Looking for Alaska Book Review

The Review

In Short

Looking for Alaska is a young adult novel about a boy named Miles Halter ("Pudge") who decides to begin his "Great Perhaps" by attending Culver Creek Preparatory High School, where he meets Alaska Young, whom the idea of becomes the pivotal concept from which the novel swings from Before to After.

Reading My Own Biography

I didn't go to boarding school. I did not experience what "Pudge" and his friends experience during their junior year. However, the faculty and staff remind me of my own high schools', and Pudge's friends remind me of my own friends. Most, very most, importantly: the questions the protagonist poses and the conclusions he comes to are questions and conclusions I am still presenting years after high school. And love: tragically, Looking for Alaska reminds me of my loves.

Innocence and Experience

Alaska is written in two parts, Before and After, starting at 136 days before and ending at appropriately 136 days after. I've come to look at these separate parts as compared to William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience. In Blake's poems, the poems of innocence are full of hope and perhaps naivety, whereas the poems of experience are more despairing and filled with a sense of realism. Before, Pudge is falling and falling for Alaska, but after, as the back cover of my edition suggests, "Nothing is ever the same." Unfortunately, it takes Pudge's experience to bring him to his own sense of realism. It's this experience and subsequent experiences that help form his questions and also to form his final conclusion.

What It's Worth

Alaska is a beautiful book. There's vulgar language, pranking, smoking, drinking, and sex, all of which are balanced by it's religious undertones, philosophy, coming-of-age set up, and over all life lessons. In the middle I was crying. Not during, but after; and not because of the idea or event itself, but because of how Pudge reacts. And in the end I was crying. Because I was able to feel it all, even if I've never been in those shoes. That is the talent of an arguably skilled author and artist. I could still feel the emotion days after reading. I don't plan to read many books a second time, but this one is a rare find. I can see myself reading it not only a second time, but a third and fourth. Alaska is positively a beautiful masterpiece.

10/10

Quotes from Looking for Alaska

• "When adults say, 'Teenagers think they are invincible' with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."
• "Francois Rabelais. He was a poet. And his last words were 'I go to seek a Great Perhaps.' That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.
• "Thomas Edison's last words were 'It's very beautiful over there.' I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful."
• "[...] if people were rain, I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane."

P.S.:

Talking to a friend I haven't spoken to in a some time made me happy today.

"Hope Deserted"

A Short Story

I couldn’t remember if I’d ever felt so alone. What was the difference between two instances where one has been alone? One instance, you could be all by yourself with an apathetic feeling toward the fact; another, you could be in a place filled to the brim with people, and yet, feel completely alone. Why? Well, regardless, I was alone in both senses of the word. Completely alone.

I was on my knees for only a short moment. I stood and began walking. Wandering, more specifically. Where was I? A desert. Void of life as my body would soon be. The sand was a light shade of yellow. The sky, just as empty, was not the typical blue, but rather, it was white. There were no clouds, no birds. Just a bright, empty whiteness that my eyes could hardly see even when strained. There was no hope in the heavens; there was no hope on earth, even, as my eyes and thoughts came back to it. And I was in hell. The sun, whose location I assumed was directly above me, shone on the desert sands and me without mercy. I, myself, was but a grain of sand, burning among the rest. Bearing the pain, I walked. Wandered, endlessly. Aimlessly.

Everything was so bright and burning, but it was all dark. My perception was hazy as I looked around; my hands, my legs and feet moving beneath me, and the rolling sands of the desert floor. Beyond all of this, I could see perfectly; the distant mountains, hope, and home.

All I could think of was home and how my dissipating hope was slowing me from reaching such a destination. But it wasn’t home I was wandering toward. I was looking for something, and, after long thoughts of a bed to sleep in, I understood what I was looking for. I wondered why she left my side and where she could be in the whole of this vast nothingness. Would I ever find her? I didn’t know which direction to go; it would be a miracle if I found her.

Instinct told me to run to the mountains where, if I didn’t find her, I could recoup in order to return to the desert in search of her again. And who knew, maybe I would happen across her on the way. My heart told me to turn my back to the mountains and search every inch of these damned dunes. I would die in search of my love. With these thoughts of finding her came hope revived. No one could be this lonely and wish to live. I survived through hope alone. With this hope of not being alone, I continued.

I turned my back to the mountains and walked on. Soon I was able to look back and no longer see the mountains. Now I was lost and without a sense of direction. For all I knew, I was walking in circles. But I refused to give up. I refused to give up hope.

The desert moved slowly as I walked through it. The crawling dunes provided short, hot breezes as well as rare, hotter, gusts of wind. I must have become crazy, because after going on and on for so long I started to look for traces of her. Perhaps I would see her hair band or, maybe, a lost shoe. I glanced back to see if there were any footprints in the sand, but all were my own. Even my footprints faded in the shifting of the dunes; especially, though, when the dunes halted altogether at the edge of flat, cracked, dry ground. I managed to exit one form of desolation into another. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The desert—this one in particular—was Satan’s sand box. If there was a hell, I believed I had found it.

I stared off into the flat expanse that ended in a broad haze. Everything was hazy now. I fell to my knees, overwhelmed. My feet were beyond burned and my skin, lips, mouth, eyes, and lungs were all dry. I closed my eyes to a burning sensation and then opened them again to a worse burning. I quickly shut them again. They were better off closed; they continued to burn, but not as badly as when I had reopened them. They began to water from the pain. I wasn’t sure when the watering turned into the welling of tears; but shortly, tears began to drip from my eyes as I clenched them shut. My cheeks dried almost as soon as they had been wet. With hope surely lost somewhere back in the dunes with my sanity, I resolved that I would die here on my knees in the middle of nowhere, alone.

What am I looking for again?

It was strange feeling everything at once: alone in every sense, in pain in every sense. What motivation could there possibly be?

Her.

No. No, I wouldn’t die here. I pulled up one leg and pushed myself to my feet. I stood shaking and almost fell back to the ground. I opened my eyes. There was no burning. Everything was still hazy, but I saw a figure in the distance. Through the visible heat, I saw what appeared to be a black-hooded man walking toward me. Was I hallucinating? As the figure closed the distance between us, I realized it was her. I tried to walk toward her, but I was still on the verge of collapse. Her brown hair hung down and touched the shoulders of her strapless, black dress. I could see her clearly; everything else was shrouded in the same haze. I could see her and nothing else. She stopped three feet away from me. Her dress was torn in multiple places and her lips were cracked. I could barely see the blue of her eyes within the bloodshot whites. She looked dreadful. She looked beautiful.

I reached out to her and she stepped back. Her face seemed emotionless, but I felt something beyond that. I’m sure my face showed confusion. I stepped forward, still shaking. She stepped forward. I was relieved.

“I found you,” I whispered.

“But I lost you,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been searching everywhere.” I shook.

“You left me. I was alone.”

“I never intended to. I meant to always be there.” I was crying.

“You’re intentions were always the issue, darling.” She was crying. “I love you,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” She stepped toward me and wrapped her arms around me with her head against my chest. I held her for what felt like forever. And it would be forever before I let go. She let go. When she did, she took ahold of my hand and held it against her cheek. Her face was warm. I curled my fingers and brushed my nails lightly over her smooth skin. I could even feel the warmth of her face through the air around it. I thought it was the sun, but it was her. She burst into fire. My hand flinched away from the extreme heat. She looked at me with longing eyes as the flames engulfed her form. Her dress began dripping black to the ground. She grew ever hotter and ever brighter. I could no longer bear to look at her through the light. I felt my face contort into the shape of true fear. And it was over. She was gone. I dropped to my knees yet again. The only thing left of her was the pool of her dress. It was a pool of despair and I wanted to dive in. I fell to my hands and water leaked from my mouth. I rolled onto my back next to the pool of blackness and my saliva. My eyes refused to blink as I stared into the nothingness of the sky. And as I stared at God, I reached my hand into the air as if he would lend me a hand and pull me to my feet. My hand fell to my chest and I closed my eyes.

Serenity flowed through my veins and solace spilled from my eyes. These things disappeared when I opened them. Respectfully, agony and anguish replaced them. The sun was swapped by the moon and the heat was exchanged with cold. The black pool that served as the only proof of my love’s existence remained no longer. All that was left was the desert.

I sat on the cracked floor and pulled my knees to my chest. I was shivering. It was so cold I could see my breath, a reminder that I was still alive. But for what? I couldn’t answer my own question. There is no answer. There is no answer. Shivering turned to shaking. Why? My heart screamed in silence. I shook horribly. Why?! I stopped breathing and then screamed. My lungs burned as they exhaled my pain. Pain became a chain reaction of every action I performed. I broke from embracing myself and writhed in complete agony.

“Why?!” I roared. “God… why?” I screamed in a whisper. I considered screaming obscenities at the empty sky questioning its motives. Useless. I was alone and there was only me.

What could I do? What point would there be in… anything? Not only was I alone in many senses, I was lost. Deserted by hope. I was borderline insane. Deserted by logic.

Logic? No… this? But it… This is a dream? Why was I in a desert? How had I gotten here?

My love. Oh my God. My love was alive. I would awake from this nightmare and she would be asleep by my side. Thank you, God. Thank you.

I stood to my feet against the cold and against the still dry air within and without my lungs. I was relieved, and the desert came to an end.

Lying on my side, I awoke to true sunlight with tears slipping down my face. I had that feeling of emptiness in my gut. Why? Why, God?  I looked at my alarm clock. 5:27. There was no point in going back to sleep with only three minutes remaining. I sat up. Before standing and getting ready for work, I waited, reminiscing in empty thoughts. Apathetic. I stood to embrace the long day ahead.

By MFW III

The Battle I Didn't Know I Was Fighting

What is that battle you ask? Well, I hit on it in a previous post, if you'll remember:

• I don't currently have a girlfriend.
• And if I did, I still wouldn't have sex.
• And that's probably why I don't have a girlfriend.
• Or it's because I'm bad with commitment, but that's a different post altogether.

~10/05/12, "I'm Too Sexy For My Pride"

The battle was between times, Before and After. And this, my friends, is the "different post altogether."

I would like to talk about each of the points beneath "I don't currently have a girlfriend." Once I've completed this session, we'll pretty much have answered the why to that statement.

Why I don't have sex...
This goes back pretty far. Like, to Bible times. It started out as a Christian moral I held and rationalized into my present state of thinking on the subject. Firstly, do I even want sex? Hell yes, I want sex. Are you crazy? I'm a guy! Wait, wait. I'm sorry. I'M HUMAN. What human being can actually say they do not want sex? I accept that there are people who claim to be asexual. I do not understand these people. I will pretend they do not exist (until I meet one). There are probably people who might say the same about me and my people: the people who would prefer to wait until marriage to have sex. So, secondly, now that we've covered that I actually do want sex, the reason I don't is because... because I'd like for it to be savored. I do the same thing with kissing (granted, I do kiss before marriage). It feels like this sacred thing, and not just because God has made it so, but because I only want to share it with one person. I've only ever kissed five people. I'd like to keep that to a minimum. Same thing for sex.

No sex = no girlfriend...
There aren't many people like me out there. It's not that I want a virgin; it doesn't matter whether they are or not. But there aren't many girls my age who are willing to wait for me. =( That's okay.. that's fine. Just makes her harder to find.

Why I'm bad with commitment...
*Sigh* I'm bad with commitment because I'm in love with a girl I cannot have. Maybe I'm not in love. Maybe I'm not anymore or never was. But I think I was. Though, I don't know that I am anymore. All the good memories fade until all I have is seeing myself become the monster from which I meant to defend. It's hard to fall in love or make a relationship work when you keep looking for her in them. And it's not fair to them. First I'm using them to get over her, and then when that doesn't work, I'm breaking up with them because they're not her. I can't help it. I'm done looking though. I will simply wait for a more beautiful butterfly. Or until she flutters back.

Or until I'm dead.

~~~

P.S.: I've been simply content today, and cannot recall anything in particular that has made me happy. This is sort of upsetting. There should be at least one thing, right? Well, I am at least content. And maybe, just maybe, that is cause for being happy.

Cloud Atlas Film Review

Cloud Atlas is a film containing six separate, but still connected, stories. The set up may prove challenging for many to follow, but if you are able to, you will find yourself ever-curious. It begins with one of Tom Hanks's older, bald and bearded characters narrating. The next times you see him, he is a doctor in the 19th century, a scientist in the 20th, a criminal in the 21st, and more. Halle Berry holds a protagonistic role as a reporter in the late 20th century; Jim Broadbent plays an old publisher sent to a prison-like old folks home in the 21st; Jim Sturgess is an explorer to the Americas in the 19th; and Ben Wishaw is a musician in the early 20th; and all of these actors play multiple roles as a new, supporting character in a few, and sometimes all, of the six stories.

The movie sits at a daring 171 minutes in length. And you thought Star Wars films were long. This is borderline Lord of the Rings, but you get six separate stories out of it.

One thing for sure is that each protagonist shares a birthmark with the next, showing a physical connection over time. Of course, this is more symbolism than anything. The protagonists are quite different, but what remains the same is the world around them, even throughout time. It is the idea of conflict. This story is adapted from the book of the same name by David Mitchell, who said "the book's theme is predacity, the way individuals prey on individuals, groups on groups, nations on nations, tribes on tribes."

There is so much about this film that cannoy be simply said in a review. Each story, in itself, is beautiful; put together, these stories tell the story of Humanity, and even that is beautiful. Aside from story itself, each of the actors play their separate parts amazingly well. It's almost like a play on acting as a career: one person going from role to role, like the characters in the story: one soul going from time to time, place to place, people to people.

Cloud Atlas is art in film, truly, and unlike so many. Unfortunately, Cloud Atlas may be overlooked due to many factors, including but not limited to: its length, the time it takes from opening to climax in each individual story, and the taboo themes it presents. Nevertheless, I see a masterpiece.

9/10

~~~

P.S.: I enjoyed having Thanksgiving with my family in Florida, and reading Paper Towns by John Green on all of the lengthy, crazy car rides. *Sigh* I <3 Margo, too.

"To Find What Has Been Lost"

A Short Story

(Preface: I must have written this story between 10th and 11th grade (2008-2009). It's old and definitely needs revision. I do like this one, though, very much. It uses an element I use in many of my short stories and perhaps even in coming novels. Because of heavy content I plan on posting currently and soon, I feel that this story has earned its place here and now. Enjoy.)

The ground was wet with dew and wherever it wasn’t it was with rain from the night that had lasted longer than any night he had ever experienced. Faint drips of precipitation from beyond the forest cover could be heard hitting the ground here and there, but never wherever he wandered. The humidity of this night was perhaps the worst part of his physical journey. His shoes were torn and soaked with sweat. His shirt was torn on one side and his pants ripped in places. Every muscle he could even think of ached. His head throbbed with an unbearable pounding, a musical beat that was in no way at all soothing. His hair was drenched with perspiration and rain from a long downpour that lasted hours of his night already traveled. His internal clock had broken sometime earlier in the night. Dawn awaited somewhere in the distance, but when or where, he did not know.
His memory failed him completely from all of the stress. The only thing that kept him moving was her face. His instincts guided his way. His thoughts traveled nowhere with him; however, his thoughts were concentrated solely on her face, her figure, her perfect silhouette that cast light upon his dreams of the day from lack of sleep, his obliged insomnia. Time was almost non-existent, but to say that it was would be a lie. Time was nor here nor there. Yet time was here and there at the same time, ironically. If anything came close to the pains caused by humidity, it was the emotional stress caused by time and the feeling it brought of hushed presence and boisterous absence.
When he saw her he wanted to run. When he saw her he wanted to cry. He wanted to smile. He saw himself run to her: he embraced her with a kiss and the sun began to rise from whence she came; every happy moment in his life flashed before his eyes making him lose all feeling of stress and discomfort from the forest’s entrapment.
When he saw her he couldn’t run. When he saw her he couldn’t even cry. He wanted to smile, but was unable. He saw himself run to her, but instead fell to his knees. He imagined a kiss, but there was no kiss to be had. Every happy moment in his life fled his mind making every feeling of stress and discomfort from the forest’s binding entrapment numb. A trick of the mind had her presence been. And it was then, while on his knees, that he realized the sun was rising behind him from whence he came.

by MFW III

Still Feeling

I finished reading John Green's Looking for Alaska tonight. It's a short book, just over 200 pages, that I spent most of yesterday and today reading. Absolutely beautiful. As I completed it, I was in tears and thinking this has to be at least my second favorite book of all time (the first being When Crickets Cry by Charles Martin). But I'm wondering, soon and still slowly after, whether or not this is now my #1 favorite book.

I'm still feeling its effects. I'm feeling a love I have not felt since a dream so many years ago. A love for that which is not real and can never be.

There will certainly be a review and possibly a list of my favorite (non-spoiler) quotations on and from this book. I shall be releasing on the final Friday of this month. Film review of Cloud Atlas coming this Friday.

For now: one last cigarette, one last Mountain Dew, before I leave to hope and dream of that which will never be.

~~~

P.S.: Alaska made me happy. Alaska made me sad. Alaska made me remember love.

A Word at a Time

I feel like falling back into a streak of creative writing, which would not be a bad thing. Every time I sit down to a write a Monday post, I'm left without a plan, just the thoughts in my head. When I have nothing in particular to talk about, I start to go crazy with my words. This current post isn't a good example...yet. Who knows what this could turn into.

~~~

"No one ever..."

No one ever. No, not ever.

Please the crowd, wild and young

Words for the sinner from an aspiring saint

Ah, how quaint; our hero unsung.

Not much better, but yes, quite clever.

No one ever. No, not ever.

Fight the weak, minds and all

Blood from the abused to feed our war

Not this whore; not her call.

Not much better, but yes, quite clever.

No one ever. No, no, no.

Reign in desire, dark and wrong

Says who? asks the knight without armor

Take the power; break the strong.

Not much better, no, no, no.

No.

Is there a purpose here?

Who will find meaning?

We ask our questions, fit them with answers

Taste deceit.

WHY WHY WHY

why

Do you know why?

No one ever. No, not ever.

Respond now, liars and thieves

Words of the sinner for the self-righteous

Ah, how pretentious; pious misdeeds.

Not much better, but yes, quite clever.

by MFW III (just now)

~~~

Yeah. I just wrote that. Just now. And it doesn't even mean anything. I mean, I try to make it understandable as part of the English language, but really my words are paint randomly splashed on a canvas. Let's do what no author actually wants you to do: give their work unintended meaning. (I'm going to have a poetry collection one day, and it's going to be called Everything Means Nothing.) I would say the author intended to contrast the thoughts of the self-righteous and the sinners; however, it is not clear when the self-righteous is speaking, and when the sinner is talking. Probably because they're both the same person/group/entity. (Remember, I wrote this with no intended meaning.) "Well, maybe, if the author didn't intend any meaning, his subconscious mind..." Stop talking right now and go die. Thanks.

Seriously, it doesn't mean anything. But if you can find meaning, then awesome.

~~~

I told you this could go anywhere.

This kind of resembles my life actually... Paint splashed onto a canvas. Words with corresponding words and without meaning.

Me, living, acting, doing. A man in progress, without purpose.

Maybe I should write a poem about that. Maybe I just did.

~~~

P.S.: I went to church for the first time in... over a year? Some people didn't recognize me. Those who did were accepting of me. They did not ask why I hadn't been to church nor bother me with personal questions. It was as if I had never left.

Halo 4 Video Game Review

First Things First: Graphics

The campaign opens with a cinematic interrogation of Dr. Catherine Halsey by and unknown character whose face is shrouded in shadows. The beloved voice of the AI Cortana emanates from her creator, who is the same woman that also created the Spartans. The motion capture and lighting trick you into thinking that this opening is live-action.

This medium of storytelling is used twice: the Prologue and the Epilogue (not counting the weekly episodes of Spartan Ops). The rest of the campaign uses in-game graphics for cutscenes, but the clarity of the prologue transitions perfectly. You almost can't tell anything has changed. These graphics, the artwork, the visuals overall are an upgrade in every way. The flaws of Halo 3 and even Halo: Reach are not present here.

Lightning Before Thunder: Audio

To state the obvious, the Halo franchise is well known for its soundtracks. The original trilogy was defined by the deep vocals of its main theme. The music of the first three played with upbeat scores great for action sequences. Halo 4's score tackles a different beast altogether: emotion. The music of Halo 4 sets the tone of the story revolving around our protagonist Master Chief and his near-human, AI companion Cortana. The soundtrack does not seek to compete with the music of previous games, but to stand alone and to do so boldly. It is one of the most essential parts of the story, and it compliments well.

Weapons in previous Halos always sounded incredible, and the sounds, as well as the designs, of the Covenant weapons were always unique. Halo 4 goes above and beyond with how real the Human weapons sound. There is certainly an advancement with the way the alien weapons sound as well.

Why We're Here: Gameplay

Shooters originated with the likes of Doom and Marathon on PC. Halo's original creators, Bungie Studios, set out to create another great PC shooter. But with Microsoft's new Xbox video game console coming out, the game was created for this system instead. The Xbox has been known to many as the "Halo Delivery System." PC shooters were really simple: dodge and shoot. While these two aspects remain, Halo has evolved from this point and expanded the shooter base by miles. Because of Halo's success, we now have video games like Gears of War and Call of Duty. Call of Duty ran with its infamous multiplayer. Gears of War integrated multiplayer, but ran with the telling of a great story. What I love about Halo is that it is the best of both worlds. Gameplay matters. As far as the story mode is concerned, the gameplay is as flawless as ever. There are more advanced AIs, the use of interactive storytelling, where a story is told as you act, and encounters that provide for a myriad of tactical combat scenarios. Halo 4 is more, more, more. 343 has delivered.

The Best for Last: Story

Halo always bewitched its players with good storytelling. Halo 4 takes the characters you know and love and makes you love them even more. The story revolves around the relationship of Master Chief Spartan John-117 , a man who was abducted and indoctrinated at the age of six, augmented, and sent to fight impossible battles against a relentless alien covenant, and an artificial intelligence with a lifespan of 7 years, who is on her 8th year; all the while, both of these characters are put in place to be the protectors of Earth and all her colonies against not only the Covenant or the Flood, but the return of the Forerunners, the pedestal-ed gods,  themselves.

10/10

~~~

P.S.: Eating my self-prepared lunch at work today (11/15/12) was strangely nice. I guess you could say that was a tinge of happiness.

"Dream Escape"

A Short Story

I rode my bicycle down the hazy dirt road with such a speed that surely no one could keep up. Behind me followed three dark figures. Sunlight consumed the road directly in front of me and darkness itself pursued me. As I continued, one of the figures tripped over a piece of clay. Pedaling fiercely, I was quickly losing stamina. The two remaining figures followed me over the grassy hillside. Darkness ruled my world except for a light that emanated from over there. With the two behind me and gaining, I ran as fast as I could. Finally they found me hiding in the bathroom. In an attempt at eluding them, I threw my fist at one, but nothing happened. Again, I swung my arm. Then he punched me, but like my failed attack, his rendered no affect. I then flew toward the largest cloud I could see. I hung above it in the purple sky of euphoria. Others were present, but distant. I saw what I wanted and waved my hand. It flew toward me and I caught it in the same hand. When the whip cracked, I sensed fear. I was fear. Ash filled the air around my island, which was surrounded by lava. Hell’s demons cracked their whips at everyone and I stood as fear. My bedroom was darker than normal. I lay as fear. Spinning, I could not stop. It did not stop. Never would it stop. Blurs rounded my sight and I was fear. There she was. Moonlight from a nonexistent source lit her figure. She was mine and I controlled her. I could use her as I pleased. She tempted me with her eyes and with my mind I removed her shirt. She kissed me because I made it so. And I ran from the three still. They were relentless. I took the stairs; they followed. Orange light formed my surroundings: a desert, a storm, tornadoes made of orange light and softness. But the barn was too dark—I would never find her. Nut there she was. I knew her name and she kissed me. Darkness ensued. I was alone. The room emptied. Blackness. Alone. Blue. Dark blue. Here she was. Young. I am young. She is fun. She is my friend. We played together. She was my best friend. She looks like me. I know her. She is me. But here I was again. Outside. It was bright, but night. And in my bed I was fear. Moonlight lit our faces. She kissed me. Blonde hair and blue eyes. When our lips parted, I knew I had never loved—until then.

by MFW III

Love and Lost Time

It’s interesting looking back at life and the way I have handled situations. There aren’t many times I handled things well, but for some reason I can’t say I would handle them any differently. I think that is what is ultimately important. All of my decisions were based on whatever I had to work with. I can look back and say maybe it would have been better if I did this, and I’ll be saying that a couple years from now, too.

            People like to say you should leave the past in the past because there’s nothing you can do to change it. But the past is history, and we learn from history. So why not study it? Dissect it. Understand it. My biggest issue isn’t understanding my own actions, but the actions of those who influenced me.

            Unfortunately I still don’t understand these people, so I’m going to be selfish and talk about something I do know: myself. (And even then, do I really know?)

            I started making decisions for myself around 9^th grade. My parents had just separated. I chose to stay with my dad because, well, he owned a house. And he lived in the town where I had friends. And where I went to school. And where I attended church. I used to ride my bicycle all through town and beyond with my best friend. Doing this was an act of my own making. My parents didn’t really like my riding to town because we lived near some…unpleasant areas and developments. I entered my rebellion phase by begging to get what I wanted, and I almost always succeeded. I convinced my parents to allow me to switch from my private Christian school to the local public school, which had a terrible reputation. Why did I want to go to this school? For the girlfriend I broke up with three months later.

            I left the public school for a more renowned private school and then dated another girl who ended up breaking my heart. And when I didn’t think there was any chance of saving me, I found another…who also ended up breaking my heart. Intentionally or not. I went to college for one year before going on hiatus. I started working for this one douche bag who owes me money to this day. And finally I am here, working on this blog while I work full time with a third party healthcare company.

            The important parts are the girls, the schools, and the jobs. Because that’s what my life seems to revolve around. What made me “happy” was having a loving girlfriend. And I had them, but they disappeared. I was so devastated by losing them that I lost all of my other friends and fell into bouts of depression that kept me from doing well in school. I went to college for an English degree even though I had no idea what I would do with one. All I knew was that I loved writing. I ended up making good money off of a terrible boss and then making my way to where I work now. I don’t do work I love, and I need to feel a sense of purpose. So here I am writing pointlessly away.

This didn’t pan out the way I thought it would, but I’m really tired. All I know is that I’m here doing what I do now because of decisions I made then.

I was going through some old E-mails earlier. Someone told me that I was miserable because I can be. I don’t think I’m miserable now. But was I miserable then and before then? Why can’t I change for the better. I think I have this time. Alas, I am alone. I’m not sad though. I’m just lost. Even while writing…I feel a lack of purpose. I need love again. I just don’t know where to find it, and I don’t feel like looking anymore. It hurts too much.

~~~

P.S.: Chilling with my pal, climbing trees, and smoking cigars made me happy today.

When Time Stole Your Heart

She wants me to go to God. She says he'll take care of me. I hope so. I need Him. I need her, but right now I can't have her. He's not a substitute. I thought He and I were okay before all of this crap. Maybe this was a test, like Job. If so... I failed. I'm so sorry, Dad...
Please, help me be better... for her... for You... for me.

(September 27, 2010)

I've been writing quite a bit. I don't feel well. I miss my Love. I have a test Wednesday, as well as an essay due. I need a break. I need help.

(October 10, 2010)

Hey, God? I miss you...

(October 14, 2010)

As we know, time flies. When we're kids, time slows its pace during boring, uneventful times, and speeds up during fun, exciting times. Now that we're all grown up... time is leaving us behind.
I don't know what they told you, but this place is not what you say
Reset. Rewind.
I have so much work to do for my classes. Test in the morning. Research projects. A paper. Exams.
I've been living inside a hole; they put me underground, where they can never find me unless they dig me out.
I have so much work to do for myself. Get a job. Return to church. Walk with God. Move forward?
I'm not the same anymore... I'm not the same anymore.
My future requires my immediate attention while my present is facing consequences of the past. I will not be happy until everything is balanced out.
I wanna watch them burn it down so I can breathe again.
I'm trusting God on this one; though, I have no idea what I mean by "one." This isn't simply one thing. This is my life.
This is where they all come to hunt me down... hunt me down... They hunt me down.
Demons.. They tempt my hand and steal my sleep. Pitiful fools.
I'll be the victor. I will destroy them.
It's time for me to take control.
One breath at a time, I'll be just fine, 'cause I'll be right on the inside. I steady my hands inside of my shell and wait 'til their backs are turned. Oh! Inside of my head where they thought they would win. I've got them right where I want them. Push either side. I'm burning them alive. I hear them begging and pleading.

(November 18, 2010)

~~~

P.S.: I have all of my friends back. I don't deserve it, but I do. This makes me curious. This makes me happy.

"Unto Dawn" and "Moving Forward"

My collection of short stories and poetry tend to be dark and depressing, because that was what I was feeling when I wrote them. In the case of these two poems, I was attempting to write something more positive. I still see them as coming from a dark place, but with a sense of optimism.

~~~

"Unto Dawn"

I have worn out negativity's demand;

I'm beginning to see scars

                    that are not by my hand.

by MFW III

~~~

"Moving Forward"

Behind the wheel

I drive alone to notes, percussion, and soft and screaming vocals.

Soothed by the sounds of harmony and chaos and the gray clouds above.

I make my way, some way, somewhere, and I don't care,

As long as there is no rush but the rush of the moment.

Following dotted lines

I am kept on track, but free to cross over when no one is watching.

And no one is watching, no one is watching, no one is watching.

I lose this odd feeling of bliss when the sun sends a kiss,

A reminder that He is watching, He is watching with love.

Facing the sun

I follow these lines with lyrics flowing and music sounding.

Discovery presents as clouds part and the sky burns orange.

I discover a new sense of bliss provided by a saving grace,

And continue on my way, away, with the rush of the moment.

by MFW III

Free to Be Me

...even if I am a nerd.

~~~

My last post "Ladders to the Heart" was going to be part of today's posting, but there was no way I could follow that up with anything else I wanted to say. And so, with my new found freedom, I posted it instantly and unscheduled. Lovely, lovely.

SO MUCH FREEDOM IS IN THESE WORDS.

There is a freedom in words, and when you find what words can do, what they can create, then you will find that freedom too.

All this rhyming business is completely unintentional. I am just that awesome.

Speaking of awesome, I have updated my library of books to contain three of John Green's bestselling works: Looking for Alaska, Paper Towns, and The Fault in Our Stars. My friend Adam got me to start writing constantly. Dan Brown (pogobat) inspired me to create a blog (albeit, a different form of blogging than his own). My interest in Dan Brown led me to other YouTube users such as Craig Benzine (wheezywaiter), and John and Hank Green (vlogbrothers). Most importantly the "vlogbrothers." I say all of this to come full circle with why I now own three of John Green's books. Both he and his brother are AWESOME personalities and because of this, I have taken interest in his books. I went to Barnes and Noble today to buy Looking for Alaska, but came out with two others plus Karen Traviss's Star Wars novel, Imperial Commando: 501st.

Karen Traviss is an amazingly talented authoress of science fiction. She has written multiple Star Wars novels, Gears of War novels (as well as performing as the writing lead on the video game Gears of War 3), and has two books of a Halo trilogy published. From what I have read, she has a nack for taking previously static characters and fleshing them out beautifully. She has earned her way to being one of my top-fave authors. Not that being in my fave-five means anything.

If you will notice, I have created a chain here as I move onto the next topic: Halo 4. Oh yes. I am a nerd. I'm gonna geek out. I'm gonna be the little girl on Christmas that actually did get a pony. Not only  was it a pony, it was a unicorn. Oh yeah. I'm that excited. I'm all about story. Somehow the original creators (Bungie Studios) managed to create a video game that performed excellently and told a great story. And the story only gets better and better. I'm also very curious, so once I am sucked into a story, I have to keep going until I know all. I am a story addict. It's a tough life I lead.

I'm going to go play Assassin's Creed 3 until Halo releases. PEACE.

~~~

P.S.: I suppose you could say I was happy while watching Quantum of Solace and smoking fags with mi padre. Can't really think of anything else, but I'm enjoying myself just fine. (11/4/12)

Ladders to the Heart

Well, there are memories I've never learned, and you are one of them. I look into your past and see nothing there but what you've said and what I can only assume. I wonder and watch and wait for you to tell me. I'm only your friend, but I promise my love for you is larger than my imagination. And how can my love / Embrace / Quell / Calm that pain? / I'll be here all the same. But you may never know that I know, but I do, and I'm sorry, and its pity I feel, but empathy also. Because my love has an imagination. It says I've had a past life that's felt what you've felt, and though I never have, I have, I have. I feel it. It hurts. It's a deep memory of a time I never experienced. You didn't mean to, but when you did, you reached in and pulled it to the surface.
And now I remember the scars. I've seen yours. Maybe you haven't seen mine. The ones on my wrist. The ones on my arm. The ones under my sleeve. Ladders to the heart. Climb the broken past and they'll find us where we are. But what will they see. Not this love. Not this love I have for you or this love you have for me. They see pain they don't understand. But I do, I have. And even though your pain is worse than mine, I hear your heart's cry, and I want all and to gather the blood to put it back. But I know too much has been spilled. And that weighs heavy on my own. Like you, I am on my own. Although, there is love, and it is for you.

~MFW III

Look Forward November,

Look forward November, for you are not the last, but the first before it.

~~~

Today's post marks the first of this month's Monthly Mondays. Except that.. it's Friday. I have decided to do away with much of the annoying alliteration (except that this month is No Shave November... gotta add that, even if it isn't a perfect example). And so, I shall henceforth call this day: FRIDAY. Yeah. It's that simple.

So if today is supposed to be a monthly post, then what is this shiznit all about? Well, I'll tell you what it's about. It's about nothing. You see, like October's Mondays, November has five Fridays. And this is the day I have nothing planned for. Well, I had this planned... but the plan was just to tell you that I have no plan except for which those days I have planned. Yes, yes. That's right.

Let's get this over with: Monday = Weekly Blog; Wednesday = Creative Writing/Featured Content; and Friday = Monthly Specials. Monthly specials = 1) Film Review, 2) Book Review, 3) Journal Entry, 4) ???. (Not much has changed as far as the monthlies go, but I don't know that I want to do vlogs so much. I have an idea, but I'll have to see how it works out. Stay tuned.)

~~~

So it was recently my birthday. I'm no longer a teenager and now people can take me more seriously. (Probably not.)

My dad thought it a wonderful idea to buy me ANOTHER instrument... I already own three acoustic guitars, one electric guitar, a bass guitar, a violin, and a keyboard. And now I am the proud owner of a drum set. An electric drum set, but a drum set nonetheless. And it's legit... not one of them fake ones. I'm playing it a lot better than I expected to. Keeping a beat hasn't been a strong suit of mine when it comes to music. I'm usually the guy FOLLOWING the beat, not creating it. It's nice and fun, though.

And Assassin's Creed III... And Halo 4 in four days. And... and... Halo 4. Yeah.

So how about Disney has acquired ownership of LucasFilm and is now planning Star Wars episodes VII, VIII, and IX for 2015. I'm not sure whether to jump for joy or curl up and cry. It'll be okay: the world ends next month.

Done with my nerdgasm. On we go.

~~~

Before I go, I would like to leave you with a note I made on Facebook. Look forward to more blogs like this:

"The Gray Note" - 09/19/2012 @ 6:42pm

I swim in my head through thoughts, emotions, ideas, and memories. They scream softly all around my soul and I feel their resonating existence. They pull me together into who I am, and that is so much. I am so much, so complex. I say, "If I don't know who I am, I doubt they do." But they see unbiased and I am an object, an image, a person. I am my words and my actions. I am these words. I stir and wake and ready myself for the day ahead, and although I know the reflection is mine, I do not recognize it as a symbol of who I am. But that is me. And that is how you see me everyday. I am told over and over that I am more mature than my age typically presents. Perhaps true, but I am so my age, more and less. I am me, but I don't recognize who that is. I am conflicting morals and organs. I am all, but just me. And it's nice and poetic, but it's the feeling I present to you. I look in the mirror and see a body whose existence has been formed by a myriad of thoughts and actions, and that is me. What is me? That face doesn't look like it used to. It's harder, more defined. Stubble emerges and tells me I am a man more and more as it fills in the gaps. Creases are arising to show a default emotion: indifference? perhaps. Anger and sorrow hide behind my eyes and I know that you can see it too because they have been there for so long. But woe is me; I have a happy brow with an accompanied smile. Do not pitty me. It's not fake like it used to be; but rare, and that's okay.

Something is missing of course. And what could that be? Knowledge? Understanding? Friends? A companion? A lover? God?

Innocence, maybe. Because experience has taken over and left the being behind.

Where I was a boy and black was black and white was white now stands a canvas of gray for which I am to paint color and make it shine. But I stare at it and ask what am I to do. I have all of this room to create a masterpiece, but I still reach for the black and white because the colors are too far away to reach. I can get up and move. But where is my motive? Who will I paint this picture for?

Friends? A companion? A lover? God?

Some will say God.

Some will say for myself.

But God has already forged his masterpiece.

And I have not been gifted with the know-how of entertaining myself.

Yet here I am writing. Contemplating. And who will read? Who will care? When I have no friends.. no companion.. no lover.. no God... This is just for me: A painted picture. Words on a page. Gray for all the black and white.

 by MFW III

~~~

P.S.: I have been coerced into leaving every blog post with something that made me happy that day (the day that I write the post).

Here goes...

To and from work I listened to the new Anthology album from my favorite band Underoath, who is soon to start its farewell tour. It was and is bittersweet. There was a mix of nostalgia and reminiscence. And I think it made me happy. (11/1/12)

~~~

P.S.S.: Have a good day!