a manuscript continued on napkins

Dan, you should just send me your Astronomy paper as a response, hah. I'll send you my Bible Myth final and we'll call it even. 
Actually, it wouldn't be even...It was a 20 page 12 Times New Roman 1.5 space final. No one wants to read that. Trust me.
I wrote more for "A Love Affair with My Mind" at dinner tonight. I've reverted back to my napkin usage. Be proud, here, people! It's not easy to try and write your book on such a thin template!


Read it, people, click the link. If it doesn't work, let me know: A Love Affair with My Mind
Enter Access Key: GZ2Z2-VE5SC-JFRED

shit day, good music, more writing

Zoe Keating: Optimist


Just listen, it's good shit.
Thanks for dinner, Shannon, you made my day better.


Another Dan story.

Existential Absurdity

She sat back on her deck and bathed in the sun, a book splayed open in her lap. While reading Camus, she couldn’t help but think to herself that everything he said was nothing but… Well, let’s just say it—absurd. The idea that a man can commit a crime—oh, wait, we’re supposed to say spoiler alert—SPOILER ALERT. So, the idea that a man can commit murder for no particular reason other than the fact that it was hot out and the sun was in his eyes is completely stupid. The absurd, a lack of caring for existence, the idea that we live in the present and there is no future, the past does not matter—that is no excuse.

            No, she thought, No, it is not an excuse.

            This idea that existentialism was great was a load of crap. Ever since society had picked it up and made it into a new fad, she merely thought about throwing every book they made her read in English out the window. Existential, live in the here and now, who gives a fuck? The past mattered, why the hell else was there history?

            There were people partitioning to get rid of history in the school districts. Well, then, how was everyone going to figure out what’s been done right and what’s been done wrong? There is no history of the existential movement actually mattering this much –ever. So when it went down the tubes, what was going to be done in order to pick up the pieces? Nothing. Everyone was going to be running around like chickens with their heads chopped off because history would have been erased. And the fact that

            Thank you, Mr. President for encouraging the downfall of our society as we know it. Thank you for making everyone more prone to your ridiculousness and meager ways of controlling every mind within the country so that we all succumb to your fucked up ways so easily. Thank you for screwing over our free will and ways of reason. But I have to give you credit for at least one thing, here, it was done in such a way where the people did this of their own accord. The only thing that needed to be done was to encourage and push some sort of movement in which it happened as such.

            No one believed her when she spread this idea. They called her some sort of a socialist, and socialism was frowned upon. It wasn’t that she was a socialist; it was that she merely sought reason. Besides, she was more interested in living within a democracy, but that’s not something to get into right now. But anyway, concerning socialism, she wasn’t looking to establish any sort of government that encouraged such views; she just didn’t want to get caught up in the existential movement.

            Even her parents were caught up in the idea. There weren’t many left who weren’t being swept up in it all like a bunch of Nazis under the influence of Hitler. Okay, maybe that analogy is a bit extreme. But the whole pet rock analogy is too soft and minor to compare.

            The book she had in her lap one more time before chucking it over the railing and into the woods.

            Screw Camus. Screw his literature. Screw the shit he stands for.

            “I am so done with this.”

            She stood up and went into her house. It was a momentary and ill-thought decision, but she decided to leave. No more living at home while school was on break. There were other people she could stay with. Hell, maybe she’d live like a hippie and bum off of other people’s couches. Maybe she’d just be a bum in general and move to the beach, live in a tent and gather all of her own food naturally.

            “Gotta learn to surf if I do that,” she paused, “I can learn to surf. I’ll learn to surf on a large piece of bark and then I’ll catch some serious waves off of a trashed board that I’ve refurbished.”

            She’d go off on her own and live sustainably. That was the way to go—living off of the land and not even bothering to earn her keep. Her parents would still pay for school when it started up again; they’d want it to bring her to her senses. Going to school would teach her to be existential. It would make her like everyone else. The job she’d get would be the best one until the next came along, and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. What a life to live! Learning not to care.

            So then what was the point of living?

            She would know—because she was going off to become a scholar and a bum. Being both was contradictory. However, what did it matter? She was living within a world of the absurd.

A Love Affair with My Mind

This is another project I just started. It's currently posted on my Figment, and it's really random and in the early stages right now. Take a chance to click the link and start reading.


A Love Affair with My Mind

An Update on Notecards...

Okay, so I haven't "notecarded" since Spring Break...wanna know why?
I've actually been writing. 
Legit. I mean it! Believe me. Actually, here's something that I wrote in response to something I've been doing with my new-found friend Dan that I decided could be a makeup for about a billion missed notecards. It's absurdity. If you want more absurd stuff, I'll put up more postings this week so you can see where my mind's been at! Actually, you really have no say...it's happening.

The Project 

It was hard to believe it, but the project was finally almost over. There were only a few things left to do; a few things to tweak. Then it would all be set in the past. The final presentation was only days away. The festival in which everyone showed off their work and took pride in their accomplishments was right around the corner, and before long would come the ceremony showing that all of their effort had not been in vain.
            It was so close, one could taste it. The victory of grasping that final moment of achievement when it was realized that everything you had worked for finally gave a fruitful result.
          
            Odessa sat in her seat quietly. It was the day of the final presentation. Each novice was to present their project to the community.
            The project was a lifelong task that was undertaken by novices until their eighteenth year. It was a talent that was chosen at the age of five, at the latest, and perfected over the years with the use of various references. Novices could seek out mentors and assistance if needed, but it wasn’t always the preferred path. Their talent was kept silent and secret until the day of the presentation. This was when everyone would see what work had been developing over the course of thirteen years.
            Almost all chose talents in power: psychic, strength, physicality, weaponry, deference, etcetera and so forth. In a world that was once plagued with war, it was important to keep on edge and on the tips of one’s toes. Anything could happen at any moment, and all the help was needed. It was expected that the peace would not last forever. It wouldn’t be long before it all changed again.
            As she watched her classmates perform their tasks, the applause in the crowd only grew louder and more impressed with each novice. The presentation had started out with a novice who had mastered the art of Wing Chun Kung Fu, a martial art that was able to internally debilitate one’s opponent. This was before progressing into a novice who had mastered the precision of archery to the finest point where he could pin a fly to the wall from at least a hundred feet off with the assistance of his telescopic glasses. Each novice was just as if not more intimidating. One was able to psychically control the objects around her; another could conjure up the force of the elements.
            Odessa stared at her sweating hands as she felt her time drawing near. Would her talent be good enough? Would she be able to impress the community? Had her years of dedication and progression been all for naught? There was no more time to waste on such thoughts as she heard her name called.
            She took a deep breath and stood. As she ascended to the stadium’s platform, her legs felt weak and ready to collapse beneath her. However, the confidence she needed soon entered her body as she saw the piano erected from below the surface of the platform.
            A dead silence fell over the entire stadium.
            It had been so rare and so long a time since someone had chosen an art for their talent. Arts were such useless tasks to dedicate one’s time to. What good were they?
            Odessa’s fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before she closed her eyes and played what was perhaps one of her most favorite pieces; Rhapsody in Blue. It was not the most difficult she had ever learned, and it was much different without the accompaniment of a jazz band that she knew would never be there to support her sound, but it had such a passion and emotion behind it that couldn’t be contained.
            As she played the close to ten minute piece, she felt herself become lost in the movements and sounds that emitted from the instrument as she played each necessary key, each complicated run of notes. And finally, it was as if she had completely ceased to exist as just herself. She had become a part of the piano as the crescendo of an ending filled her system witch such a longing fervor and dedication to the sound and music that sang out into the stadium. As the final notes died away, the silence overtook and permeated the air with such a choking deafness.
            Odessa stood and walked away from the instrument to the center of the platform. Nothing. There was no sound, no acknowledgement for her talent. Her head began to sink as she felt the uselessness and humiliation fill her body.
            But all at once—the loudest eruption emerged as the crowd began to make the largest racket. The stadium echoed the sound all around, increasing the amplitude of the noise and commotion. Odessa covered her ears and looked around in fear; surely it was a riot!
            But no; it took her several moments to realize that the motions the people were making were ones of applause and immense praise. The sounds, the whistles, the screaming, were all in appreciation for the art and beauty she had brought to the community. It had been so long since anyone had heard such a thing, and it awakened a primal feeling and love for sound that had long been forgotten.
            Odessa’s talent received the most praise, for she had chosen something so pure that it could do nothing but touch the hearts and souls of all who heard her play.