Trash is Treasure.

So, believe it or not, but I had a small, about...4-5 month gig, working at a commercial grocery store, last year I believe it was. It was full of long hours, hard work, and a whole lot being tired. But that is beside the point, because none of that matters at this point. Need an explanation? Well, just keep on reading.

See, the thing is, that people, when going to the grocery store, usually compile a small collection (let's call it a list), of their needed supplies (let's call those groceries). But when the aforementioned people depart from the grocery store, they usually just leave their lists in grocery carts, or are set free to swirl and fly on the cold pavement. That brings this story, back to me.

During my fun-filled antics of collection shopping carts, carrying-out groceries, and cleaning out carts, I began to notice the grocery lists. So as my days of work continued on, I began to grab those scraps of paper, and tuck them away in a pocket. Some days, I would find a splendor of lists, and some days I would find nothing but trash. As I got more and more, I began to stack them on my nightstand under a candle, but then it became too large, and I put them into a plastic bag. That brings us to the here and now.

They're sitting in that plastic bag, in my closet or a box I believe, just waiting for something to be done with them. I'd love to get an enormous poster-frame of sorts, and just create something. We'll see though. Perhaps you will see the final results one day, or perhaps those grocery lists will remain on my shelf.

Time will tell, but thanks for reading, and have a great weekend.

I will see you all on Monday, but until then, keep on keeping on.

Waking Life.

So the second Thursday in this new blogging setup rolls around, and for this week, I am featuring a movie that I enjoy, enjoyed, and will continue to enjoy whenever I watch it. It's called, as you may have guessed by now, Waking Life.

To sum it up, in Wikipedian terms,

Waking Life is about a young man in a persistent lucid dream-like state. The film follows its protagonist as he initially observes and later participates in philosophical discussions that weave together issues such as reality, free will, the relationship of the subject with others, and the meaning of life. Along the way the film touches on other topics including existentialism, Situationist politics, posthumanity, the film theory of André Bazin, and on lucid dreaming itself.

I love this movie for two main reasons.

Reason Number One: The style of it. It is referred to as "a digitally enhanced live action rotoscoped film," which in simple terms, is when the original movie is shot in digital film, and then a group of artists go back and draw over each frame of the movie, to give it a very unique feel and look to it. Here is a short example, and one of my favorite quotes from the movie, which brings us to my second reason.

Reason Number Two: The more psychological side of the whole movie. There are so many thought-provoking thoughts, and idea-provoking ideas! It just reaches out to the writer inside of me, and stirs around so many different things. Each time I watch it too, it brings up so many different thoughts.

Maybe you'll watch it because of this. If you enjoy it, more power to you, and if not, even more power to you.

I'll be back tomorrow with something new and exciting, perhaps involving grocery lists. Thanks for reading, and I shall see you all tomorrow.

There's Much Too Much Too Much.

To be done, instead of sleeping. I cannot remember the last time I was up this early. Perhaps I shall finish this blog, watch the sun-rise, and then go find some sleep.

But also, I walked over to the gas station earlier tonight, round-about 10:30 or so to grab a quick drink for work, and I remembered how much I love cool nights, and even the cold nights. I love the sound of the cars rushing by, and the sounds of the night. I had almost forgotten how lovely it is, but I was reminded once again.

Anywho, on with Graphic Wednesday.

Here is a little shot of an old project, as I was just starting it. I love how it develops and grows, and comes into full shape as the hours go on. Maybe I'll post the finished product in the coming weeks, since I really enjoyed it, but for now, here is a little sneak-peek, of an older piece entitled "Warehouse".

Sinner.

So, after digging through some paper, here is part of a piece of writing I did sometime in early 2008 I believe. It's an excerpt from a piece I titled, Sinner.

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Like most everyone else, I didn't expect it to happen. I was blind and ignorant to it all. For me, it was a shock when the peak of it finally bled through. When everything else in the world ended, that's when things really began. That's when the wheels started to turn. Everything would be put into motion.

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Looking back, I really liked that little project that I started. Perhaps I shall work on it in the coming weeks. Only time will tell, so keep on reading, and who knows, maybe you'll like something. Thanks as always.

Window.

Summer.
It comes and goes,
it came and went.
And sometimes,
sometimes...
I wonder.

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Well, back again with a new week of new stuff! I've got a handful of new followers, so go check some of them out! They're a great group of people.

But I'll keep it at that for now, since I just wanted to post a little blog before I finish work and spend time with my love.

As always, thanks for reading, and keep on trucking.

Freestyle Friday.

So, here comes Friday, and here comes the end to yet another week, but an altered week in the blogging world. It was a week of new trials, and a good week overall.

But Friday, will pretty much be what-ever I feel like. Maybe it will just be a reflection of the week, or perhaps it will be something new altogether.

But for now, we shall just say that it was a good week.

Have an exceptional weekend, and I will see you all on Monday.

Thanks for reading.

Media Thurday.

So today, will be a more open form, but will still be somewhat mediated. Media Thursday, could be anything from movies, music, TV, maybe even board games. It may be something about a Website I enjoy, or an article I read. It'll be more reflective, and more about the aforementioned areas! It'll be a little bit away from more creative forms of writing, and more of an analysis, or review of sorts.

So to begin, I will start off with a show that I quite enjoy. You may have heard of it. It's called Survivor.

Now, I used to watch Survivor religiously with my mom and brothers when it first came out, but after a few seasons, I grew up and focused more on school. I remember watching the jolly giant Rupert Boneham on "Pearl Islands," and it was a grand ol' time. But I grew out of it. The last season I really watched, was the second half of Season 17 (Gabon) in which Robert "Bob" Crowley made the amazing comeback, and ended up winning.

So for the first time, I decided to tune in, from the very start to watch yet another season of Survivor.

Of course, the main topic of this season, has been Russell Hantz. You just love to hate him. Initially, I did think that he was quite the (cover your ears children) asshole, telling lies about his life, but as the season continued on, he didn't focus on those lies, but indeed began to play the game. Sure, maybe I should not be so intrigued by his game-play, but he sure knows how to play the game. His biggest problem though, is his overconfidence at times. Tonight for example, he could have been one of three contestants to play for immunity, but he was almost "cocky" in his actions and looked over to mock one contestant, and he ended up losing. It will ultimately be his downfall, but at the same time, it is his greatest strength.

It's definitely been fun watching him strategize, and it looks like next week, will be yet another scramble, now that all the contestants know that there is another hidden immunity idol in the camp somewhere. I just hope that the old Foa-Foa tribe is able to claim it for themselves.

I hate to admit it, but I'd love to see Russel win. Although, in the end I think a calm, mild-manner person like Mick will win. We'll see though. For sure, Russel has definitely been playing the game the most, and is the essence of the game, but that is all for tonight.

Essentially, each Thursday will be something like tonight. Maybe it will be an album review, or about TV, but hopefully you have a better picture now.

Tomorrow is already planned out, and I will keep you all updated!

As always, thanks for reading, and stay bloggy.

Graphic Wednesday.

So the hump of the week (insert Lol here), has come, and with it, comes some embracing of another area of my personal life. So, in comes more graphic design. I may just post a sketch that I did on a bar-napkin, or something I did on the computer, but either way, in come the embraces of the area of visual arts.

To being Graphic Wednesday, I will be posting a mostly-complete version of something I posted sometime in the last week or two. This piece is entitled Glasses.

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So tomorrow, I am not sure what will come. I am leaning towards two different styles. We shall see!

As always, thanks for following, and thanks for reading.

Throwback Tuesday.

So, here we are in Day #2, of this new Blog-Setup. And Tuesday, will be "Throwback Tuesday," as you can obviously see.

So, Throwback Tuesday, will be writing-oriented. I will be digging through old reams of paper, and scouring old Word files, to post older pieces of writing I have done. Be they good, bad, or worse, I will post them in their entirety, no matter how horrendous or juvenile. So to begin, here is a piece, entitled The Voice.

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"We're not so different, you know? I've thought like you. I had the same thoughts once. You know, about the whole killing yourself. It wouldn't be all that hard. It would be quite an easy task. You could fall down the stairs, by chance, with a knife in your grasp. You could take a nice soothing bath, with a nice little toaster. You could make a rope swing into a tie. It wouldn't be that hard."

She nodded her head. So innocent. She looked so nice. I didn't understand why she would want to do it all to herself, and to her life. But, of course, I didn't know the whole story. Everything has a reason, good or not. She had to have some sort of reason. A pair of pale blue eyes like that didn't turn suicidal for no reason at all. She looked so nice.

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I have tomorrow all planned out, and I am quite excited. But until then, thanks for reading, and thanks for following, and thanks for being you.

Poet-ography Monday.

Well, while I was thinking up daily-themes, I thought up Poet-ography. I just Googled it, and apparently there are other mediums using a similar name, but oh well.

So every day, I will tag my blog like usually, but I'll also tag it with the day of the week, so then you will be able to view each category.

But Poet-ography Monday will consist, if you have not figured it out already, poetry, and photography. I'll post a picture of some sort, then some form of poetry along with it. So, let us begin on our first Poet-ography Monday.

(I do not own, nor posses the rights to this picture.)

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Broken dreams,
and a fifth of Scotch,
I hit this pavement,
soles wearing down,
nothing here,
the American Dream.

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If you want to suggest any photos for next week, feel free to comment with a link! I'd be happy to use one.

But as usual, thanks for reading, and with tomorrow, will come another day of something new.

Thinking Up.

A storm.

I think I will make my weekly posts, a bit more regulated, to add a little more structure to this blog. Of course, not too much, but enough to get into a nice blogging rhythm, for now at least.

I have some ideas brewing, so we shall see where they go. It'll be a process of trial and error, but that's what it's all about, after all.

But I will return on Monday, with Day #1, of whatever I whip up. So for now, thanks for reading, and stay tuned.



Oh, P.S., go wish Amanda a Happy Birthday. It'll make her day.

Perchance.

I may have an idea.

What is this idea for?

I guess we shall all have to wait and see.











(It's for the next FirstLineFiction contest, so stay tuned.)

The Writing World.

...is often a hard one. The FirstLineFiction results for the 2nd competition are once again in, and once more, no success. And once more, the writing world is a hard one. I enjoyed my entry, and the process of it all, but no success adds a bittersweet taste to it all. Nonetheless, here is my entry. Enjoy, comment as you please, and, as always, thanks for reading. My entry was entitled Peppermint and Butterscotch.

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“All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us.” These are the words of young Michael Pomey, written his journal that was recovered at the scene of the crime. The following diary entries will take you through the horrid and horrific journey of 12 year-old Michael, and the ghastly events that took place from October 1st, to October 26th.

October 1st, 2009:
Today Dad told me that Grandma was coming to live with us. I don’t think that I’ve ever met Grandma. I think that I remember her a few times, when I was a child, but it’s all too foggy for me. Either way, she is coming to live with us.

She was living with Grandpa out on their farm, which I didn’t even know they had! I wish I could have gone! Maybe they had cows to tip, or chickens to chase around! But apparently, Grandma woke up one day, and Grandpa had run off. Their 1982 Oldsmobile Omega was gone, as well as all of his clothes. I wonder why he ran off. Maybe he just wasn’t happy. But Grandma couldn’t live on there on own anymore. I wouldn’t want to either I don’t think. Living on a big farm, in the middle of nowhere, would be a little scary. I don’t blame Grandma. I think that I’m excited to meet her. Maybe she will have good “old people” stories to tell. Maybe she’ll even bring candy.

October 5th, 2009:
We drove out to pick up Grandma from her house today. I could hardly keep still in my seat. Dad drove, and mom had to keep on telling me to sit still. It was all so amazing. I hadn’t ever seen so much, so much nothing! Each house was so far apart! Growing up in the suburbs, houses are so close to each other, so the excitement just kept on building. Finally we pulled up to the farm, and the moment Dad turned off the car, I burst out of the car like a rocket-ship. Dad told me to not wander too far off, and that they would be inside. I said okay, and then began to explore.

I ran with so excitement that I almost tripped over my untied shoelace, but didn’t stop to tie it. I saw an old barn next to the house, and headed towards it. I pushed the large door open with all my might, and managed to open a crack just big enough to squeeze through. I expected to be greeted by cows or horses, but only dead silence came. There were no animals, and it smelled bad in there, like rotting food, or bad garbage. I did see a big pile of hay though, so I was once again excited. I sprinted towards it, and jumped into it like a big pile of crunchy leaves. It wasn’t soft though, because I landed on a belt. The buckle jabbed into me, so I pulled it out of the pile. I felt like a magician, because as I pulled, a shirt came out, attached to the belt! I liked the belt though. It was smooth leather, and had a shiny gold oval belt buckle that had a “P” engraved on it. I traded my own belt with the new belt, and decided to head inside.

Their house smelt musty, and I felt like I was breathing in only dust, and no air. I heard my parents talking to Grandma, so I followed their voices. The house was like an old museum, so much old-looking stuff. I thought it was pretty cool. Finally I found them sitting in the living room, and I stood just around the corner, spying on them. I was a secret-agent, on an important mission. I kept on peeking my head around the corner, every 15 seconds or so. I was the most secret agent of all the land, and the best one too. I was ready to peer around the corner again, and I did. I turned the corner to come face-to-face with Grandma. Her skin was cracked and wrinkled and her eyes were crusty and seemed almost black. I screamed too, and ran right out of the house. The entire car-ride home, I sat in my seat, not moving a muscle, and just staring straight ahead.

October 10th, 2009:
Grandma has been living in the room next to mine, and I can hear everything. She usually stays in there too, but at night, is when I hear her. Sure, when I’m downstairs after school, and during dinner, it’s fine, but at night, is when it gets bad. I’ve heard her scream, and moan, and I’ve even heard her grunt a few times. Maybe she’s just having nightmares. I can understand I guess, because I used to have nightmares when I was younger. Maybe it happens again when you’re older. Either way, it still scares me every night. It reminds me of Halloween ghosts and ghouls and goblins, and I don’t like it one bit.

I’ve told Dad about it, but he says to leave her alone, because she’s old. I don’t think that’s a good excuse, but now I sleep with my door shut, and with the BB-Gun I got for Christmas last year.

October 11th, 2009:
I think I just saw Grandma when I was in the bathroom. I rolled out of bed because I had to pee, and I saw that my clock said it was 1:42 AM. I really had to pee too, so I ran across the hall to the bathroom. I must have forgotten to shut the door, because after I finished, I was washing my hands in the sink and saw that the door was open. I splashed some water on my face, and gazed into the mirror as I dried it off, and swore I saw Grandma standing behind me in the doorway, watching me with those black eyes.

I spun around, but she wasn’t there. He door was closed too. I didn’t hear any footsteps, and not even the door closing. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I didn’t even turn off the light, or look behind me as I sprinted to my room. I slammed the door shut behind me, and slid right under my covers. Now I’m sitting here with my BB-Gun, this journal, and I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon.

October 16th, 2009:
I told Dad about my encounter with Grandma after school today, after finally building enough courage. He didn’t want to hear about it though, especially after the first encounter with her at her farm. He told me not to be so hostile towards her, because she’s just an old lady. I nodded my head and agreed with him, but inside I really didn’t.

October 20th, 2009:
Today, Mom went out for groceries and didn’t come back. Dad has been crying all night, and Grandma is once again in her room. I tried to ask him what happened, but he wouldn’t answer. All I could see was a crumpled-up piece of paper in his hand, and the tears that soaked it. I tried to talk, but he wouldn’t talk back. I don’t know what’s wrong, but nothing is right.

October 22nd, 2009:
Today Dad decided to take Grandma to the store to get some medicine for her. She’s sick or something, I overhead Dad saying. So after I got home from school, there was no one but me. I decided to do something…something I shouldn’t have. If I could take it back, I would…but I can’t. I don’t even want to write this now, but I have to. I have to get it out. I have to tell someone. I have to. I have to.

So after I got home, I put my school stuff in my room, and went into Grandma’s room. The moment I opened her door, a rush of hot, stale air blew into my face. It smelled like her barn, and her house, and…it smelled like death. I thought grandmothers were supposed to smell like cookies and peppermint and butterscotch candy. She smelled nothing like fresh cookies, nothing close to that. It almost burned my nose, so I tried to hold my breath. I stepped across the word floor, each step booming on the once-mighty-trees. Everything was so dusty, just like her house. I approached her bed, the very one in which she screamed and moaned and grunted, and the stench got ever stronger. I almost threw up, but I kept on moving. The stench kept on getting stronger as I kept moving deeper into the room. I opened the walk-in closet, and the stench became 100 times worse. I gagged as my eyes began to water, but I walked into the closet.

I saw flies buzzing all over the floor around a pile of shoe boxes. I grabbed an old baseball bat from the corner of the closet, and knocked the pile over. About 3 or 4 boxes tipped over, and the contents spilled out. At first, I couldn’t tell what it was. I just saw red slime and what looked almost like a pile of old peaches. But as they all tipped and spilled out, I finally saw what it all was; out of one box, spilled a pile of fingers and toes; out of another came a tangled mess of intestines; out of the 3rd box spilled a pair of hands and a pair of feet; out of the final box rolled Mom’s head. It rolled right into my feet, and stared up at me, the mouth wide open, as well as the eyes that glared up at me. I screamed like the life was leaking from my throat, and then I heard Dad and Grandma come through the front door.

I scrambled to sweep and kick the remains of my mother back into the closet, and closed the door. I spun around to see Grandma there again, standing in the doorway, her black eyes peering, and I screamed louder than ever before. The next thing I knew Dad was upstairs, asking what was wrong, and why I was in Grandma’s room. I tried to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come out. He took me downstairs, and there she was at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me, like she was staring into my soul.

October 25th, 2009:
I’ve locked myself in my room, all of the furniture blocking the way in. I don’t know how any of this happened, but I do know that all the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us. I don’t know how it happened, but now my Grandfather, Mother, and Father are all dead. I was upstairs when Dad died. He was trying to cook dinner, and I was working on homework, and Grandma was presumably in her room, when I heard him yawp. I rushed out of my room, and flew down the stairs to see Dad, and to see Grandma as well. She was on top of him, ripping off chunks of his neck, with her teeth. The blood was squirting everywhere. She must have heard me, because she turned around. No longer were her eyes black, but a dark red. The blood dripped from her mouth, as I ran back to my room.

I heard Dad’s cries for help as I barricaded myself in, but I couldn’t help him, and eventually, they stopped. I cried along with him, but I still moved everything in front of my door. I heard her screeching outside, her grunts getting louder and louder, as she began to try to get it. I don’t know how much longer I have.

October 26th, 2009:
She broke through the door last night, but I wasn’t in there. I heard her grunts below me, as she began her search. I moved into the attic, through the door above my closet. I’ve piled everything I could on top of that door, and I even nailed it shut with some nails and an old hammer I found up here. I found some old bottles of water, but there’s no food. I don’t know how long I’ll last, or how long my defenses will hold. I don’t know how this happened, or what it is, but I’ve spent the last day crying. I don’t even know what time it is. I think it’s nighttime though, and I think I’m going to try to go to sleep. Maybe when I wake up, everything will be okay. Maybe when I wake up, I’ll get to meet my real Grandma, the one who smells like cookies and peppermint and butterscotch.

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That's all for tonight, no idea what shall come tomorrow, but as always, thanks for reading.

Lack of Halloween Story.

Just wasn't feeling a blog last night....but! The FirstLineFiction results will be announced tonight, and then I will post my entry, which is, by coincidence, more Halloween themed!

So, stay tuned, because I will surely blog later tonight.

Thanks for reading, and be ready for a story, that I really enjoyed writing, :).

I'll let you know how the contest goes, and Amanda entered as well! So I shall let you know.

Cloudless Dreams.

Another preview of Cloudless Dreams. Enjoy.

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We sat on the floor in front of the closet, laughing and whispering at ourselves. So many smiles and laughs were all reflected right back at us as I held her from behind, her head resting on my chest, our arms and hands and fingers and hearts locked and intertwined. There was a quiet peace about it all, that I couldn’t ask more of.

My eyes wandered, from her eyes, to her lips, all the way down to her toes on occasion, and then finally to her wall of written declarations, and the cardboard box which held so many tools of creation.

I slipped out from behind her, kissing her softly on the neck before doing so, and then I headed over to the box and the wall. She got up and headed to her bed, and sat back, watching me as I began to work.

There were so many colors, and I began to use any and all that I saw fit. I began at the base of the wall, almost touching the carpet, and from there, I did not rest until I was done.

Lines and segments and shapes shot in every direction, slowly creating that which I wanted.

So many shades and hues and colors.

Texture and light.

Oh the colors.

And then I was done, as I wrote my words, to be imprinted there forever. Starting at the base, almost touching the carpet as well, twisting up the stem and leaves and vines, through the smaller flowers, and finally twisting up and around the main flower and its petals, I wrote these words.

When this flower dies, then and only then, will I ever stop loving you.
My fingers were sore, my arms were tired, my eyes seemed to ache, and even though that piece was done, I was not done just yet. I turned to look at Jessica, and there she was, gazing back at me with those emerald eyes. I was powerless when it came to those eyes.

I scooped up the cardboard box, and moved over to her on the bed. She lay there so peacefully, as I began to draw.

I started on her left ankle, starting with the tiniest little leaf. She giggled a little as I started, saying it tickled, but I only smiled back at her as she closed her eyes once more.

The vines and leaves twisted and turned, sometimes branching off and rejoining once more, entangling and intersecting all the same. They ran and grew from her left ankle on the outer side, clockwise around the back of her calf, and then up to the front of her thigh. It then curled around her back, all the way to her right hip, where it started to let the flowers bloom from my hand.

So many images of so many different flowers ran through my head as I translated them onto her skin. The shapes, the pedals, the colors; all that passion and fire shot from the pens and markers. They continued to grow from my hand, as she lay back, still with her eyes closed, breathing ever so softly as I drew.

It continued to spread across her stomach, right above her bellybutton, and around the tiny piercing that glimmered among all the flowers, like an old piece of glass fallen among the soil. It all continued to shine as I started to draw the final blossom all the way up on her left shoulder.

That was where it all came to a great climax, all the colors and shades and lines, and everything in-between.

Markers and lids and caps were scattered among her bed as I finally let my hands rest, and as I finally finished. With all the colors scattered everywhere among her bed, it was like a field of my own mystical flowers, with my own personal and individual flower in the middle of it all. This flower was mine. All mine.

My hands ran up and along the drawing as she sighed out a breath of passion, and as she finally opened her eyes. I kissed her once more.

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Tomorrow? Perhaps something Halloween-related.

Thanks for reading.