Grin

I jotted this down during my flight to Sacramento. Enjoy.

----------------------

There it was again, looming in Annie's peripheral vision as she sped past another mile-marker. It stood as though man hunched over, spine pointed towards the empty sky and elongated arms hanging loosely from it's dark frame. There it lurked on the side of the road, briefly illuminated at each mile-marker before dissolving into the black again and again. Whenever Annie turned her gaze to see it would vanish, a figment of some awful nightmare that only persevered to torment her. By the forty-second mile Annie still had not grown accustomed to its presence, and as it appeared in the corner of her vision each mile she could discern more and more of its appearance.

Teeth. It had teeth. Rows of jagged fangs that dripped.

Colorless eyes sunken deep into its skull that reflected the headlights.

Arms long enough that its clawed hands dragged against the ground.

Skin stretched taut over its ribcage.

However, the thing that scared Annie the most was how it followed her effortlessly, always waiting for her at the next mile. It didn't matter if she changed roads, it was always there; its rotten lips pulled up in a macabre grin at her passing.

Oh, Poor Me

It depresses me when I see someone who completely relies on others to give them self-confidence.  I've been seeing a lot of "feel bad for me" posts, tweets, etc.  And, maybe it's just me being rude, but I always want to tell them (in all caps mind you!)

"GET OVER IT."

I understand this seems heartless but hey, I'm a really blunt person when I want to be.  Yes, I understand that some issues are really difficult to handle alone, and I'm happy to pray for those who are going through those issues.  However, it's a different matter when I just see someone looking for a pity party with their small problems, sharing again and again to get as many people as they can to say:  "Oh, but you're amazing, and awesome," or my personal favorite:  "They're just jealous!"  

When a problem arises in your life, run to God, not your Facebook.  Support from your friends is a wonderful thing, I know, sometimes I ask for pity too, but when you completely rely on it you may want to review exactly what you're doing.

I apologize for this rant post and I'm sorry if I've offended you.  Maybe I'm a tad bitter, but I just want to remind you all that people are fallible, but God is truth and forever there to help you get through the problems surfacing in your day-to-day lives.

Acid Rain - Meet The Schulmans

A small excerpt from my current project.

Neither of the pair proved intimidating.  Ruben Schulman, although standing at six feet two inches, lacked an impressive figure; lanky with an awkward posture that stayed consistent and a mess of blonde hair that stripped him of any attempted authority.  His sister, Hannah, while managing to hold herself straight, had no height to boast of and a practically nonexistent figure.  Their clothes hung off both of them loosely, providing an image similar to a child wearing its parents clothing.  Both of them gently made their way through the delicate network of caverns stretching two miles between the large April sanctum and their own home.  Hannah navigated the tunnels with natural grace as if every step were memorized while Ruben stumbled along behind her, having difficulty just keeping up with his sister.  Slung over their shoulders were lidded buckets that they were careful not to jostle; their tangible benefits.  With an uncle situated in a comfortable, authoritative position at the April city the two found themselves aptly provided for each month.  These supplies proved their worth not only to themselves but to the ten that also made up their private refuge in the underground (as it was duly termed).  In three months it would be the fourth year since they had broken away from the larger sanctum and created their own colony.  So far, few problems had arisen and they discovered that the rural life proved much more peaceful than the cramped underground cities.  People had left the sanctums before, some of them even traveling back to the acidic surface of the planet for reasons unknown.  Leaving the cities hardly caused any problems, but once anyone left it was quite the ordeal to get back in.

Endeavor

Today

I made enemies in my second hour

Someone I don't know very well kept trying to hug me and made me uncomfortable

I got annoyed at my sister for no good reason

I felt awkward in half of my classes

Lunch sucked

------------------------------------

I need to apologize to several people for snapping at them

I have to be honest with people that I sometimes I do not want to be hugged

I need to apologize to my sister

I need to not care what people think

I could have added BBQ Sauce

Put forth an effort?  I dig.

Acid Rain

It never stopped raining.  The acidity could be tasted in the air, a corrosive odor that stung the nostrils and burned any throat that inhaled it.  Smiling faces on television, paid of course, claimed the phenomenon as no substantial threat and that everything was under control, urging families to stay indoors until the stormed passed.

Centuries upon centuries of neglect ensured that it never would. 

As acid rain riddled holes into thin rooftops the public grew wary of faces on screens reiterating the same message.

  “Everything is under control… stay inside… no reason to worry.”

The occasional riot would erupt in various locations, the majority raging in America.  Sulfur tainted clouds grew thicker and darker, settling over the earth like a suffocated blanket.  Attempts were made to purge the single, massive entity hovering above the earth but all endeavors proved futile. 

Government order practically evaporated.  Once great cities fell to ruin, the structures that were once revered eaten away by poison water.

            It’s been raining for thirty-two years.

My Definition Trumps Yours

To my friends:

You're the tupperware to my leftovers,

The shoes on my feet.

You're the clean patch on my Spring snow slush,

And the elbow for my sneezes.

You're the music in my elevator

(It relieves the expectation to make conversation)

You're the steroid shot for my poison oak rash,

So thanks for hypothetically scratching my back.

In short:

You're my buddy.

Peach

It's Autumn, so it's time to bust out my peachy playlist.

Peach

1. Alias - Well Water Black

2. Analecta - And Your Very Flesh Shall Be a Great Poem

3. Arcade Fire - Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)

4. Arcade Fire - Neon Bible

5. Beach House - 10 Mile Stereo

6. Beach House - Take Care

7. Bon Iver - Michicant

8. Bright Eyes - Lover I Don't Have to Love

9. Campbell The Band - Quickly Growing Old

10. Explosions in the Sky - Where Do You Go Home To?

11. The Goo Goo Dolls - Here Is Gone

12. Good Old War - That's Some Dream

13. Imogen Heap - Canvas 

14. Jon Foreman - Southbound Train

15. Jónsi - Go Do

16. Jónsi - Tornado

17. Just Jack - Starz In Their Eyes

18. Little People - Start Shootin'

19. Moby - Flying Foxes

20. The Republic Tigers - Buildings & Mountains

21. The Shins - Caring Is Creepy

22. The Shins - Your Algebra

23. Sia - Somewhere We'll Be Found

24. Sigur Rós - Hoppipolla

25. Sufjan Stevens - The Dress Looks Nice On You

Bring Us An End to Summer

It’s cold, and we slip our lithe arms into noisy sweaters and our chilled feet slide perfectly into those long-forgotten pair of boots as if meeting an old friend after a great expanse of time.  Layers upon layers of cloths separate us from others around us, but we don’t mind the distance, because it gives us a chance for warmer greetings and heartfelt handshakes.  

I Sure Hope You're Doing Something Productive!

Proving I'm a dork with September's first blog update.

I get stressed out.  

So I make lists. 

 Some of them are very helpful,

 Some of them turn out like this.

In no particular order, a list of the Anime I've seen or am in the process of watching and a few of my naïve opinions about them.

Anime

~ Pokemon

Well, duh.  Everyone watched this.  

~ Digimon Adventures

I went through the series about three times on Cartoon Network.  Thank you re-runs.

~ Fullmetal Alchemist

The first major Anime I ever watched, and loved.  It remains to be my favorite series.

~ Fullmetal Alchemist:  Brotherhood

This was like eating a candy-bar, becoming sad because the candy-bar was gone, then finding another one under the seat cushion. 

~ Inuyasha

Kind of stupid, but entertaining nonetheless.

~ Samurai Champloo

Who knew Samurais could beatbox?

~ Trigun

Classic = The Best 

~ Cowboy Bebop

Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV

Need I say more?  

~ Death Note

In the Manga, Ryuk laughs like this:  "Hyuk, Hyuk, Hyuk."

~ Naruto

It's a good series if you skip the fillers and watch it subbed.  I like Pakkun.

~ Naruto Shippuden

Like Naruto, but taller.  I still like Pakkun.

~ Natsume Yuujinchou

Reminds me a lot of Spirited Away, so naturally I love it.

~ Blue Exorcist

Still in it's baby steps as an anime, but so far it has not disappointed.  Yeah, it's a bit dark, but I think it's worth it.

~ D.Gray Man

I lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove this series.  It's mucho bueno.

~ Afro Samurai

-Explosion of expletives and blood-

~ Wolf's Rain

Yeah.  I went through a hardcore wolf phase.

~ Deadman Wonderland

Sad.  Violent.  Addictive.

~ Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles

Manga's better, but it's still worth it because of Fai D. Fluorite. :D

There are so many more, but these are the ones that have stuck with me.  I prefer to read Manga rather than watch the Anime, but still.  There's something thrilling about seeing your favorite Manga moving.

There's your major dose of nerd from me.

SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY...

The Bed Is On The South Side of The Room

"I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough."
M.C Escher

I've been dreaming a lot recently.  

It's like a chain at night, one leading to the next that eventually fades into another.  I don't what sparked this sudden midnight movement; possibly how much I just lay and think before drifting off.  Or maybe it's the music I listen to before going to bed.  My prime suspect is the Summer Ho-hum.

I usually don't mind dreams.  They give me the inspiration to climb out from the deadly wedge of writer's block, but with so many dreams a night I find myself getting confused a lot.  I almost called a friend at three in the morning to ask them to give me my wallet back because of a dream.

Over the past two weeks I've dreamt about the apocalypse, ghosts, an underground city, a maze, and even Anime.  They're so strange, and I wonder why they are that way.  I've heard a lot of people talk about their dreams, and they sound normal.  None of mine have ever made sense.  Some are so vivid everything's in neon, while others are blurry as if I fell asleep with glasses on.  I usually dream in the omniscient point of view, but it's not uncommon for it to suddenly switch into first.  Completely irrelevant people will show up, then disappear.

If God's trying to speak to me through my dreams, I'm not getting the message.

Can You Dig It?

A few of my favorite 70's Jive

Bogue

An unrealistic or offensive idea

"That's so bogue, man..."

Far Out

Cool

"You are far out, man..."

To The Max!

The best it can be

"Take it to the max, man..."

Catch You On The Flip-side

See you later

"I'll catch you on the flip-side, man.."

Cheese-Eater

A suck-up

"Grady's such a cheese-eater, man..."

Chill

Relax

"You got to chill, man..."

Feel Tha Funk

Get down wit da boogie

"Feel tha funk, man..."

Ace

Groovy person

"You're such an ace, man..."

Bad

Good

"That is one bad shirt, man..."

Squirt

Cool 

"That's so squirt, man..."

Ponder. Ponder.

Our vision is muddled and disoriented; accumulating everything into a mass and then painting people with the wrong colors.  If we could recognize personalities as two separate units and then color those units, what would they be like?  Now, I understand that human morality and integrity have an array of branches, but, let me, if only for a moment, simplify everything.  Integrity and selflessness are white, while ignorance and selfishness are black.  If such an image is possible, than what are the shades of those around you?  Everyone I see now is gray.  They had been white before.  How did this happen?

When I first meet someone I have the fault of always giving them the benefit of the doubt.  This is how I've been for a very long time and I don't believe it will ever change.  I treat them like an empty canvas, acting kindly, introducing myself, and pretending to be a friend.  Slowly or abruptly, the other person's color will be corrupted with black from my own personal judgment or their actions around me.  The black will never be washed away, only added to.  God's grace is the only thing that can clear my eyes to the beautiful personalities around me.  I need to wash a lot of gray canvases.

Jesus gave it all
All to Him I owe
Sin had left a crimson stain
He washed it white as snow

Kiwi

So, I'm hanging out with some of my cool beans friends tonight, so I made this squirt playlist.  I suggest you listen to these songs with the volume cranked and the car windows down.

Dancing is a must.

Kiwi

1. The Black And White Years - Up!

2. Cee Lo Green - Forget You

3. Deadmau5 - Ghosts 'n' Stuff

4. Friendly Fires - Skeleton Boy

5. Katy Perry - E.T (feat. Kanye West)

6. La Roux - In For The Kill

7. Mike Posner - Please Don't Go

8. Neon Trees - Animal

9. Paper Tongues - Higher

10. Passion Pit - Sleepyhead

11. Sam Sparro - Black & Gold

12. Shiny Toy Guns - Major Tom

13. Spinnerette - Baptized By Fire

14. Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work

15. White Town - Your Woman

Of Sunny Days and Peanut Allergies

Are you aware that March 4th is the only day of the year that gives you a command?

Think about it.

But I digress, quite aware that we're further into March than the aforementioned date.  Missouri is breaking free from Winter and just a few days ago it was warm enough to comfortably wear shorts and a tanktop.  I was out of my uniform only minutes after the last bell of the school day and dancing around outside barefoot with a few good friends, completely ecstatic at the wonderful weather.  For the rest of the evening a friend and I drove around town with the windows down, playing dance music obnoxiously loud.  It was a breath of fresh air, like we were finally free to do more than sit inside all day and wait for the snow to go away.  I hate Winters in the Midwest, they always last too long in my opinion and they make me feel trapped. In a way, when the weather warms up so do my moods.  It's funny how cold, gray days can make a dreary and antisocial person out of me.

So, with all of the lovely occurances this week has brought I guess you could reason that life has been fairly good to me.

Wrong.

Tragedy scraped its black hands across my life last night.  It brought me to the realization that

I...

Am allergic to Nutella......

Curse thee peanut allergies!  Curse thee!

I almost cried when I saw rashes on my arms. 

Suppose it's time I find another spread to obssess over.

Liminality (Two)

Another snippet from my developing story.  Enjoy, and no sticky fingers or I'll send my hounds after you.

------------------------------

  "Good morning."  Fingers of light crept behind his closed eyelids, prying them open to reveal a blurry face peering back into his, an overenthusiastic smile plastered on it cheaply.  Dark brown eyes stared at him curiously, a hand tightly gripping his shoulder to cause the discomfort that had wakened him.  He pulled his head up from the ground slowly.  The tangy taste of salt permeated his mouth and sand gripped onto his face and hair, grating against his teeth as he worked his jaw.  "At least, I think it's morning."  The silhouette's voice was masculine and simple, the tone you would hear in daily conversations, but it was still foreign to the drowsy boy.  The hand moved from his shoulder to brush the sandy bangs from his forehead, fingers frigid against his already cold skin.  When he opened his mouth to protest the touch only air slipped past his lips, as if his vocal cords had been burnt away. 

  Water, breathing water, was lapping at his feet, dragging its way across his legs and lower torso.  The gray light that had opened his eyes was streaming out from behind a thick layer of dark storm clouds that shed their liquid burden across the desolate beach.  The touch against his forehead dissipated and he relaxed into the ground, hand curling around the sand to mold a handful of the substance beneath his raw fingers.  The drowsy boy closed his eyelids.

Ego

I

Tend to live in my head

Really like Nutella

Prefer to be barefoot

Like smiling

Am allergic to cashews

Never finish a story

Try to be positive

Always wear hemp bracelets

Laugh a lot

Tend to be really loud

Wear Converse that are falling apart

Am not gorgeous

Am not ugly

Am a Child of God

And proud.

Indie-Freak

Let me start by saying that my transition into Indie was not a recent one but rather a very gradual movement I've been making over the past few years.  I was never really raised mainstream child, but I wasn't raised Indie either.  I didn't care what I listened to as long as it wasn't country and I didn't care what movies I watched as long as they weren't chick-fliks.  I just cruised along in my own little boat of homeschooling completely unaware of any peer pressure for the first twelve years of my life.  Sure, my loud personality was (and still is) easily defined but I never had a preference in movies or music. I just didn't care.

My first dip into Indie began after I started caring about what I listened to and watched.  I didn't like most of what was being played on the radio anymore because it was all so redundant and honestly, kind of shallow.  I didn't like most of the movies I watched because I'd seen it all before.  It was like the copy-cat had a litter of copy-kittens and they were now running my generation.  I'd seen the "mainstream" world, and I didn't like it.  Being an individual means being different, a solitary personality that is truly defined your own by what you like, what you do, and what you live for.  I didn't like mainstream, so I didn't listen to it and peer pressure never changed my mind.

Indie : Independent

Independent, not a follower.  The indie band does it because they love it.  The indie filmmaker does it because it's they're passion.  They want to be defined as someone who tried something different.  Sounds like how I've always wanted to be defined.

Plus, you have to respect a person who can make something amazing out of so little.  Think about it.  When a Hollywood film is being made and they come across an issue they throw money at it.  When an Indie film is being made and they come across an issue, they have to find a way around it, which forces creativity and doing something new and different.  Sometimes that creativity can bomb, and other times that creativity is the indie filmmakers best friend.

If this rant was inspired because Sundance is in the air, I don't know.  Indie is not for everyone, even I haven't made the full transition.  But it is something different, and I like that.

Liminality

This is just a small excerpt from a story of mine I'm planning on converting into a script-format.  It's unfinished (obviously) but I'd thought I'd share the prologue.

--

Fingers curled in apprehension.  Lips pulled pin straight and eyes half-lidded, drowsy almost.  Fourteen centuries with your legs crossed and no one to speak to, look to, listen to.  You perched yourself on a hilltop and said you would never come down, who knew that we would forget about you.  On my sixteenth birthday you became conscious and watched from that hilltop.  Every day, observing the world.  You wanted it, so you decided to make one for yourself.  In that fine line between life and unconsciousness you created Liminality, became it.  When I turned twenty-three you snatched me up, told me your name, then cast me into your empty world.  I had to create this place from scratch, buildings, mountains, forests, and an ocean that expands for a lifetime.  You didn't think I could do it, but yet you took more people, snatching them away in their sleep.  You filled this stagnant hole in your being; filled this place then shut the door.

We can't go back, so this is home now.  The cities, projects I could never finish, slowly fell apart.  The ocean turned black and the sky melted, pouring down acid rain.  Clouds, coal gray, covered the white sun from our view; drenching us in a permanent gray twilight.  The ocean lapped at the shores with its viscous liquid, strewing the bones of animals that could not survive it across our shores.  The buildings I had been so proud of were now dilapidated and useless and the mountains became the home for the monstrosities of Liminality, so we left them alone.  I was thirty-seven when I died.  Died alone.  I held onto the belief that this place could be fixed, and I grasp it even now in death.  Those stuck here have lost hope, but I still haven't.  I refuse to admit that you won.

Seasonal Playlists

How often do you listen to music?  If you're anything like me pretty much every day.  Seymour, my iPod and best friend has been in my pocket for the past few hours on shuffle and seldom am I content with the music he plays but today I suppose he's in a good mood, like me.  I realized after a few songs that most of my playlists are seasonal.  For example:  I always listen to Coldplay and Death Cab for Cutie when it's raining (Spring mostly).  I don't know why, but if water isn't falling from the sky in some form of precipitation I just don't really appreciate those bands.  I can listen to them, but I don't pay attention to the words, ya' know?

It's a beautiful Winter's day today, one of the warmer ones that come before spring and I'm on my bed listening to Jónsi, an artist I prefer listening to in Winter and Spring rather than Summer and Fall.  I get nostalgic over a lot of things such as weather, smells, and places but I think music is really what makes me reminiscent about past good times and that's why I prefer to listen to it during certain seasons.

In an awfully cliche way, good music makes good memories.  

The Irony of Post-Apocalyptic Love

Whispers of a dead civilization breeze past; the reminiscent remains of what used to be a great city laid out before me like a pale labyrinth.  Neglected buildings line the streets like forgotten sentinels and shadowed alleyways taunt those who pass to come closer into their cold embrace.  The sun rests just behind a gray blanket of clouds, casting depressed light that falls over the disfigured roads as if highlighting the time-stricken paths.  Once lurid paint is now muted upon the walls.  Dry shades and earthly tones that would never earn a second glance.  Billboards and shop signs that once boasted proud lights and intense colors are now rusted and forgotten.  There is no one left to take care of the city so it fell into decay.  Shattered glass litters the ground like drops of rain, reflecting the dark billows gathering in the distance that prove the oncoming storm.


My blue-stained gray eyes flicker towards the ominous clouds, heavy feet falling onto the pavement in a dogged rhythm.  A shotgun extends my right arm, swaying with every step as a silent threat to anyone who dares to come near.  Dirt and the faintest hint of dried blood stains an oversized pair of cargo pants, a striped sweater hanging loosely off of my scrawny shoulders.  My boots crush the glass underneath but  I never break stride, my eyes set forward determinedly and my mouth set in an unreadable line.  My name is Samuel J. Pratt.  It's not a name that is initially my own but I recognize it nonetheless for I had forgotten my own name a long time ago.  I believe it a way to stay intact with my humanity.  At least I can identify myself before blowing out the brains of any adversary.


The road sweeps to the right but I don't turn with it.  I slip into an alleyway, reading the bricks like markers before stooping down and slipping my foot into a curved window at ground level.  My body slides easily down into the crevice due to my scrawny physique and the gun follows shortly after.  Flecks of red are spattered around the opening, stains I haven't had the time to clean.  The small entryway is a strategy for eluding larger assailants; letting me easily slide into the room but forcing them to get onto their stomachs and paw at the air inside the room with there hands like cats before the boom of my shotgun would resound through the alleyway and the hands would go limp.  I haven't had time to take care of the mess from my last interaction.


A flimsy board is set over the entrance, bathing the room in black and leaving me in the stifling dark.  My scabbed fingers scrabble over the wall, searching for the crack on which I had set a box of matches only days earlier.  My fingers strike the small cardboard square and I hastily pull out one of the small sticks, striking it against the bricks without hesitation.  The room is illuminated as well as the girl standing only inches away from me.  Her muted hazel eyes peer out from behind tresses of messy chestnut hair she has sloppily pulled back.  Her nose is slightly upturned and spattered with dark freckles that extend over her shallow and dirty cheeks.


Her name is Riley O'Donovon, and we've been together ever since waking up in this stagnant world.  She doesn't talk much, but neither do I.  We're both survivors of something known as "The Blackout".  An event in which the entire world fell asleep and only a few of us woke up.  Almost every single day we have an encounter with those who survived, most of them driven mad by the years of solitude with a desire to murder anyone who comes near.


In Riley's hands she loosely grasps a double barrel shotgun similar to my own.  Her left index finger is pressed up against her thin pale lips as a signal to be silent.  I obey without question.


  "They followed you."  She starts quietly.  "And they're waiting outside.  We have to go."  Her bare feet pad against the frigid concrete floor as she comes close and presses her lips against mine.  It's only a moment before she pulls away, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth before she sweeps past me and out of the entrance I had just come through.  I wait until the sound of a shotgun resounds through the alleyway before following.


We've done this before.  The streets around our home are memorized to us so we use the labyrinthine structure to our advantage.  I clamber out from the basement and dash away from where the shotgun boom originated, a smile teasing my lips when I hear three sets of footsteps following my own.  It's almost completely dark outside now, but that doesn't affect me.  The rain pours down around me in torrents but I don't acknowledge it; I just keep running.  The sound of footsteps gets closer and I decide to make my first shot.  Spinning around on my heel I pull the trigger, the momentum from the weapon nearly throwing me off balance.  Blood decorates two of my three assailants as the pellets tear open the middle figure's cranium.  I hear angry shouts before darting off again, only two following me now.


I've killed too many people to count.  Riley's killed more.  I suppose confidence has blinded me, and that's why it happens.  A shadow crosses the path in front of me and out of instinct I pull the trigger.  Ribbons of red cascade over the walls and my own, surprised face as the silhouette falls to the ground with a wet thump.  I don't investigate the body, not yet.  I sweep around to finish off my last two assailants, two shots ripping through the night air followed by their final, inhuman howls.  A streak of lightning lights up the dark city and the aftermath of my destruction.  That strike of lighting lights up Riley's stunned face, her sightless eyes staring up at me with a mixture of regret and shock.  


My name is Samuel J. Pratt and six months ago I stuck the love of my life six feet under only to receive a bullet in the heart and join her two weeks later.  With a hole in my chest and a shotgun still gripped tightly in my cold, dead fingers, my last breath was spent on a laugh at the irony of post-apocalyptic love.