is what Geanine calls it.
I really can't wait for 2009. A chance to begin again, anywhere, with anyone, doing anything. New friendships and relationships, and old ones approached in a new way.
Sure, there are feelings and memories that will still be there, but that all will have been from last year -- or the years before that. They're best left out of the equation now.
It's an interesting concept. Though I've kind of lost a little faith in it since she told me yesterday, for certain reasons (not involving my last entry).
I guess I should at least try it.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Send.
I didn't sleep last night. I couldn't.
I sat until 3 a.m. in front of my computer, paralyzed. My finger was poised over the mouse for hours; on the screen, the cursor hovered on the "Send" button of a fully-typed message, and next to that, a picture of Liz smiled at me.
I was so tempted to send that message, to tell her all that had happened in the past eight months and all that I had felt, to let her know that after all this time I simply wished her happiness and hoped that she would have a merry Christmas.
But I would look at that picture again and my mind would start racing. She's moved on; she's with Ed now; she's happy. She doesn't need an abrupt reminder like this, of how her last relationship went bad. Images and memories were playing behind my eyelids whenever I blinked. Among these was the familiar shadow of February twelfth: a ghost that has visited me far too often -- me, leaning against a bookcase in Barnes & Noble, hanging my head, fighting my own choking sobs until my lungs hurt; her hand on my arm, her eyes trying to bring mine up from the floor; those words...
"I'm not saying it's completely over. We could be together, but...not right now. Neither of us can do this right now."
I let out a bitter chuckle.
"What?"
"It's just that...in every story I've heard --"
"They don’t get back together?"
"Yeah."
The pause. "We're not every story."
I was just so tired of being the same old story. I was tired of knowing that we hadn't even managed a simple friendship after she left. I was tired of looking back and finding only bitterness and resentment after that, too, fell apart. I just wanted so badly to click "Send" and have that message shatter it all -- one last peaceful letter, a hello and a goodbye to take the place of normal, post-breakup coldness and distance.
But I looked at that picture. I heard her voice, her laugh, for the first time since reality sank in, eight months ago; I saw her familiar gestures and expressions.
And at three o'clock in the morning, I decided that she was best left alone. I realized that the only way for me to really move on was to move on, and stop agonizing over that fucking "Send" button. I moved the cursor and closed the window. My last feeling was of something in me shrinking away and sputtering out like a candle.
This loneliness is getting to me.
I sat until 3 a.m. in front of my computer, paralyzed. My finger was poised over the mouse for hours; on the screen, the cursor hovered on the "Send" button of a fully-typed message, and next to that, a picture of Liz smiled at me.
I was so tempted to send that message, to tell her all that had happened in the past eight months and all that I had felt, to let her know that after all this time I simply wished her happiness and hoped that she would have a merry Christmas.
But I would look at that picture again and my mind would start racing. She's moved on; she's with Ed now; she's happy. She doesn't need an abrupt reminder like this, of how her last relationship went bad. Images and memories were playing behind my eyelids whenever I blinked. Among these was the familiar shadow of February twelfth: a ghost that has visited me far too often -- me, leaning against a bookcase in Barnes & Noble, hanging my head, fighting my own choking sobs until my lungs hurt; her hand on my arm, her eyes trying to bring mine up from the floor; those words...
"I'm not saying it's completely over. We could be together, but...not right now. Neither of us can do this right now."
I let out a bitter chuckle.
"What?"
"It's just that...in every story I've heard --"
"They don’t get back together?"
"Yeah."
The pause. "We're not every story."
I was just so tired of being the same old story. I was tired of knowing that we hadn't even managed a simple friendship after she left. I was tired of looking back and finding only bitterness and resentment after that, too, fell apart. I just wanted so badly to click "Send" and have that message shatter it all -- one last peaceful letter, a hello and a goodbye to take the place of normal, post-breakup coldness and distance.
But I looked at that picture. I heard her voice, her laugh, for the first time since reality sank in, eight months ago; I saw her familiar gestures and expressions.
And at three o'clock in the morning, I decided that she was best left alone. I realized that the only way for me to really move on was to move on, and stop agonizing over that fucking "Send" button. I moved the cursor and closed the window. My last feeling was of something in me shrinking away and sputtering out like a candle.
This loneliness is getting to me.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Montmartre.
The more I read about that place, the more pictures I see of it, the more research I do into the people and the flavor and the locale, the more I feel like I belong there.
Haven't heard o fit? It's in the Paris, the 18e arrondissement (on the northern edge).
I think I'll craft a story set there. Sure, a lot more thorough research is required, and I'll have to interview my cousin -- who will be in Paris in a matter of days -- to get a better idea of what it's like, but it should be worth it. Thinking back to Rey and Stawiarz, maybe photography should be a motif (implying memory? maybe the POV character has amnesia? interesting conflict there...). I think I'll start now.
Catch twenty-two: I couldn't get a job because I didn't have experience (that I remember), and I couldn't get experience because I didn't have a job. The most I could hope for was a few euros here, a few there, submitting my photography to low-key papers and magazines -- no major event coverage; just spontaneous compositions. As far as these went, the Tour Eiffel and other tourist magnets had long ago become dead subjects, and photographing muggings and car accidents made me feel somehow guilty.
The way I saw it, people-watching was my last -- and easiest -- option. Any cafe in Paris was an outpost.
Late morning on a windy October day, I sat outside A La Mère Catherine with coffee and my camera. At another table a woman with deep, clear eyes was hunting in her pockets for matches; a cigarette hung from her lip. Rue du Mont-Cenis was behind her, and cars chugged hurriedly by. The day was overcast, and the glow provided by the sun was half-assed, at best -- my lighting of choice. But it was a tough situation, as I was waiting for multiple factors to come into play: a leaf the color of fire was straining to depart its branch in the wind; the woman would undoubtedly face the sun as she lit her cigarette; and several cars were turning the corner down the road.
Wait for it...wait for it...
The woman lit her cigarette, and with that first puff looked up at a building across the street -- the sun danced in her eyes, brought a soft light to her slim hands and cheeks. The leaf dropped and drifted into the frame, and the cars slipped through the background. All of this was captured on long exposure: the smoke, the leaf and the cars were all blended together, with the girl and her eyes and her pensive expression at the clear center.
Beautiful. I sipped at my steaming cup, unwrapped the square of dark chocolate accompanying the café noir on its dish. Just beautiful.
Cath purred and rubbed against my leg; I looked down at her, and she looked up at me. I read my cat's body language: "Can we go now?"
With a smile, I stroked her back and stood. A wave to the waitress -- who was inside -- and a five-euro bill later, I was on my way home.
Around that time, since before I could remember, I was living with Cath in that tiny shack on the edge of Montmartre. Its door creaked when I walked in; because of a peculiar slant in the street, common in my neighborhood, it slammed shut behind me.
I had always worried about that door breaking itself.
I tugged the pull string and a bulb above me cast the room into light: my cot was laid on wooden planks laid on the stone floor, with a large chest nearby for clothes and another chest beside for other things. Two bowls -- one for solids, one for liquids -- were at my bedside for Cath; a rolled-shut paper bag of dry cat food and a bottle of mineral water rested nearby. I quickly prepared a meal for her. As she ate and drank, I watched. She had grown in the past two years.
The past two years...
My thoughts strayed to the contents of my non-clothing chest, as they usually did. Eight and a half years' worth of memories, in the form of Moleskine journals and keepsakes and photographs and a bottle and a dead rose.
There had been a girl. Her name was Summer. We started dating in my third year of high school. Our fifth anniversary was celebrated with a small bottle of champagne -- among other things I couldn't find. I wouldn't have known any of this without having kept those journals, or collecting those keepsakes; she had left me two years before, on my twenty-third birthday, when I emerged from my coma without a single memory.
Keep in mind; this is towards a first draft. It's supposed to suck. Ask any author who knows anything about writing fiction: they'll tell you the same. To quote Hemingway: "The first draft of anything is shit."
On a slightly unrelated note, I'm applying today for a job at Barnes & Noble. Wish me luck!
Haven't heard o fit? It's in the Paris, the 18e arrondissement (on the northern edge).
I think I'll craft a story set there. Sure, a lot more thorough research is required, and I'll have to interview my cousin -- who will be in Paris in a matter of days -- to get a better idea of what it's like, but it should be worth it. Thinking back to Rey and Stawiarz, maybe photography should be a motif (implying memory? maybe the POV character has amnesia? interesting conflict there...). I think I'll start now.
Catch twenty-two: I couldn't get a job because I didn't have experience (that I remember), and I couldn't get experience because I didn't have a job. The most I could hope for was a few euros here, a few there, submitting my photography to low-key papers and magazines -- no major event coverage; just spontaneous compositions. As far as these went, the Tour Eiffel and other tourist magnets had long ago become dead subjects, and photographing muggings and car accidents made me feel somehow guilty.
The way I saw it, people-watching was my last -- and easiest -- option. Any cafe in Paris was an outpost.
Late morning on a windy October day, I sat outside A La Mère Catherine with coffee and my camera. At another table a woman with deep, clear eyes was hunting in her pockets for matches; a cigarette hung from her lip. Rue du Mont-Cenis was behind her, and cars chugged hurriedly by. The day was overcast, and the glow provided by the sun was half-assed, at best -- my lighting of choice. But it was a tough situation, as I was waiting for multiple factors to come into play: a leaf the color of fire was straining to depart its branch in the wind; the woman would undoubtedly face the sun as she lit her cigarette; and several cars were turning the corner down the road.
Wait for it...wait for it...
The woman lit her cigarette, and with that first puff looked up at a building across the street -- the sun danced in her eyes, brought a soft light to her slim hands and cheeks. The leaf dropped and drifted into the frame, and the cars slipped through the background. All of this was captured on long exposure: the smoke, the leaf and the cars were all blended together, with the girl and her eyes and her pensive expression at the clear center.
Beautiful. I sipped at my steaming cup, unwrapped the square of dark chocolate accompanying the café noir on its dish. Just beautiful.
Cath purred and rubbed against my leg; I looked down at her, and she looked up at me. I read my cat's body language: "Can we go now?"
With a smile, I stroked her back and stood. A wave to the waitress -- who was inside -- and a five-euro bill later, I was on my way home.
Around that time, since before I could remember, I was living with Cath in that tiny shack on the edge of Montmartre. Its door creaked when I walked in; because of a peculiar slant in the street, common in my neighborhood, it slammed shut behind me.
I had always worried about that door breaking itself.
I tugged the pull string and a bulb above me cast the room into light: my cot was laid on wooden planks laid on the stone floor, with a large chest nearby for clothes and another chest beside for other things. Two bowls -- one for solids, one for liquids -- were at my bedside for Cath; a rolled-shut paper bag of dry cat food and a bottle of mineral water rested nearby. I quickly prepared a meal for her. As she ate and drank, I watched. She had grown in the past two years.
The past two years...
My thoughts strayed to the contents of my non-clothing chest, as they usually did. Eight and a half years' worth of memories, in the form of Moleskine journals and keepsakes and photographs and a bottle and a dead rose.
There had been a girl. Her name was Summer. We started dating in my third year of high school. Our fifth anniversary was celebrated with a small bottle of champagne -- among other things I couldn't find. I wouldn't have known any of this without having kept those journals, or collecting those keepsakes; she had left me two years before, on my twenty-third birthday, when I emerged from my coma without a single memory.
Keep in mind; this is towards a first draft. It's supposed to suck. Ask any author who knows anything about writing fiction: they'll tell you the same. To quote Hemingway: "The first draft of anything is shit."
On a slightly unrelated note, I'm applying today for a job at Barnes & Noble. Wish me luck!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Globes and Maps.
Ever heard of Xavier Rey? Or Marcin Stawiarz?...I've been looking at a lot of their work lately. It's been making me think.
I feel caged, surrounded by these walls; the majority of the time, my mind is cast off elsewhere -- usually to Europe (Prague and Spain and Paris and places of that sort). I feel like if I were just able to travel, really travel, and see what I want to see, then I would be able to write and photograph and think to my full potential...but until such a day comes when I can hop on that plane and not look back, I can't help but wonder if I'll just go through life without any sort of meaning. I don't have the funds for such a trip, or the equipment or the massive stock of empty journals.
I guess, as a writer, the only thing I can do until then is let my characters have the adventures for me.
I feel caged, surrounded by these walls; the majority of the time, my mind is cast off elsewhere -- usually to Europe (Prague and Spain and Paris and places of that sort). I feel like if I were just able to travel, really travel, and see what I want to see, then I would be able to write and photograph and think to my full potential...but until such a day comes when I can hop on that plane and not look back, I can't help but wonder if I'll just go through life without any sort of meaning. I don't have the funds for such a trip, or the equipment or the massive stock of empty journals.
I guess, as a writer, the only thing I can do until then is let my characters have the adventures for me.
The End.
Now, come one, come all, to this tragic affair;
Wipe off that make-up -- what sin is despair?
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot;
You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not...
Autumn rain. A tree the color of fire drops its embers, leaves them to drift in puddles on the pavement. Sun meets cloud cover and quits, allowing the cemetery only a half-assed, diffused glow.
Amidst the season's conflagration, a snake appears: the Hearse and its tentative following. Car doors open to an outpour -- black suits; black dresses; black umbrellas; black expressions...a casket, blackest of all.
Of the mourners, some have been drinking -- their whispers fill the fall with whiskey -- and some have been smoking. They are all ghosts, suspended in an altered state of sobriety.
Here, the grinding of a flint, and a flame, and life is breathed into a cigarette; there, plastic buds begin to play for an old lover, and all other sound is drowned away.
So many faces, each facing their own music. No one is liking the notes that they hear.
Wipe off that make-up -- what sin is despair?
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot;
You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not...
Autumn rain. A tree the color of fire drops its embers, leaves them to drift in puddles on the pavement. Sun meets cloud cover and quits, allowing the cemetery only a half-assed, diffused glow.
Amidst the season's conflagration, a snake appears: the Hearse and its tentative following. Car doors open to an outpour -- black suits; black dresses; black umbrellas; black expressions...a casket, blackest of all.
Of the mourners, some have been drinking -- their whispers fill the fall with whiskey -- and some have been smoking. They are all ghosts, suspended in an altered state of sobriety.
Here, the grinding of a flint, and a flame, and life is breathed into a cigarette; there, plastic buds begin to play for an old lover, and all other sound is drowned away.
So many faces, each facing their own music. No one is liking the notes that they hear.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Yesterday was cool (100th POST! AWESOME!).
I met up with Mary...then Danny...then we went to Geanine's and hung out there for a bit. Mary had to leave after a while; then Danny and Geanine and I met a friend of Geanine's on the bus to College Point.
[Side note: I don't get the whole deal about "two's company, three's a crowd"; as long as they're all cool people(not the popular modern definition of "cool") , I've been fine with anything up to seven or eight.]
Once in College Point, our party's new addition had us all in stitches -- I won't go into explanation, suffice it to say that it was pretty funny. We spent way too much time sitting outside doing nothing in particular; then we all went back to Danny's.
We played WiiFit and WiiSports. We ate sour-cream-and-onion chips and marshmallows and chicken soup. We laughed; we talked some talk; I learned to put certain feelings on the back burner for the sake of comfortable chillage. It went pretty well. Then at 11, mi madre came and picked up everyone but Danny for the drive home(Geanine's mother gets this job way too often; I decided to give her a break). Now I'm looking forward to the possibility of a party next weekend.
Excuse my choppy sentences and other quirks of style today. I'm kind of tired. I stayed up way too late getting more work done on my manuscript. That aside, have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I should go now; I have to prepare for tonight's contest(who can get more stuffed: me or the turkey?).
[Side note: I don't get the whole deal about "two's company, three's a crowd"; as long as they're all cool people(not the popular modern definition of "cool") , I've been fine with anything up to seven or eight.]
Once in College Point, our party's new addition had us all in stitches -- I won't go into explanation, suffice it to say that it was pretty funny. We spent way too much time sitting outside doing nothing in particular; then we all went back to Danny's.
We played WiiFit and WiiSports. We ate sour-cream-and-onion chips and marshmallows and chicken soup. We laughed; we talked some talk; I learned to put certain feelings on the back burner for the sake of comfortable chillage. It went pretty well. Then at 11, mi madre came and picked up everyone but Danny for the drive home(Geanine's mother gets this job way too often; I decided to give her a break). Now I'm looking forward to the possibility of a party next weekend.
Excuse my choppy sentences and other quirks of style today. I'm kind of tired. I stayed up way too late getting more work done on my manuscript. That aside, have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I should go now; I have to prepare for tonight's contest(who can get more stuffed: me or the turkey?).
Saturday, November 22, 2008
So II0II it's not even funny.
Geanine is amazing. I will say this straight out. Now, let me explain...
I don't think I've mentioned it here yet -- maybe in passing -- but I was going out with her for a while at the beginning of this month. We put it on hold, due to some emotional and environmental stress on her end that she has to address before our relationship as anything more than friends can pick up again (thankfully, this all transpired on good terms).
Anyway, Geanine was having a rough time last Friday, and this didn't have her in the most upbeat of moods. Nobody, it seemed, had been sparing her many kind words, and she was buying into all those negative views of herself that were being suggested; to be quite honest, it pissed me off to know that people could tell her she wasn't "good enough," and that she would believe it. So I grabbed the copy of Something Corporate's CD Leaving Through the Window I had been meaning to give her for about a week, grabbed my bike, and hauled ass to her house.
It was almost funny when I pulled up out front and felt my phone buzzing in my pocket: she had sent me a text while I had been on my way, telling me that her mom was feeling under the weather and that she would probably vent this unpleasantness by not letting Geanine see me for a few minutes.
So I called Geanine, hoping that she was wrong.
She was right.
So I did the only thing I really could do: I left the CD in a relatively concealed spot on her front steps, sent her a text to let her know, and rode my bike back home.
Leaving Through the Window has always held something for me. It's some of the first music I ever owned; my brother gave it to me. I can listen to those songs no matter what mood I'm in, and whenever I'm in a tight spot, they've always helped me out. Any partiality in genre or artist for me is fleeting, but SoCo has always been there, always been the fallback. I figured, what with Geanine not being in the best of places, Leaving Through the Window would help...and I guess I figured right. By the end of that night, even if I didn't have her in a completely different mood, I had at least put a smile on her face, and that was good enough for me.
But the real moment came last night.
Danny's Boy Scouts troop had just had a Bingo Night fundraiser; I had gone, and Geanine and her mom and her dad and her brother had, too; Danny and Peter and Tamis and Chris had been there on duty (yes, I hang out with a bunch of Boy Scouts). About halfway through the event, Danny came by with one of those styrofoam cups of coffee; he let me finish it. This whole time I was listening to Something Corporate on my iPod and sitting next to Geanine and kind of regretting not being as close as we have been. I guess the music eventually got to me; between two particular rounds of Bingo, I used the pencil I had been given (to fill out my sheets) to etch into the styrofoam cup: "Some things never do change/Never do change...", a lyric from "Cavanaugh Park". I sat back and skipped out on the next round of games (and the next), etching more and more Something Corporate lyrics as my iPod provided the songs on shuffle. By the end of the night, I had covered that styrofoam in music. The one part that I think really stood out was in the middle of the cup: "I want to save you/ I want to save you/ But I need you/ To save me too..." (Writing this elicited a little bit of a good feeling, and a little bit of longing for more good feeling: upon first hearing the song, Geanine had declared that she was officially stealing it -- I pleaded, "Can we at least split it?" She agreed, and what do you know, in the settling dust of our flash-fire stint as a couple, we had just discovered our song.) At eleven p.m., Danny's troop called closing time. I hurriedly grabbed my latest Bingo ticket as a souvenir, stuffed it into the styrofoam cup, and everyone headed home. Me, Danny, Geanine and Geanine's mom and dad and brother were all packed into this little car, and for the sake of comfort I had my arm around Geanine, and she had her head on my shoulder. During the somewhat-claustrophobic drive, she asked her mom to turn on the car's CD player and hit track 1.
Next thing I knew, we were singing "I Want to Save You" in slightly off-beat harmony, because the volume was pretty low and we couldn't hear it all that well, but that didn't matter to us right then. We were just in the moment. Just singing. Just enjoying the comfort of each other's warmth on such a goddamn freezing night. Once the song was finished, I laughed, because I knew that if my brother could have seen me right then, he would have known what it meant to me, and he would have known how much I would have thanked him.
And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.
I don't think I've mentioned it here yet -- maybe in passing -- but I was going out with her for a while at the beginning of this month. We put it on hold, due to some emotional and environmental stress on her end that she has to address before our relationship as anything more than friends can pick up again (thankfully, this all transpired on good terms).
Anyway, Geanine was having a rough time last Friday, and this didn't have her in the most upbeat of moods. Nobody, it seemed, had been sparing her many kind words, and she was buying into all those negative views of herself that were being suggested; to be quite honest, it pissed me off to know that people could tell her she wasn't "good enough," and that she would believe it. So I grabbed the copy of Something Corporate's CD Leaving Through the Window I had been meaning to give her for about a week, grabbed my bike, and hauled ass to her house.
It was almost funny when I pulled up out front and felt my phone buzzing in my pocket: she had sent me a text while I had been on my way, telling me that her mom was feeling under the weather and that she would probably vent this unpleasantness by not letting Geanine see me for a few minutes.
So I called Geanine, hoping that she was wrong.
She was right.
So I did the only thing I really could do: I left the CD in a relatively concealed spot on her front steps, sent her a text to let her know, and rode my bike back home.
Leaving Through the Window has always held something for me. It's some of the first music I ever owned; my brother gave it to me. I can listen to those songs no matter what mood I'm in, and whenever I'm in a tight spot, they've always helped me out. Any partiality in genre or artist for me is fleeting, but SoCo has always been there, always been the fallback. I figured, what with Geanine not being in the best of places, Leaving Through the Window would help...and I guess I figured right. By the end of that night, even if I didn't have her in a completely different mood, I had at least put a smile on her face, and that was good enough for me.
But the real moment came last night.
Danny's Boy Scouts troop had just had a Bingo Night fundraiser; I had gone, and Geanine and her mom and her dad and her brother had, too; Danny and Peter and Tamis and Chris had been there on duty (yes, I hang out with a bunch of Boy Scouts). About halfway through the event, Danny came by with one of those styrofoam cups of coffee; he let me finish it. This whole time I was listening to Something Corporate on my iPod and sitting next to Geanine and kind of regretting not being as close as we have been. I guess the music eventually got to me; between two particular rounds of Bingo, I used the pencil I had been given (to fill out my sheets) to etch into the styrofoam cup: "Some things never do change/Never do change...", a lyric from "Cavanaugh Park". I sat back and skipped out on the next round of games (and the next), etching more and more Something Corporate lyrics as my iPod provided the songs on shuffle. By the end of the night, I had covered that styrofoam in music. The one part that I think really stood out was in the middle of the cup: "I want to save you/ I want to save you/ But I need you/ To save me too..." (Writing this elicited a little bit of a good feeling, and a little bit of longing for more good feeling: upon first hearing the song, Geanine had declared that she was officially stealing it -- I pleaded, "Can we at least split it?" She agreed, and what do you know, in the settling dust of our flash-fire stint as a couple, we had just discovered our song.) At eleven p.m., Danny's troop called closing time. I hurriedly grabbed my latest Bingo ticket as a souvenir, stuffed it into the styrofoam cup, and everyone headed home. Me, Danny, Geanine and Geanine's mom and dad and brother were all packed into this little car, and for the sake of comfort I had my arm around Geanine, and she had her head on my shoulder. During the somewhat-claustrophobic drive, she asked her mom to turn on the car's CD player and hit track 1.
Next thing I knew, we were singing "I Want to Save You" in slightly off-beat harmony, because the volume was pretty low and we couldn't hear it all that well, but that didn't matter to us right then. We were just in the moment. Just singing. Just enjoying the comfort of each other's warmth on such a goddamn freezing night. Once the song was finished, I laughed, because I knew that if my brother could have seen me right then, he would have known what it meant to me, and he would have known how much I would have thanked him.
And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Dim
He's shaking a shiver
Out of his limbs.
He wants to save her;
She wants to save him --
But that dream's seeming dim,
'Cause she won't dare to let him in...
He hardly knows her,
But she knows him well.
He wants to feel closer;
He just wants to tell her
"I've been through this hell --
It'll sink you until you sell out..."
And he just wants to see her smile;
He just wants her to see for a while
She shouldn't give in to fears
And buy all that she hears,
'Cause she's better than she'll ever know
Than she'll ever know...
Out of his limbs.
He wants to save her;
She wants to save him --
But that dream's seeming dim,
'Cause she won't dare to let him in...
He hardly knows her,
But she knows him well.
He wants to feel closer;
He just wants to tell her
"I've been through this hell --
It'll sink you until you sell out..."
And he just wants to see her smile;
He just wants her to see for a while
She shouldn't give in to fears
And buy all that she hears,
'Cause she's better than she'll ever know
Than she'll ever know...
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Cool Photography Project
Coming up. Let's just say I gotta wait for my suit jacket to arrive from Chicago before I can get started. Good stuff.
Friday, November 14, 2008
In Your Atmosphere (John Mayer, from "Where the Light Is")
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't know what it's like to land, and
Not race to your door
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I'm not sure that I really ever could
Hold on to your hotel key in your
Bedroom neighborhood
We sleep walk in Hollywood
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you there
So I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I get lost on the boulevard at night
Without your voice to tell me I love you, take a right
Dinner for two is a lonely sight
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you there
See you there
I think I'm gonna stay, gonna stay in the gray
I think I'm gonna stay, gonna stay, gonna stay
And all the streetlights say never mind, never mind
And the canyon lines say never mind, never mind
And sunset says, we see this all the time
Never mind, never you mind
Wherever I go
Whatever I do
I wonder where I am
In my relationship to you
Wherever you go
Wherever you are
I watch your life play out
In pictures from afar
Wherever I go
Whatever I do
I wonder where I am
In my relationship to you
Wherever you go
Wherever you are
I watch that pretty life play out
In pictures from afar
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't know what it's like to land, and
Not race to your door
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I'm not sure that I really ever could
Hold on to your hotel key in your
Bedroom neighborhood
We sleep walk in Hollywood
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you there
So I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore
I get lost on the boulevard at night
Without your voice to tell me I love you, take a right
Dinner for two is a lonely sight
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you
I'm gonna steer clear
Burn up in your atmosphere
I'm gonna steer clear
'Cause I'd die if I saw you
I'd die if I didn't see you there
See you there
I think I'm gonna stay, gonna stay in the gray
I think I'm gonna stay, gonna stay, gonna stay
And all the streetlights say never mind, never mind
And the canyon lines say never mind, never mind
And sunset says, we see this all the time
Never mind, never you mind
Wherever I go
Whatever I do
I wonder where I am
In my relationship to you
Wherever you go
Wherever you are
I watch your life play out
In pictures from afar
Wherever I go
Whatever I do
I wonder where I am
In my relationship to you
Wherever you go
Wherever you are
I watch that pretty life play out
In pictures from afar
Withdrawal
Hey there. I've been told never to start anything off with an apology, but really, I think this instance calls for it. I was having a funk of a day(not the good kind of funk) the other day, when Danny told me that I had to eventually recognize when people needed breathing space, and that it would be a good idea to give them some now. So when I heard this, after a troubling day, I overreacted, as I am known to do. I lashed out, pretty much at everyone around me, and swore to withdraw from social activities until "Monday-ish" (as I called it when talking to Geanine). For this, I want to apologize. I'm extremely sorry for not handling things with the care and sensitivity that they called for.
But I've spent the past few days in a sort of cocoon, and undergone a slight metamorphosis. I read "The Little Prince"(yes, the children's book; but it is conceptually genius, and I recommend it to anyone who can find an hour of freedom to read it). I listened to old Something Corporate songs(this has always helped me in tough spots). I bought a copy of "Chinese Takeout" by Arthur Nersesian, since I lost my old one, and highlighted all my favorite lines, and listened to the soundtrack I assembled for it last year. I played guitar. I slept and ate and drank coffee.
More importantly: I thought. Hard. And I realized a few things, and I'm feeling more comfortable with my situation now. So again, I wanted to apologize to you folks for how much of a jerk or a pain in the ass I may have seemed this past week. I'm not quite together, but I'm getting there. I just hope that you'll bear with me.
But I've spent the past few days in a sort of cocoon, and undergone a slight metamorphosis. I read "The Little Prince"(yes, the children's book; but it is conceptually genius, and I recommend it to anyone who can find an hour of freedom to read it). I listened to old Something Corporate songs(this has always helped me in tough spots). I bought a copy of "Chinese Takeout" by Arthur Nersesian, since I lost my old one, and highlighted all my favorite lines, and listened to the soundtrack I assembled for it last year. I played guitar. I slept and ate and drank coffee.
More importantly: I thought. Hard. And I realized a few things, and I'm feeling more comfortable with my situation now. So again, I wanted to apologize to you folks for how much of a jerk or a pain in the ass I may have seemed this past week. I'm not quite together, but I'm getting there. I just hope that you'll bear with me.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
I Didn't Understand
I didn't really know her. I guess that's what did this. I didn't understand.
My brother always tells me the truth at times like this, when everyone else would just tell me what I want to hear. It's good to know. Kind of hard to take, but necessary.
The thing is, I do what I do to fill the void left by my parents. I mean, your parents' marriage is your first impression of what a relationship should be, and since I grew up around a lot of conflict and distance, I try desperately to prove to myself that it isn't always like that. Every new girl I get involved with seems to have had trouble with guys who were nothing but assholes; like my brother, I have a bit of a "superhero complex"(as he put it), and so I feel the need to help her and prove to her, as well as to myself, that love can work and last.
And I keep getting proven wrong. I really don't want to be doomed to follow in my parents' footsteps and live dogged by failed and broken relationships, but at a more and more rapid clip lately it's been hitting me that maybe it's unavoidable. Maybe I'm meant to be alone. I've said it before, but never has it seemed truer.
I would give everything to not have to continue this way; to find something and be able to hold onto it.
Save me from this. Somebody.
My brother always tells me the truth at times like this, when everyone else would just tell me what I want to hear. It's good to know. Kind of hard to take, but necessary.
The thing is, I do what I do to fill the void left by my parents. I mean, your parents' marriage is your first impression of what a relationship should be, and since I grew up around a lot of conflict and distance, I try desperately to prove to myself that it isn't always like that. Every new girl I get involved with seems to have had trouble with guys who were nothing but assholes; like my brother, I have a bit of a "superhero complex"(as he put it), and so I feel the need to help her and prove to her, as well as to myself, that love can work and last.
And I keep getting proven wrong. I really don't want to be doomed to follow in my parents' footsteps and live dogged by failed and broken relationships, but at a more and more rapid clip lately it's been hitting me that maybe it's unavoidable. Maybe I'm meant to be alone. I've said it before, but never has it seemed truer.
I would give everything to not have to continue this way; to find something and be able to hold onto it.
Save me from this. Somebody.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Awesome Sauce:
n. A delicious edible made of pure awesomeness which immediately provokes euphoria; anything which is compared to this. i.e., That song is awesome sauce.
Good times, good times.
Good times, good times.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Double Up
Went to Outback with Geanine and Danny and Mary tonight.
First of all, we had the coolest waiter ever. He had "Veritas" on his hand (a Boondock Saints reference for those of you who didn't know -- amazing movie). We all wrote him a note on a $10 bill and signed it.
Second of all, paper mache just became exciting.
Third of all, I AM FREE.
Life is good.
First of all, we had the coolest waiter ever. He had "Veritas" on his hand (a Boondock Saints reference for those of you who didn't know -- amazing movie). We all wrote him a note on a $10 bill and signed it.
Second of all, paper mache just became exciting.
Third of all, I AM FREE.
Life is good.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
They say a tingle running down your spine is indicative of fear. What then, is suggested by the type that runs up your spine? You know: It comes up, hits the back of your neck, and then just shoots out in all directions until your whole body is pins and needles for a second, and then the cycle starts all over again.
I don't know what it is. But I kind of liked it. And now I'm kind of addicted to cinnamon gum.
Thanks, Geni.
I don't know what it is. But I kind of liked it. And now I'm kind of addicted to cinnamon gum.
Thanks, Geni.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Out into the deep blue...novel?
My pre-manuscript notes have piled up to a ridiculous degree in the past two weeks of prep, and I've finally decided that it's time to get going on the bulk of the project.
That's right. A Tale of Two Princes is coming off the drawing board and hitting the page. I'm working on an average of 5 pages per day, so the first draft should be finished by April. I'll give myself another 6 months to revise, and then a year to get it on shelves. I've got a lot of people anticipating the end of this road, and as such, you can bet that I won't back out halfway through.
I'm diving in. October 2010, here we come!
That's right. A Tale of Two Princes is coming off the drawing board and hitting the page. I'm working on an average of 5 pages per day, so the first draft should be finished by April. I'll give myself another 6 months to revise, and then a year to get it on shelves. I've got a lot of people anticipating the end of this road, and as such, you can bet that I won't back out halfway through.
I'm diving in. October 2010, here we come!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Down, but not out.
I'm going to try and walk out of this one with a smile. After all, it's only been a week.
I guess those circumstances I was talking about worked against a relationship more than I initially suspected. At least we didn't go far enough to make friendship impossible...or maybe I did. Only time will tell.
To put it bluntly (because sometimes nothing else really cuts it) I fucking hate God's habit of toying with me. On the other hand, I guess this gives me more time to work on my book. But is that happiness really fair compensation?
I think this calls for guitar more than anything.
I guess those circumstances I was talking about worked against a relationship more than I initially suspected. At least we didn't go far enough to make friendship impossible...or maybe I did. Only time will tell.
To put it bluntly (because sometimes nothing else really cuts it) I fucking hate God's habit of toying with me. On the other hand, I guess this gives me more time to work on my book. But is that happiness really fair compensation?
I think this calls for guitar more than anything.
Friday, October 17, 2008
"I miss you."
Oh, the power in those words.
As I write this, I'm listening to "Princes and Damsels" by Jake Goodman (yes, I'm still listening to that guy) and talking with my cousin Kate on another 'net tab.
My first words: "hey there."
Hers: "i miss you."
After a few moments of silence, she said, "let's see each other, really soon."
I don't know why. Those words just hit me a bit hard. See, my girlfriend and I have both had it a bit rough in the romance department, and both of us are done with being young and reckless and free-falling (enjoyable as it may be). So despite all the promising beginnings, we're taking it real slow -- treading carefully, so to speak -- not that that's a bad thing. It just...lacks the thrill I'm used to.
I feel like if I was actually able to just sit down and talk with her and hang out away from the class desks more often, then things might get where I feel they could be, but everything's stopping that from happening.
I just wish I could hear Silvia say something like "let's see each other, really soon." I know she would, given the chance. But our increasingly busy lives are conspiring against us.
So here I sit at the computer, with a dead cell phone in my hand. It died as I was leaving Silvia a voice mail. Right before I said the words "I miss you."
As I write this, I'm listening to "Princes and Damsels" by Jake Goodman (yes, I'm still listening to that guy) and talking with my cousin Kate on another 'net tab.
My first words: "hey there."
Hers: "i miss you."
After a few moments of silence, she said, "let's see each other, really soon."
I don't know why. Those words just hit me a bit hard. See, my girlfriend and I have both had it a bit rough in the romance department, and both of us are done with being young and reckless and free-falling (enjoyable as it may be). So despite all the promising beginnings, we're taking it real slow -- treading carefully, so to speak -- not that that's a bad thing. It just...lacks the thrill I'm used to.
I feel like if I was actually able to just sit down and talk with her and hang out away from the class desks more often, then things might get where I feel they could be, but everything's stopping that from happening.
I just wish I could hear Silvia say something like "let's see each other, really soon." I know she would, given the chance. But our increasingly busy lives are conspiring against us.
So here I sit at the computer, with a dead cell phone in my hand. It died as I was leaving Silvia a voice mail. Right before I said the words "I miss you."
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Down to Business.
A Tale of Two Princes has a lot of potential -- so much, in fact, that I don't trust myself with it. I've started taking this very, very seriously (don't get me wrong, I have no doubt that the process will still be enjoyable); the manner in which I've decided to get things done is, I think, very businesslike.
The book has several phases...
1. History
2. Romance
3. Buildup
4. Pursuit/Revenge (Active Protagonist)
5. Cat-and-Mouse (Active Antagonist)
6. Confrontation
I've presented my synopsis to a host of people, and of these, I've found several who are particularly interested in one phase of the story over all the others. I still need a couple more, but the plan is this: once I have a person designated for each phase, I'll have them shoot as many questions at me and pose as many suggestions as they can, concerning plot, character, setting, etc. All this input will be taken into consideration, and these six peoples' names will appear in the "Special Acknowledgments" section once the book is released.
This is shaping up extremely well. It's going to be a very engaging project. So don't expect to hear from me for a while; I'll be too busy writing. :)
The book has several phases...
1. History
2. Romance
3. Buildup
4. Pursuit/Revenge (Active Protagonist)
5. Cat-and-Mouse (Active Antagonist)
6. Confrontation
I've presented my synopsis to a host of people, and of these, I've found several who are particularly interested in one phase of the story over all the others. I still need a couple more, but the plan is this: once I have a person designated for each phase, I'll have them shoot as many questions at me and pose as many suggestions as they can, concerning plot, character, setting, etc. All this input will be taken into consideration, and these six peoples' names will appear in the "Special Acknowledgments" section once the book is released.
This is shaping up extremely well. It's going to be a very engaging project. So don't expect to hear from me for a while; I'll be too busy writing. :)
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Freedom!
You're all still free to assist with A Tale of Two Princes, but I'm now very much past my Writer's Block. Turns out all I had to do was extend the beginning of the book, return to the origins, and write a six-page synopsis of the whole thing. Who knew?
On a different note, I just finished reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell yesterday for the third time around. I think I'm going to take a vacation from reading for a while; who knows where to -- behind the sky; the other side of the rain...it's all just as well. I need some time to focus more on the Tale.
I'm beginning to think that, despite this being very early in a writing career that hasn't even taken off yet, A Tale of Two Princes will be my masterwork. I just get the feeling. This concept is so full of things that I can work with, on so many levels, that it may be the best writing I'll ever produce. And while that may seem very energizing at first, it's also very daunting to think that if, indeed, this proves true, another such work will never come from my hands again.
It's an interesting journey -- and one I fully intend to carry out to its completion. Wish me luck!
On a different note, I just finished reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell yesterday for the third time around. I think I'm going to take a vacation from reading for a while; who knows where to -- behind the sky; the other side of the rain...it's all just as well. I need some time to focus more on the Tale.
I'm beginning to think that, despite this being very early in a writing career that hasn't even taken off yet, A Tale of Two Princes will be my masterwork. I just get the feeling. This concept is so full of things that I can work with, on so many levels, that it may be the best writing I'll ever produce. And while that may seem very energizing at first, it's also very daunting to think that if, indeed, this proves true, another such work will never come from my hands again.
It's an interesting journey -- and one I fully intend to carry out to its completion. Wish me luck!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Writer's Block
I'm having some trouble with my Tale of Two Princes, and I could use some assistance. Check out the excerpts I've posted thus far, and send me an email(seraphim407@gmail.com). I'll provide any plot details I have set down so that you can give useful suggestions. And for those of you asking in your heads, yes, your name will appear in the Special Acknowledgments once the book is released.
I need all the help I can get here. Much appreciated!
I need all the help I can get here. Much appreciated!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And We Have Liftoff
I can't quite describe it. But then again, it's one of those things that defies description; words may paint a picture, but no amount can fully do it justice.
It's like water. No cage of words can capture it; no net, no matter how carefully woven, can pull it in for inspection; and just when you think you have the answer in your hands, it slips away, leaving you only with droplets and the strangest sense of futility.
It's times like this, when you're falling and flying at the same time, that words utterly fail. Love is one of the few beautiful things that make this ugly world tolerable.
I'm in the clouds. We have liftoff.
It's like water. No cage of words can capture it; no net, no matter how carefully woven, can pull it in for inspection; and just when you think you have the answer in your hands, it slips away, leaving you only with droplets and the strangest sense of futility.
It's times like this, when you're falling and flying at the same time, that words utterly fail. Love is one of the few beautiful things that make this ugly world tolerable.
I'm in the clouds. We have liftoff.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Another Excerpt from "A Tale of Two Princes"
In the East Courtyard of Trietus Mansion, two figures sat amidst the gardens and ponds with a table between them, and upon that checkered table were chess--pieces. The air had rather a bit of chill, and the two figures were dressed accordingly: one was bundled in a black greatcoat and gloves, while the other favored worn leather and a scarf. On a smaller table beside them rested two empty cups of tea, still breathing steam into the fall air -- the drifting aroma of the steaming tea-leaves mingled with that of the flowers in the surrounding gardens, and together with the soft gurgle of a waterfall striking the nearby pond, and with the singing of birds, this lent to the scene a most pleasant and tranquil atmosphere.
But on the contrary, the atmosphere at the chess-table was quite tense.
It was Alphonse's move; he sat perfectly still, scrutinizing the board most intently -- the tremendous strain of such hard thought clearly showed on his face -- while Balthazar sat equally motionless, his icy blue eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. When Alphonse, after excruciating deliberation, made his move, Balthazar's response came after only a moment or two.
Again, Alphonse was left to puzzle over the board. He tried watching Balthazar for some indicator of emotion or thought, but his face was an unreadable mask; his eyes betrayed nothing of the plan that had formed behind them. And so Alphonse returned to his scrutiny of the board. It was not so full of options as it had once been: almost every Black piece -- in one move -- had been pinned to its square, and the choices that remained were not at all favorable. He sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't see what I can do," he admitted at last. "It's useless."
Balthazar laughed; Alphonse cocked an eyebrow.
"My dear Alphonse," he tutted, "you surely know why I'm laughing."
A servant rushed over at the casual wave of Balthazar's hand, refilled their teacups, and promptly darted off again.
Alphonse confessed that he did not.
"You've finally stumbled upon a correct answer, but in a situation where it provides no help." Balthazar chuckled as he sipped his tea -- this produced a strange, muffled echo in the cup. He set it back on the side and laced his gloved fingers together, resting his elbow on the edge of the chess-table. "By chance, did you see what I was planning?"
Alphonse was tired of confessing his own ignorance, and so as a response he contemplated his tea.
"I apologize, then -- I gave you too much credit. Here, let me show you..."
And he set about, with visual demonstration, explaining the few possibilities that gave Alphonse the slightest hope of a draw -- "...at this point, it was all you could have hoped for, you know..." -- and listing, for each, the lengthy multilayered counters and eventual victories which Balthazar had conceived and formulated. Such was the length of his explanation that both brothers' teacups were again empty when he finished, and the sundial nearby -- which had read two o'clock when he began -- was now very near to half-past two.
"Do you see now?" he asked finally, setting the board for another game.
Alphonse, watching the sunlight breaking and twisting in the ripples of a nearby pond, stifled a yawn. "O told you before,m Brother, that I already saw the pointlessness of continuing. It doesn't make it any clearer to know every reason why. If anything, I'm more confused now that I was half an hour ago." He stood, shook the stiffness out of his limbs, and gave Balthazar a nod. "I should be making my way to Caulsen-square now."
"To see Julia?" Balthazar smiled.
"No; to see an opera. She's been anxious to immerse me in theatre."
"I'm thrilled for you. Be sure to tell me what you both think of it later."
With that, Alphonse turned and left.
Balthazar, watching his brother depart, pondered their last chess game. Every position was systematically arranged in a mental list: every aspect, every motive behind each move, every piece's role, every square's importance...
From his coat, Balthazar produced a journal and fountain-pen, and began to write.
The opera house in Caulsen-square was not very much like others of its kind -- in fact, its extravagance and novelty begged the question of whether there really was another of its kind at all. Of course it followed the conventions of grand mahogany doors, lamplit crimson drapes on the exterior, and a sculptural fountain on either side of its entrance, but in every other respect it strove to defeat the other opera-houses of Ambros with its magnificence.From the bar-lounge, where patrons smoked and drank and discussed their relatives' health during intermission, to the restrooms set in marble, and to the main hall with delicate chandeliers all over -- even to the flying buttresses and the upper balconies, each a work of art in and of itself -- the opera-house in Caulsen square took no reserve in announcing itself -- or, of more importance to the patrons, its high price.
It was to this opera-house that Julia Khomnus had invited Alphonse Trietus, to see the theatrical adaptation of her favorite novel (Qualis Artifex Pereo by Robin Fischer).
They arrived twenty minutes early in Alphonse's coach, adn when they stepped out, it is fair to say that they caused quite a commotion -- Julia, in keeping with what was fashionable in Ambros and what was not, had advised Alphonse previously in choosing an outfit ("But what would I go in!" he had groaned, pacing the stone walls of a pasture neat Trietus Mansion. She had given him a smile and sighed: "It the easiest thing in the world, once you know what people expect"...). And so, to avoid the crowd that was forming in the square, Alphonse had taken Julia inside the opera-house, where they purchased their tickets and hid in the lounge.
Julia was laughing as she found a sofa by the fire and seated herself. Alphonse followed suit, sweeping back the tails of his coat as he did so.
"What were you thinking, bringing me so early?" She fanned herself with one hand, a smile on her face.
Alphonse shrugged. "I had to escape my brother."
Julia paused for a moment, as if wondering why, and then, remembering Balthazar, nodded. "I can understand that."
A man strode over from behind the bar. "Would you like anything to drink before the show? Perhaps try our latest import?"
Alphonse looked up. "Red or white?"
"Red, sir."
"Then I'll be glad to try it."
"And you, ma'am?"
"I'll have a glass as well."
"Excellent. Just a moment." And he returned with two cups of crystal a few seconds later.
"So," Alphonse began, once the man had been paid and returned to the bar, "what should I be expecting? Tragedy? Epic? Comedy? Romance?" he swirled his wine and sipped it.
Julia waved a finger at him. "In this city, you can't take anything for granted. If I were to tell you about the novel, what we see tonight may turn out to be a radical interpretation, something altogether different."
"You don't seem to be expecting much," he mused.
"Quite the opposite, actually. I'm expecting great things -- I just don't expect that they'll necessarily be the same great things exhibited by the original work."
They shared a look for a moment. Then: "That's fair."
Julia smiled. "Suffice it to say, the novel doesn't belong to any of the types you seem to anticipate. It's a masterful blend of the four."
"I'll take your word for it."
But on the contrary, the atmosphere at the chess-table was quite tense.
It was Alphonse's move; he sat perfectly still, scrutinizing the board most intently -- the tremendous strain of such hard thought clearly showed on his face -- while Balthazar sat equally motionless, his icy blue eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. When Alphonse, after excruciating deliberation, made his move, Balthazar's response came after only a moment or two.
Again, Alphonse was left to puzzle over the board. He tried watching Balthazar for some indicator of emotion or thought, but his face was an unreadable mask; his eyes betrayed nothing of the plan that had formed behind them. And so Alphonse returned to his scrutiny of the board. It was not so full of options as it had once been: almost every Black piece -- in one move -- had been pinned to its square, and the choices that remained were not at all favorable. He sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't see what I can do," he admitted at last. "It's useless."
Balthazar laughed; Alphonse cocked an eyebrow.
"My dear Alphonse," he tutted, "you surely know why I'm laughing."
A servant rushed over at the casual wave of Balthazar's hand, refilled their teacups, and promptly darted off again.
Alphonse confessed that he did not.
"You've finally stumbled upon a correct answer, but in a situation where it provides no help." Balthazar chuckled as he sipped his tea -- this produced a strange, muffled echo in the cup. He set it back on the side and laced his gloved fingers together, resting his elbow on the edge of the chess-table. "By chance, did you see what I was planning?"
Alphonse was tired of confessing his own ignorance, and so as a response he contemplated his tea.
"I apologize, then -- I gave you too much credit. Here, let me show you..."
And he set about, with visual demonstration, explaining the few possibilities that gave Alphonse the slightest hope of a draw -- "...at this point, it was all you could have hoped for, you know..." -- and listing, for each, the lengthy multilayered counters and eventual victories which Balthazar had conceived and formulated. Such was the length of his explanation that both brothers' teacups were again empty when he finished, and the sundial nearby -- which had read two o'clock when he began -- was now very near to half-past two.
"Do you see now?" he asked finally, setting the board for another game.
Alphonse, watching the sunlight breaking and twisting in the ripples of a nearby pond, stifled a yawn. "O told you before,m Brother, that I already saw the pointlessness of continuing. It doesn't make it any clearer to know every reason why. If anything, I'm more confused now that I was half an hour ago." He stood, shook the stiffness out of his limbs, and gave Balthazar a nod. "I should be making my way to Caulsen-square now."
"To see Julia?" Balthazar smiled.
"No; to see an opera. She's been anxious to immerse me in theatre."
"I'm thrilled for you. Be sure to tell me what you both think of it later."
With that, Alphonse turned and left.
Balthazar, watching his brother depart, pondered their last chess game. Every position was systematically arranged in a mental list: every aspect, every motive behind each move, every piece's role, every square's importance...
From his coat, Balthazar produced a journal and fountain-pen, and began to write.
The opera house in Caulsen-square was not very much like others of its kind -- in fact, its extravagance and novelty begged the question of whether there really was another of its kind at all. Of course it followed the conventions of grand mahogany doors, lamplit crimson drapes on the exterior, and a sculptural fountain on either side of its entrance, but in every other respect it strove to defeat the other opera-houses of Ambros with its magnificence.From the bar-lounge, where patrons smoked and drank and discussed their relatives' health during intermission, to the restrooms set in marble, and to the main hall with delicate chandeliers all over -- even to the flying buttresses and the upper balconies, each a work of art in and of itself -- the opera-house in Caulsen square took no reserve in announcing itself -- or, of more importance to the patrons, its high price.
It was to this opera-house that Julia Khomnus had invited Alphonse Trietus, to see the theatrical adaptation of her favorite novel (Qualis Artifex Pereo by Robin Fischer).
They arrived twenty minutes early in Alphonse's coach, adn when they stepped out, it is fair to say that they caused quite a commotion -- Julia, in keeping with what was fashionable in Ambros and what was not, had advised Alphonse previously in choosing an outfit ("But what would I go in!" he had groaned, pacing the stone walls of a pasture neat Trietus Mansion. She had given him a smile and sighed: "It the easiest thing in the world, once you know what people expect"...). And so, to avoid the crowd that was forming in the square, Alphonse had taken Julia inside the opera-house, where they purchased their tickets and hid in the lounge.
Julia was laughing as she found a sofa by the fire and seated herself. Alphonse followed suit, sweeping back the tails of his coat as he did so.
"What were you thinking, bringing me so early?" She fanned herself with one hand, a smile on her face.
Alphonse shrugged. "I had to escape my brother."
Julia paused for a moment, as if wondering why, and then, remembering Balthazar, nodded. "I can understand that."
A man strode over from behind the bar. "Would you like anything to drink before the show? Perhaps try our latest import?"
Alphonse looked up. "Red or white?"
"Red, sir."
"Then I'll be glad to try it."
"And you, ma'am?"
"I'll have a glass as well."
"Excellent. Just a moment." And he returned with two cups of crystal a few seconds later.
"So," Alphonse began, once the man had been paid and returned to the bar, "what should I be expecting? Tragedy? Epic? Comedy? Romance?" he swirled his wine and sipped it.
Julia waved a finger at him. "In this city, you can't take anything for granted. If I were to tell you about the novel, what we see tonight may turn out to be a radical interpretation, something altogether different."
"You don't seem to be expecting much," he mused.
"Quite the opposite, actually. I'm expecting great things -- I just don't expect that they'll necessarily be the same great things exhibited by the original work."
They shared a look for a moment. Then: "That's fair."
Julia smiled. "Suffice it to say, the novel doesn't belong to any of the types you seem to anticipate. It's a masterful blend of the four."
"I'll take your word for it."
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Excerpt from "A Tale of Two Princes"
Khomnus mansion was quiet -- in fact, not simply quiet, but hanging in what seemed to be a pause in speech, an ear-straining silence of the most unnerving sort. All those in the mansion waited for a sound to be heard in the night, eyes open as they lay in their beds, breathing shallow from tension, as if in a trance.
In a roomy bedchamber, cast in silver by the moonlight spilling through a window, was Julia Khomnus: pale, cold, and asleep. Only she, it seemed, in her poisoned unconsciousness, was impervious to the mansion's eerie stillness.
Only she and Balthazar Trietus.
He appeared from the shadows cloaking the perimeter of the chamber, stepping across the carpet without a sound but for the rustle of his dark clothes -- he seemed quite like a ghost -- with his intent, icy gaze and such a calm expression on his face, and skin so pale it very much seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Upon reaching Julia's bedside, Balthazar grew still: his eyes grew deeper, and his brow furrowed as if some annoying fly insisted on buzzing about him as he watched her. After a while, though, he seemed to decide that lingering in his enemies' home any longer than necessary was not at all wise -- quickly, but with eerily fluid motion, he extracted from various pockets throughout his person a small phial of alcohol; a cotton swab; a syringe; and a tiny bottle, capped with a rubber membrane and containing a small amount of clear solution, and placed these items neatly and silently on the bedside-table. Without pausing for a moment, Balthazar checked Julia's pulse with two tapered, slender fingers at various points upon her right arm and, having located a vein quite near enough to the skin, picked up the phial and the cotton swab, emptying the measured contents of the former onto the latter. The phial vanished back into one of Balthazar's pockets, and once he had swabbed the determined spot on Julia's arm, the cotton disappeared as well. Every action was practiced and rehearsed top perfection beforehand: the swiftness and care of their execution was infallible, even as Balthazar lifted the bottle of solution, upturned it, and with the syringe pierced the rubber membrane. Once the syringe was filled to the desired measurement, Balthazar pocketed the bottle and leaned over Julia, inserting the syringe into the crook of her elbow and gently easing the plunger down until the syringe's contents were gone.
Stowing the syringe, Balthazar retrieved the swab and cleaned Julia's arm, before returning it once again to his pocket. Then, gently, he put the back of one hand to Julia's forehead; the same intent, deeply contemplative expression on his face.
"Soon," he muttered -- more to himself, or even to the cold, empty, silent air of the room, than to Julia -- "Soon, this war will be over, and I will find my throne waiting in its wake." Balthazar allowed the corner of his lips to rise in the faintest of smiles.
And then he was gone.
In a roomy bedchamber, cast in silver by the moonlight spilling through a window, was Julia Khomnus: pale, cold, and asleep. Only she, it seemed, in her poisoned unconsciousness, was impervious to the mansion's eerie stillness.
Only she and Balthazar Trietus.
He appeared from the shadows cloaking the perimeter of the chamber, stepping across the carpet without a sound but for the rustle of his dark clothes -- he seemed quite like a ghost -- with his intent, icy gaze and such a calm expression on his face, and skin so pale it very much seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Upon reaching Julia's bedside, Balthazar grew still: his eyes grew deeper, and his brow furrowed as if some annoying fly insisted on buzzing about him as he watched her. After a while, though, he seemed to decide that lingering in his enemies' home any longer than necessary was not at all wise -- quickly, but with eerily fluid motion, he extracted from various pockets throughout his person a small phial of alcohol; a cotton swab; a syringe; and a tiny bottle, capped with a rubber membrane and containing a small amount of clear solution, and placed these items neatly and silently on the bedside-table. Without pausing for a moment, Balthazar checked Julia's pulse with two tapered, slender fingers at various points upon her right arm and, having located a vein quite near enough to the skin, picked up the phial and the cotton swab, emptying the measured contents of the former onto the latter. The phial vanished back into one of Balthazar's pockets, and once he had swabbed the determined spot on Julia's arm, the cotton disappeared as well. Every action was practiced and rehearsed top perfection beforehand: the swiftness and care of their execution was infallible, even as Balthazar lifted the bottle of solution, upturned it, and with the syringe pierced the rubber membrane. Once the syringe was filled to the desired measurement, Balthazar pocketed the bottle and leaned over Julia, inserting the syringe into the crook of her elbow and gently easing the plunger down until the syringe's contents were gone.
Stowing the syringe, Balthazar retrieved the swab and cleaned Julia's arm, before returning it once again to his pocket. Then, gently, he put the back of one hand to Julia's forehead; the same intent, deeply contemplative expression on his face.
"Soon," he muttered -- more to himself, or even to the cold, empty, silent air of the room, than to Julia -- "Soon, this war will be over, and I will find my throne waiting in its wake." Balthazar allowed the corner of his lips to rise in the faintest of smiles.
And then he was gone.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Trippy
My last post reminded me: I forgot to post up pictures of the time I spent with my brother during this last trip to Chicago.
Gina and the Boogie (Addison) at Wannabe Beach.
Little Emilio.
Isaac, about to throw a fit.
Big Emilio, Little Emilio, and Addison.
Gina and the Boogie (Addison) at Wannabe Beach.
Little Emilio.
Isaac, about to throw a fit.
Big Emilio, Little Emilio, and Addison.Friday, October 3, 2008
Ponderings of Fraternity
I read The Kite Runner, which turned out to be an amazing book. I can't thank Silvia enough for finally putting it in my hands. And it's got me thinking.
In my experience, at least, fraternity isn't limited to blood. It's a bond that can form anywhere, under the strangest and most unexpected of circumstances; a bond that can withstand any number of troubles. I can name six people who might not be my blood, but who I know would never turn against me, and who I would never turn against.
But I can't help but wonder when it comes to the one man who I can call my brother in blood. If not for the familial relation -- or at least the knowledge of it -- would we be capable, as friends, of being as close as we are today? Would I call him whenever I were in need of support, or would I turn to someone else? Would he have named his firstborn son after me, or perhaps have given the honor to another? Would I have written stories of his friendship and company, or would a different name have struck the page? And would he have chosen me as one of those at his wedding to stand behind him?
I really don't know. I hope that the former, rather than the latter, answers are true, but I can't tell. I've never put much stock in hypotheticals, as you can't judge the outcome without living the circumstances, but this book just struck a chord. It just made me wonder.
Because I love my brother. And I look up to him more than anyone else. Some might think this unwise, as he is a 23-year old UPS driver and father of three, but I beg to differ. That guy busts his ass day-in and day-out to support his family, he shows his wife and children more love than one would believe is possible after an exhausting day at work, and he listens to whatever you have to say. He's more of a man than anyone else I know; he does our family proud.
I don't know what I'd do without him.
In my experience, at least, fraternity isn't limited to blood. It's a bond that can form anywhere, under the strangest and most unexpected of circumstances; a bond that can withstand any number of troubles. I can name six people who might not be my blood, but who I know would never turn against me, and who I would never turn against.
But I can't help but wonder when it comes to the one man who I can call my brother in blood. If not for the familial relation -- or at least the knowledge of it -- would we be capable, as friends, of being as close as we are today? Would I call him whenever I were in need of support, or would I turn to someone else? Would he have named his firstborn son after me, or perhaps have given the honor to another? Would I have written stories of his friendship and company, or would a different name have struck the page? And would he have chosen me as one of those at his wedding to stand behind him?
I really don't know. I hope that the former, rather than the latter, answers are true, but I can't tell. I've never put much stock in hypotheticals, as you can't judge the outcome without living the circumstances, but this book just struck a chord. It just made me wonder.
Because I love my brother. And I look up to him more than anyone else. Some might think this unwise, as he is a 23-year old UPS driver and father of three, but I beg to differ. That guy busts his ass day-in and day-out to support his family, he shows his wife and children more love than one would believe is possible after an exhausting day at work, and he listens to whatever you have to say. He's more of a man than anyone else I know; he does our family proud.
I don't know what I'd do without him.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Assessment
When I spend too much time around a chessboard, I tend to think of life as just another game, just another challenge. Every action or statement is a move; every thought is a plan, an assessment.
For the most part, I like to think I'm in control, that I'm making the right moves and picking up on all the important characteristics of the situation.
Yet I feel like I may have missed something; that I've been getting ahead of myself, and that I should step back and look deeper. In any case, my moves to this point have been made, and it's on the table.
But this could take a while.
For the most part, I like to think I'm in control, that I'm making the right moves and picking up on all the important characteristics of the situation.
Yet I feel like I may have missed something; that I've been getting ahead of myself, and that I should step back and look deeper. In any case, my moves to this point have been made, and it's on the table.
But this could take a while.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Recent Stories.
Oh, boy.
To talk of all that has transpired is to relay tragedy and epic and romance, which -- though writer I may be -- is an impossible task for me to carry out in this one sitting at my keyboard.
So, in my exhaustion, before I rest myself, I will divulge hints of recent happenings (some in almost riddle form) and leave the rest to the reader to surmise however he (or she) may.
Recent Story 1:
I have become a man without a country.
Recent Story 2:
I am El Capitan, in ways I never could have hoped during my adventures with the Bayside High School chess team last year.
Recent Story 3:
I am ditching my parachute and ready for the fall. This has to do at once with the perks of being a wallflower and The Office.
More soon!
To talk of all that has transpired is to relay tragedy and epic and romance, which -- though writer I may be -- is an impossible task for me to carry out in this one sitting at my keyboard.
So, in my exhaustion, before I rest myself, I will divulge hints of recent happenings (some in almost riddle form) and leave the rest to the reader to surmise however he (or she) may.
Recent Story 1:
I have become a man without a country.
Recent Story 2:
I am El Capitan, in ways I never could have hoped during my adventures with the Bayside High School chess team last year.
Recent Story 3:
I am ditching my parachute and ready for the fall. This has to do at once with the perks of being a wallflower and The Office.
More soon!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
This is Emilio, reporting live from Danny's.
Spent the night. Hoping to get some recording done with Steve, his stepfather, today. I've got my guitar and loop pedal and mic and all the necessary cables.
In other news, I've started playing chess again. And it's true, I have been on a chessic hiatus since this past school year ended. But I've just gotten back into it recently, and I seem to be shaking off my rust fairly quickly. I've won every game I've played.
Chess club starts next week! I'm pumped.
Spent the night. Hoping to get some recording done with Steve, his stepfather, today. I've got my guitar and loop pedal and mic and all the necessary cables.
In other news, I've started playing chess again. And it's true, I have been on a chessic hiatus since this past school year ended. But I've just gotten back into it recently, and I seem to be shaking off my rust fairly quickly. I've won every game I've played.
Chess club starts next week! I'm pumped.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Psyched.
The impending arrival of cool things is measured in "weeks from now"(wfn)...(except possibly my recording session and the arrival of some of my music on myspace.com/emiliovelezmusic, which could happen tomorrow)
First of all, 2 wfn:
The Office, season 5 premiere. THIS IS GONNA BE AN AWESOME AND AWKWARD SEASON.
Second, 1 wfn:
Chess club begins again. This time around -- since the school noticed how one kid can take a scrappy chess club; turn it into a team; and with that team, grab the gold in their first tournament -- TWO TRAILERS, not ONE cramped little room, are going to be vacated for the chess team's use every Thursday; loads of chess books and studying resources have been ordered for us; more chess sets have been bought for the team's use in their new trailers; and recruitment announcements are going to be made on the loudspeaker every morning for a month.
This is already shaping up to be a good year for the team, and it's still 1 wfn.
First of all, 2 wfn:
The Office, season 5 premiere. THIS IS GONNA BE AN AWESOME AND AWKWARD SEASON.
Second, 1 wfn:
Chess club begins again. This time around -- since the school noticed how one kid can take a scrappy chess club; turn it into a team; and with that team, grab the gold in their first tournament -- TWO TRAILERS, not ONE cramped little room, are going to be vacated for the chess team's use every Thursday; loads of chess books and studying resources have been ordered for us; more chess sets have been bought for the team's use in their new trailers; and recruitment announcements are going to be made on the loudspeaker every morning for a month.
This is already shaping up to be a good year for the team, and it's still 1 wfn.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
No, You Don't
No, you don't
Know a thing
About this pain that I've felt
About my personal hell
No, you don't
Want to see
Past what I've put into this kiss
All the things that I hid
From you
And I whisper
So softly
Into your ear
That I want a way out
That I need a way out
But you don't hear
No, you don't
Hear a thing
My words echo in the room
They echo right through you
No, you don't
Know a thing
About this pain that I've felt
About my personal hell
No, you don't
Want to see
Past what I've put into this kiss
All the things that I hid
From you
Know a thing
About this pain that I've felt
About my personal hell
No, you don't
Want to see
Past what I've put into this kiss
All the things that I hid
From you
And I whisper
So softly
Into your ear
That I want a way out
That I need a way out
But you don't hear
No, you don't
Hear a thing
My words echo in the room
They echo right through you
No, you don't
Know a thing
About this pain that I've felt
About my personal hell
No, you don't
Want to see
Past what I've put into this kiss
All the things that I hid
From you
Friday, September 5, 2008
Wise Men or Fools
Nap in the park
In the shade of a tree
Wake up and play some guitar
My mind's at ease again
I'm surrounded by my friends
Sitting here chilling
Everything's cool
We might be wise men
Or we might be fools, but
We don't care
We're just sharing our tune with the world
Yeah, the world goes round and round
While we sit here making our sounds
But we don't pay no mind
To the passing time
We just park it up
And jam it out
'Cause living's what we're all about
You can bet I'll be here
When summertime comes by again
Yeah, the world goes round and round
While we sit here making our sounds
But we don't pay no mind
To the passing time
'Cause it's all about the music
Yeah, it's always been just us and our music
But that's the way we like it
And that's the way we'd like it to stay
In the shade of a tree
Wake up and play some guitar
My mind's at ease again
I'm surrounded by my friends
Sitting here chilling
Everything's cool
We might be wise men
Or we might be fools, but
We don't care
We're just sharing our tune with the world
Yeah, the world goes round and round
While we sit here making our sounds
But we don't pay no mind
To the passing time
We just park it up
And jam it out
'Cause living's what we're all about
You can bet I'll be here
When summertime comes by again
Yeah, the world goes round and round
While we sit here making our sounds
But we don't pay no mind
To the passing time
'Cause it's all about the music
Yeah, it's always been just us and our music
But that's the way we like it
And that's the way we'd like it to stay
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
At Your Door
Lost in thought
What I sought
Is lost on me
It's a mystery
'Cause all I see
Is you
Standing there
And I don't dare
To make a move
'Cause I'm moved by you
Just doing
What you do
I don't know
What to make of this
When the moment seems so delicate
A single word could break it
So I guess I'll take a chance
Gather up some courage
And take your hands
In mine
That's when I kiss you
I close my eyes
You blow my mind
It feels so good
Life is better
Than it should
Ever be
And I'd kiss you again
But you've got to go
Our day is at an end
Our day is at an end
What I sought
Is lost on me
It's a mystery
'Cause all I see
Is you
Standing there
And I don't dare
To make a move
'Cause I'm moved by you
Just doing
What you do
I don't know
What to make of this
When the moment seems so delicate
A single word could break it
So I guess I'll take a chance
Gather up some courage
And take your hands
In mine
That's when I kiss you
I close my eyes
You blow my mind
It feels so good
Life is better
Than it should
Ever be
And I'd kiss you again
But you've got to go
Our day is at an end
Our day is at an end
Monday, September 1, 2008
Summer is at an End
Well, this is it (I get the feeling I've started off several entries with those words, but I'm having trouble remembering).
School starts tomorrow. I've got to get my act straight. (I've said that a few too many times. It's slightly discouraging.)
(Am I using parentheses too much?)
(I'm sorry. I'll stop.)
School starts tomorrow. I've got to get my act straight. (I've said that a few too many times. It's slightly discouraging.)
(Am I using parentheses too much?)
(I'm sorry. I'll stop.)
Takeoff.
I feel set on a road without guidance.
Circa 2004, I began taking bass lessons at the Music Zoo here in New York. The first time I met my teacher, Anders, I didn't know what to think of him. He was kind of crazy("aren't we all, though?" I had corrected myself), but I soon saw that I had a lot to learn from him musically. I progressed under his tutelage, and discovered more than a teacher behind that curtain of purposely disarrayed hair. We had grown on each other. I had found a friend in this man who, when he could see I was down, gave advice and consolation that I could trust; who shared the joy of my good days; who cracked jokes to soften my serious edge; who gave my fingers wings.
There were days, of course, where Anders couldn't make it to the Zoo, and I was assigned to other teachers there. I never worked as well with them. It always seemed for both parties involved to be an "alright, let's get this over with so I can leave" thing.
On the long car ride back from Chicago, I anticipated telling Anders during our next session about my performance at Pinocchio's; to show him what I'd recorded on my new loop pedal; to throw high fives and laugh and walk out feeling that I'd done him proud. But when I unpacked the car and got on the computer, I saw that Anders had sent me a message. I was shocked and tremendously disappointed to read that he'd left the Zoo behind.
It seems I should do the same.
Here's to the good times, making music in that claustrophobic little room. They'll be sorely missed.
Circa 2004, I began taking bass lessons at the Music Zoo here in New York. The first time I met my teacher, Anders, I didn't know what to think of him. He was kind of crazy("aren't we all, though?" I had corrected myself), but I soon saw that I had a lot to learn from him musically. I progressed under his tutelage, and discovered more than a teacher behind that curtain of purposely disarrayed hair. We had grown on each other. I had found a friend in this man who, when he could see I was down, gave advice and consolation that I could trust; who shared the joy of my good days; who cracked jokes to soften my serious edge; who gave my fingers wings.
There were days, of course, where Anders couldn't make it to the Zoo, and I was assigned to other teachers there. I never worked as well with them. It always seemed for both parties involved to be an "alright, let's get this over with so I can leave" thing.
On the long car ride back from Chicago, I anticipated telling Anders during our next session about my performance at Pinocchio's; to show him what I'd recorded on my new loop pedal; to throw high fives and laugh and walk out feeling that I'd done him proud. But when I unpacked the car and got on the computer, I saw that Anders had sent me a message. I was shocked and tremendously disappointed to read that he'd left the Zoo behind.
It seems I should do the same.
Here's to the good times, making music in that claustrophobic little room. They'll be sorely missed.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
"Parade" by Jake Goodman
Listen to it here. Come back while it plays.
There's something in this picture that's not quite right: I had a few nausea issues after the breakup (to be honest, I think the stress caused them), so my therapist and psychiatrist -- who thought they might have been caused by the meds -- cut all my prescriptions. Understand that I was thanking God for this; those damn pills were hampering my creativity and my drive to create. I was jumping for joy. And the nausea went away. My therapist and psychiatrist saw this as proof that the meds were the problem; I had known that they were a problem all along, but not this problem. The way I see it, the nausea went away because I was no longer hung up on my loss: I was finally able to create, and I took full advantage of the revival.
Lo and behold, the nausea factor has come back with a vengeance. I can barely even look at food this time around. But I'm still creating. Actually, since I got a loop pedal, I've been creating more than ever.
My thoughts have been straying back to that girl.
So don't tell me that there's something wrong with me. And don't tell me that there isn't. Because I know there is.
My brother's asleep right now. If he were awake, I know he'd bring me out of this and find some way to cheer me up. He's cool like that. But he's asleep.
So the poofing and squeaking will continue (inside joke).
There's something in this picture that's not quite right: I had a few nausea issues after the breakup (to be honest, I think the stress caused them), so my therapist and psychiatrist -- who thought they might have been caused by the meds -- cut all my prescriptions. Understand that I was thanking God for this; those damn pills were hampering my creativity and my drive to create. I was jumping for joy. And the nausea went away. My therapist and psychiatrist saw this as proof that the meds were the problem; I had known that they were a problem all along, but not this problem. The way I see it, the nausea went away because I was no longer hung up on my loss: I was finally able to create, and I took full advantage of the revival.
Lo and behold, the nausea factor has come back with a vengeance. I can barely even look at food this time around. But I'm still creating. Actually, since I got a loop pedal, I've been creating more than ever.
My thoughts have been straying back to that girl.
So don't tell me that there's something wrong with me. And don't tell me that there isn't. Because I know there is.
My brother's asleep right now. If he were awake, I know he'd bring me out of this and find some way to cheer me up. He's cool like that. But he's asleep.
So the poofing and squeaking will continue (inside joke).
Friday, August 29, 2008
Another Round at Pinocchio's
Finally -- FINALLY! -- I've taken "Dear Michelle"(in its entirety, this time) beyond the confines of my home turf. Dad and Mario had their last show at Pinocchio's just a few hours ago. Once their set was done, Dad gave me the stage; I strummed up and belted out.
It was awesome.
On a vaguely related note: last week after I performed my "Dear Michelle" instrumental, I asked the barmaid at Pinocchio's, Tanya, for a piece of paper and a pen. As paper, she gave me a rather long receipt. So I wrote the beginnings of a song, stuffed the receipt in my pocket, and forgot about it. Only yesterday did I find the incomplete song and finish it. It developed into my last entry ("Better Days") -- though between the barmaid and I, the song will be known as "Tanya's Receipt".
On another related note: the guy who took the stage after I was done, Jake Goodman, is an AMAZING rhythmist. Check out his stuff here.
It was awesome.
On a vaguely related note: last week after I performed my "Dear Michelle" instrumental, I asked the barmaid at Pinocchio's, Tanya, for a piece of paper and a pen. As paper, she gave me a rather long receipt. So I wrote the beginnings of a song, stuffed the receipt in my pocket, and forgot about it. Only yesterday did I find the incomplete song and finish it. It developed into my last entry ("Better Days") -- though between the barmaid and I, the song will be known as "Tanya's Receipt".On another related note: the guy who took the stage after I was done, Jake Goodman, is an AMAZING rhythmist. Check out his stuff here.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Better Days
Better days
They're all behind me
When I'd call you
And say "I'm coming home."
Better days
I hoped that they'd find me
But now
I spend my nights alone
Dreaming
It seems that you'll see
If you think back
To when you were with me
Back to our better days
Spent in a better place
Nights when I'd stay awake
Dreaming of your face
Back when I'd say I'm coming home
I loved you more than I could show
But now
I spend my nights alone
Better days
When you'd meet me out back
And kiss me before I could walk in the door
Yeah, you made it all right
Those better days
No, they're not coming back
And you couldn't even kiss me
Goodbye
Dreaming
It seems that you'll see
If you think back
To when you were with me
Back to our better days
Spent in a better place
Nights when I'd stay awake
Dreaming of your face
Yeah, back then, you made it right
And I could hold you close at night
But you're not coming back (x3)
And you couldn't even kiss me goodbye
They're all behind me
When I'd call you
And say "I'm coming home."
Better days
I hoped that they'd find me
But now
I spend my nights alone
Dreaming
It seems that you'll see
If you think back
To when you were with me
Back to our better days
Spent in a better place
Nights when I'd stay awake
Dreaming of your face
Back when I'd say I'm coming home
I loved you more than I could show
But now
I spend my nights alone
Better days
When you'd meet me out back
And kiss me before I could walk in the door
Yeah, you made it all right
Those better days
No, they're not coming back
And you couldn't even kiss me
Goodbye
Dreaming
It seems that you'll see
If you think back
To when you were with me
Back to our better days
Spent in a better place
Nights when I'd stay awake
Dreaming of your face
Yeah, back then, you made it right
And I could hold you close at night
But you're not coming back (x3)
And you couldn't even kiss me goodbye
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
With the Internet as My Witness
I've heard way too many times what happens to the average band: they release their first album...it's a hit...they run through the streets and scream when they first hear their hit on the radio...they play their first show...they embark on their first tour...something happens along the line where one of them, who was enough of a jerk already, hits his peak once fame has gone to his head...another one goes off and does his own thing...another one is happy with the money he made, and leaves with it...and finally, you've got the one who was in it for the music all along, and is left in the wake of the band's disassembly, the only one left who wanted to keep going for music's sake.
That's where I come in.
Right here, right now, with the internet as my witness, I will swear that if ever I am among a group of musicians, I will be there -- whether it be on a stage, in a studio, or on a tour bus -- FOR MUSIC'S SAKE. Because music is what I'm all about.
Friday, August 22, 2008
High on Music and a Little Bit Richer
Well, I made my appearance at Pinocchio's tonight. Quite the show. And I can't help but feel overpaid. Thirty bucks for an instrumental "Dear Michelle"? Come on.
But what an experience.
But what an experience.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
HOLY CRAP.
I'm gonna be hitting the stage tonight.
Why am I on the computer?
I should be warming up.
I'll get back to you all by tomorrow afternoon.
Why am I on the computer?
I should be warming up.
I'll get back to you all by tomorrow afternoon.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Renaissance Man
I went to the Bristol Renaissance Faire yesterday. Quite the adventure.
Within fifteen minutes of entering the Faire, my group stumbled upon a clearing with a low-branching tree in the center. A couple of nymphs were sitting in the tree, who I came to know as Autumn and Flower:
Within fifteen minutes of entering the Faire, my group stumbled upon a clearing with a low-branching tree in the center. A couple of nymphs were sitting in the tree, who I came to know as Autumn and Flower:
I have to say I fell tragically in love with Flower. Why tragically? Because I followed her around for several hours to capture more shots, and by the end of the day, she decided it would be fun to tie me to a tree with vines.
I wonder if this is common among photographers.
Friday, August 15, 2008
On the Road Again
Here it is. I'm bracing myself for the 16-hour drive to Chicago (not like I have anything to brace myself for -- I'll be sitting in the back seat with my guitar almost the whole ride).
But it's always nice to be on the road for a few hours, even when it does get claustrophobic.
Here's something: my dad and my cousin, Mario, put on a show at this place called Pinocchio's every Thursday. This coming Thursday I'll be taking the stage for a bit.
Wish me luck. I'll keep you all posted.
But it's always nice to be on the road for a few hours, even when it does get claustrophobic.
Here's something: my dad and my cousin, Mario, put on a show at this place called Pinocchio's every Thursday. This coming Thursday I'll be taking the stage for a bit.
Wish me luck. I'll keep you all posted.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
IIOII
A circle of glasses sitting on the floor. Nobody takes a pass, they're ready for one more. So I pour a round for all the boys and turn the music down. "I'd like to propose a toast," I say, "to the here and now. To wild nights, drunken fights, and using pots and pans for drums. To favorite parts and playing guitar 'til our fingertips go numb. Here's to never growing up!"
As we kick 'em back, I'm thinking that there's nothing in the world like drinking with my brothers, bound by blood or not. So we shuffle up and deal 'em out. We bluff and bet and laugh about our lousy hands as we take another shot.
As we kick 'em back, I'm thinking that there's nothing in the world like drinking with my brothers, bound by blood or not. So we shuffle up and deal 'em out. We bluff and bet and laugh about our lousy hands as we take another shot.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Lost in the Music
I'm freaking myself out here.
I've finally found the groove I've been looking for for the past four years.
I had some good periods when writing my books, but never like this. I've been spitting out two songs a week. I kid you not.
I guess I've just had so much to get out there that it built up, and when I decided to learn guitar it exploded. Not the guitar. My creative reserves.
I'm absorbing myself in the six-string so bad that some people have called me insane. But then they hear my music and they say, "Oh. So that's what you've been up to."
It's beautiful.
I've finally found the groove I've been looking for for the past four years.
I had some good periods when writing my books, but never like this. I've been spitting out two songs a week. I kid you not.
I guess I've just had so much to get out there that it built up, and when I decided to learn guitar it exploded. Not the guitar. My creative reserves.
I'm absorbing myself in the six-string so bad that some people have called me insane. But then they hear my music and they say, "Oh. So that's what you've been up to."
It's beautiful.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Leaving You Behind
Yesterday
I thought I saw your face
Behind a window in Bay Terrace
Where we first met
And I don't know why
I just stopped and sighed
It's been like this every day
In the six months since you left
I dreamt today
Of a different place
As I sat on the rocks at Fort Totten
Where we used to go
And I watched the sun
Sink below the horizon
With a record of us beside me
All the pages I wrote
I think back and remember
My brother's words
How all these things were mine
Before they were yours
So I pick up the leather-bound memories
And throw them into the shifting tide
I'm leaving you behind
This same old town
It holds me down
With all these shadows of you
That make my footsteps slow
So I pack my things
I'm ready to spread my wings
I think I'll be better off
In the city of Chicago
Next time you go down to Fort Totten
To reflect on you and me
When you sit out on the rocks
I hope you see
The hundred pages of memories
I scattered on the shifting tide
To show that I'm leaving you behind
I thought I saw your face
Behind a window in Bay Terrace
Where we first met
And I don't know why
I just stopped and sighed
It's been like this every day
In the six months since you left
I dreamt today
Of a different place
As I sat on the rocks at Fort Totten
Where we used to go
And I watched the sun
Sink below the horizon
With a record of us beside me
All the pages I wrote
I think back and remember
My brother's words
How all these things were mine
Before they were yours
So I pick up the leather-bound memories
And throw them into the shifting tide
I'm leaving you behind
This same old town
It holds me down
With all these shadows of you
That make my footsteps slow
So I pack my things
I'm ready to spread my wings
I think I'll be better off
In the city of Chicago
Next time you go down to Fort Totten
To reflect on you and me
When you sit out on the rocks
I hope you see
The hundred pages of memories
I scattered on the shifting tide
To show that I'm leaving you behind
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Brotherhood = Infinity
Sorry, all! I know I haven't posted for quite some time. Let's pretend this is my entry for 6/30/08. Keep in mind, I'll be talking from my past self's point of view.
How I got there is a long story, but I spent the past week at my bro's place in Chicago. While he was at work, I would keep Addison entertained (let me make it clear right now that this is the happiest baby I have seen in my life); when he got home, we would walk down to the beach and talk about life and things in general (sound familiar?) and play the Wii back at his apartment.
To sum it up, this past week was the best time of my life. No moment I ever had with Liz even comes close.
Oh, and by the way, here's my favorite quote from the visit:
Jonathan: Are you having fun?
Me: Are you kidding?
Jonathan: Well, are you happy?
Me: Hell yes!
Jonathan: Does it have anything to do with Liz?
Me: No.
Jonathan: Good. You're learning. (He followed this up by blasting the car radio, which was playing "Rainy Monday" by Shiny Toy Guns. We both smiled and rocked out to the music.)
At the visit's end, my brother gave me his hat (pics to come) as a reminder that, no matter what goes wrong or no matter where I am in my life, there's always our brotherhood, and nothing can break that. And as long as we have our brotherhood, we can have weeks like this.
From this day forward, I swear on my name that I shall not be seen without that hat on my head (except maybe in class).
Cheers, bro! Couldn't have had a time like that without you!
How I got there is a long story, but I spent the past week at my bro's place in Chicago. While he was at work, I would keep Addison entertained (let me make it clear right now that this is the happiest baby I have seen in my life); when he got home, we would walk down to the beach and talk about life and things in general (sound familiar?) and play the Wii back at his apartment.
To sum it up, this past week was the best time of my life. No moment I ever had with Liz even comes close.
Oh, and by the way, here's my favorite quote from the visit:
Jonathan: Are you having fun?
Me: Are you kidding?
Jonathan: Well, are you happy?
Me: Hell yes!
Jonathan: Does it have anything to do with Liz?
Me: No.
Jonathan: Good. You're learning. (He followed this up by blasting the car radio, which was playing "Rainy Monday" by Shiny Toy Guns. We both smiled and rocked out to the music.)
At the visit's end, my brother gave me his hat (pics to come) as a reminder that, no matter what goes wrong or no matter where I am in my life, there's always our brotherhood, and nothing can break that. And as long as we have our brotherhood, we can have weeks like this.
From this day forward, I swear on my name that I shall not be seen without that hat on my head (except maybe in class).
Cheers, bro! Couldn't have had a time like that without you!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
"Gravity" by Coldplay
Dear Whoever,
I know you're out there. You might have been made for me; I might have been made for you -- I really don't know anymore. I think I stopped believing somewhere down the line.
I'm a romantic in an age where romance is dead. In places where I should really shine, with people who I should be happy with, I'm only turned down. I'm passed by simply because no one knows what they want these days.
My point is the way I am. I need to be able to share an experience, to share life, to share love. I need a girl who gets me enough to share in my experiences and my life and my love and understand what it all means.
I've begun to think that I'm asking for too much. I've begun to think that I'll never find anyone; that there isn't anyone out there who's made for me or who I was made for. Maybe the things everyone is telling me are lies. I'm just really uncertain at this point. What I've seen has made me doubt almost everything that I've ever believed.
And with me being the way I am, it's hard to take. So if you're out there, and if what I once believed in was true, show me. Make yourself known.
---my message in a bottle
I know you're out there. You might have been made for me; I might have been made for you -- I really don't know anymore. I think I stopped believing somewhere down the line.
I'm a romantic in an age where romance is dead. In places where I should really shine, with people who I should be happy with, I'm only turned down. I'm passed by simply because no one knows what they want these days.
My point is the way I am. I need to be able to share an experience, to share life, to share love. I need a girl who gets me enough to share in my experiences and my life and my love and understand what it all means.
I've begun to think that I'm asking for too much. I've begun to think that I'll never find anyone; that there isn't anyone out there who's made for me or who I was made for. Maybe the things everyone is telling me are lies. I'm just really uncertain at this point. What I've seen has made me doubt almost everything that I've ever believed.
And with me being the way I am, it's hard to take. So if you're out there, and if what I once believed in was true, show me. Make yourself known.
---my message in a bottle
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Don't know what to say, really.
I'm tremendously disappointed right now. For a lot of reasons. Well, no, not really. I can't quite pin it down just yet, but I think it might just be a couple of reasons. How many? Well, let's see what I can list.
1. I may have said that I was over certain things, when in fact, I might never be over them. As an example, I'm realizing that I'll probably finish this entry at 1:29 a.m. on the dot, and that saddens me. You either know the significance of that number or you don't.
2. I used to believe in things working out. Honestly, I did. I believed it so much that, at the age of sixteen, I was saving my nickels and dimes with the hope of kicking off a life together with a girl. Take a wild guess who. And take a wild guess why this disappoints me.
3. I had my chance. I had it good. The operative word being had. If I still had that chance, you can bet whatever you want that I would have nailed it and walked away a winner.
That's pretty much it. That's all I can nail down, at least. And there you go. 1:29 a.m. on the dot.
I'm tremendously disappointed right now. For a lot of reasons. Well, no, not really. I can't quite pin it down just yet, but I think it might just be a couple of reasons. How many? Well, let's see what I can list.
1. I may have said that I was over certain things, when in fact, I might never be over them. As an example, I'm realizing that I'll probably finish this entry at 1:29 a.m. on the dot, and that saddens me. You either know the significance of that number or you don't.
2. I used to believe in things working out. Honestly, I did. I believed it so much that, at the age of sixteen, I was saving my nickels and dimes with the hope of kicking off a life together with a girl. Take a wild guess who. And take a wild guess why this disappoints me.
3. I had my chance. I had it good. The operative word being had. If I still had that chance, you can bet whatever you want that I would have nailed it and walked away a winner.
That's pretty much it. That's all I can nail down, at least. And there you go. 1:29 a.m. on the dot.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Circle of Solace
I've finally found it. I've found my niche.
I belong among my brothers: Jonathan, Johnny, Matthew and Matt Weiss. Turning to Liz for happiness was stupid of me. Women come and go; they're known for spitting in your face and walking away. But my brothers? I know they'll never turn on me.
They'll always be game for traipsing around through the night and the early morning; they'll always have something to say that'll cheer me up when I'm down. They'll always be the ones who hear what I'm saying and relate to it when no one else can. They understand the feeling called infinity, and like me, they live for it.
So that's it. I'm swearing this girl off.
My brothers are the only company I need.
I belong among my brothers: Jonathan, Johnny, Matthew and Matt Weiss. Turning to Liz for happiness was stupid of me. Women come and go; they're known for spitting in your face and walking away. But my brothers? I know they'll never turn on me.
They'll always be game for traipsing around through the night and the early morning; they'll always have something to say that'll cheer me up when I'm down. They'll always be the ones who hear what I'm saying and relate to it when no one else can. They understand the feeling called infinity, and like me, they live for it.
So that's it. I'm swearing this girl off.
My brothers are the only company I need.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Project Chess City Council Cup Champions!
In the four-round Project Chess City Council Cup tournament in Brooklyn today, my school's team brought home the gold! We're putting the cup in the trophy case this coming Monday.
My personal record was 3-1, losing only in the final round, and tying for second place with a few other students (Adrian among them). I lost to the same dude who brought down Adrian in the second round -- who was also the only competitor in the High School section of the tournament to reach a record of 4-0. I guess if you're gonna lose to anybody, you should lose to the best guy in the room, right? Right.
If interested, you can check out the games here!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Active Weekend
Well, this has been interesting.
Yesterday:
2:00 p.m.:Arrive at park in Forest Hills with my cousin Matthew to play chess with Adrian.
6:30 p.m.: Finish playing chess, get picked up by mom. Drive to Carom billiards cafe in Flushing to meet Johnny and Matt Weiss.
7:30 p.m.: Johnny and Matt arrive. Play ping pong until roughly 10:00 p.m.
10:30 p.m.: Finally decide on what to do next. Begin driving to Johnny's apartment in the city. Stay there and hang out.
2:30 a.m.: Arrive home. Remember the ping pong paddles are still in Matt Weiss's trunk and get his number from Johnny.
2:45 a.m.: Matt Weiss returns with paddles.
3:00 a.m.: Go to sleep.
Today:
1:37 p.m.: Wake up. Go through the usual morning stuff. (Fine, so it was the afternoon, but you get the point.)
4:08 p.m.: Arrive with Matthew at Carom billiards cafe to meet Adrian. Play ping pong until 7:00 p.m.
7:15 p.m.: Arrive at park near Carom and set up the chess set on a field.
7:30 p.m.: Finish playing chess because Adrian insists on playing soccer with some Mexicans across the field.
8:30 p.m.: Finish playing soccer with my lungs heaving and my manhood aching from a powerful soccer ball to the groin.
Roughly 8:40 p.m.: Arrive home again. Load up on food and water, get on computer.
And now I'm off to play some more chess with Matthew.
'Til next time, folks.
Yesterday:
2:00 p.m.:Arrive at park in Forest Hills with my cousin Matthew to play chess with Adrian.
6:30 p.m.: Finish playing chess, get picked up by mom. Drive to Carom billiards cafe in Flushing to meet Johnny and Matt Weiss.
7:30 p.m.: Johnny and Matt arrive. Play ping pong until roughly 10:00 p.m.
10:30 p.m.: Finally decide on what to do next. Begin driving to Johnny's apartment in the city. Stay there and hang out.
2:30 a.m.: Arrive home. Remember the ping pong paddles are still in Matt Weiss's trunk and get his number from Johnny.
2:45 a.m.: Matt Weiss returns with paddles.
3:00 a.m.: Go to sleep.
Today:
1:37 p.m.: Wake up. Go through the usual morning stuff. (Fine, so it was the afternoon, but you get the point.)
4:08 p.m.: Arrive with Matthew at Carom billiards cafe to meet Adrian. Play ping pong until 7:00 p.m.
7:15 p.m.: Arrive at park near Carom and set up the chess set on a field.
7:30 p.m.: Finish playing chess because Adrian insists on playing soccer with some Mexicans across the field.
8:30 p.m.: Finish playing soccer with my lungs heaving and my manhood aching from a powerful soccer ball to the groin.
Roughly 8:40 p.m.: Arrive home again. Load up on food and water, get on computer.
And now I'm off to play some more chess with Matthew.
'Til next time, folks.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Today's the Day...
Where nothing happened.
The simul didn't take place. My newfound determination to win since the losses last night has apparently developed into a near-bloodlust on the chessboard -- everybody must have sensed it; they simply...chickened out.
But! But!
I played Mr. Barnett instead, and massacred him. It was a lovely feeling. :)
Watch out, City Council Cup! I'm coming!
The simul didn't take place. My newfound determination to win since the losses last night has apparently developed into a near-bloodlust on the chessboard -- everybody must have sensed it; they simply...chickened out.
But! But!
I played Mr. Barnett instead, and massacred him. It was a lovely feeling. :)
Watch out, City Council Cup! I'm coming!
Today's the Day
I'm kind of irritated. Last night, I must have played my cousin Matthew in five games of chess, and I only won one of them. And after all of my reading, it came down to the simple fact that my efforts did me no good. I can't improve in a matter of days by loading my head with principles. Practice is the only way, and I just didn't get enough practice.
I'm in this for the win, not the fun. I'm in this to create works of art in my games, and it just isn't happening. It's very irritating.
And today I'll be holding a simul. I have to find something before then to clear my head, so that I can focus on the games and the games alone.
All I know is, in this coming week before the tournament, I have to practice like crazy against my computer and against Matthew. Practice makes perfect, right? Right.
Everyone loves an underdog.
More news after the simul!
I'm in this for the win, not the fun. I'm in this to create works of art in my games, and it just isn't happening. It's very irritating.
And today I'll be holding a simul. I have to find something before then to clear my head, so that I can focus on the games and the games alone.
All I know is, in this coming week before the tournament, I have to practice like crazy against my computer and against Matthew. Practice makes perfect, right? Right.
Everyone loves an underdog.
More news after the simul!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tournament Prep (cont'd, with some other current events)
Well, tomorrow's the day I'm holding my simul. The stress is piling on heavier than ever.
I'm currently reading Improve Your Chess in 7 Days by Gary Lane, Art of Attack in Chess by Vladimir Vukovic, Winning Chess Openings by Yasser Seirawan, and Winning Chess Strategies (again, by Yasser Seirawan) to get my mind in top form for the event to come.
My uncle dropped by last night to give me my late birthday present: a tournament board with pieces (including extra queens), a notation booklet, and a carrying bag for the lot. I'm thrilled with it. Me and my cousin Matthew, who was over at the time, broke it in immediately with a few blitz games. For those that don't know, by tournament standards a blitz game tops off at 15 minutes per player.
On a different note, I finally got my ping pong paddles in the mail that I ordered from amazon.com. I'm sorry, "table tennis rackets" is the professional term. I'll be trying one of them out today, again with Matthew (the other paddle/racket is a gift for someone).
Again on a different note, I'm finally getting some writing done on my original seven-book revenge story. I've decided that, this being the rough draft, I can structure it however I want, right? So I'm structuring it like a screenplay, simply reduced to lines of speech and stage directions. That way, when I go over it in revision, I just elaborate on the stage directions to fill in the gaps, and voila! I have my novel.
One more different note -- this will be the last time, I promise -- the title of favorite artist is now held by Jason Mraz for his songs "I'm Yours" and "If It Kills Me". Look them up at free.napster.com.
I'm out of current events for now. News on the simul results tomorrow!
I'm currently reading Improve Your Chess in 7 Days by Gary Lane, Art of Attack in Chess by Vladimir Vukovic, Winning Chess Openings by Yasser Seirawan, and Winning Chess Strategies (again, by Yasser Seirawan) to get my mind in top form for the event to come.
My uncle dropped by last night to give me my late birthday present: a tournament board with pieces (including extra queens), a notation booklet, and a carrying bag for the lot. I'm thrilled with it. Me and my cousin Matthew, who was over at the time, broke it in immediately with a few blitz games. For those that don't know, by tournament standards a blitz game tops off at 15 minutes per player.
On a different note, I finally got my ping pong paddles in the mail that I ordered from amazon.com. I'm sorry, "table tennis rackets" is the professional term. I'll be trying one of them out today, again with Matthew (the other paddle/racket is a gift for someone).
Again on a different note, I'm finally getting some writing done on my original seven-book revenge story. I've decided that, this being the rough draft, I can structure it however I want, right? So I'm structuring it like a screenplay, simply reduced to lines of speech and stage directions. That way, when I go over it in revision, I just elaborate on the stage directions to fill in the gaps, and voila! I have my novel.
One more different note -- this will be the last time, I promise -- the title of favorite artist is now held by Jason Mraz for his songs "I'm Yours" and "If It Kills Me". Look them up at free.napster.com.
I'm out of current events for now. News on the simul results tomorrow!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Tournament Prep
Chess, chess, chess.
This is what I call some serious chess stress. I need to train my team for the tournament on May 31st in Brooklyn, and I can only do it for an hour and a half every Friday. Which means I have a grand total of three hours left to get them all in good enough shape to tear down the competition.
This is ridiculous. And what we need to focus on, instead of how to conduct a proper attack, or what theory suggests for the Sicilian Defense, is how to write moves (since everybody needs to keep notation for their tournament games).
What to do? What to do?
Well, my brother suggested last night that, you know what? They're all making their own moves. I can't help them. I can only help myself win this tournament to give our school a good name. So this Friday, I'm holding a simultaneous exhibition against my entire chess club (for those that don't know, a simultaneous exhibition is where one player engages several opponents at once, walking from table to table and making a single move at a time). It will be a trial. I'm making sure to have enough money for three Red Bulls that day.
And next Friday, I'm going to get some batteries for the clocks we have in club and set up some timed games, to see if everyone's got what it takes to record the game while under pressure from the timer.
Wish me luck! These next two Fridays are only a taste of the pressure I'll be under on the 31st!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Misery Without Company -- a poem-portrait of despondency
Here's a poem I wrote a long time ago. It's going to be published in my school's collection of student writings this year.
An ashtray full
Of butts and burning dust.
A hollow, half-lidded stare
Stuck on walls
While moonlit curtains blow.
A fresh cigarette unattended,
Held loosely
Between numb fingers.
Trailing smoke up and up.
A shot glass at his lips—
Locked and loaded,
Drained in a slow moment.
Falls over
When he puts it back.
Books
Scattered on his desk.
Read and reread and reread
To keep his thoughts at bay.
The empty bottle
Of harsh whiskey spent
And sitting in his stomach,
Stealing memory and feeling.
A dry dead red rose,
Brittle and cold.
Empty pillows
Hoarding the scent of her hair
And whispered promises
That stayed behind,
Haunting him
From across the room.
And her absence,
A hammer blow
That booms through the emptiness
And echoes away
To quiet teardrops on the floor.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Last Night...
I just got off the phone with my bro. When it started out, I was depressed out of my mind, listening to "Asleep" by the Smiths and "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap. When he heard "Asleep" over the phone, he immediately asked me:
"Are you listening to 'Asleep'?"
"Yeah."
"Dude, you've gotta stop. Because if you kill yourself, I will kick your ass."
"How?"
"I would kick your dead ass so hard you'd feel it in the afterlife!"
I paused for about ten seconds...total silence. "Okay."
I guess I was in the bad place I was because, about half an hour earlier, I had been talking with my friend John, and he told me that Liz wanted to have nothing to do with me. I guess that since I had been holding onto our friendship in the hope of eventually getting back together with her, and now that she was cutting even that off, I was only just then feeling the full brunt of our breakup.
So, back to my talk with Jonathan. It started off with him asking me if I was alright. I just said, "I've got a problem with moving on."
"How so?" he had said. "What is it that you're holding onto? I mean, just having an outlet for affection or not being alone, or..."
"Yes. Every last bit of it."
"Well, that has nothing to do with her." And so he told me that really, it wasn't Liz that I have to get over, so much as just being alone. And how what she was doing had nothing to say about me, but it said a lot about her. But I'd heard that before.
He told me about how, while I had been giving Liz everything I could possibly give, I neglected myself. I didn't speak my own mind; I didn't come out of my shell. But I'd heard that before. And I said it.
So he told me that I had to think a lot about what I want out of a relationship, as in: do I want a girl who's artistic and introverted? Or all social-butterfly and musical? Or someone deep and receptive to all my ideas and views? Or...you get the point.
And so, where I started out depressed as hell and not knowing how to move on in any way, shape or form, I wound up standing from my bed, pacing and saying this:
"You know what's keeping me from moving on? It's this damn circle, my friends. I mean, they're great and all, it's just...nobody gets the concept of infinity or appreciates it in the manner that I do. I've tried spreading the perks of being a wallflower around like crazy, but nobody gets it, you know? I'll ask what their favorite part is, and they'll say, 'That part where he got high,' or something about his mid-plot epiphany, but nothing about that one damned sentence: 'I feel infinite.' I had Melissa, who understood it perfectly, but she moved to another school. So really, you're the only friend I have who's Charlie-esque enough to get me, and I have nobody over here. I guess, then -- well, I don't guess, I know -- that to move on, I've just got to find people like that, who get the infinity concept, who'll take that IIOII on their shoulder."
To which he replied: "Just be who you are. And if you are who you are, then those other people will find you; you don't have to go on a crazy hunt. And don't ever doubt who you are, even if other people don't get it. You're the man, okay? And here's how you know you're the man: Charlie would hang out with you. Bye."
Click.
"Are you listening to 'Asleep'?"
"Yeah."
"Dude, you've gotta stop. Because if you kill yourself, I will kick your ass."
"How?"
"I would kick your dead ass so hard you'd feel it in the afterlife!"
I paused for about ten seconds...total silence. "Okay."
I guess I was in the bad place I was because, about half an hour earlier, I had been talking with my friend John, and he told me that Liz wanted to have nothing to do with me. I guess that since I had been holding onto our friendship in the hope of eventually getting back together with her, and now that she was cutting even that off, I was only just then feeling the full brunt of our breakup.
So, back to my talk with Jonathan. It started off with him asking me if I was alright. I just said, "I've got a problem with moving on."
"How so?" he had said. "What is it that you're holding onto? I mean, just having an outlet for affection or not being alone, or..."
"Yes. Every last bit of it."
"Well, that has nothing to do with her." And so he told me that really, it wasn't Liz that I have to get over, so much as just being alone. And how what she was doing had nothing to say about me, but it said a lot about her. But I'd heard that before.
He told me about how, while I had been giving Liz everything I could possibly give, I neglected myself. I didn't speak my own mind; I didn't come out of my shell. But I'd heard that before. And I said it.
So he told me that I had to think a lot about what I want out of a relationship, as in: do I want a girl who's artistic and introverted? Or all social-butterfly and musical? Or someone deep and receptive to all my ideas and views? Or...you get the point.
And so, where I started out depressed as hell and not knowing how to move on in any way, shape or form, I wound up standing from my bed, pacing and saying this:
"You know what's keeping me from moving on? It's this damn circle, my friends. I mean, they're great and all, it's just...nobody gets the concept of infinity or appreciates it in the manner that I do. I've tried spreading the perks of being a wallflower around like crazy, but nobody gets it, you know? I'll ask what their favorite part is, and they'll say, 'That part where he got high,' or something about his mid-plot epiphany, but nothing about that one damned sentence: 'I feel infinite.' I had Melissa, who understood it perfectly, but she moved to another school. So really, you're the only friend I have who's Charlie-esque enough to get me, and I have nobody over here. I guess, then -- well, I don't guess, I know -- that to move on, I've just got to find people like that, who get the infinity concept, who'll take that IIOII on their shoulder."
To which he replied: "Just be who you are. And if you are who you are, then those other people will find you; you don't have to go on a crazy hunt. And don't ever doubt who you are, even if other people don't get it. You're the man, okay? And here's how you know you're the man: Charlie would hang out with you. Bye."
Click.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
it's tough, you know? i just feel like ever since that day, with my dad and my brother, i've been in the middle. i was in the middle then, i'm in the middle now. i feel like with my help is the only way this is ever going to get fixed. my brother keeps saying "this doesn't involve you" or "don't let yourself get involved; it's between me and dad". my dad keeps saying "he's gone his own way; nobody can help him."
we're all stubborn. my dad refuses to talk to my brother unless my brother talks to him first, my brother refuses to talk to my dad unless my dad responds to his email, and i refuse to back out, even though no matter how hard i try they won't make contact. it's a predicament.
we're all stubborn. my dad refuses to talk to my brother unless my brother talks to him first, my brother refuses to talk to my dad unless my dad responds to his email, and i refuse to back out, even though no matter how hard i try they won't make contact. it's a predicament.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
The Brothers' Birthday
me and my bro got our birthdays rolled into one today.
then we went back to the apartment and i played with addison for a bit. yup. i'm a proud uncle.
but first, yesterday.
we went down to wannabe beach, where someone with way too much time on their hands had made a meditation circle out of sand (yes, that's right. a meditation circle. look it up. there was one at my brother's wedding. it was awesome.). We walked the circle, talked about what was going on in my life, as well as season 3 of the office, which i have yet to see. then we played video games until it was time for lights out.
and today was the cool part. imagine something cooler than that. jeez.
we went down to wannabe beach, where someone with way too much time on their hands had made a meditation circle out of sand (yes, that's right. a meditation circle. look it up. there was one at my brother's wedding. it was awesome.). We walked the circle, talked about what was going on in my life, as well as season 3 of the office, which i have yet to see. then we played video games until it was time for lights out.
and today was the cool part. imagine something cooler than that. jeez.
we (jonathan, gina and i) have a running joke about how my name was once misspelled "amelio", and how i can be referred to as "a melio" as opposed to the plural form, "milii". you have to know this to get it. anyway, we were driving to this place to surprise jonathan (it was basically a huge arcade) and gina passes me back a piece of paper, saying, "hey, emilio, can you read me these directions?"
the note, in sum and substance, said that there would soon be milii. my brother and his wife are naming one of their twin boys after me.
awesome!
it's an honor beyond words.
but yeah, so today -- or, should i say yesterday, since it's past midnight? -- we played at the arcade for about four or five hours, then headed down to this great barbecue place, and afterwards went for ice cream.
then we went back to the apartment and i played with addison for a bit. yup. i'm a proud uncle.
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