidence expels the general’s fears, and quickly, his troops regroup, and with
one swift motion, pointed fingers, the troops are emblazoned with red.
Her fingers shoot back up to her hands. Her troops watch with pause.
She swings her head back, strands of hair spreading out in all directions.
Each strand attaches to the arms of the shadow troops, forming a powerful
Blade. The general’s troops, without pause, charge toward the shadows.
The general stares out towards his opponent and smirks with arrogance.
In a panic, the shadows explode, attaching themselves onto the red troops.
The resilient warriors try to remove the sticky blackness from their bodies.
All the while, the confident general steps onto the battlefield, and approaches his
Nemesis. She looks up for a moment, then returns to her calm stasis.
The general makes his first expression, one of homicidal excitement. The troops stop fighting, confused by the change in events. Without notice, the general grabs the leader’s head and holds it tightly. His arms lose their fluid appearance and
become physical bars of matter. She remains still. Quickly, streams of black sprinkle from her face. Her head shrinks in size until resembling a child’s. The general squeezes harder. Her head recedes into her body. The general loses his grip and collapses into her body. A wave of black splashes across the field. The black spreads until every single corner of the screen is black.
Half of the world is covered with black. Then none.
The man feels his face, then looks around. Only the natural
shadows of the world are present.
Suddenly, he panics and searches for his briefcase. All of his frustration leads him
to a single sheet of paper, hanging carefully on a branch. He notices that it’s a page from his briefcase. At once, many brilliant ideas come to his mind,
all that would suit the page perfectly. The man giggles with joy,
And tries to grab the sheet and get to work. He forgets about how
short he is compared to the tree. For an hour, he effortfully leaps
without promise towards the branch, touching it only with his fingertips.
The sheet slips right through the branch and flies aimlessly towards the horizon.
The last assignment for the poetry unit in 11th grade creative writing class. My teacher noted about how the result to transforming the original text into a poem more resembled a story rather than a poem. Makes sense now that I think about it because poetry is really complicated to consider and some people are naturally poets, others are...well, what can you call us? Storyteller is too vague. Anyway, the following was my failed attempt at poetry and my successful attempt at a short story. A quick note about the original: we were told to close our eyes and write down whatever thought came to mind without explaining it or changing it. If you notice how grammatically incorrect the original is, you'll see quite a bit of mistakes. But that's what I wrote and that's what I'm posting. Revised is mainly what this post is about. The story is an unusual one but refreshingly unusual. The reason I'm posting it is that while I'm in college, things have an added significance and everything matters, somehow. This post harkens back to the experimental timeframe of 11th grade where anything made sense under a certain context. It may not in this story for some people, but if it does, you're in for a treat.
Original
Good morning. I see the bird in the sky.
The white is trying to win over the black.
It sees the eye inside my eye. Its opposite
color damn the mind. Lots of pressure have been
placed on my eyeballs. Many colors are flying, zooming
across the page. The colors are smiling at me. I try to
understand what they saaaay…Does this make any sense?
What am trying to do What is the purpose of these colors. What
Revised
The sky is showing off a beautiful ruby-sage combination,
mocking him with it across his field of view. The aggravated man
hurls his briefcase and breaks off the handle, his hands glowing
with a purple imprint. He strokes every flabby part of his face, waiting
for nature to take control it. His body becomes magnetized to the grass, and he has
no need to reverse the effect. His failures decide to leave the case,
one by one, single-file, to become next week’s trash. Horrible images
plague his mind, cold, heartless images want nothing else but
his suffering. His only haven is himself.
The world becomes half-covered in complete black, then full.
A second goes by, then a few more. Hold on...
A red being is plucked from the ground. Then a yellow, and a blue.
The general keeps plucking till almost every possible color is at his control.
He energetically lifts his hands and his soldiers follow the command.
At the other side, the general’s nemesis, plucks out her own
warriors. It’s very easy, she sees a shadow of herself, grabs it, and makes it
tangible. No thought process or special technique needed.
An entire army created under 27 seconds.
She lowers her hands, bows her head, and sits with crossed legs.
The assault begins.
As a rainbow floats across enemy lines, a sharper whip of shadows
slices it in two. A torrent of color splashes onto the ground,
soaks into the grassy fields. The droplets levitate upwards
and attach themselves to the shadow troops, sending out a surge of electrical
punishment, illuminating the grass to colors on a neon sign.
Her emotions are a mystery, as she can express nothing.
Fists clenched, one index finger in each hand is let go, falling carelessly
To the ground. The digits spiral like a DNA strand, drilling into Mother Nature’s
brown flesh and traveling at an incredible rate. The general turns back to his soldiers
and describes his fears. The digits fly out, under his feet,
like a geyser, and self-destruct. The impact instantly
destroys almost all in its proximity.
About 200 meters, to be exact. Instead, it gives the general a sinister shade of red.
A splash of it, across his body. He is uninjured, but his soul has changed.
Confidence expels the general’s fears, and quickly, his troops regroup, and with
one swift motion, pointed fingers, the troops are emblazoned with red.
Her fingers shoot back up to her hands. Her troops watch with pause.
She swings her head back, strands of hair spreading out in all directions.
Each strand attaches to the arms of the shadow troops, forming a powerful
Blade. The general’s troops, without pause, charge toward the shadows.
The general stares out towards his opponent and smirks with arrogance.
In a panic, the shadows explode, attaching themselves onto the red troops.
The resilient warriors try to remove the sticky blackness from their bodies.
All the while, the confident general steps onto the battlefield, and approaches his
Nemesis. She looks up for a moment, then returns to her calm stasis.
The general makes his first expression, one of homicidal excitement. The troops stop fighting, confused by the change in events. Without notice, the general grabs the leader’s head and holds it tightly. His arms lose their fluid appearance and
become physical bars of matter. She remains still. Quickly, streams of black sprinkle from her face. Her head shrinks in size until resembling a child’s. The general squeezes harder. Her head recedes into her body. The general loses his grip and collapses into her body. A wave of black splashes across the field. The black spreads until every single corner of the screen is black.
Half of the world is covered with black. Then none.
The man feels his face, then looks around. Only the natural
shadows of the world are present.
Suddenly, he panics and searches for his briefcase. All of his frustration leads him
to a single sheet of paper, hanging carefully on a branch. He notices that it’s a page from his briefcase. At once, many brilliant ideas come to his mind,
all that would suit the page perfectly. The man giggles with joy,
And tries to grab the sheet and get to work. He forgets about how
short he is compared to the tree. For an hour, he effortfully leaps
without promise towards the branch, touching it only with his fingertips.
The sheet slips right through the branch and flies aimlessly towards the horizon.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
P112-A Trip With Mr. Hanks
Harold goes on a bus trip and winds up sitting next to his favorite
actor, Tom Hanks and they have a long conversation about their lives.
A long time ago, I went on a trip with my mom and little brother. Well, it was actually two years ago, but with the many events going on, it feels like a lot of time has gone by. We went to El Salvador, my parents' native country, and had spent two weeks with my grandmother and her family. We waited patiently for the bus that would take us to San Salvador where my uncle and his wife, Raquel, live. The buses were long, packed with people of little diversity since we were in El Salvador, and yet had much personality. There were some people selling tamales and pupusas, others selling life insurance. My brother's brilliant idea of bringing his PSP for entertainment backfired when he mistakenly assumed he could stay awake in a moving, flat tunnel. With no camera, the only thing I could use to amuse myself was my own mind. And here is where we'll begin.
THE OPENING: The screen turns on and the HBO logo is buzzing with TV snow. A slow hum plays as "Original Programming" appears under HBO. The screen goes black. The Presenters' logo lights up all of a sudden, cued by the theme song, the big band theme from Woody Allen's Sleeper. Some of the letters turn off/flicker on and off as the theme song plays for a few seconds. The logo is made up of carnival lights, similar to the logo for Boardwalk Empire.
Harold's car has been impounded after he mistakenly parkes his car in a handicap zone. Since he was in a hurry, he couldn't notice the faint blue paint had mixed in with the asphalt, and that some vandals has destroyed the handicap sign. For transportation, he decides to take the greyhound bus to take him all the way to Arizona to meet some investors. Harold has little confidence in strangers, and packs his supplies to make sure he doesn't interrupt the natural flow of things on the greyhound bus. He finds his seat, plops in his earphones, puts on his sunglasses and college hat, and doses off. His dream consists of an old-style rocking chair and some (Sprite)water filled to the top. He rocks back and forth a few times until he falls off his chair and lands on a bed of spikes.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
"Hey, man, what's your problem?!"
"Uh…nothing. Oh, my god."
"What is it?"
"Are you…Tom Hanks?"
"Well, at the moment, I'm the guy who's drenched in his busmate's sweat."
"Oh! I'm, terribly sorry! My perspiration system has been faulty most of my life. The slightest moment of discomfort will cause the dam to break."
"That's…interesting."
Though the conversation begins well, Harold eventually gets to a problem when he asks Tom what his favorite genre of music is.
"Rap music, Harold."
"…what?"
First commercial break.
Since Harold has never come across a situation like this, he is unaware of how to respond to his favorite actor. For a minute, he begins ranting about how flawed Rap is compared to other song styles. The argument leads to Harold childishly berating Tom and his “ridiculous taste in crap.” After trying to convince Tom, Harold pushes Tom off the seat and tells him he's going to the bathroom. Tom tells him to have fun. Harold pushes a little girl, who has waited a long time, out of the way and slams the door shut. Sitting on the toilet, Harold looks around at every detail in the bathroom, counts the amount of toilet paper left, the bolts and screws, and begins piecing together his apology to Tom. Harold steps out of the bathroom and looks at Tom's head, now wearing his "invisible" hat. The little girl steps on Harold's foot and waltzes into the bathroom. Harold walks up to Tom's seat.
"Hey. Hey."
"Do you have something to say to me?"
"Uh, I might've taken my appreciation for goo- t,t,tasteful music a little too seriously and…have decided to keep an open mind about things. To tell you the truth, I've never heard of Run-DMC, or Tupac, or The Furious Five. And, I'm sorry."
"Do you mean that?"
"Yes, I do, wholeheartedly."
"You may take your seat."
"Thank you."
Once the moment passes, Harold and Tom Hanks begin to enjoy their company, almost too much as the bus driver forces them to leave the bus for making a distracting ruckus. While Harold listens to his command and steps off the bus, Tom insists on staying until the bus driver kicks him out. Tom drops face-first onto the desert floor. The bus takes off.
"Hey, you can't do that to me! I'm Tom Hanks!!!"
"Let it go, man."
As the bus recedes into the horizon, an irate Tom and a calm Harold walk together in the desert, just as they pass a sign: "Arizona-1 mile".
The problem with any episode that directly involves a celebrity is that the star cannot be enough to hold the episode together and that his presence has to make sense in the show's world. My excuse for Harold meeting Tom is that Tom is my favorite actor, and much like the South Park creators only caring about their favorite actress being on their show, the same rule applies to me. My guest list of stars would be Tom, Larry David, John Lasseter, other Pixar directors, and the Seinfeld cast. Perhaps its a bit limited but those are the rules. The show as a whole is carried by the regular cast and the occasional minor characters. It's a luxury that many animated shows don't take advantage of. Another problem is that the episode is entirely experimental in its concept, harkening back to the 'show about nothing' basis established in famous Seinfeld episodes The Parking Garage and The Chinese Restaurant, in that the whole episode revolves around the conversation with Tom Hanks and Harold. This episode would be an effort in trying to entertain the audience but also in writing dialogue that Tom would agree to say. If I could write one version of the conversation and have it approved by Tom, it would be quite an accomplishment. Above all, this episode would be the oddball of the season but in a risk-taking and enjoyable way.
A long time ago, I went on a trip with my mom and little brother. Well, it was actually two years ago, but with the many events going on, it feels like a lot of time has gone by. We went to El Salvador, my parents' native country, and had spent two weeks with my grandmother and her family. We waited patiently for the bus that would take us to San Salvador where my uncle and his wife, Raquel, live. The buses were long, packed with people of little diversity since we were in El Salvador, and yet had much personality. There were some people selling tamales and pupusas, others selling life insurance. My brother's brilliant idea of bringing his PSP for entertainment backfired when he mistakenly assumed he could stay awake in a moving, flat tunnel. With no camera, the only thing I could use to amuse myself was my own mind. And here is where we'll begin.
THE OPENING: The screen turns on and the HBO logo is buzzing with TV snow. A slow hum plays as "Original Programming" appears under HBO. The screen goes black. The Presenters' logo lights up all of a sudden, cued by the theme song, the big band theme from Woody Allen's Sleeper. Some of the letters turn off/flicker on and off as the theme song plays for a few seconds. The logo is made up of carnival lights, similar to the logo for Boardwalk Empire.
Harold's car has been impounded after he mistakenly parkes his car in a handicap zone. Since he was in a hurry, he couldn't notice the faint blue paint had mixed in with the asphalt, and that some vandals has destroyed the handicap sign. For transportation, he decides to take the greyhound bus to take him all the way to Arizona to meet some investors. Harold has little confidence in strangers, and packs his supplies to make sure he doesn't interrupt the natural flow of things on the greyhound bus. He finds his seat, plops in his earphones, puts on his sunglasses and college hat, and doses off. His dream consists of an old-style rocking chair and some (Sprite)water filled to the top. He rocks back and forth a few times until he falls off his chair and lands on a bed of spikes.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"
"Hey, man, what's your problem?!"
"Uh…nothing. Oh, my god."
"What is it?"
"Are you…Tom Hanks?"
"Well, at the moment, I'm the guy who's drenched in his busmate's sweat."
"Oh! I'm, terribly sorry! My perspiration system has been faulty most of my life. The slightest moment of discomfort will cause the dam to break."
"That's…interesting."
Though the conversation begins well, Harold eventually gets to a problem when he asks Tom what his favorite genre of music is.
"Rap music, Harold."
"…what?"
First commercial break.
Since Harold has never come across a situation like this, he is unaware of how to respond to his favorite actor. For a minute, he begins ranting about how flawed Rap is compared to other song styles. The argument leads to Harold childishly berating Tom and his “ridiculous taste in crap.” After trying to convince Tom, Harold pushes Tom off the seat and tells him he's going to the bathroom. Tom tells him to have fun. Harold pushes a little girl, who has waited a long time, out of the way and slams the door shut. Sitting on the toilet, Harold looks around at every detail in the bathroom, counts the amount of toilet paper left, the bolts and screws, and begins piecing together his apology to Tom. Harold steps out of the bathroom and looks at Tom's head, now wearing his "invisible" hat. The little girl steps on Harold's foot and waltzes into the bathroom. Harold walks up to Tom's seat.
"Hey. Hey."
"Do you have something to say to me?"
"Uh, I might've taken my appreciation for goo- t,t,tasteful music a little too seriously and…have decided to keep an open mind about things. To tell you the truth, I've never heard of Run-DMC, or Tupac, or The Furious Five. And, I'm sorry."
"Do you mean that?"
"Yes, I do, wholeheartedly."
"You may take your seat."
"Thank you."
Once the moment passes, Harold and Tom Hanks begin to enjoy their company, almost too much as the bus driver forces them to leave the bus for making a distracting ruckus. While Harold listens to his command and steps off the bus, Tom insists on staying until the bus driver kicks him out. Tom drops face-first onto the desert floor. The bus takes off.
"Hey, you can't do that to me! I'm Tom Hanks!!!"
"Let it go, man."
As the bus recedes into the horizon, an irate Tom and a calm Harold walk together in the desert, just as they pass a sign: "Arizona-1 mile".
The problem with any episode that directly involves a celebrity is that the star cannot be enough to hold the episode together and that his presence has to make sense in the show's world. My excuse for Harold meeting Tom is that Tom is my favorite actor, and much like the South Park creators only caring about their favorite actress being on their show, the same rule applies to me. My guest list of stars would be Tom, Larry David, John Lasseter, other Pixar directors, and the Seinfeld cast. Perhaps its a bit limited but those are the rules. The show as a whole is carried by the regular cast and the occasional minor characters. It's a luxury that many animated shows don't take advantage of. Another problem is that the episode is entirely experimental in its concept, harkening back to the 'show about nothing' basis established in famous Seinfeld episodes The Parking Garage and The Chinese Restaurant, in that the whole episode revolves around the conversation with Tom Hanks and Harold. This episode would be an effort in trying to entertain the audience but also in writing dialogue that Tom would agree to say. If I could write one version of the conversation and have it approved by Tom, it would be quite an accomplishment. Above all, this episode would be the oddball of the season but in a risk-taking and enjoyable way.
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