My New Years' Resolution

I have a new plan to construct visual artwork:
Take a photograph
Print it on a large sheet of paper
Reinterpret it by adding different mediums
ex.'s) Highlight colors in the photograph by coloring over them with crayons
Create or augment defining lines with black pen
Cut congruent shapes of newspaper, tin foil, cloth, etc. to superimpose onto shapes in the photo
Cut out portions of the photograph and paste them atop a new background (for example, a splatter painted poster)
All in all, create a collage of different mediums based on a documentary image, that is, a photo of a a real image.


I also have a new plan to write songs:
Record audio files of melodys, lyrics, etc. whenever they strike me, i.e., demos, rough, unpolished ideas.
Listen to the recordings later and finish composing, writing lyrics, structuring the song, etc.
[Not necessarily a step in my plan, but a prospective technique: combine similar demos to make a larger song with more 'goodies' in it, when possible.]

Likewise, a new plan to write non-fiction, prose, and poetry:
Record audio files of words, sentences, ideas, themes, subjects, formal structure, titles, etc. as they are conceived so that they may be fleshed out into larger work or incorporated into an ongoing piece. The goal is that, when I sit down with the objective to write, I will be less likely to have no ideas.

All together, my New Year's Resolution:
To create a body of work that I am proud of from which I can assemble a portfolio. Establishing a more concrete plan of what, how, and when I will construct these work's is part of my resolution. I'm not too sure yet what specifically I will attempt to do, but I would like to create and be proud of at least one work for each of these art forms (realistically, I will not be able to achieve my goal for every category, but I can still hope):

A collage like that I described above
A short film
A symphonic piece of music
A short story longer than 11 pages
An essay (i.e., non-fiction) on something not required for school
A poem (maybe the hardest thing for me right now)
At least one set list's worth of songs and arrangements for a band (though this will probably not be included in the portfolio)

Specifically, I don't know most of what I will do yet, but I do know that I want to write a resistentialist story (or hey, maybe a poem!). I think I'm going to try and get started on that after I finish this entry. I also have some ideas for films, but I'm beginning to dislike the one I'm shooting now. The really tough thing about this resolution is the MAKE ME PROUD part, because I can and have made a lot of shtuffs, but generally I dislike them, and seldom can I say I am actually PROUD of them. Of everything I've done, I truly believe less than 1% truly makes me proud. Good reason to get started! Ok... r-e-e-s-e-n-t-i-a-l-i-s-m-how the hell do you spell this...

With the Jordan's on the 10-26th's (for the first time)

Up north with you for some much needed vacation.
8'o m, 8'o m!
Check your knees. I mean, check which knee you intend to rub.
Get your own damn chapstick!
Please don't jump. Just don't jump. Don't jump. I know you have the implication to...

Gus
Kane
Jack
Sloane
Kate
Jack
Tim? Who's Tim?
Warm in Atlanta, same in Chicago, hotter in on the Ridge? Heat wave? Heat wave gus?
Overall, a pretty cool family. My smoking door however has been obscured.
Shake that booty, rather SPIN THAT BOOTY! We gotta beat that record.
-> this was the main focus of the evening

Gus is going to "try the right spin."
Why does that feel so good? "Jackie did it."
DESTROY MOM!!!
"Are you a big sweater?" Gus to Kane
"Fuck... [laugh], UH GOD!" Kane
"Someone's got to get Kane away from the Wii." Kate
At this point, Kane is an established addict.

Just randoms. Little thoughts. Quotes, actions. Just fairly non-descriptive accounts of what this day-after-Christmas getaway was like. Trying to
remember.

later


This is not my reseestentialist eassay yestt. That comes later.


later now

The Hole

A strange memory: Several years ago my brother was assigned a film project for school, on what topic I do not recall. I filmed the movie for him and helped him write it. I clearly remember the first line:

I was born through a hole in the wall.

The line was befittingly accompanied by my brother emerging from a hole in the wall. The final depicted him reentering the hole in the wall. The in-between I cannot recall, except shooting a tilt upwards a staircase. I believe the film was shot on VHS-C camcorder tape, but I have many, several unlabeled and several labeled incompletely. I would like to find it. I'd like to see where we went from there. I'd like to write out the voice-over, which I believe I provided (my brother and I often traded as stand-in's for the other as we look enough alike). The monologue read like a poem and the film was very short. I'd very much like to hear it, see it, write it again. For tonight, I can only repeat the line in my head as I type and try to sleep.

I was born through a hole in the wall.

And though I've left, I have chosen to return, blanking out my existence, and, in turn, forgetting what I've done, where I've been, and how I lived; recalling only where it began and where it ended, holding only to the mysteries on either side of existence, remembering only what I've never known, I grasp my elusive memory of the hole, a place never to be seen in clean focus, only in the corner of an eye for a brief second in the moment of waking, that is, the only recountible encounter is a mere glimpse, easily missed, inversely terrifyingly, the truly keen eye into the edges of one's life are past the point of detailed analysis.

On a tangent, since life shows next to nothing of the natures of birth and death, birth and death would likely show the same or less of life. The film starts at the hole and ends at the hole. They are the boundaries. But somehow my brother has surpassed these boundaries. Even though his life has been limited between the confines of the two appearances of the hole, he has hinted at the transcendence of his earthly limitations; he has depicted the 'glimpse.' Not, however, in any material form; there is no heaven in the film. My brother is the material, he is in perfect human form in and between his entry and exit. When he is "born" he is not newborn, when he reenters the hole he does not die, and in between, within his existence, he remains not physically altered by the any elements of life. His consistency (and, regrettably, my memory of the film) highlights the 'great unknowns' of life. It is the best job a living, 'perfect' person could at portraying the 'glimpse' because one just cannot know. In life my brother does not know. He only knows where he came from and where he will go: the hole. But it is "the hole" itself that is our glimpse. Maybe the film is best forgotten. Forgetting may fulfill it's purpose.

I do not claim that the movie is profound, all that interesting, or even very good. Still, the insight as much anyone else could give. Disregarding all of the mumbo of the above, I simply like the line. I am yet to forget it, and, at times (like tonight), it finds its way into my head and bounces around stirring up contemplation of feelings that make me quiet.

***Note1 - I think my brother didn't get a very good grade on it. He seldom did when I helped him with his school film projects.

***Note2 - I plan to write something Resistentialist in the next few days. I am looking forward to it and wanted to note it now so that I could remind myself to start formulating ideas

I really want to go look for that movie.

It's Christmas and I'm being so silly!

Rudolph the red nosed janitor
Had a little much to drink
At the office Christmas party
And he threw up in the sink
All of he so called 'co-workers'
Liked to laugh and call him Roody
All that they cared of him
Was that he cleaned up there doody
But at that faithful Christmas party
Roody'd had enough
With disgruntle and chagrin
Roody shot the place up
Then all the on the late news headlines
The scroll on CNN read
"Roody the crazed Sanitory Mangager
leaves seven wounded and four dead."

I admit, I am a janitor, but I am not violent nor do I have any intention of carrying out actions like the one's described in this parody. I like my job and everyone at the company I work for is very nice to me. I just wanted to be festive and still remain cynical! If I really wanted to do such a thing, I would have spent more time writing a better song. [uncensored vision my ass]

The Day ( I )

I'm going to try a little something different today - a purely historical account of this day for personal record.

I had a very strange dream which I recounted on an audio recording on my phone shortly after waking up. For reference, it was the dream of the "Elephant Reindeer."

K, M, and I got together and did the Fran's Apartment scenes for the movie. K and I only fought once, so it went relatively smoothly.

K is leaving tomorrow, so we exchanged gifts today. She liked her Wall-E stuff and blanket for college and I liked my electric razor and my book (whatever it is called). The razor takes 10 hours to charge and is charging now. I am excited to use it.

I begin writing two songs late tonight. I am still having trouble with lyrics, but melodies and structures are becoming easier, rythms slightly less frustrating. Actually, melodies are flowing with great ease throughout the day, structures still tough but I'm finding some dedication. I would like to complete a song before school starts on the fifth.

This is an incomplete list, of course. I once again have started to late and need to wake up at 8:30. I will now watch TNG.

I am Jean Luc Godard's Contempt

There is this rather mediocre song by Lagwagon that goes just like this:

I hate my friends
I hate my friends
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my friends
I hate my friends
[...]
I hate my friends
[...]
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my friends
I hate my friends
[...]
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my
I hate my friends
[...]

I take back the mediocre, I actually kind of like it.

I want to to stop trying to explain myself so thoroughly. I'll say something, let someone else figure.

In the beginning of verse part of Failure there is a harmonic that plays in only the left channel. It really rocks and fits perfectly. They play the same verse part twice more and omit the harmonic. I always wish they would play it again. It would make the song more interesting; give it more texture. I have always wanted to tell someone that.

The Makings of a Shorter Attention Span

Alas, Netflix's "Watch Instantly" has become accessible on Mac. Hooray!

I have been waiting for this for a long time. Watch all kinds of things I've been wanting to see at my leisure. No waiting around for movies or bargaining over the queue with my Dad or resulting to the maniacal Blockbuster villain. I am free at last!

However, this advancement has a true downside. Since I begin using the "Watch Instantly" feature I believe I have only completed one film of the dozen or so I have started. Once upon a time one would pay to sit in a crowded theatre and watch a film front to back without interruptions (that is, within the film itself; someone very well could be coughing or something). Now-a-days everything is segmented: television shows with commercial breaks, several remote controls that can switch between all types of media, Tivos, surfing, DVD's that pause, rewind, fast forward, all of that. It is a commonly addressed problem, I'm expressing nothing profound, but it is a viable concern to me, and this experience with "Watch Instantly" has made this problem very real to me.

Without experiencing a work of art in its complete form, can it truly be appreciated? Maybe, but can it thoroughly be appreciated? It doesn't stop at film either. Once upon a time, music was only available live. Then along came records, and now streaming internet radio, iPod's, and a million 30 second commercials sporting abridged covers of late 60's pop songs. Cases can be made for many other mediums of art as well. the possibilities of contemporary technology yields (maybe even encourages) the abbreviation of art.

But, the repercussion that could be truly more dire, if there art is inlined to be curtailed anyways, will the artists start making art that assist the 'surfing' process? Will the trend become short, snappy, flashy art made cheap, made fast... blah blah blah I would need to write more (and better) to effectively flesh out this idea and I always start these blogs way to late.

And as I sat on my lit balcony amifst a foggy 2:30am night, typing away on my cute lil' white computer whom I had affectionately named Marla, a voice called to me from a dark car on the cul-de-sac: "Alex!" And it scared the shit out of me.

some short notes ( I )

There is at least one ordained minister on every train, it just depends what car you get in.



I cannot understand what the man on with my other ear bud is thinking, but I doubt it can be interesting enough to disrupt such a beautiful song.



i know how to delete,

In Agreence With My Oath To Blog (I)

In attempt to be faithful to the ominous omnivore, I will compromise and write a simple description of what I did today:

I bought Christmas presents! Yay!

A list of whom I bought presents for and what presents I got them:

Adam : coal
Barnebas: coal
Cecilia: coal
Dominique: coal
Evanna: coal
Francine: coal
Giotto: coal
Harvey: coal
Ilene: coal and napkins
Jacob: a tribute song
Kate: a Wendy's franchise (featuring a "Spicy Coal Sandwich")
Levi: coal
Montague: coal mines
Nora: coal
Ollie: a skateboard
Penelope: coal and napkins
Queen Elizabeth: my daughter's hand in marriage
Renaldo: coal
Sylvia: coal and napkins
Terrence Stamp: coal (which I have wrapped and stowed until he returns)
Ursula: coal and a necklace
Valerie: coal and napkins
Wallace: coal and a bagpipe tuner
Xavier: coal
Yolanda: coal, necklace, and napkins
Zoe: coal and hairbrush

I'm writing a list and checking it once for spelling errors and then I'm off to organize my Star Trek: TNG VHS's, as usual. I've spent well over $500 dollars, and I'm really starting to get the festive infirmity. A ho ho ho ho. A ho ho ho ho ohhh. >:P plwwww

Jacob Christ - a study of the writing process

For a while I was kicking out song lyrics like the Apocalypse was on the horizon. I was completing several songs worth each week, and sometimes four or five in one day. For the last eight months or so, this has not been the case. I have written very little and disliked most of it.
My rising and plummeting hopes of starting a band are proportional to my level of motivation to write, and, with a faint glimpse of hope on the horizon (where once I saw the Apocalypse), I have put pen to paper and given it my best shot. My goal is to write something less quirky, less punny, less focused on off-beat subject matter (which is undeniably engendered by the lyrics of They Might Be Giants), and something more genuine, more polemical, more spiritual.
So I wrote a song about Jesus' immediately younger brother, Jacob, and the advantages and disadvantages of his life. Maybe a step in the right direction? Or maybe an fervent idea expressed by the improper means? Maybe hybrid of two different styles? Really, just a failure to transcend my limitations, a failure for which I will undoubtedly be type-cast next to Weird Al Yanchovic and TMBG. Unfortunately, I cannot play accordion.
However, it is not that bad a song (!), especially considering my current lyrical recession.

"Jacob Christ
Jacob Christ
Jacob Christ"

a terrible bat of bitchiness

Since when can I not shake a jigger over my head at eleven-thirty p.m.? For Christ's sake (note: this post is no longer paralleling the Gospel) I've been known mix drinks at two in the morning, or even later. So what is this shit?
"Apparently when people are trying to sleep they often find loud noise bothersome."
Oh ok, well how about this, how about this: I left my dishes in the dishwasher over the weekend. My roommate left me a note telling me I left my dishes in the dishwasher. Shit, dicker, I know I left my dishes in the dishwasher. I'm the one that left them, aren't I?
"That might have been a nuisance if your roommate was trying to do his own dishes."
Mother doesn't have any dishes.
"Well in that case he's just a dick."
Damn straight he is. He didn't even ask me to move them.
"Oh please."
I know right. Man, you understand. This shit is really wacky.
"Believe me brother, I've had all the same problems. It is a-whole-nother kind of shit.
Man yoa're tight. I have enjoyed this little talk.
"Me too man. Your really neat. Yes I can."
Sheeeeit

The Immaculate Conception

Alex and Joachim had always wanted to keep a journal. They tried many times, each resulting in failure. After so much frustration, they decided it would never be.
One night the angel Google came to Alex in a dream. The angel said onto him "Do not be afraid. I come onto to you so that you may rejoice. The Internet has decided that you, child, shall have His journal and you shall call it Blog."
At first, Joachim could not understand why Alex was writing. Joachim beat Alex heavily until the angel Google returned and explained the Internet's wishes. Joachim stuttered, searching for an apology, but before he could speak fire reigned down upon him, cooking him and evaporating his bodily fluids to the degree at which remained only a pillar of salt.
Alex thanked Google and asked of the Internet's intentions for Blog. "Blog," said the angel, "will be pure and true in every sense. He will always and forever be exactly what you want him to say. Go forth and give birth to Him and let Him always be your uncensored expression." And the angel Google vanished.
After filling out the sign up box Alex gave birth to Blog over a set of crisp, white keys. The newborn babe was ugly, but Alex had always heard that newborn baby's just are. He wrapped the child in parody and sealed it with that terrible pun. Three wise men came, but Alex was tired so the wise men decided to come back later and went out on the town. They each drank far too much and ended up in the police station overnight.
Were they really so wise after all?
I believe the moral of the story is: when the Internet gives you a link, you click it, no matter what.