So... it's been awhile. I'm not sure what compelled me to update this, but here I am. Well, really I was talking to a friend about blogs and whatnot, and he argued that I hadn't shown him mine, and I insisted I had. Then I gave him this link. He said 'Oh, that old thing.' That made me laugh, mostly because it has become 'that old thing'. I hadn't updated in over a year.. a year and a half more like it. I had intended to at points, or even tried to once or twice. Whatever. So yeah.. anyway... yeah.
Recently, I turned 30. Yep.. the big 3-0. I'm not sure what's the 'big' part about it, but whatever. I'm 30 now. I've been saying for like, 6 months about being 'almost 30' to kind of ease into it. It was still weird to say it out loud for the first time. By now, I'm getting kind of used to it. My 20's are history, gone, done. When I look back I realized that they weren't empty. I've been some places, went to hell and back, and found my 'calling' as a philosopher. Not too shabby, I guess. There were plenty of trials, and some of them I'm not sure I'll ever pass, but really, I came to a point where that doesn't really matter. Why? Maybe because I grew up and realized that there are far more important things in life? Well, maybe a little, but not really. More like, it got tired. I got tired. It's like, who gives a fuck, right? Right.
But sometimes I look around, while on campus, and look at people in their late teens and the earlier half of their 20's. I wonder if I was that fucking clueless? Probably at points. Though, by the time I was 25, I'd been through and dealt with things that people 30 years my senior widen their eyes at. Heh. Funny. Though, I had my moments. I can fully vouch for that. It wasn't until I hit at least 25 when I noticed the shift. Well... I notice it in hindsight. When it comes down to it, I've learned some things, and I still have more things to learn. That's kind of how it works, it seems. But really? I still don't have a fucking clue. I have a better idea, maybe? Maybe. Sometimes. What I do know is... I don't give a fuck about their bullshit. That's for certain. One might think that graduate school gives you some other source of perspective, but really it's just most driveling bullshit. Worth something? Sure. But in the end, I'm not sure exactly what.
So, totally off topic (not that I had one really in the first place), but you always hear that term 'a sign of the times.' I heard something recently that was kind of like that. Recently the website Twitter has become a big deal. I didn't even realize I had an account until I got an email telling me a friend had added me to their list. I was like... "I have one of those?!" It was from years ago. I don't even remember signing up. Why would I use something like this? I wouldn't. So really, yes, anyway. Something. Anyway, someone tells me about how two celebrities are having arguments over Twitter. I scoffed, getting the impression it was two hollywood waste products arguing about who was the bigger whore. But no... It was Trent Reznor (NIN) and Chris Cornell (former of Audioslave and Soundgarden). Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Are you fucking serious? Two of the 90's biggest alt rock icons having bitch fights over TWITTER?! Give me a fucking break, guys! Jesus... talk about a sign of the times.
And to add to that... the use of 90's alt rock for television commercials. I remember seeing this commercial that's all talking about self-improvement and 'living life to the fullest'... all that rose-colored glasses bullshit. It was a commercial for Visa. Okay yeah, there's problems with that already, but here's my actual issue. The song playing in the background? Today by The Smashing Pumpkins. The ONLY actual lyric they used was "Today is the greatest day I've ever known." Um... okay... so you're using THAT song to talk about living life and self-improvement? Exsqueeze me? I cunt hear you.. .cuz that has to be wrong. Right? No. They just took it out of context. That song is about suicide! Good fucking God! This is where my a good friend of mine would input 'Oh the humanity!' Usually that's too dramatic for me, but it kind of fits here. Yeah, anyway....
Well, I think it's time to take a deep breath, reflect on the quandaries in my mind, and take a moment to empty all of this garbage out of my brainmeats.
Something like that. Yeah.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The Hilarity of Religious Propaganda
Okay, so I'm at work today, working the register, and this customer comes up and he looks at me really weird, kind of up-and-down like. I'm kinda like *raised eyebrow* "Okay then..." Anyway, so I wait on him, and when I gave him his change, he puts down this booklet and says "Here's something to read later. It's a good story." Then he leaves pretty suddenly and I look at it, and it's one of those comic-book style religious pamphlets. I'm like *eyeroll and sigh* I put it aside, and picked it up a little later, while on break, and realize that the top page is a decoy, and there's a second pamphlet stuck inside the front cover. It's called "Party Girl." And I'm like "You gotta be kidding me," and laughed. Obviously Mr. Yuppy Guy pegged me as a 'party girl' and was trying to enlighten me, if that's what you want to call it. (I guess purple hair is a "SINNER!" beacon to religious folks?) But it's so ridiculous and sensationalistic that it's hilarious. Of course, I'm compelled to share.
Satan and his minions are out to corrupt the youth...with plenty of low-quality condoms in tow!
But wait! Some random girl's grandmother got the Bat Call from God!
Anyway, the story goes on and Grandma finds the girl and drags her away from the party, eventually the girl 'repents' and finds God, yadayadayada. You know, the typical sugary, happy, I <3>
Satan and his minions are out to corrupt the youth...with plenty of low-quality condoms in tow!
But wait! Some random girl's grandmother got the Bat Call from God!
Anyway, the story goes on and Grandma finds the girl and drags her away from the party, eventually the girl 'repents' and finds God, yadayadayada. You know, the typical sugary, happy, I <3>
So, there you have it. Someone tried to 'guide' me to the 'right' path today. Interesting. I find it funny that they're trying to use fear and finger-pointing as a way of recruiting people over to the sanctified religious side. Where's the 'love' they keep talking about? Now, I will note that I don't have a problem with people whom choose to follow a religion and view it as the path to eternal salvation and happiness. I respect a person's right to do so. What I have a problem with is...well- stuff like this. It's just ridiculous and it doesn't do anything near what they intend for it to do. Will they ever learn? No, probably not. But we can have a good laugh until they do.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Fall of the Average Joe
So.. it's been awhile. I decided to start doing the 'blog' thing again. I'm not sure how long I'll keep up with it, or how often. Usually I just write when something strikes me as noteworthy, to some degree. I've never really used this blog to 'bitch' and 'rant'. Well.. perhaps I have on a few occasions, but generally speaking, no. Anyway, that's besides the point. What is the point? Hmm... I'm sure I'll get to one some time... maybe.
But yeah, anyway, so... I've said time and time again how I'm going to write a book based upon my experiences working at the store. It's funny... it's kind of like living Clerks. That seems really humorous when I say it to people, and sometimes it is, but usually after the fact when I'm retelling the day's events to friends and/or family. The people that come in there are straight up fucking characters, I tell you. It's amazing just how well most of them fit into this boxed little idea that seemingly sums up their entire personae. Really... its strange. Sometimes it makes me a little sad, seeing the rapid decline of an older someone, falling to their vices... their pleasures being their ultimate undoing. I've seen the rapid decline of someone one might call 'the average joe'. He starts out as just a normal, everyday, working class type guy, coming in after work to buy a pack of smokes before stopping in at the bar for a couple of beers with his buddies. Then, over time, he's stopping in again after the beers for a half pint of cheap whiskey and a 12 pack of Natural Light to accompany him home. One man, I'll call him 'Jim', was the picture-perfect example of such a decline.
When I first met Jim he was a hardworking mechanic at the motorcycle shop across the street from the store. He seemed like a nice guy, not bad looking for an older man, and usually cheerful. My co-workers and boss had mentioned how he used to be a hardcore drinker, but had managed to pull himself 'back on to the wagon' and sober up. But then the motorcycle shop got robbed and vandalized. It went out of business permanently, leaving Jim without a job. Within a few monthes he started drinking again. At first it wasn't a hell of a lot from what I saw... usually just a couple of 24 oz beers in a day. But then it was 6 packs, then 12 packs, usually coupled with a half pint of Barett's Whiskey or White Wolf Vodka. Eventually it was just the hard liquor, with which he usually bought a 32 oz fountain drink that he'd only fill halfway. What went in the other half? You guess it- the half pint of his liquor of choice for the evening. As if that wasn't enough, this went from being a daily habit to several times a day habit. Between the spiked sodas he'd scrouge up some change for a beer, and some Pall Mall cigarettes. He went from the average, decent, hardworking guy to a rotgut booze swilling, incoherant drunk who smelled like piss, cigarettes and old beer. Jim became somewhat of a hassle, always making a ruckus in the store, complaining about service. The truth was, everyone was tired of dealing with him, but people still felt bad. They remembered the person he was before... and not this travesty of a human being he had become. Eventually his self-destructive ways got the best of him, and Jim died. They found him on his apartment floor, choked to death on his own vomit. Pretty picture, ey? Heh.
Was it because he lost his sense of self? Did he lose value in his own existence? I'm not sure he would've been all that aware, but he definately lost something. And it's just sad. Is this what society turns it's hardworking average citizens into? Was it his own fault? Not wholly. Victim of circumstance. But most people want to be a victim of life itself. Yes, I said, " want to". I say that because a lot of folks seem to be happy playing victim. Then you have someone like ol' Jim there, who lost sight of who they were and what they were capable of. And again...that's just sad. I hope, if there is some kind of hereafter, that he can look back at who he was for most of his life, and remember the good that came with it.
That's about enough of that for me... time to do what I do best... space out.
Adieu.
But yeah, anyway, so... I've said time and time again how I'm going to write a book based upon my experiences working at the store. It's funny... it's kind of like living Clerks. That seems really humorous when I say it to people, and sometimes it is, but usually after the fact when I'm retelling the day's events to friends and/or family. The people that come in there are straight up fucking characters, I tell you. It's amazing just how well most of them fit into this boxed little idea that seemingly sums up their entire personae. Really... its strange. Sometimes it makes me a little sad, seeing the rapid decline of an older someone, falling to their vices... their pleasures being their ultimate undoing. I've seen the rapid decline of someone one might call 'the average joe'. He starts out as just a normal, everyday, working class type guy, coming in after work to buy a pack of smokes before stopping in at the bar for a couple of beers with his buddies. Then, over time, he's stopping in again after the beers for a half pint of cheap whiskey and a 12 pack of Natural Light to accompany him home. One man, I'll call him 'Jim', was the picture-perfect example of such a decline.
When I first met Jim he was a hardworking mechanic at the motorcycle shop across the street from the store. He seemed like a nice guy, not bad looking for an older man, and usually cheerful. My co-workers and boss had mentioned how he used to be a hardcore drinker, but had managed to pull himself 'back on to the wagon' and sober up. But then the motorcycle shop got robbed and vandalized. It went out of business permanently, leaving Jim without a job. Within a few monthes he started drinking again. At first it wasn't a hell of a lot from what I saw... usually just a couple of 24 oz beers in a day. But then it was 6 packs, then 12 packs, usually coupled with a half pint of Barett's Whiskey or White Wolf Vodka. Eventually it was just the hard liquor, with which he usually bought a 32 oz fountain drink that he'd only fill halfway. What went in the other half? You guess it- the half pint of his liquor of choice for the evening. As if that wasn't enough, this went from being a daily habit to several times a day habit. Between the spiked sodas he'd scrouge up some change for a beer, and some Pall Mall cigarettes. He went from the average, decent, hardworking guy to a rotgut booze swilling, incoherant drunk who smelled like piss, cigarettes and old beer. Jim became somewhat of a hassle, always making a ruckus in the store, complaining about service. The truth was, everyone was tired of dealing with him, but people still felt bad. They remembered the person he was before... and not this travesty of a human being he had become. Eventually his self-destructive ways got the best of him, and Jim died. They found him on his apartment floor, choked to death on his own vomit. Pretty picture, ey? Heh.
Was it because he lost his sense of self? Did he lose value in his own existence? I'm not sure he would've been all that aware, but he definately lost something. And it's just sad. Is this what society turns it's hardworking average citizens into? Was it his own fault? Not wholly. Victim of circumstance. But most people want to be a victim of life itself. Yes, I said, " want to". I say that because a lot of folks seem to be happy playing victim. Then you have someone like ol' Jim there, who lost sight of who they were and what they were capable of. And again...that's just sad. I hope, if there is some kind of hereafter, that he can look back at who he was for most of his life, and remember the good that came with it.
That's about enough of that for me... time to do what I do best... space out.
Adieu.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Exposition of the Poetry Fiends
Now that I'm on break from school I have several missions. Amongst those are learning (or at least becoming sufficient familiar with) the Hiragana and (if I'm lucky) the Katakana. If I want to do well in Japanese then this is probably in my best interest. Something else I hope to do is record at least 3 new songs, and write lyrics for one that's been sitting on the sidelines for month's. And, then if I'm feeling ridiculously ambitious, I'll get my webzine up and running. I've been talking about doing this for month's, but I kind of lack staff support right now. Not that it's really necessary for me to have a big ass staff. But I've also promised people that I would get them involved, but they're doing other things, so I need to stop procrastinating. Along side the magazine venture is doing some little experiments. Some of the purposes of philosophy, and some " just to see what happeneds" (in the meantime exposing some bullshit. WOO.)
Something I'm constantly venturing into in the later mentioned goal. So, my first attempt will be with Poetry.com. Now... I first started seeing advertisements for these poetry contest back in the day (we're talking about 10 + years ago). I always thought "Wow, that'd be cool to win a contest like that. But my stuff isn't good enough." Yeah, well, so later on in life, when my literary skills had sharpened a bit, I submitted a poem to the website (this was around 6 years ago). So, anyway, after that I would intermittently submit something to the site, in slight hope that something might come of it. After awhile, I received this letter telling me that my piece was going to be published. I was ecstatic. I couldn't believe that MY lil ole poem was going in a REAL BOOK. And then of course they were so nice to offer me the chance to order the special edition book at a lowered price. I couldn't afford it, so I didn't order one. And I'm lucky I didn't.
Not too long after that, I received another letter, much like the previous one that said one of my poems was going on an audio poetry CD. And then they offered it to me at a lower than retail price. Hm.... So, again, I still thought this was cool. I received another letter, telling me about being published in a book. Not too long after I received all these glorious letters of notification, the subject of the website came up in conversation with a friend. She had received very similar letters, and as I talked to more of my poetry writing friends, I came to find out that they had as well. This showed me that it seemed nearly everyone who submitted a poem got published, and offered the same "great" deals. So, then I submitted a poem which I thought to be sappy, contrived, and clumsily written, and AGAIN I received a letter. So that brings us to my present project.
I'm going to submit a horrible poem. One that screams of emo-goth child angst with contrived sentiment pouring out of every orifice. Then I'll wait and watch they mail. If I get a letter...well...we'll get to that later. f
Something I'm constantly venturing into in the later mentioned goal. So, my first attempt will be with Poetry.com. Now... I first started seeing advertisements for these poetry contest back in the day (we're talking about 10 + years ago). I always thought "Wow, that'd be cool to win a contest like that. But my stuff isn't good enough." Yeah, well, so later on in life, when my literary skills had sharpened a bit, I submitted a poem to the website (this was around 6 years ago). So, anyway, after that I would intermittently submit something to the site, in slight hope that something might come of it. After awhile, I received this letter telling me that my piece was going to be published. I was ecstatic. I couldn't believe that MY lil ole poem was going in a REAL BOOK. And then of course they were so nice to offer me the chance to order the special edition book at a lowered price. I couldn't afford it, so I didn't order one. And I'm lucky I didn't.
Not too long after that, I received another letter, much like the previous one that said one of my poems was going on an audio poetry CD. And then they offered it to me at a lower than retail price. Hm.... So, again, I still thought this was cool. I received another letter, telling me about being published in a book. Not too long after I received all these glorious letters of notification, the subject of the website came up in conversation with a friend. She had received very similar letters, and as I talked to more of my poetry writing friends, I came to find out that they had as well. This showed me that it seemed nearly everyone who submitted a poem got published, and offered the same "great" deals. So, then I submitted a poem which I thought to be sappy, contrived, and clumsily written, and AGAIN I received a letter. So that brings us to my present project.
I'm going to submit a horrible poem. One that screams of emo-goth child angst with contrived sentiment pouring out of every orifice. Then I'll wait and watch they mail. If I get a letter...well...we'll get to that later. f
Monday, October 03, 2005
Purple hair makes you invisible
SO.....I'm walking to the car, to put some change in the meter, and I'm taking my normal route. I happened to be on my cell phone, chatting with a friend while I made my way there, and I cross across the crosswalk toward the parking lot. I'm blahblahing with my friend, and I notice a car coming into the turn lane, which I was currently occupying, still in the crosswalk mind you, and I think "ah crap, that car's coming. Oh well, he'll slow down till I finish crossing." That's what you'd THINK would happen, since it's not only a LAW to do so, but just a general rule of thumb for drivers. Pedestrian in crosswalk = they have the right of way. So yeah, he didn't slower down, at all. He just kept righhhht on coming, full speed. I was like FUCK and I moved out of the way really fast, meanwhile his headlight clipped my bag. He almost fucking plowed right into me! He stops his car and hops out and is like "Shit! Are you okay? I didn't see you!" And I was in a state of shock. I just gave him this LOOK, and I'm like "It's broad daylight! I have purple fucking hair!" Anyway, I couldn't say much else. I was too shaken up. So, he takes off in his glossy Maxima, still going the same speed he was going when he almost hit me. He didn't see me.... right. Well, I guess that means that purple hair makes me invisible. I wonder what else I could get away with. Or maybe I'll just almost get killed again.
Okay...so, I'm fine. Yeah. I am, physically fine. And I'm sure I'll be mentally fine as well, but of course, currently I'm kinda shaken up. Really my point is the fact that this happends a great deal. Drivers will speed around streets, not paying a damn mind to pedestrians, and situations like what happened to me today occur. If I hadn't been the one paying attention, and gone about my business, crossing the street without much else thought, I'd of been hit by that car. Now, I SHOULD be able to do that because it's a law that I have the right of way. There was no oncoming traffic, and the street was totally clear. That guy just felt the need to speed the fuck on through and almost hit someone. And he didn't seem so remorseful. He was kinda half-smiling. Probably out of "holy shit that was a close one," but fucking A, still. GUH! GUH GUH DOUBLE GUH! People are fucking retarded. Now, after the shock wore off, I wanna beat the ever lovin shit out of him. When he took off, I almost wanted to scream "Hey Fuckhead! Get back here! I'm not done with you!" but well, I didn't get the chance.
Yeah...so fucking drivers need to pay attention where they're fucking going. I don't give a shit what you're late for or what you're preoccupied doing. Personally, if I end up with broken bones because of some careless asswad that's late for class, I'm gonna be pretty damn pissed off. And there's gonna be a goddamn upheaval. Hell, maybe I'll start one anyway.
That's it. Time for me to vent frustration by stabbing some paper.
Okay...so, I'm fine. Yeah. I am, physically fine. And I'm sure I'll be mentally fine as well, but of course, currently I'm kinda shaken up. Really my point is the fact that this happends a great deal. Drivers will speed around streets, not paying a damn mind to pedestrians, and situations like what happened to me today occur. If I hadn't been the one paying attention, and gone about my business, crossing the street without much else thought, I'd of been hit by that car. Now, I SHOULD be able to do that because it's a law that I have the right of way. There was no oncoming traffic, and the street was totally clear. That guy just felt the need to speed the fuck on through and almost hit someone. And he didn't seem so remorseful. He was kinda half-smiling. Probably out of "holy shit that was a close one," but fucking A, still. GUH! GUH GUH DOUBLE GUH! People are fucking retarded. Now, after the shock wore off, I wanna beat the ever lovin shit out of him. When he took off, I almost wanted to scream "Hey Fuckhead! Get back here! I'm not done with you!" but well, I didn't get the chance.
Yeah...so fucking drivers need to pay attention where they're fucking going. I don't give a shit what you're late for or what you're preoccupied doing. Personally, if I end up with broken bones because of some careless asswad that's late for class, I'm gonna be pretty damn pissed off. And there's gonna be a goddamn upheaval. Hell, maybe I'll start one anyway.
That's it. Time for me to vent frustration by stabbing some paper.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Metaphysical Bedroom Talk with a Dream Girl
i wrote this dialouge for my final paper in metaphysics. it touches on principles of the nature of reality in a humorous sort of way. so...yeah...there we are. on with the show...
Metaphysical Bedroom Talk with a Dream Girl
Characters
Jared: A 20 year old junior college student who spends most of his time playing video games and watching zombie movies. He doesn’t have many friends, and tends to spend a lot of time fantasizing.
Dream: Jared’s “dream girl” whom has an active roll in his many action-packed fantasies, but has now somehow manifested herself into the physical realm.
Setting: Jared’s bedroom. It consists of a single bed, a dresser, a computer desk (with computer), a television and video game system set up on milk crates. The room is ridiculously messy, with posters from miscellaneous horror movies and video games.
The stage is dark and Jared is asleep in bed. He’s tossing and turning about and then suddenly sits up in his bed, panting, as if in distress. He looks up to see Dream sitting at the end of his bed, staring at him and looking very confused.
Jared (wiping brow): Man…that was a hell of a dream…. I’ve gotta remind myself not to eat so many nachos before bed…. He settles back down, glancing down to see Dream sitting at the foot of it, staring at him. He dismisses it at first, and lays down, closing his eyes. Suddenly, realizing what he just saw, he sits back up quickly and turns on the lamp next to his bed. What the…..who….who are you?!?
Dream (frowning): What do you mean, ‘who am I’? You seemed to know me the last time I saw you. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing him. And where are we?!? What happened to the zombies you were rescuing me from? And why do you not look as handsome?
Jared (gawking at her, mouth gaping): I…uh….holy shit! You’re the girl in my dreams! How the hell….where did you….holy shit!
Dream (looking irritated): What are you going on about? I’m the one that’s in….well…wherever this is! And what do you mean ‘girl from your dreams’?
Jared (still astonished): I mean…you…you’re the girl that’s always in my dreams… but how are you HERE? In my ROOM!? ON MY BED! He grins to himself slightly, not so much minding the prospect of this beautiful girl sitting upon his bed. (to the side) My dream girl in on my bed!
Dream (frowning again): Did you go crazy or something?? What are you talking about? What “dream girl”?? I need to get the hell out of here. You’re nuts! She gets up to leave, looking around for the door.
Jared (stumbling to his feet): Wait! Don’t go! He rushes to her and grabs her arm, pulling her back to the bed. I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe I’m still dreaming.
Dream (now highly irritated): No…you’re just a nutcase! She then kicks his knee. Jared cries out in pain and alarm.
Jared (wincing): Ow! Dammit! What was that for??
Dream (smirking and crossing arms over chest): Ha! Well I guess you know you’re not dreaming. But….for real….what do you mean by ‘dream girl’? I’m really confused…She casts her eyes downward, bearing a look of uncertainty.
Jared (sitting back down): Well….I always have these dreams where I’m doing some kind of death defying hero stunt…and there’s always a girl that I’m saving, or that’s my partner… and well….she’s…well….you……you’re her! He shakes his head in confusion, putting his head into his hands. But you can’t be real! This must be a dream!
Dream (hands on hips): Yeah well, I’m guessing your knee still hurts and that seems pretty real to me. I don’t understand what you’re talking about! Jared, I think you’ve gone nuts, I really do. She begins to pace. I mean, I’ve noticed that you’re a little quirky at times…and I mean, I know you get cold feet every time we’re about to…well…you know… and you always disappear! And you disappeared when you were supposed to be saving me from those zombies! But this time I ended up here…instead. I don’t understand! Where did the zombies go?!?
Jared (laughing): There are no zombies here….this is just my bedroom…in my parents house. Those zombies weren’t real.
Dream: Not real?!? What the hell are you talking about! They chased me till I fell down, and they were going to KILL me…until you showed up! I saw them! They were real! They’re gross, saggy gray skin…and all that oozy yellow stuff…and blood! Oh my god! She shudders at the memory.
Jared (smirking): Those are just zombies from the video game I was playing before I went to sleep. They couldn’t really get you…. I was dreaming…so none of it was real.
Dream (looking at him): But…if none of it was real….how am I here? I was in your dream too…or maybe it wasn’t your dream… maybe you’re dreaming now!
Jared (shaking head): No…I don’t think so. If my dreams were as lame as my real life…well… let’s just say I wouldn’t have much of a reason to wake up. He looks down, his face growing rather sad. Dream notices his expression and moves to sit next to him.
Dream: Why not? I mean….it’s so quiet….and there’s no zombies…….Right? She quickly looks around, looking slightly afraid. Jared laughs and shakes his head.
Jared: Nope…no zombies. Just parents…and boring classes…and traffic….nothing to get excited about. It just….lacks….life. Heh…funny. ‘Life lacks life’.
Dream (shaking her head): I dunno….this is all really weird. Now I’m thinking about all this stuff…and I realize that I can’t remember anything except times I was with you…and I keep wondering things like “who am I?” I never really thought stuff like that before…am I really just a dream?
Jared (shrugging): Well… I guess so. I mean…that’s the only way I know you. But you’re sitting here now…so I guess you’re real….I don’t know if you’re still a dream. They say that dreams are a product of the subconscious and its interpretation of reality.
Dream (raising eyebrows): Who are “they”?
Jared (shrugging again): I dunno….they never said….
Dream: They WHO?
Jared: I don’t know! That’s just how people say it. “They say…blahblahblah”. That’s just the way it’s put.
Dream: That doesn’t make sense….
Jared: Neither does your sitting here.
Dream: Well….that is true. She sits quietly for a minute, looking as though she’s thinking. So….you don’t know how I got here, but you know I’m from your dreams. And you said that ‘they’, whomever THEY are, say that dreams are a product of the subconscious…. But what’s that got to do with me?
Jared: A 20 year old junior college student who spends most of his time playing video games and watching zombie movies. He doesn’t have many friends, and tends to spend a lot of time fantasizing.
Dream: Jared’s “dream girl” whom has an active roll in his many action-packed fantasies, but has now somehow manifested herself into the physical realm.
Setting: Jared’s bedroom. It consists of a single bed, a dresser, a computer desk (with computer), a television and video game system set up on milk crates. The room is ridiculously messy, with posters from miscellaneous horror movies and video games.
The stage is dark and Jared is asleep in bed. He’s tossing and turning about and then suddenly sits up in his bed, panting, as if in distress. He looks up to see Dream sitting at the end of his bed, staring at him and looking very confused.
Jared (wiping brow): Man…that was a hell of a dream…. I’ve gotta remind myself not to eat so many nachos before bed…. He settles back down, glancing down to see Dream sitting at the foot of it, staring at him. He dismisses it at first, and lays down, closing his eyes. Suddenly, realizing what he just saw, he sits back up quickly and turns on the lamp next to his bed. What the…..who….who are you?!?
Dream (frowning): What do you mean, ‘who am I’? You seemed to know me the last time I saw you. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing him. And where are we?!? What happened to the zombies you were rescuing me from? And why do you not look as handsome?
Jared (gawking at her, mouth gaping): I…uh….holy shit! You’re the girl in my dreams! How the hell….where did you….holy shit!
Dream (looking irritated): What are you going on about? I’m the one that’s in….well…wherever this is! And what do you mean ‘girl from your dreams’?
Jared (still astonished): I mean…you…you’re the girl that’s always in my dreams… but how are you HERE? In my ROOM!? ON MY BED! He grins to himself slightly, not so much minding the prospect of this beautiful girl sitting upon his bed. (to the side) My dream girl in on my bed!
Dream (frowning again): Did you go crazy or something?? What are you talking about? What “dream girl”?? I need to get the hell out of here. You’re nuts! She gets up to leave, looking around for the door.
Jared (stumbling to his feet): Wait! Don’t go! He rushes to her and grabs her arm, pulling her back to the bed. I’m just as confused as you are. Maybe I’m still dreaming.
Dream (now highly irritated): No…you’re just a nutcase! She then kicks his knee. Jared cries out in pain and alarm.
Jared (wincing): Ow! Dammit! What was that for??
Dream (smirking and crossing arms over chest): Ha! Well I guess you know you’re not dreaming. But….for real….what do you mean by ‘dream girl’? I’m really confused…She casts her eyes downward, bearing a look of uncertainty.
Jared (sitting back down): Well….I always have these dreams where I’m doing some kind of death defying hero stunt…and there’s always a girl that I’m saving, or that’s my partner… and well….she’s…well….you……you’re her! He shakes his head in confusion, putting his head into his hands. But you can’t be real! This must be a dream!
Dream (hands on hips): Yeah well, I’m guessing your knee still hurts and that seems pretty real to me. I don’t understand what you’re talking about! Jared, I think you’ve gone nuts, I really do. She begins to pace. I mean, I’ve noticed that you’re a little quirky at times…and I mean, I know you get cold feet every time we’re about to…well…you know… and you always disappear! And you disappeared when you were supposed to be saving me from those zombies! But this time I ended up here…instead. I don’t understand! Where did the zombies go?!?
Jared (laughing): There are no zombies here….this is just my bedroom…in my parents house. Those zombies weren’t real.
Dream: Not real?!? What the hell are you talking about! They chased me till I fell down, and they were going to KILL me…until you showed up! I saw them! They were real! They’re gross, saggy gray skin…and all that oozy yellow stuff…and blood! Oh my god! She shudders at the memory.
Jared (smirking): Those are just zombies from the video game I was playing before I went to sleep. They couldn’t really get you…. I was dreaming…so none of it was real.
Dream (looking at him): But…if none of it was real….how am I here? I was in your dream too…or maybe it wasn’t your dream… maybe you’re dreaming now!
Jared (shaking head): No…I don’t think so. If my dreams were as lame as my real life…well… let’s just say I wouldn’t have much of a reason to wake up. He looks down, his face growing rather sad. Dream notices his expression and moves to sit next to him.
Dream: Why not? I mean….it’s so quiet….and there’s no zombies…….Right? She quickly looks around, looking slightly afraid. Jared laughs and shakes his head.
Jared: Nope…no zombies. Just parents…and boring classes…and traffic….nothing to get excited about. It just….lacks….life. Heh…funny. ‘Life lacks life’.
Dream (shaking her head): I dunno….this is all really weird. Now I’m thinking about all this stuff…and I realize that I can’t remember anything except times I was with you…and I keep wondering things like “who am I?” I never really thought stuff like that before…am I really just a dream?
Jared (shrugging): Well… I guess so. I mean…that’s the only way I know you. But you’re sitting here now…so I guess you’re real….I don’t know if you’re still a dream. They say that dreams are a product of the subconscious and its interpretation of reality.
Dream (raising eyebrows): Who are “they”?
Jared (shrugging again): I dunno….they never said….
Dream: They WHO?
Jared: I don’t know! That’s just how people say it. “They say…blahblahblah”. That’s just the way it’s put.
Dream: That doesn’t make sense….
Jared: Neither does your sitting here.
Dream: Well….that is true. She sits quietly for a minute, looking as though she’s thinking. So….you don’t know how I got here, but you know I’m from your dreams. And you said that ‘they’, whomever THEY are, say that dreams are a product of the subconscious…. But what’s that got to do with me?
Jared (sighing): Well, in reality, I’m just a geek who plays video games too much. I have no social skills, people tend to think I’m weird, and my parents are thoroughly disappointed that I didn’t turn out like my jock of a brother. I’m just…a loser.
Dream (shaking her head): But that’s not true! You always know the right things to say to me….and you’re so smart! I’ve only ever seen you as strong and brave…how else could you save me from zombies?? And what about the time you rescued me from those kidnappers who were gonna cut me into little pieces if the President didn’t give up the formula for the toxin that they intended on using as a biological weapon!? AND… you also took out those gang members who had the drug trafficking ring! You’ve done all kinds of brave things!
Jared: But those weren’t real. They were just dreams.
Dream: They were too real! I remember them! I still have a scar from when I tried to fight off that Columbian drug lord! She holds out her arm, revealing a long, thin scar. See?? You can’t tell me that scar isn’t real! You sewed up that wound yourself!
Jared (shaking head again): Yeah but… that didn’t REALLY happen…I just dreamed it.
Dream: But I have a scar and I’m real! I’m sitting right in front of you. How could that have never happened if I know it happened cuz I was THERE! I mean…I was there dammit!
Jared: Well, you can’t be real either, I mean…sure, you’re sitting in front of me, talking to me, and you appear to be a completely real, physical being..but you can’t be. Perhaps you’re just my mind’s manifestation of perfection that I’ve somehow managed to conjur up into a physical entity, which doesn’t really seem feasible being that every other time I’ve encountered you has been in a dream state. Prior to now…you were completely an ethereal being… just an entity within my subconscious that appeared while I slept.
Dream: If I’m not real, then how am I here? And how do you know that I didn’t exist before? It’s more than obvious that I did exist in some for before now, being that you recall my presence. And…how do I know that I’m not the one dreaming? Your definition of reality and its components seem to be different from mine. You say that I’m just some manifestation of perfection produced by your subconscious mind; however I see myself as completely real, and I see you as real…but not in the form in which I’m talking to you now….
Jared: I know you’re not the one dreaming because there’s no way in hell that I’m actually some super-hero type guy. And what do you mean ‘my definition of reality’?? My definition is the same definition as just about any other regular person.
Dream: ‘Regular person’, ey? Well, what do you see as real?
Jared: Well…I guess I’d say what’s real is what I can either a) see and touch or b) conceive of as a logical concept.
Dream: Well…you can definitely see and touch me, as my kicking your knee earlier proved. And….if you can see me as a person, and hold a conversation with me, then do I not fulfill that requirement as well?
Jared (mulling): Yeah…well…I guess. But how did you get here? How can you be real if I don’t even have a clue as to how you came to be?
Dream: Sure…you don’t know how I got here…now…but how can I not be real being that I AM here?
Jared: I don’t know…I still haven’t figured that one out.
Dream: YOU think that I’m not real because prior to this instance, I only existed, to your knowledge, in your dreams, yet I have memories of every instance we’ve been together. If I am a product of your subconscious and previously an ethereal being, how did I come to be sitting on your bed, in this room, in the middle of the night? How can I not be real if I fulfill the requirements of what you say deems something to be real or not? And why wasn’t I real previously? Obviously I existed…but you couldn’t see me outside of a dream state. Are all things that are real, real only when they are realized in a state of being “awake”?
Jared: Yes….yes they would have to be. Things can’t be real if they don’t have some kind of evidence to their existence in reality. You do fulfill the requirements I listed…but your being here doesn’t make sense. There’s no plausible explanation….
Dream: I guess we don’t have an explanation…but we do have is the fact that I’m sitting here.
Jared: Yeah….I guess the only way to solve this is the see if you’re still here in the morning….
Dream (eyeing his suspiciously): And what is that supposed to mean?
Jared: Well, if I go to sleep, and then wake up, and you’re still here. If you are, then we’ll know that you’re real and we’ll figure things out from there. If you’re not…well…then I guess I’ll just know it was another dream. Or I’ve gone completely insane…
Dream (not looking convinced): Hm…. Are you sure about that?
Jared: I dunno…I think I am…but then again, maybe it’s you who’s right, and you’ll wake up and find out that you were dreaming. The only thing we can do is try. Dream thinks for a moment and then nods.
Dream: All right. We’ll try it…so I guess I should try sleeping too, huh?
Jared: Yeah…I guess you can just lay down here… He motions to the spot next to him.
Dream (firmly): Yes well…that’s fine…but no funny business. If I am real and you’re not who I’ve always known you as, then that means you’re a stranger, and I don’t mess around with strangers… Dream gets a confused look on her face, and then shakes it off. Anyway, good night. She lies down, her back facing him.
Jared: Night… He turns and shuts the light off, laying down beside her, closing his eyes.
END.
Dream (shaking her head): But that’s not true! You always know the right things to say to me….and you’re so smart! I’ve only ever seen you as strong and brave…how else could you save me from zombies?? And what about the time you rescued me from those kidnappers who were gonna cut me into little pieces if the President didn’t give up the formula for the toxin that they intended on using as a biological weapon!? AND… you also took out those gang members who had the drug trafficking ring! You’ve done all kinds of brave things!
Jared: But those weren’t real. They were just dreams.
Dream: They were too real! I remember them! I still have a scar from when I tried to fight off that Columbian drug lord! She holds out her arm, revealing a long, thin scar. See?? You can’t tell me that scar isn’t real! You sewed up that wound yourself!
Jared (shaking head again): Yeah but… that didn’t REALLY happen…I just dreamed it.
Dream: But I have a scar and I’m real! I’m sitting right in front of you. How could that have never happened if I know it happened cuz I was THERE! I mean…I was there dammit!
Jared: Well, you can’t be real either, I mean…sure, you’re sitting in front of me, talking to me, and you appear to be a completely real, physical being..but you can’t be. Perhaps you’re just my mind’s manifestation of perfection that I’ve somehow managed to conjur up into a physical entity, which doesn’t really seem feasible being that every other time I’ve encountered you has been in a dream state. Prior to now…you were completely an ethereal being… just an entity within my subconscious that appeared while I slept.
Dream: If I’m not real, then how am I here? And how do you know that I didn’t exist before? It’s more than obvious that I did exist in some for before now, being that you recall my presence. And…how do I know that I’m not the one dreaming? Your definition of reality and its components seem to be different from mine. You say that I’m just some manifestation of perfection produced by your subconscious mind; however I see myself as completely real, and I see you as real…but not in the form in which I’m talking to you now….
Jared: I know you’re not the one dreaming because there’s no way in hell that I’m actually some super-hero type guy. And what do you mean ‘my definition of reality’?? My definition is the same definition as just about any other regular person.
Dream: ‘Regular person’, ey? Well, what do you see as real?
Jared: Well…I guess I’d say what’s real is what I can either a) see and touch or b) conceive of as a logical concept.
Dream: Well…you can definitely see and touch me, as my kicking your knee earlier proved. And….if you can see me as a person, and hold a conversation with me, then do I not fulfill that requirement as well?
Jared (mulling): Yeah…well…I guess. But how did you get here? How can you be real if I don’t even have a clue as to how you came to be?
Dream: Sure…you don’t know how I got here…now…but how can I not be real being that I AM here?
Jared: I don’t know…I still haven’t figured that one out.
Dream: YOU think that I’m not real because prior to this instance, I only existed, to your knowledge, in your dreams, yet I have memories of every instance we’ve been together. If I am a product of your subconscious and previously an ethereal being, how did I come to be sitting on your bed, in this room, in the middle of the night? How can I not be real if I fulfill the requirements of what you say deems something to be real or not? And why wasn’t I real previously? Obviously I existed…but you couldn’t see me outside of a dream state. Are all things that are real, real only when they are realized in a state of being “awake”?
Jared: Yes….yes they would have to be. Things can’t be real if they don’t have some kind of evidence to their existence in reality. You do fulfill the requirements I listed…but your being here doesn’t make sense. There’s no plausible explanation….
Dream: I guess we don’t have an explanation…but we do have is the fact that I’m sitting here.
Jared: Yeah….I guess the only way to solve this is the see if you’re still here in the morning….
Dream (eyeing his suspiciously): And what is that supposed to mean?
Jared: Well, if I go to sleep, and then wake up, and you’re still here. If you are, then we’ll know that you’re real and we’ll figure things out from there. If you’re not…well…then I guess I’ll just know it was another dream. Or I’ve gone completely insane…
Dream (not looking convinced): Hm…. Are you sure about that?
Jared: I dunno…I think I am…but then again, maybe it’s you who’s right, and you’ll wake up and find out that you were dreaming. The only thing we can do is try. Dream thinks for a moment and then nods.
Dream: All right. We’ll try it…so I guess I should try sleeping too, huh?
Jared: Yeah…I guess you can just lay down here… He motions to the spot next to him.
Dream (firmly): Yes well…that’s fine…but no funny business. If I am real and you’re not who I’ve always known you as, then that means you’re a stranger, and I don’t mess around with strangers… Dream gets a confused look on her face, and then shakes it off. Anyway, good night. She lies down, her back facing him.
Jared: Night… He turns and shuts the light off, laying down beside her, closing his eyes.
END.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
i'm at home with dark and sad
so....this weekend we had a bbq for the 4th, and my brother's friend brought this girl named alicia. she lives at the local mission, and apparently has nowhere to actually call home. i talked to her for awhile and learned how she lived on the streets of san francisco for a few years, and i guess she landed in jail eventually. she told me about how she met her husband while they were both homeless, and she had a big problem with "dope" (in this case meaning heroin). she said "all we did was sleep, fuck, and get high." she talked about her past with some fondess, but it was easy to see the sadness at the same time. she's had 3 children, and i don't think she has custody of them. i'm not sure how she ended up here, but from what i understand she was left here. something about her husband was supposed to meet up with her, and he never showed, so now she's stuck. i was playing my guitar and singing and she really enjoyed it. then she sang a song for me... she has a nice voice. she was really nervous and shy when she went to sing. i felt odd talking to her because she wasn't the kind of person that i usually hang around much but she had an interesting story. my brother's friend, known as fish, brought her back some flowers and she seemed really touched. i get the feeling she's not used to someone showing her that kind of care. i don't know exactly what will happen to her, but i wish her best.
i'm listening to
the cranberries- no need to argue.
i forgot how much i dig this album. i'm sittin here boppin along in my chair. see? it's even got me cutting the -g off of words. it's just "feel good music" whether the lyrics are happy or not. some stuff is just like that for me. different music fits different moods...or something. yeah, it's like that for a lot of people. so that's not so out of the ordinary. i guess it so happens that sometimes music that people might call "dark" or "sad" is actually the stuff that makes me feel most at home. i'm comfortable with dark and sad. perhaps my life path has made me as such... i don't really know. i'm not really dark or sad myself... things like that just seem the most inviting. maybe inviting isn't the word....but it's sort of like... if i listen to pop music.. it makes me feel irritable. it's like that john mayer lyrics "red candy lips and a bubblegum tongue". that lyric bugs me SOOO fucking much. my god! i go on for hours about how i hate it. (ok maybe not hours, but i'm sure i've argued the point for at least an hour before *smirk*). but yeah... the ooey-gooeyness of it just makes me ill. i can't stand the fact that people find such things to be GOOD or pleasurable. guh. i mean... it's just so....contrived! standard! nauseating! guh! ..... see? i told you. i can go on forever. but yeah, back to my original point... i don't like things like that. that's the same reason i can't listen to bands like ELO. now i can't say ELO is along the same lines of that john mayer lyric, but it's so bright shiny happy that i feel ill listening to it. i'm like Run away! Noooo! ok...maybe not that exaggerated, but you get my point right? yeah. right. wee.
what does it mean that i'm 'at home with the dark and the sad'? a source of identity i suppose. i'm not a sad person. but i'm not a happy person. i really don't know what happy means. sometimes the past gets stuck in my head, playing like a reel to reel. i realize that things that are called dark, sad, i understand them. and i'm well aware of the 'dark' that resides within me. i keep it bottled up, under lock and key. no one likes that side of me. they're afraid of it, i think. they rather i just go along like everyone else it seems. even he fails to see anything good of that part of me. "you can't act like that. you can't say those things." but not even to a trusted source? guess not. sometimes we have to be our own best friend that we tell our troubles to and the shoulder to lean on while tears soak into our shirt. but, you can't lean on your own shoulder. however, i've grown accustomed to facing those things on my own. but perhaps it's for the best. i can't image anyone would want to be exposed to 'all of me'. nonetheless, these things sit alright with me. dark things don't scare me. otherwise i might be scared of myself.
anyway, i think i've gone on enough for now, so i'm gonna end it here.
until next time- be sure to empty the gnarls from your socks. they can do murder to a nice plump big toe.
i'm listening to
the cranberries- no need to argue.
i forgot how much i dig this album. i'm sittin here boppin along in my chair. see? it's even got me cutting the -g off of words. it's just "feel good music" whether the lyrics are happy or not. some stuff is just like that for me. different music fits different moods...or something. yeah, it's like that for a lot of people. so that's not so out of the ordinary. i guess it so happens that sometimes music that people might call "dark" or "sad" is actually the stuff that makes me feel most at home. i'm comfortable with dark and sad. perhaps my life path has made me as such... i don't really know. i'm not really dark or sad myself... things like that just seem the most inviting. maybe inviting isn't the word....but it's sort of like... if i listen to pop music.. it makes me feel irritable. it's like that john mayer lyrics "red candy lips and a bubblegum tongue". that lyric bugs me SOOO fucking much. my god! i go on for hours about how i hate it. (ok maybe not hours, but i'm sure i've argued the point for at least an hour before *smirk*). but yeah... the ooey-gooeyness of it just makes me ill. i can't stand the fact that people find such things to be GOOD or pleasurable. guh. i mean... it's just so....contrived! standard! nauseating! guh! ..... see? i told you. i can go on forever. but yeah, back to my original point... i don't like things like that. that's the same reason i can't listen to bands like ELO. now i can't say ELO is along the same lines of that john mayer lyric, but it's so bright shiny happy that i feel ill listening to it. i'm like Run away! Noooo! ok...maybe not that exaggerated, but you get my point right? yeah. right. wee.
what does it mean that i'm 'at home with the dark and the sad'? a source of identity i suppose. i'm not a sad person. but i'm not a happy person. i really don't know what happy means. sometimes the past gets stuck in my head, playing like a reel to reel. i realize that things that are called dark, sad, i understand them. and i'm well aware of the 'dark' that resides within me. i keep it bottled up, under lock and key. no one likes that side of me. they're afraid of it, i think. they rather i just go along like everyone else it seems. even he fails to see anything good of that part of me. "you can't act like that. you can't say those things." but not even to a trusted source? guess not. sometimes we have to be our own best friend that we tell our troubles to and the shoulder to lean on while tears soak into our shirt. but, you can't lean on your own shoulder. however, i've grown accustomed to facing those things on my own. but perhaps it's for the best. i can't image anyone would want to be exposed to 'all of me'. nonetheless, these things sit alright with me. dark things don't scare me. otherwise i might be scared of myself.
anyway, i think i've gone on enough for now, so i'm gonna end it here.
until next time- be sure to empty the gnarls from your socks. they can do murder to a nice plump big toe.
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