Yes, the rally cry of that wonderful vintage sitcom "Cheers!" I think "Cheers" is sort of an impossible ideal. At least it is for me. For those unaware, "Cheers" was about a bar in Boston. But it was a sitcom, focused on the interactions of the various "regulars", the owner, and the waitresses. But the relevant event here is when one particular regular entered and the entire bar cried "Norm!" (because his name, of course, was Norm Peterson). I'd really like that sort of acceptive base. The feeling that I have a firm, solid support from a group of people who I can count on to be there everyday. I have friends now, but I'm not very good at keeping things going. My conversations sadly drift into unpleasant obscurity, my mad projects end in dissatisfaction and failure, and my friends fade into my past to eventually be forgotten. I can't say I've ended one in anger or over some overblown drama, but I know of quite a few that sort of dissipitated into the annuls of time. I'm sure it's happened to you. Friends from middle school, past classes, whatever that you just don't contact. But I rarely contact anyone period. I don't call, I don't write, I don't go out and do things. I will IM though, but usually only if I have something to say.
But what I want is normality. I want to be able to walk into that sort of warm environment everyday. Or at least a few times a week. It's sort of like the bandroom after school (Heh, I even tried the "NORM!" thing in the mornings freshman year, but it didn't pan out well). Unfortunately that'll be a bit ruined now, but it'll still be around in a somewhat diminished form. I want the board game club to be sort of like Cheers though. You walk in, you're familiar with everyone or you meet a few new people, you get together, you talk, you have fun. It's a solid, permanent environment but it's not brutally demanding. You stay as long as you want (til last call), hang out but have a purpose, and it'll be there next week.
When I'm able, I want to come home at night and have a support base. I want to have a place to relax with friends after work, to discuss, kick back, and hang out. Then I want to go home and find a lapdog or two, a pile of papers, maybe a book (reading and writing, hopefully heh), and a good feeling of inner peace. A "wife" (common law or legal) is rather doubtful, but we'll see if I fall in that concealed pittrap in college or not. Anyway, I'd also like friends. I mean real friends. The type that really know you and you really know them. The type that constantly associate with you. I suppose I've got that in some of you guys, but I'm not sure. I have storybook desires that I know are incomplete and impractical. I guess it's because I don't lean on people so I don't feel like I have the support, even though it's there. I have little reason to lean, which I suppose is a good thing, but I've little reason to get close to people. I like listening and at least attempting to help, and a few people do take advantage of it, but...meh. I'm too high-strung for all that. Too many imagined and neglected responsibilities.
I'm just a walking contradiction. College can't end soon enough...
Saturday, July 31
Wednesday, July 28
An Auspicious Beginning
Well sports fans, it would appear band camp won't be as hellishly abysmal as it was in days of yore. At least, not immediately. Today, I must say, went quite well. Whether it was the cooler weather, my lack of a bass drum, the generally positive atmosphere, or the very fortunate fact that there are no sadistic, monstrous upper classmen to torment me incessantly, I was rather impressed by today. My arms are sore, but that's to be expected from someone of such inferior muscular status as myself. I probably went a tad overboard in terms of outgoing-ness today, but I'd rather be too crazy than too withdrawn.
So now I sit at home listening to that God among Saints, Antonin Dvorak, and ponder my next move. I could do my desperately needed summer reading, but who wants to work after a full day of work followed by more work? Some person in India probably because I'm sure they have better work ethics there, but not me! I guess it's computer time for Dyl then! Woohoo!
So now I sit at home listening to that God among Saints, Antonin Dvorak, and ponder my next move. I could do my desperately needed summer reading, but who wants to work after a full day of work followed by more work? Some person in India probably because I'm sure they have better work ethics there, but not me! I guess it's computer time for Dyl then! Woohoo!
Tuesday, July 27
Waiting
Well, I'm waiting. Waiting for the appropriate time to start reading Mr. Agee. I've got to finish it today in order to keep up with a long forsaken schedule. Then there's bandcamp tomorrow and I think all our rain was just used up. I'm going to melt. It will be a joyous occasion for all, I'm sure, when I burst into flames and run screaming in circles. At least a good 5 minute break. Even a train can't buy that sort of reprieve.
Bleh, so many returns... I do believe my angst is returning. Of course, that could also be a combination of my undone homework and the impending deadline. I can never do anything remotely productive while procrastinating. So I'm left awash, drifting from one temporary amusement to the next. But I can't really enjoy any of them because that small little grinding, bobbing weight keeps alerting me of what I ought to be doing.
I've decided I lack perspective. I'm too open-minded. I can't stand by anything without having doubts fire assault after assault at its tremulous bastions. Maybe college will help. Hmph. I just need something to fire me up. Right now I'm dead inside. Thus I've resorted to listening to religious music. However much I dislike the religion, Christianity does have some nice music. I dunno, maybe I feed off the faith of others since I'm incapable of having it. Faith in God, others, myself. Sort of like a lamprey.
Well, time to swim off. I've still work to do. Always more work it seems. But things are looking up! Just because I say so. Hoo-ah!
Bleh, so many returns... I do believe my angst is returning. Of course, that could also be a combination of my undone homework and the impending deadline. I can never do anything remotely productive while procrastinating. So I'm left awash, drifting from one temporary amusement to the next. But I can't really enjoy any of them because that small little grinding, bobbing weight keeps alerting me of what I ought to be doing.
I've decided I lack perspective. I'm too open-minded. I can't stand by anything without having doubts fire assault after assault at its tremulous bastions. Maybe college will help. Hmph. I just need something to fire me up. Right now I'm dead inside. Thus I've resorted to listening to religious music. However much I dislike the religion, Christianity does have some nice music. I dunno, maybe I feed off the faith of others since I'm incapable of having it. Faith in God, others, myself. Sort of like a lamprey.
Well, time to swim off. I've still work to do. Always more work it seems. But things are looking up! Just because I say so. Hoo-ah!
Monday, July 26
Recipe for a Nightmare
I think a good goal for my life is to have a nightmare-free existence. They generally don't occur every night, of course, but often enough to be distressing. Take tonight, for instance. I'm running out of time on my books, and I'm rather behind. Band camp starts Wednesday, so now is crunch time. Of course, it just so happens Mr. Agee isn't the most enthralling of authors. It's my personal belief that you have priorities in literature. The first is entertainment, which could also be joined with escape. If the book's not entertaining, no one will read it and those who do won't like it. The second is a clear message. There are times to play games. If you want to write for the English intellectual who enjoys solving your puzzle, go ahead. But try to at least make the puzzles readable. When symbolism becomes so very boring that you can't stand it, it's time to stop. Three is style/form/pink marmosets or what have you that make it genuinely different and memorable. James Agee has a very disturbing lack of pink marmosets.
Anyway, I'm reading A Death in the Family and I get to the part in italics. You know, the section that branches off at the end of the first two parts that seems to have nothing to do with the storyline. It's almost made to put you to sleep. It talks about stories and events, but it's clearly meant to convey a message I frankly don't care to exert the effort to pick up. So I try to cram it down my mental throat until I can take no more. So I rest my head against the pillow, I turn off the light, just because I can't take another word. I just can't do it. I need to, but the darkness is so nice. So... peaceful. And I drift off...
But it's a quasi-sleep. I know I can't actually go all the way, I've promises to keep and miles to go before I can stop this foolish charade. So I'm adrift in a sea of emotional stress. I once fell asleep thinking of a math problem. It tormented me. I kept struggling to wake up because I was so wracked with stress. My mind is churning, trying to work a problem that I can only get halfway through. 19+23= I don't know! I can't summon the resolve to figure it out. But there it is again: 19+23. My mind is trying to solve three or four of these at once. I can't do it. So the stress manifests itself in sadness. In a half-waking nightmare where all my normal fears are magnified but aren't easily reasoned away. There's no plot to this dream, just waves. 19+23=... Every moment I'm hit by sadness. It laps against my consciousness, pulling a bit in every time. It recedes, but soon comes back with more force. Another wave, I'm falling deeper. 19+23. My heart is drowning in a reasonless, pure sorrow. The kind I'm only capable of in dreams. My soul mourning my inability to feel something so pure in my gray-tainted reality that was raped by Nihilism. That word. Both of them, actually. I despise both. They're ugly words. 19+23. I'm afraid to use them. But I have to, because in retrospect that's what it seems has happened. Nothing matters. Nothing at all. Until you've experienced Nothing, you don't know what it's like. It's depressing. Still I'm only actually sad in dreams. 19+23. A lingering, pure, but nonetheless poignantly painful emotion. I have no reason to be sad. But I have no reason in dreams.
My sister and mother get home, and I wake up. I realize what happened, I look at the time. Work calls again. The sadness lingers, but it's gradually drying by the sharp, radiant illumination of my now alert mind. I can block it out now. The stress that created the sadness in lieu of blissful peace is now merely a weight. Or perhaps it's a buoy, bouncing up and down constantly reminding me that I'm off course. It shows I care. Just not enough. Enough to be tormented, but not enough to pluck it out of the water. I'll follow my course eventually. Now I have detours to take. But the buoy always blocks my vision. Oh what fun it is to ride in a clueless teenage day.
Anyway, I'm reading A Death in the Family and I get to the part in italics. You know, the section that branches off at the end of the first two parts that seems to have nothing to do with the storyline. It's almost made to put you to sleep. It talks about stories and events, but it's clearly meant to convey a message I frankly don't care to exert the effort to pick up. So I try to cram it down my mental throat until I can take no more. So I rest my head against the pillow, I turn off the light, just because I can't take another word. I just can't do it. I need to, but the darkness is so nice. So... peaceful. And I drift off...
But it's a quasi-sleep. I know I can't actually go all the way, I've promises to keep and miles to go before I can stop this foolish charade. So I'm adrift in a sea of emotional stress. I once fell asleep thinking of a math problem. It tormented me. I kept struggling to wake up because I was so wracked with stress. My mind is churning, trying to work a problem that I can only get halfway through. 19+23= I don't know! I can't summon the resolve to figure it out. But there it is again: 19+23. My mind is trying to solve three or four of these at once. I can't do it. So the stress manifests itself in sadness. In a half-waking nightmare where all my normal fears are magnified but aren't easily reasoned away. There's no plot to this dream, just waves. 19+23=... Every moment I'm hit by sadness. It laps against my consciousness, pulling a bit in every time. It recedes, but soon comes back with more force. Another wave, I'm falling deeper. 19+23. My heart is drowning in a reasonless, pure sorrow. The kind I'm only capable of in dreams. My soul mourning my inability to feel something so pure in my gray-tainted reality that was raped by Nihilism. That word. Both of them, actually. I despise both. They're ugly words. 19+23. I'm afraid to use them. But I have to, because in retrospect that's what it seems has happened. Nothing matters. Nothing at all. Until you've experienced Nothing, you don't know what it's like. It's depressing. Still I'm only actually sad in dreams. 19+23. A lingering, pure, but nonetheless poignantly painful emotion. I have no reason to be sad. But I have no reason in dreams.
My sister and mother get home, and I wake up. I realize what happened, I look at the time. Work calls again. The sadness lingers, but it's gradually drying by the sharp, radiant illumination of my now alert mind. I can block it out now. The stress that created the sadness in lieu of blissful peace is now merely a weight. Or perhaps it's a buoy, bouncing up and down constantly reminding me that I'm off course. It shows I care. Just not enough. Enough to be tormented, but not enough to pluck it out of the water. I'll follow my course eventually. Now I have detours to take. But the buoy always blocks my vision. Oh what fun it is to ride in a clueless teenage day.
Friday, July 23
Hammering Coal into Gold
That's what I do. Or, rather, coal into talcum. Maybe bronze. But I get these strange emotions, moods, and issues and I hammer them out. During the process it's rather unpleasant. But I just take a walk, think on it, and pretty soon I find some sort of an answer of it fades. It's rather preferable to leaving these things unsolved.
Wonderfully Bad
Bleh. Thus, it all begins again. Or rather, it began a week or two ago. As school appears closer, I can already feel the stress. Summer reading constantly weighs me down. And it's in the form that there's just so much, I get so weighted I can't move. I fall onto my bed and just stare at the TV. I could be working. But why bother? There's just so much to do. It waxes and wanes, but the depression is always. This is depression. It feels like depression. It's not sadness, sadness is triggered. Sadness is dark blue and eeriely beautiful. Depression is bruised purple. Depression is the opposite of happiness, contrary to popular belief. Happiness is pervasive, it lingers. It's a mood, not an emotion. Sadness and elation are emotions. They strike with more force and power, but can easily be swayed. Depression and happiness are more pervasive. They're the poison to the cannon shot of emotion.
I've begun dreaming again. Generally the dreams are strange and just related to fears and sources of stress that are sprinkled through my generally privileged life. I dream of my car wrecking. Often. Sometimes I'm driving, sometimes I'm parking, sometimes someone else is destroying it. But it always gets torn to shreds or grossly disfigured. And the terror, shame, and depression of having to call home and say it's happened again is overwhelming. It destroys me. That, and missing my SATs, were bigger blows to my self-esteem and confidence than most anything. The 4s on my AP tests were the norm, it seems, so I don't really resent those. I feel like I could have done better, I know I could have if I had just studied more. But I didn't like the subjects. Ah well. I was disappointed in my 31. Most people would kill for it, but I think it's on the low side of what I could do. It's just part of that reversed sense of accomplishment. Nothing short of the top is acceptable.
And yet, look at my college situation. My choices are essentially Maryville and the UT Honors program. Money isn't a problem for either (it's paid for through scholarships). So I'm left with probably the biggest decision I've made to date. Maryville has an average ACT of 24.5. UT Honors average was 31. But there's pros and cons to both. Maryville is out in a rural area. It's got lots of trees, you can see the mountains clearly from campus, and it's generally more natural than UT. UT's in the middle of a city. At Maryville, I'd have a name. Most people would know me. At UT, in the Honors program, I'd have a name. But there would be a label I'd always have to wear. Everywhere I went, I'd be an Honors student. The standards are higher, the competition would be very high, and the stress would be immense. I'd get a better education. I'd have a much better chance of meeting people I could get along with well who shared my interests and sense of humor. But I'd be constantly stressed, worried about grades and achieving for a degree that really doesn't warrant such a mentality. At Maryville, the people would be different from me. It sounded like a positive environment, but I'm such a different person from the mainstream (in the sense that I am the definitive cynic, I blast Christianity when it's brought up because I despise Hell, I'm a pacifist, I'm a Romantic-Nihilist for lack of a better word, I'm a determinist who still has morals, I'm a walking contradiction) that conflict is almost sure to spring up. In a discussion environment, at least. The smaller nature and the comments from most sources seem to indicate small is the way to go. But it's a gamble and the odds aren't on my side.
BLARGH! I'm incredibly distressed right now (this is 3hours after writing most of the above). I emailed Mrs. Jackson about an SOSE project but I'm so filled with doubt and... something I can't quite describe, that I'm being torn in half. It's that stress of the spotlight. I'm singling myself out for punishment and reprimand. It's... terrible. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel so incredibly stupid and foolish, like I'm a pretentious lunatic who is trying to play with a fire he's not prepared for and who will subsequently be burned to a cinder. It's like agony. It happens everytime I try to "fly solo." When I go it alone without the utmost of positive support (such as Mr. Petko showed for my board game club), I fall into shambles. Ah well. This is what this is all about, testing and hardening. But it'll be terrible as I go through it. Abysmal. I fill like I'm going to burst into a rotten mess. Bleh.
I've begun dreaming again. Generally the dreams are strange and just related to fears and sources of stress that are sprinkled through my generally privileged life. I dream of my car wrecking. Often. Sometimes I'm driving, sometimes I'm parking, sometimes someone else is destroying it. But it always gets torn to shreds or grossly disfigured. And the terror, shame, and depression of having to call home and say it's happened again is overwhelming. It destroys me. That, and missing my SATs, were bigger blows to my self-esteem and confidence than most anything. The 4s on my AP tests were the norm, it seems, so I don't really resent those. I feel like I could have done better, I know I could have if I had just studied more. But I didn't like the subjects. Ah well. I was disappointed in my 31. Most people would kill for it, but I think it's on the low side of what I could do. It's just part of that reversed sense of accomplishment. Nothing short of the top is acceptable.
And yet, look at my college situation. My choices are essentially Maryville and the UT Honors program. Money isn't a problem for either (it's paid for through scholarships). So I'm left with probably the biggest decision I've made to date. Maryville has an average ACT of 24.5. UT Honors average was 31. But there's pros and cons to both. Maryville is out in a rural area. It's got lots of trees, you can see the mountains clearly from campus, and it's generally more natural than UT. UT's in the middle of a city. At Maryville, I'd have a name. Most people would know me. At UT, in the Honors program, I'd have a name. But there would be a label I'd always have to wear. Everywhere I went, I'd be an Honors student. The standards are higher, the competition would be very high, and the stress would be immense. I'd get a better education. I'd have a much better chance of meeting people I could get along with well who shared my interests and sense of humor. But I'd be constantly stressed, worried about grades and achieving for a degree that really doesn't warrant such a mentality. At Maryville, the people would be different from me. It sounded like a positive environment, but I'm such a different person from the mainstream (in the sense that I am the definitive cynic, I blast Christianity when it's brought up because I despise Hell, I'm a pacifist, I'm a Romantic-Nihilist for lack of a better word, I'm a determinist who still has morals, I'm a walking contradiction) that conflict is almost sure to spring up. In a discussion environment, at least. The smaller nature and the comments from most sources seem to indicate small is the way to go. But it's a gamble and the odds aren't on my side.
BLARGH! I'm incredibly distressed right now (this is 3hours after writing most of the above). I emailed Mrs. Jackson about an SOSE project but I'm so filled with doubt and... something I can't quite describe, that I'm being torn in half. It's that stress of the spotlight. I'm singling myself out for punishment and reprimand. It's... terrible. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel so incredibly stupid and foolish, like I'm a pretentious lunatic who is trying to play with a fire he's not prepared for and who will subsequently be burned to a cinder. It's like agony. It happens everytime I try to "fly solo." When I go it alone without the utmost of positive support (such as Mr. Petko showed for my board game club), I fall into shambles. Ah well. This is what this is all about, testing and hardening. But it'll be terrible as I go through it. Abysmal. I fill like I'm going to burst into a rotten mess. Bleh.
Wednesday, July 21
Novel Ideas
Paranoia-The Mosquito
Blissful Misery- Hypocrisy
Currency Events- Money and its lack of value (no gold standard)/religious symbolism
Life of a Garbage Man- Symbolism
Mr. Mandius- The Hated Loser's Place
Macrocosm- Insiginificance
Ideal Beginnings- Machiavellian Religion (Trial and Error; Love and Fear)
One Day- One day three times: Optimistic, Pessimistic, Factual
Redundancy- Loss of purpose/need
2+2=5- What if you could change the answer? To life, to determinism, to existence?
Illiteracy for Dummies- A Math Teacher's Guide to reading, and other short stories.
Dramatization- Dramatize mundane, boring events in a long chain to stress how each and every action can be made to seem important (inspired by the grandeur of the Oscars, if that means anything to you). Last line suggestion: "And what did you do today?" "Oh, nothing."
Something on the Sacrifice/Masochism of an Artist- See "Sad" on 1/1/05
Chain of Butterflies- Hobo(despicable, leechlike) to President(Republican, "Not in an election year!" "It's not an election year, sir." "Well it ought to be!" "You hate election years, sir." "Well, I hate you too!") in "x" short stories (Start dramatic and serious, gradually lessening intensity into debasing irrevence ending in complete destruction. The question remains, who is to blame? The butterfly? The hobo? Each and every link? Fate, for it must have been fate? The Tapestry imagery as well as the butterfly would be nice. The hobo is killed by a normal, mild-mannered motorist on an unexplainable whim (the motorist has that urge of "what if I were to do something completely insane, but interesting?). A criminal case is filed and it eventually leads to the President's attention. Mosquito will symbolize the hobo in the "paranoia" chapter as both are worthless leaches. But does that mean they deserve to die? A mosquito cannot change his evil ways, but he's probably content. The man adamantly refuses to change as well and it miserable. Thus, a dilemma. The author who doesn't read as well can serve as a lawyer. Only female characters Judge and possibly First Lady) (Character developing flashbacks for both hobo and mosquito?) (The flashbacks reveal that the homeless man led a good life, but tragedy happened, possibly related to love. He despairs and becomes depressed, panhandling for food but mostly whiskey to escape, possibly from some physical as well as mental pain. He really only needs/wants one thing that he sort of obtains in a note he's about to read before he gets hit. The police read it a la "Rosebud" but it makes no sense to them. It's gradually revealed in the flashbacks, but the man is largely forgotten in the main story. The homeless man grew up in the North but came down south for better hospitality/benefits, which is ironic because the North is Democrat, supposedly more "people friendly" yet they're colder than the religious Republicans in the south who vote against government aid. Existential Frycook John , perhaps a Gardner for the literary reference; has a younger, teenage boss, is older, surly, much like Hamlet. Politician drops an "F-Bomb" when not under camera, possibly other curses too. Media "nonsense" sequence, similiar to my "fiction" entry of absurdity. Trial in form of my 18th bday poem. Jury is asked for verdict, end of chapter. Politician begins/or continues 'Eloquent' speech with "We are guilty of...". Stops; starts cursing. For author: "what's next, Spamlet?" Old man or hobo somewhere where I try to give all the advice I've learned in high school to the "next generation." Car crash man has life like Heaven, but is tormented by logic. He's aimed at all the right things, but it's dictated his actions for too long. He should be happy, but it's too perfect. His life's pointless because it's so blissful. He rebels by committing an act completely illogical. Stress the straight of the road(symbolizing the oppressive logic of reality)- internal conflict on the subject, but at the end of the chapter the driver is blinded by the sun so when you switch chapters it's ambiguous as to whether he meant to hit the person or not. In court, have him testify, illogically, that he had thoughts of hitting the hobo, but don't have an outright admittal. for the media parody, make everyone complete egoists and jerks. Have them run a story that"2+2=5" that tries to show both sides of the story. Another story: an incredibly intelligent/logical scientist who's afraid of the dark (unknown). Also, perhaps have the hobo's death result in something very positive ala the butterfly effect; good from bad seemingly for little direct reason. Perhaps someone who goes through a drive through can go to a carnival and enter a maze of mirrors; choices and all that fun rot. Mer-esque relationship, the girl leaves like Mer will, and that provides one of the hobo's tragedies. Each subsequent "hobo developing" story should follow the tone of the main chapter; it should portray him in conflicting lights, good, bad, unbiased, everything to make him seem an "everyman" and "no man." Two parallel plots lines, one going consistently backwards in time, the other forwards. For Paranoia: mosquito is to man, as lion would be to gazelle, but is in fact kitten stalking elephant. Goal: By a man, about humanity, for humanity, against humanity, quintessential humanity. Real. Each chapter could focus on one emotion, such as "Paranoia, Sorrow, Hope, Apathy" and try to "run the gauntlet." Imagination: the good, the bad, the beautiful; How it can take one so far in both extremes and lead to disappoint in reality. The hobo is the one complexity in a sea of two-dimensional character sketches, drawing further parallels about his own importance. Another chapter: telephone conversation where one side discusses issue of epic importance (meaning of life, philosophical breakthrough), and the other tries to contribute but is constantly having to deal with trivial matters to the point that the important conversation seems trivial. Cops steal car to do great deed, next chapter the poor victim of said car theft tells his resulting tragedy, good from evil. Perhaps something involving someone reading articles or obituaries or the like of possible hilarity, drama, or some sort of insanity progression. Good line to use "Wasted on the Wasted", possible title? Start the book sad/negative and gradually move to positive; this creates a happy ending AND beginning due to the unique nature of time in the book; thus, another circular effect is established, hope is achieved, and best of all there's a happy ending; similiar to a reverse Catch-22. I want a "reverse nostalgia" where the days of yore are yearned for, sadly, poignantly, and actually delivered later in the book. A writing style for one chapter could be in a minimalist, "Captain's Log" via Star Trek manner. Media Parody: Feature segment where host yells a lot, has a trained professional guest and a know-nothing celebrity, discusses something like "Senator So&So kicked a puppy", have celebrity support Senator, professional argues, host sides with celebrity. Possibly have a family dinner scene imitating the ideal, a flawed but communicative, working environment; draw a parallel to another, outwardly perfect environment, but focus on the thoughts of the family using different types of text or font to show the discontent and unhappiness of a mundane, repressed life; cliche, perhaps, but it might be fun; or I could just do a normal sketch, one simply boring but reflecting reality, possibly subtley warping it to happiness but not so it's immediately evident. Have the existentialist fry cook describe his "great deeds" in a sarcastic manner, speaking of how they'll never be remembered. The author can have exerpts that warp the meaning but keep the plot, such as an existentialist Jane Eyre and a musical Hamlet. Good romantic line "If this isn't love, love doesn't exist." A scene with a preacher preaching to a small congregation, but no one's paying attention. Show thoughts of individuals gradually melding into solid thought, the preacher's indecipherable from the ones he speaks to; essentially just be symbolic of those who try to give advice that isn't quite understood or followed, always forgotten or ignored or not cared about in the first place; hypocrisy, ignorance, hellfire, Christ's love, all can be emphasized. "Every single chapter will have a different symbolic theme. But really they're just methods of adding meaning to a work, not the purpose. They make the organs of the body I'm trying to create. The plot is the skeleton, the ideas are organs, the words are the flesh;" a chapter can be some sort of Dr. Frankenstein, named after a famous artist/author/whomever trying to create the perfect creation from the ground up; it would symbolize my goal of trying to create something beautiful, but the ideas are very important to getting the message across: the flesh shouldn't matter, but if the flesh is unattractive, it's more difficult to see past it to the meat/organs; certainly it's possible, but it's much more difficult; however, if there's nothing under the flesh worth looking at, the creation has no staying power; of course if the skeletal structure's off the whole thing fails. Perserverance= idea that needs a motif: features a repeated failure that doesn't matter, symbolic of fearing failure when really most every failure can be overcome and is therefore not that important. A daydream sequence/ train of ludicrous thought. Redlight vs. Stopsign ethics. The hobo, Avery Mann, has a best friend who dies. The driver's name could be William P. Humperdink. Frycook symbolic of doubters, opposition of the meaning of the book, who stress that some people are meaningless. Have someone, possibly a fantasy creature like a toothfairy or Jacob Marley, do kindness for no reweard, possibly because of leading an empty life, maybe a trash collector or street cleaner too. Mosquito kills initial man. The book needs effects that are very positive, very negative, and hardly noteworthy for parity. Poetic epitath at the funeral for tombstone. Last sentiment of book: Doctor, "I've seen this thousands of times, but it never loses its beauty. That kid's going to do some great things. But aren't they all..." Strip joints= zoos of flesh.)
Forgiveness stressed at the funeral of whatever sins the man may have committed.
Blissful Misery- Hypocrisy
Currency Events- Money and its lack of value (no gold standard)/religious symbolism
Life of a Garbage Man- Symbolism
Mr. Mandius- The Hated Loser's Place
Macrocosm- Insiginificance
Ideal Beginnings- Machiavellian Religion (Trial and Error; Love and Fear)
One Day- One day three times: Optimistic, Pessimistic, Factual
Redundancy- Loss of purpose/need
2+2=5- What if you could change the answer? To life, to determinism, to existence?
Illiteracy for Dummies- A Math Teacher's Guide to reading, and other short stories.
Dramatization- Dramatize mundane, boring events in a long chain to stress how each and every action can be made to seem important (inspired by the grandeur of the Oscars, if that means anything to you). Last line suggestion: "And what did you do today?" "Oh, nothing."
Something on the Sacrifice/Masochism of an Artist- See "Sad" on 1/1/05
Chain of Butterflies- Hobo(despicable, leechlike) to President(Republican, "Not in an election year!" "It's not an election year, sir." "Well it ought to be!" "You hate election years, sir." "Well, I hate you too!") in "x" short stories (Start dramatic and serious, gradually lessening intensity into debasing irrevence ending in complete destruction. The question remains, who is to blame? The butterfly? The hobo? Each and every link? Fate, for it must have been fate? The Tapestry imagery as well as the butterfly would be nice. The hobo is killed by a normal, mild-mannered motorist on an unexplainable whim (the motorist has that urge of "what if I were to do something completely insane, but interesting?). A criminal case is filed and it eventually leads to the President's attention. Mosquito will symbolize the hobo in the "paranoia" chapter as both are worthless leaches. But does that mean they deserve to die? A mosquito cannot change his evil ways, but he's probably content. The man adamantly refuses to change as well and it miserable. Thus, a dilemma. The author who doesn't read as well can serve as a lawyer. Only female characters Judge and possibly First Lady) (Character developing flashbacks for both hobo and mosquito?) (The flashbacks reveal that the homeless man led a good life, but tragedy happened, possibly related to love. He despairs and becomes depressed, panhandling for food but mostly whiskey to escape, possibly from some physical as well as mental pain. He really only needs/wants one thing that he sort of obtains in a note he's about to read before he gets hit. The police read it a la "Rosebud" but it makes no sense to them. It's gradually revealed in the flashbacks, but the man is largely forgotten in the main story. The homeless man grew up in the North but came down south for better hospitality/benefits, which is ironic because the North is Democrat, supposedly more "people friendly" yet they're colder than the religious Republicans in the south who vote against government aid. Existential Frycook John , perhaps a Gardner for the literary reference; has a younger, teenage boss, is older, surly, much like Hamlet. Politician drops an "F-Bomb" when not under camera, possibly other curses too. Media "nonsense" sequence, similiar to my "fiction" entry of absurdity. Trial in form of my 18th bday poem. Jury is asked for verdict, end of chapter. Politician begins/or continues 'Eloquent' speech with "We are guilty of...". Stops; starts cursing. For author: "what's next, Spamlet?" Old man or hobo somewhere where I try to give all the advice I've learned in high school to the "next generation." Car crash man has life like Heaven, but is tormented by logic. He's aimed at all the right things, but it's dictated his actions for too long. He should be happy, but it's too perfect. His life's pointless because it's so blissful. He rebels by committing an act completely illogical. Stress the straight of the road(symbolizing the oppressive logic of reality)- internal conflict on the subject, but at the end of the chapter the driver is blinded by the sun so when you switch chapters it's ambiguous as to whether he meant to hit the person or not. In court, have him testify, illogically, that he had thoughts of hitting the hobo, but don't have an outright admittal. for the media parody, make everyone complete egoists and jerks. Have them run a story that"2+2=5" that tries to show both sides of the story. Another story: an incredibly intelligent/logical scientist who's afraid of the dark (unknown). Also, perhaps have the hobo's death result in something very positive ala the butterfly effect; good from bad seemingly for little direct reason. Perhaps someone who goes through a drive through can go to a carnival and enter a maze of mirrors; choices and all that fun rot. Mer-esque relationship, the girl leaves like Mer will, and that provides one of the hobo's tragedies. Each subsequent "hobo developing" story should follow the tone of the main chapter; it should portray him in conflicting lights, good, bad, unbiased, everything to make him seem an "everyman" and "no man." Two parallel plots lines, one going consistently backwards in time, the other forwards. For Paranoia: mosquito is to man, as lion would be to gazelle, but is in fact kitten stalking elephant. Goal: By a man, about humanity, for humanity, against humanity, quintessential humanity. Real. Each chapter could focus on one emotion, such as "Paranoia, Sorrow, Hope, Apathy" and try to "run the gauntlet." Imagination: the good, the bad, the beautiful; How it can take one so far in both extremes and lead to disappoint in reality. The hobo is the one complexity in a sea of two-dimensional character sketches, drawing further parallels about his own importance. Another chapter: telephone conversation where one side discusses issue of epic importance (meaning of life, philosophical breakthrough), and the other tries to contribute but is constantly having to deal with trivial matters to the point that the important conversation seems trivial. Cops steal car to do great deed, next chapter the poor victim of said car theft tells his resulting tragedy, good from evil. Perhaps something involving someone reading articles or obituaries or the like of possible hilarity, drama, or some sort of insanity progression. Good line to use "Wasted on the Wasted", possible title? Start the book sad/negative and gradually move to positive; this creates a happy ending AND beginning due to the unique nature of time in the book; thus, another circular effect is established, hope is achieved, and best of all there's a happy ending; similiar to a reverse Catch-22. I want a "reverse nostalgia" where the days of yore are yearned for, sadly, poignantly, and actually delivered later in the book. A writing style for one chapter could be in a minimalist, "Captain's Log" via Star Trek manner. Media Parody: Feature segment where host yells a lot, has a trained professional guest and a know-nothing celebrity, discusses something like "Senator So&So kicked a puppy", have celebrity support Senator, professional argues, host sides with celebrity. Possibly have a family dinner scene imitating the ideal, a flawed but communicative, working environment; draw a parallel to another, outwardly perfect environment, but focus on the thoughts of the family using different types of text or font to show the discontent and unhappiness of a mundane, repressed life; cliche, perhaps, but it might be fun; or I could just do a normal sketch, one simply boring but reflecting reality, possibly subtley warping it to happiness but not so it's immediately evident. Have the existentialist fry cook describe his "great deeds" in a sarcastic manner, speaking of how they'll never be remembered. The author can have exerpts that warp the meaning but keep the plot, such as an existentialist Jane Eyre and a musical Hamlet. Good romantic line "If this isn't love, love doesn't exist." A scene with a preacher preaching to a small congregation, but no one's paying attention. Show thoughts of individuals gradually melding into solid thought, the preacher's indecipherable from the ones he speaks to; essentially just be symbolic of those who try to give advice that isn't quite understood or followed, always forgotten or ignored or not cared about in the first place; hypocrisy, ignorance, hellfire, Christ's love, all can be emphasized. "Every single chapter will have a different symbolic theme. But really they're just methods of adding meaning to a work, not the purpose. They make the organs of the body I'm trying to create. The plot is the skeleton, the ideas are organs, the words are the flesh;" a chapter can be some sort of Dr. Frankenstein, named after a famous artist/author/whomever trying to create the perfect creation from the ground up; it would symbolize my goal of trying to create something beautiful, but the ideas are very important to getting the message across: the flesh shouldn't matter, but if the flesh is unattractive, it's more difficult to see past it to the meat/organs; certainly it's possible, but it's much more difficult; however, if there's nothing under the flesh worth looking at, the creation has no staying power; of course if the skeletal structure's off the whole thing fails. Perserverance= idea that needs a motif: features a repeated failure that doesn't matter, symbolic of fearing failure when really most every failure can be overcome and is therefore not that important. A daydream sequence/ train of ludicrous thought. Redlight vs. Stopsign ethics. The hobo, Avery Mann, has a best friend who dies. The driver's name could be William P. Humperdink. Frycook symbolic of doubters, opposition of the meaning of the book, who stress that some people are meaningless. Have someone, possibly a fantasy creature like a toothfairy or Jacob Marley, do kindness for no reweard, possibly because of leading an empty life, maybe a trash collector or street cleaner too. Mosquito kills initial man. The book needs effects that are very positive, very negative, and hardly noteworthy for parity. Poetic epitath at the funeral for tombstone. Last sentiment of book: Doctor, "I've seen this thousands of times, but it never loses its beauty. That kid's going to do some great things. But aren't they all..." Strip joints= zoos of flesh.)
Forgiveness stressed at the funeral of whatever sins the man may have committed.