Melanchology

Archlord

2011-10-31T06:05:00.000-07:00

A little side project of mine in addition to my book:

Chapter 1: The Instrument of Evil

Valestra passed her gaze amongst the faces that surrounded her. The nine Shadow Priests of the Forgotten Tongues were faceless shrouds of evil that beckoned her to conclude the ritual with their silent but unwavering attention. She then looked around the massive temple hall. In the far reaches of the room, which the ever-diminishing amount of light from the torches barely touched, she could make out the patterns of dark moss on the stones that made up the walls. She could see the faint shadows cast by the jungles of cobwebs clinging to the ancient ceilings. On the breath of the air, she could smell the horrid stain of years of unholy sacrifices: men, women, children, animals, and creatures of all types; and her ears were met with the faint screams. All of her senses were attacked by the unrelenting evil of this place. She could feel it choke her as she stood on the three-thousand year old blood soaked cobblestone flooring. The cold damp stones chilled her bare feet and the ceremonial gown she wore barely provided any warmth. For a brief moment, she thought of her mother and being held as a small child. She thought of her first day of primary schooling and she remembered her first kiss. All of this flashed through her mind in the span of a few moments as she stood silent in front of the altar.

In the center of the altar of which Valestra stood before was an orb of the purest crystal known to the races of the world. It was so clear, so pristine, that the naked eye could not see it. No one really knew where it came from; many had theorized that it is the remains of a holy conflict, or perhaps a piece of the life binder himself. This substance was universally considered amongst the rarest of items one could acquire, even in miniscule amounts no larger than a grain of sand; it was commonly referred to as “The Glass of Heaven”. Even such a small amount of this crystal could be blessed in order to cure the diseases and plights of thousands. However, this particular piece was the size of a large orange; the width of Valestra’s eyes, as she stared at the seemingly empty pedestal, was only eclipsed by the thundering of her heart.

A dark figure appeared on the altar head overlooking Valestra and the priests. He wore no clothes and had nine deathly rune symbols viciously scrawled upon his body with still-warm blood. He raised his hands in the air.

“This offering as it is, so pure of substances; it took me five-hundred years and countless souls to acquire,” he said.

His eyes, or rather the absence of them as it could be seen from far, affixed to Valestra.

“Make your offering now child, which requires mere a minute, and your eternal reward shall be granted as so dearly promised,” he said.

Valestra slowly crept towards the orb, hiding her consideration behind the stone face she wore. The echoes of her heartbeat shouted into the darkness, she trembled violently and felt as though she would vomit. She appeared so vulnerable, so beautiful and innocent as expected of her youth. However, her long black hair, soft skin, and the gentle offering of her hazel eyes were only but a former image. In her heart, she knew that she was dead to the methods of the righteous. She was torn apart with rage and hatred. She carried the thoughts of her mother as she approached the altar pedestal, but they were quickly replaced with very different and very morbid memories. She felt the lash of the chain whips, she felt the violation, and the pain that inflicted the scars; both those on her legs and back and those inside her mind eternal.

Valestra placed her hand over the pedestal. She slowly lowered her grasp until she felt the orb fill her palm. As she held it in her hand, she knew then that there was no returning from this path now and that there was no recourse or correction for this action. She deadened her thoughts of concern; she quieted the reaches of her mind and the melody of her heartbeat, as taught by the priests and texts. Now was the time. She slowly but with great determination emptied herself into the orb. She poured into it her true self, what she became and had accepted. The raw emotions, the hatred, and the absolute evil that besieged her was flowing freely into this beautiful invisible ball of mineral. It fought back against her, against the corruption that tormented it. She did not falter though. She did not let her mind create pain or fear; just rage and the lust for evil.

The orb slowly became visible to the naked eye. First, it simply reflected its surroundings, but soon began to show a solid form. A majesty of colors burst into the orb, flailing black and forth between the deepest blues and brightest reds. As Valestra grew paler though, as her eyes started to become darker, the orb became absent of color. Now all that could be seen was blackness, swirling with hints of light at first but then nothing but the darkest black. The orb felt as though it weighed hundreds of pounds; it burst in a blast of dark magics and then gently rested back on the pedestal. Valestra collapsed to the ground. Her contribution was concluded.

“So it is done. Now our jewel bears the true mark of the jaded one,” said the man on the altar.

He began chanting an incantation in words that would sap light from the sun itself; the priests below joined him as they focused to the orb. A large bubble of shadow began to form and soon concentrated around the orb, as the chanting grew louder. The man ceased speaking while the priests continued; he blinked and appeared before the pedestal below in a wisp of black flame. The bubble was now a thin film covering the blackened crystal orb. He began uttering a spell and each of the nine blood symbols upon his body soaked into his skin. The nine shadow priests fell dead and their souls flung through the air violently. The man cast his arm into the air and as the final words of the spell left his lips, the souls of the nine priests were forced into the orb. The man collapsed to his knees as the wave of energy from the orb covered the entire room in a blanket of shadow. The dark mist snapped back as the orb gently hovered above the pedestal. The man forced himself to his feet and grasped the orb with both hands.

“The final stroke is now in motion. I bear now the purest of hatred forged using the incarnate of purity. So made to be by the corruption of the sacred words, the mark of the jaded innocent, and the sacrifice of the heralds of the forgotten tongue,” the man whispered.

He raised the orb to the sky as he felt its power lock him to the ground on which he stood. This once innocent piece of crystal was now the instrument which would change the world. It would kill the one who was not meant to be killed.

Chapter 2: The Night of Nights

The crow flapped his wings against the gentle winds as he soared high above Easthorn Forest. The thousands of trees that dotted the landscape below were but mere scenery to him today; the promises of their bounty of grubs and termites meant nothing. He sought to join his murder at the one place where they went every year; where they were to enjoy a feast that would be welcome by any creature, or at least to collect the scraps of such an event. A gentle updraft allowed the crow to glide for a while, riding the warm spring winds towards the city. In the corner of his eye, he spotted two companions. They joined to his left wing and begun cawing in excitement for they knew what awaited them mere miles away.

The setting sun veered over the top of the great temple of life, its rays shone vividly through the multicolored glass and projected a myriad of beautiful angelic lights. A young man about the age of seventeen walked through the colored beams and watched as the fabric of his bland brown tunic absorbed a bit of heaven. Liam Tollwater was the second youngest of his siblings and was on his way home from his job of sweeping and cleaning at Borton’s Fine Provisions; a small shop on the northern side of the commerce district. He was excited to rush into his quarters and discard his brown work tunic for something more vivid, something more like the colors from the temple’s light.

I don't give a fuck anymore.

2011-07-27T15:15:00.001-07:00

...

2011-07-26T02:52:00.000-07:00

I just found out that a very dear friend of mine is dying and has less than 3 months to live. I didn't know where else to put this, I don't know what I'm feeling right now, and I'm not in a good place. I know there's only a few of you that will see this and I'm not trying to sob you into talking to me about it, I just needed to put this somewhere.

Please offer your prayers for my friend Michelle, she will need them all and then some.

Flying and Cigarettes

2011-06-06T01:37:00.000-07:00

I've been working on many things lately, but my favorite thing has and will always be this idea. It has been developing over the period of two or three years and has been fine-tuned to this point. This is the story that I really want to tell. I hope this character sheet will explain the story a bit... more later:

Flying and Cigarettes

Main Characters

Gretchen Ramsey Greene – Age 20, Black and White Hair, 5’7” – The lead character in the story who has a snide and cynical personality. She wants others to leave her alone, feeling that no one understands her problems or perspective in life and feels as though she burdens her close friends on a daily basis. Her problems and complaints seem unwarranted and whiny to most, but she closely conceals the dark events in her past which left her the way she is today. She wants nothing more than to leave and disappear forever; but instead her life is literally propelled into the heavens when she is mysteriously granted the amazing ability to fly. She is a habitual smoker, an avid gamer, spends most of her time at Luna’s Pier, and enjoys performing card tricks for her pet iguana Muffin.

Mallarie Annette Lowellen – Age 20, Red Hair, 5’7” – Gretchen’s best, but recently distanced friend, who has little interest in Gretchen’s seemingly insignificant life problems and feels they are dragging down her own agenda. She works at a local coffee shop called The Beans Knees and enjoys working on her old beater car that she bought with her very proudly earned money. After her and Gretchen graduated high school, she went forward in life by seeking employment and opportunities, and felt as though Gretchen never recovered from her teenage angst enough to grow up with her. She resents Gretchen’s attitude and struggles to keep supporting her, but cannot throw away their years of friendship. She faints when Gretchen shows off her new talent and quickly identifies it as yet another challenge in the way of their already struggling friendship.

English Mako Jr. – Age 19, Black Hair, 6’4” – Gretchen and Mallarie’s Samoan friend from high school who is never found without his Ibanez bass guitar strapped around his chest. He doesn’t talk much, but he possesses a very comforting presence that seems to help glue both of the girls together as they struggle and repel each other’s personalities and lives. He is constantly eating or drinking something and has a fascination with making origami animals.

Claudius Odius Orellvius Augustus VII (aka Uncle Claude) – Age 31, Blonde Hair, 6’1” – A severely injured Roman soldier who has travelled through time to the present by unknown means or reasons. Gretchen discovers him on the beach assaulting a family of Raccoons shortly after she discovers her new power of flight. She connects with him on an emotional basis after helping him bandage the severe gash on his leg and decides to let him stay with her under the guise of her distant Uncle Claude, who is returning from war after being discharged from the military. English creates a fake ID and military discharge papers to convince Gretchen’s mother to let him stay; Mallarie quickly develops a sexual attraction to him, much to the dismay of English’ brother Brodi.

Muffin – Age 8, Green Scales, Um… he’s an iguana – Gretchen’s other best friend and the only living creature to know of the dark secrets of her past. Muffin has a few tricks of his own and constantly provides shocking revelations to Gretchen despite being unable to communicate with humans.

Supporting Characters

Misty “Rose” Greene – Age 15, Hair Blue, Height 5’5” – Gretchen’s younger sister who is mature beyond her years and anyone’s guess. She wants to be a professional punk singer and dreams of being on stage with the best. She’s the leader of a local punk band called “Roses & Stitches”, who all think she’s 19, and she is constantly trying to promote both herself and her band on online social networks. She loves the rain and the beach, and will constantly visit Gretchen at the pier even if she doesn’t want to talk to her. She only answers to “Rose”, except for Gretchen who she allows to call her Misty.

Annette Marlyn Greene – Age 44, Hair Black, Height 5’5” – Gretchen and Misty’s mother and only parent. She is supportive of her daughters to the very end, but does not know how to approach Gretchen’s increasingly bleak outlook on life or Misty’s aggressive grasp of it. She works as a real estate agent and loves to read romance novels, hoping one day that she will have someone beside her again.

Captain Furious Jackson – Age 37, Bald, Height 6’3” – The police captain in charge of maintaining the peace and the arch enemy of the gang kingpin Rosco. He is constantly pouring resources into maintaining his absurdly high arrest record and wants nothing more than to do the right thing for his community, despite being enticed by more sinister parties at the promises of wealth beyond his meager salary.

Brodi Mako – Age 25, Hair Black, Height 5’6” – English’ older, yet much smaller, brother that can’t seem to take his eyes off of Mallarie and is constantly vying for her yet un-offered affections. He is rather skinny and meek, but is constantly trying to work out in efforts to become “the world’s greatest professional street fighter”.

Justin Spiffer – Age 39, Hair Brown, Height 5’9” – The owner of The Beans Knees who is constantly telling stories about all of his adventures. Gretchen and her friends are undecided as to exactly how many of them are true, but they enjoy them thoroughly nonetheless; especially the one about when he saved a boat of Japanese tourists from a giant octopus.

Seth Connolly – Age 21, Hair Blonde, Height 6’2” – A local street racer and love interest of everything that is considered female. He is constantly looking at Gretchen sit on the dock at Luna’s Pier as he works through his job as a fry cook on the wharf. He can’t help but find her beautiful, and is in constant thought about the layers of her apparent unhappiness. He proudly rebuilt his car from scratch and is always under the watchful eye of the law.

Villains

The Voodoo King – Age uknown, Hair Black, Height 6’5” – A master sorcerer who is said only ever be observed under the veil of shadows; with stories and myths being the only means of his description. It is said that he has the ability to haunt people’s dreams and turn them into slaves. Most people in the city think he’s a myth until unordinary and destructive events start to occur regularly.

Rosco - Appearance Unknown – The boss of the street gang known as The Blood Ghosts, he is completely bent on the control of the cities’ police department and the eradication of Captain Furious Jackson. He is a cold-blooded murderer to the highest degree and see’s no method as taboo in his conquest for power. Everyone in the city knows who he is and steers clear of the ghost’s territories.

Mattius “Tarpit” Thatcher – Age 22, Hair Brown, Height 6’0” – A wannabe Blood Ghost and high school bully at the school Gretchen attended. His father was brutally murdered while he was still in school, which lead him to drop out to bring justice to the killers. He failed and steered his life into a downward spiral of crime and self loathing. His best friend, Seth Connolly, wants nothing more than to return him to the lighter path, but fails to connect with his disillusioned and troubled friend.

Gamer Gurl

2011-05-09T20:15:00.001-07:00

Submitted some new work!

http://eastray.deviantart.com/art/Gamer-Gurl-208271153

Diaries from the Hotel Orange - Part 2

2011-04-06T13:07:00.000-07:00

3rd of October, 1855

One of the guests boarding with us this month is a woman named Sarah Beth O'Neil. Aunt Constance said that she's from the southern parts of the American Empire. She is most fair; I found myself staring upon her for many long periods.

She's a bit taller than me, standing at about five-foot-eight I'd say. She is rather curvaceous and has beautiful yellow hair; it is much like the color of summer wheat.

I had helped her with her bags when she checked in and found myself utterly leveled by her aqua blue eyes.

She speaks with an accent that I've heard from several other guests from America. It has a rather pronounced drawl to it, but at the same time, it is very formal in the selection of certain words and phrases.

4th of October, 1855

I have gotten used to having few friends over the years. It began to get very difficult for me when Loyd and his father sailed away.

I just long for someone to talk to about all that troubles me. Aunt Constance isn't exactly the best person to tell these matters to either.

Sarah is very nice, but I've seen so little of her. She is always unavailable. She sure is quite busy for someone who is supposedly on holiday.

I did talk to one couple for long hours; not about happy things though I'm afraid. They told of the heartbreaking story of their little girl. They said that she was harshly abused at the hands of a terrible man. They told me that she was so emotionally damaged from it that she wouldn't even let her own parents hug her. The tale absolutely wrenched my heart. I could fight back the tears as they welled up in waves. How could I tell these people of my own tragedies after hearing that?

There is so much evil and turmoil in the world and it is perpetuated by so man bad things. What evils befell such a man to drive him to an act so depraved?

I can write not a single word more today, for the will to keep a conscious mind is leaving me.

Diaries from the Hotel Orange - Part 1

2011-04-05T22:17:00.000-07:00

29th of September, 1855

I could feel the silent warmth of the breaking dawn caress my face, waking me gently with it's breath. The stars fell into slumber once more as I awoke to face another day in this place.

I could hear the sounds of metal pots banging downstairs followed by the enchanting smell of fresh breakfast muffins; all of which becoming ever stronger as my senses awoke with me.

30th of September, 1855

I look out to the sea for hours sometimes. I imagine myself in a small boat, drifting carelessly amongst the eternal currents. The sea yields to no one; it is not bound by the laws and misery of man.

It has seen the most terrible of times where the lands were rotten with malice ad soaked in blood, and it has seen the grandest of times, the gilded eras of order and enlightenment...

...and so it flows and carries strong; unwavering in the face of the weight of ages. I fantasize about being so noble against all ill intent and opposition. I fantasize about being so humble to flow through the energies of the world itself; accepting all wills perceived as both true and malicious.

If the world as a whole were a conscious mind, the sky would be it's dreams and the sea would most certainly be it's nightmares. The sky, it's endless solace; an infinite journey into the mysterious of the heavens, painted with hopeful stars eternal. The strong mentioned seas; ravaged by the worst of the world, noble and eternal yes, but who's only dream is that which is reflected from the sky and distorted amongst it's waves. It is doomed to rest in the cradle of man's world.

I do not wish to be another person, but sometimes I'd prefer to look upon my life from afar, rather than live it.

31st of September, 1855

I went for a walk along the northern shore today. The white sands are so gentle there. They are like the softest velvet formed into a bed of millions of tiny grains.

1st of October, 1855

Being stuck here isn't the worst fate one could suffer I suppose. I know that I should consider myself fortunate, especially when the circumstances of my life are weighed against those of others in the world.

My aunt Constance once told me that the mysterious men who built the Hotel Orange many hundreds of years ago, did so because they wanted to escape the rest of the world. This place is surely home to more mysteries than those of the guests that board here with us.

Those guests, who I envy ever so much, come from all corners of the earth. Surely some of them must know more about this place than I, or even my aunt. I suppose I'd ask my parents if I knew where they were...

In happier thoughts, I procured a fascinating sea shell today; orange and blue in color. I have never seen anything like it!

2nd of October, 1855

A special feast was prepared for all the guests today. It was made to commemorate St. Hollice's Day; the day that the great saint of Astraea brought food and warmth to the thousands affected by the first Persian War, only to then be assassinated by a mysterious soldier.

The smell from the kitchen was absolutely divine in every respect. The chefs had prepared an impressive assortment of meats: roasted pigs with Atlantic salt seasoning, beef pies with fresh vegetables baked in a golden honey crust, skewered chickens cooked on a rotissary with artisian spices, and huge wild boar cooked in it's own juices for twelve hours.

There was also plenty of seafood: lobster tails with butter cream sauce, fried garlic prawns, roasted salmon skewers, tuna heads, and tens of small auderves.

In terms of confectionaries, there were : berry cream tars, fudge bars with mouse filling, honey-fried iced cream, and twenty varieties of pies.

They had brought me a bit of everything. I cannot say this was a foul day in the least bit!

Bus Ticket Blues

2011-02-02T02:55:00.001-08:00

It was about noon when I walked out of that guitar shop. I bought some new strings and now I was fixing to go on home and enjoy the sandwich I had waiting for me. I had planned on taking the bus back; not so much to avoid a lengthy walk, as my home was only about two miles down, but rather because my appetite suddenly found itself very much awake. Noon as it were, I was hungry and wasn't wasting any time.

I walked over to the bus stop on Waller Street and to my surprise there was only one person waiting. Usually this time of day there were a host of patrons going every which way. Today though, there was only one young man looking about twenty-or-so. He was black, dressed in polyester and had himself a guitar case.

"Hello, mind if I sit down here?" I said.

He gave me a glance and a nod. He kept his face down towards the ground and focused on his twiddling thumbs. Not hard to tell when a man has something on his mind when he's looking like that.

"Sunny out, good day to be waitin' for the bus eh?" I said to him.

"Yeah," he said, not looking up a single inch.

I figured I should do best to leave him alone and tried to focus on that mighty fine turkey and swiss I coveted oh so much, but something I couldn't describe compelled me to say something else.

"Excuse me, I can't help but notice that you seem troubled so. I don't reckon it my place to inquire nor is it my business to know why, but I do ask anyhow, what bothers you young man?"

"Well sir," he said, "I made quite a dearly mistake I'm afraid. And now... now I don't know if I can have any peace."

I was surprised he told me that much.

"My name is Lowellen Davis Jones, nice to meet you young man," I said.

"Name's Arthur, Arthur Wheatstraw," he said.

"Arthur, what kind of mistake did you go make, if I might be so rude to ask?"

"Well I'm in trouble with the law"

"The law?" I said.

"Yes sir. So to speak"

He looked up at me now, his eyes were sullen and dipped in the most lackluster shade of self loathing I had ever seen. Whatever this boy had done, he wished he hadn't have done it.

"I don't suppose you stole that there guitar now?," I said, "not that I would judge you any less if you did, but would I be correct to assume such a thing Arthur?"

"No sir Mr. Jones, this guitar was my uncle's and that's honest to God as it comes" he said.

"Well then," I said, "what ever kind of mischieve did you arouse young man?"

He looked down deeper than before and I leaned in further towards him in anticipation.

"Well... I lied to God, I did" he said.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

He looked up slowly, his eyes welling up ever so slightly. He was fighting back and awful lot of pain absorbed in those words of his.

"I... had," he breathed unevenly, "I had me a woman. She was pretty all to hell; she was my one and only she was. And I lied. I told her that I loved her. I promised her and God that we would always be together. She died," he said.

I put my hand, ever so slightly and most certainly affectionately upon this cursed young man that was sitting next to me on that bench.

"How'd she die?" I asked.

"I killed her sir," he said as his head met his hands once more.

I breathed deep and made a small circle with my hand upon his back before I put it inside my pocket.

He looked up at me again, tears in his eyes.

"I wanted to play like a real bluesman; I wanted to be somebody. I made me a deal. I done got my wish. I woke up in the morning next to my guitar and my woman, who was dead as a slab at the butchers. Was this bus ticket on her chest," he said, "I played my guitar and it sounded good. Sir, it sounded real good. But I felt bad and I couldn't help but cry. Oh I cried. I cried cause she wasn't there to hear me. Where she is, there is no music."

I looked at the ticket he had. It was small and red.

"Arthur, that ticket... it ain't for this bus coming here is it?" I asked.

"Oh yes sir, it surely is," he said.

"This is the city bus though on this here thorofare, ain't no tickets for it."

"Oh Mr. Jones, this bus ain't from this city."

No sooner than the last word left his mouth, a bus pulled up. This bus was indeed, not from the city as he had said.

This bus was ominous to say the very least. It was cast in a thick smoke that smelled like an uneasy death, ashy and rough. Its metal was rusted and its wheels were worn. The windows were dark like the night sky but I could make out figures. I couldn't even begin to make out the plates, but something told me, they weren't registered anywhere near this part of the world. Its engine made a coarse, fearsome sound; an organ played out of tune but far more sinister.

Arthur picked up his guitar case and stood up as the doors opened. That horrid smell permeated further from inside and the darkness remained untouched by the sun beating down overhead. I couldn't see the driver, but I could hear the moans. Deep like the horn of a ship thundering miles down the river, but afflicted with pain such as a trapped animal.

Arthur looked at me.

"Mr. Jones, it was nice to meet you. I best be on about my way now," he said.

I was seated still; I couldn't move. I could just look.

He started towards the bus, but turned around.

"Mr. Jones sir. Pardon me, but I must ask you for a favor. Its small, please I beg you to ablige."

He paused, looked down and then back to me.

"Could you remember me? Remember Arthur Wheatstraw. Please sir, I feel I can ask you," he said.

The bus rumbled, almost impatiently.

I looked at him as intensely as I could and I managed a small nod.

He returned the gesture and stepped into the void.

The bus took off slowly and then accelerated away. I sat put until the very last breath of that awful smell was gone from the air.

I breathed out slowly, my entire body regaining its feeling; all tense and now unwinding. I had not noticed until then, that I had crushed my new guitar strings in my palm.

To this day, not a soul has ever heard of Arthur Wheatstraw. I remember him though, I kept my promise.

Back in action!

2010-12-30T20:35:00.001-08:00

Melanchology is officially reopened!

Now check out this shit:

this is the end.

2010-11-05T20:23:00.002-07:00

... but its also the beginning!

I've been unavailable to blog for about a month now, but I'm starting a new one as of a couple days ago. The link is at the bottom. This final post marks the end of Melanchology.

also, happy birthday (REALLY LATE) to Julie :) -- hugs

------------------------------------------

CLICK HERE TO GO TO THE NEW BLOG!!!

2010-11-05T20:23:00.001-07:00

2010-09-15T01:53:00.001-07:00

The Room of Hours

2010-09-07T13:55:00.001-07:00

A young girl that stood five foot four, had short auburn hair, and brown eyes, awoke to immediately notice she was not in her bed. She lay naked in a room sixteen feet by sixteen feet; the walls a sanitized solid white color and emitting a soft light.

"Please, stay calm and know you are a safe", a disembodied voice echoed.

As the girl's vision re-assumed focus, her thoughts were soon to follow.

"Where am I?", she asked.

Before an answer could be produced, the voice soon combined into a haze before her which then appeared to be a man. He stood six foot two and wore a black suit; contrasting the room that surrounded them.

"Who are you?", she whimpered, as her body coiled into a recessive panic.

"I am Remedius", he replied.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"No, I'm going to protect you."

"From what?"

"The end of the world. You are safe here."

The girl's thoughts were scrambled, like a sickness in her mind run ravaged. Her head wanted to anchor itself to her subconscious sanity, but her tangible environment contested all comfort.

...to be continued.

Untitled Script

2010-08-27T18:02:00.001-07:00

-Fade In-
Astrid’s shoes looking up at the desk.
Shows motivational poster.
Shows job text stuff.

Astrid and her interviewer are seated in a square room, with square furniture, and 1960's Esq. art deco styling’s; bathed in an evil looming fluorescent light. Astrid is sitting back casually, but uncomfortable, while focused on her fingers, which she is flicking into each other to distract herself. The interviewer who is a slightly overweight and middle-aged woman, with cat glasses and a green cardigan, is looking over her resume with a stern and disheveled look upon her face.

The interviewer's eyes snap up.

Interviewer -
Are you aware that your previous employment history has been left blank?

Astrid looks up.

Astrid -
Yes... I… well this would be my first job. (She half smiles as she finishes this sentence)

Interviewer -
I see... (She looks back down)

Interviewer -
You only list one reference; a J.J.Slouth.

Astrid -
Oh yeah... she's my best uh… professional acquaintance.

Interviewer -
Professional, I thought this was your first job young lady?

Astrid -
This is, but she was an associate of mine when I was a volunteer worker.

Interviewer -
She? JJ sounds a bit more on the masculine side.

Astrid -
Her name is Jaime Jennifer heh.

Interviewer -
You listed "Spirit Photography" as a special skill, would you care to elaborate on what this is?

Astrid -
Oh sure! Well you know when you take a picture and you see a big white blur or a smudgy thing? Well sometimes it can actually be a ghost or "spirit" and I’m actually trained to decipher whether they're real or not.

Interviewer -
You also listed organ removal.

Astrid -
I'm a practical kinda girl.

Interviewer -
Did this volunteer job you mentioned have anything to do with either of these activities?

Astrid -
No, we actually worked with the homeless. There’s a shelter on 5th avenue that has a soup kitchen for homeless vagrants. I made the soup there with JJ.

Interviewer -
I see, please go on.

Astrid -
Well, JJ was seeing this guy that lived there. I mean he lived there sometimes. He was a street musician, and he took advantage of our little operation. She was volunteering there at the time because of him and because they couldn't get anyone else to actually cook for them and she just wanted me to help her.

Interviewer -
I see... ca…

Astrid (interrupts) -
You know this one time. It was early morning, about 6am and I had stayed in the building overnight. Well I woke up and made my way down the kitchen, very slowly. You know, it was one of those really cold mornings where you just feel like your bones are made of ice. So I was creeping up slowly and I heard these squealing sounds; sort of like a squeegee on a windshield or like if you rubbed your hand on saran wrap. Well I rounded the corner to the kitchen and sure enough I saw JJ getting double-teamed by her boyfriend Franco and this big black guy with an overcoat...

Interviewer -
...

Interviewer -
I'm required by federal law to ask you if you have ever been convicted of a felony and or have abused any narcotics.

Astrid -
Never been to the slammer... but hey, look, I'm not gonna lie: I soaked a bunch of tampons with gasoline and locked myself in the bathroom while wearing a winter coat in the bathtub... I wanted to make myself think i was a burrito.

Interviewer -
Young lady I…

Astrid -
Look, I'm going to be honest. We both know that some of the information that’s listed on this application would be what one would call well… stretched.

Interviewer -
Stretched?

Astrid -
Stretched, and you know, with how awful this economy is I think you know very well that my intentions when filling out this application were to get this job by any means possible. So if I were to li... I mean stretch these facts to a slight extremity; then I do so with the best intentions to feed my starving family.

Interviewer -
Your family is starving?

Astrid -
Yes, we're Romanian and if you've ever had to shop at Trader Joes, you know we might as well be.

Astrid -
Look, I will work hard for you, I will actually work harder than any employee you currently have or you can just fire me... no, you can kill me.

Interviewer -
KILL you?

Astrid -
Look lady, I have a gun. Give me this job.

Interviewer -
You have a gun? Are you threatening me?

Astrid -
No

Astrid -
Are you a lesbian?

Interviewer -
Excuse me

Astrid licks her lips while starring menacingly at the interviewer.

Interviewer -
I'm going to have to ask you to leave young lady.

Astrid -
Well fine, that’s your loss! But I’m taking... (picks up statue on desk) whatever the fuck this is!

Interviewer stares at her bewildered.

Astrid slams the door.

Astrid comes back in and points her hand in a gun shape at the interviewer.

Astrid -
BANG!!!

Astrid leaves again.

Rev - Part 2

2010-07-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

This story is much longer, but this is all I've written today:

I disregarded all notions of logic and recourse as I stepped inside my garage. The air was thick with the rubbery smell of fresh tires, slightly hinted with a scent of gasoline. The slick black floors were shined to a mirror finish and the overhead lighting reflected brilliantly on both the ground and the car’s metallic sheen. It was silent inside and the sound of my stilettos striking the hard floor echoed ever so gently off the walls.

Delilah sat there in her lifeless slumber on my newly installed hydraulic lift. I had bought it with my Christmas bonus so that I could work on her more easily. I starred at her uneasily for the first time ever; knowing that soon her now silent engine would roar to life in a flurry of unfettered power. My mind slowly unfolded the promise of the events to come. . . not knowing what they might be in the least of senses.

I shook my head clear and took the silver key out my purse. It had the mustang symbol casted in orange (matching the car, of course.)

When I settled into the driver’s seat and latched the seatbelts on, I realized that I was not wearing my suit or my racing boots, but rather my “work shoes”. I slid them off my feet and put them underneath the passenger seat, next to the cased nitrous control module. I slide the key into the ignition and depressed the clutch pedal. . . no going back now.

VRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRMMMRMMMMMM!!!

She awakened from her slumber as the RPMS soared and then slowly idled as the choke kicked off.

Rev - Part 1

2010-07-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

Rev
A short story by Evan Carter

I slammed my fist against the dashboard, overwhelmed with frustration. My car wouldn't turn over and I had to show up at work -which was ALL the way down town- in less than 45 minutes for the meeting of my life. Even more irritating was the fact that I was absolutely certain what the problem was, my damn starter! I had known it was going for about a week, but like an idiot, I neglected to take action.

"I'm too busy and tired" I had thought.

"I'll do it tomorrow", but tomorrow came and went, and now I'm here today with no mode of transportation.

My eyes aimlessly studied the lifeless gauges as my mind was flooded with a cadre of equally pointless ideas:

“Perhaps the bus?”. No! Of course that would mean ten or eleven transfers. I’d be lucky if I made it there in 3 hours and 45 minutes.

What about asking my neighbor if I could borrow his car? Oh wait, he was out of town on some trip to a country which name I couldn’t pronounce.

I even considered a taxi, but I lived about 20 miles from the nearest depot (yes I’ve actually counted for a situation like this); I might as well take the bus and ask the driver to go 15 under the speed limit.

As I sat there, my skin boiling and my subconscious silently contemplating grand theft auto, I started to realize that I was without options. I had but two choices: bite the bullet and miss my meeting, thereby ending my career, or take my other car.

Now, for almost anyone else, I’m sure this decision would be quite easy. In fact, you’re probably wondering what this crazy bitch is on about. Well here’s the deal, I work in fashion, which means that I wear high heels to work every day, a designer skirt that’s more expensive than a month’s worth of groceries, and I spend an hour doing my hair and makeup.

You see my career field is so centered around this appearance, that if one thing seemed critically out of place, if my hair wasn’t sheen and soft like wet velvet, if I didn’t gingerly hold my 15 calorie breakfast shake as I took bitch sips, if I didn’t giggle like a 15-year-old girl watching one of the Twilight movies when my boss made one of her horrendous jokes, I would be finished, compromised for all I’m worth and taken apart piece by dainty piece.

But I couldn’t afford to miss this meeting. You see it’s a merger between our design firm and one of our competitors. We would change the way LA views our industry… I had to make this!
I unlatched the garage door hinge and wrapped my soft, orange fingernail polished hands around the handle. The door rose and revealed the reason why I was now wondering what the easiest excuse would be or how far I’d have to park around the block from the office.

You see, part of the appearance I described, is the mode of transportation. Showing up in my snappy burnt orange business dress in a 2010 Toyota Prius wouldn’t be any less ordinary than a sunny day in LA, but this… this was anything but low profile.

Standing a foot in front of me was 428 cubic inches, 350 horsepower, and one amazing sky blue paintjob of career compromising office rumors. My 1967 Shelby GT-500 Ford Mustang, which no soul aside from my own knew I had bought, restored, and drove, was called Delilah; she was fierce.

Sadly, if anyone at work knew about this, I would be reduced to the equivalent of one of those intern designers that solely exists on the payroll to serve the higher positions their Starbucks.

xx's - Crystalised

2010-05-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

This song is absolutely breathtaking...

I will if I have to

2010-04-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

Another song.. I'm going to record this one. Title is in the.. well.. title lol.

I know that things can end at the drop of a hat
But I hope we don't
I know that the world can be unmade just like that
But I pray we won't

So don't let me die all alone
Talking to a ghost on the phone
And the clouds recede to the contention of infinity alone

Can't work in the store all by myself
With no one else
I'll stock my broken heart upon these shelves
It hurt so much

So don't let me die all alone
Talking to a ghost on the phone
And the clouds recede to the contention of infinity alone

I conceded to harmony
Pushing forth the second seed
Beyond desperation
Crying masturbation
Of this heart wrenching low
Oh please don't go

Oh I'll just die here all alone
Talking to that ghost on my phone
And you know the clouds will recede to the contention of infinity alone

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

2010-04-17T23:01:00.001-07:00

Ba da ba ba da ba ba da!

2010-04-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

Ok Go!, The Like, and Paramore!

Silver Chair

2010-04-06T00:17:00.001-07:00

I wrote this song after looking at a chair in the warehouse at my work.

Silver chair
Being so unaware
In your corner so lonely and bare
I wish I could sit and stare

You're not green, blue, red or white
I can't call you as black as the night
I listen as you don't do the same

All i wanted was a seat on the worst day of my life
To shed the endless tears ripe with my strife
You seldom glance but please give your shoulder to me
I don't have anyone else so please... oh please..

I want to go on and on and on
But its 30 minutes until I'm gone
Will you be hear when I return
Or is my hope ashes in the urn

Garnished lovely by roses of blue
Held together by nails and glue
Wondered why this feeling is new
Do do do do da do do

All i wanted was a seat on the worst day of my life
To shed the endless tears ripe with my strife
You seldom glance but please give your shoulder to me
I don't have anyone else so please... oh please..

Silver chair
Oh Silver chair
Why don't you hear
Why can't you care
Oh please despair
Or pull my hair
Anything to see you stare
Silver chair
Anything to see you stare
Silver chair
Anything to see you stare

Back at me.

Music of the Week

2010-03-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

Its a new week.. time for some great music!

You're a Wolf by Seawolf

This band is absolutely amazing; the rest of their work is well worth listening to, but this single has been stuck in my head and played on my guitar for about 3 weeks now. 5/5

Misguided Ghosts by Paramore

Paramore blindsided when they first hit the scene, they struck me with this indescribable energy that set them apart from similar bands in their genre and I didn't expect then to love them as much as I've come to now. Hayley has a remarkable voice and its beautifully accentuated in this song.

Electric Feel by MGMT

You've probably heard these guys on the radio numerous times, at least if you have a decent alternative station that is. This song is their staple and for good reason; if it's somehow eluded your ears up until this point, then you're in for a treat.

Work today.

2010-03-21T19:27:00.001-07:00

Was bad lol.

December Sun

2010-03-13T22:57:00.001-08:00

This is the name of my new band... I'm very excited. More to come.

Nona

2010-03-08T20:01:00.001-08:00

I know a girl who's quite a brilliant artist. I don't think she thinks so, and I don't think she knows I have this drawing she did! Neither did I actually, until of course, I found it tonight. Now normally, I would never post another artist's work like this without their permission, but I know she'd never let me and its sad to think that no eyes other than my own should ever look upon it.

Its a self portrait, done in pen.

Blue Light

2010-02-23T23:13:00.000-08:00

I took this picture today. It was a friend of mine sitting in the most exquisite natural lighting coming through a nearby window. I found the whole focus of light rather beautiful.

World of Warcraft

2010-02-12T00:54:00.000-08:00

Some studies have shown that people who either quit WoW suddenly or worse yet are forced to quit by other means, sometimes display characteristics of recovering heroin addicts. I never got that addicted, by that I mean as addicted as this kid apparently was:

Please note that at approximately 1:11 in, he tries to shove a remote control up his ass. Now I'm not judging anyone here, I used to be pretty hardcore with WoW... but damn.

Painting - Work in Progress

2010-02-03T21:27:00.000-08:00

pRODUCED.

2010-01-27T21:04:00.000-08:00

I don't know about this drawing, but I did draw it.

Passer by.

2010-01-27T19:48:00.000-08:00

You know the guys that you see sleeping underneath the freeway overpasses? The one's that wear those tarnished covered rags and live in places primarily constructed out of cardboard and black trash bags? Perhaps that's all you see of them, the remains of the bed they slept in or the crumpled brown paper bags littered on the ground. You peer through your car window and let your mind dance around the idea of living like that, only for a moment though before your reality denies such thoughts. For that brief moment though, you consider things about such a condition of life, perhaps how cold it is at night, how many bugs and animals would share your bed, or perhaps you wonder how you'd get along without your email. All this is only pondered for that moment though, during which you feel badly for those that must undoubtedly endure this briefly fathomed idea not through a window, but as a permanent reality... then you turn up the radio, resume your conversation, or whatever and let this violent sea of thoughts, short yes but nevertheless harsh, come to a calm.

How many similar moments in single day, both grim and positive, sink briefly only to come up gasping for breath. I guess what I'm trying to say is I don't want the routine of my job or life to require abandoning the day dream, because the loss of focus is exactly the kind of the thing I need to see clearly through the eternally flawed looking glass of reality.

I don't know how to write a great story... yet. Considering the weight of that word too, "great", like the other four letter counterpart, hate, its not a word that should be used in front of others lightly. I haven't clue... but I do have some thoughts and I think those are a good first step.

Where is my mind?

2010-01-20T00:54:00.000-08:00

...apparently its now inside my head again because my hands want to finish this painting. I've decided that flying squids should be added as well as some foreground clouds for the sake of depth. It still looks like shit even in its phase here. I just wanted to post this to remind myself to keep working on it in addition to other projects.

Ed Talks About Iraq

2010-01-18T23:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, I really have a lot to talk about. I'm skating on the premise of an amazingly invigorating rush of inspiration for this story concept I have, including a first draft for said story.. yay! I'm thoroughly fatigued beyond human limits from an absolutely horrendous work week... BUT, before I say anything, Ed would like to spin a yarn about his experience in Iraq; lets enjoy (insert ellipses)

The Flute Is Gangsta....motherfuka!

2009-12-24T21:23:00.001-08:00

Apple Painting - WIP

2009-12-11T22:28:00.000-08:00

Work in progress... apple in the sky!

Thank you Joann!

2009-12-09T20:48:00.000-08:00

Thank you to my amazingly talented friend Joann for producing these pieces of artwork for me :).

My coworkers....

2009-12-07T00:25:00.000-08:00

Clint: Father, Goodwill Industries employee, professional truck driver.

My friends...

2009-12-01T23:01:00.000-08:00

So I thought I'd do something different and add a personal note for the first time in a long time. I've resumed full work on my artwork and progress towards my goal. It was briefly sidetracked by bad vibe reverberated by work and other things, but that is now a grain of sand in the bottom of the hour glass. I've uploaded some pics illustrating some things from my personal life.

This is my workstation where I do my digital artwork and gaming.

This is my desk where all works of traditional means are done, aside from field work of course.

This is my electric guitar Michelle and my cheap crappy amp.

These are my two acoustic guitars Amelia and Autumn.

Finally we have a couple pieces of shitty artwork!

Cheers,
Evan

Fuck.

2009-11-30T15:39:00.001-08:00

Menya Zovut Shnur

2009-11-27T23:43:00.001-08:00

Эта песня является удивительной!!!

Thankful

2009-11-26T12:24:00.000-08:00

I suppose that Thanksgiving is the time to reflect and pay tribute and thanks to what you value most in your life. I can agree with this because this is the first year where this traditional idea truly meant something to me.

My mom and I have always spent this time of year together and just the two of us. I grew used to the idea of not having a large family around an even larger table. Well last time this year I was scared that it would have been the last time my mom and I would be able to sit at any table together. I was afraid she was going to succumb to her illness. Thank god I can say that is in the past now.

I am most thankful my mom is here to share this day with me, which I consider the most important Thanksgiving in memory. I'm fine with just my mom and me, because if its anything I've learned its that family cannot be counted in numbers, can't be looked up in colors and can only be counted in the uncountable value that is love.

Love you Mom, thank you for all the years and the many more to come and Happiness and Peace to all my dear friends.

-Evan Carter

Anne

2009-11-23T22:37:00.001-08:00

She was sixteen
And six feet tall
In a crowd of teenagers
Coming out of the zoo.

She stumbled
Started to slip and fall
Teeter tottered on the top
Of patent leather shoes.

I happen to catch her and said
"maybe these ruby shoes are
A little cumbersome for you."

Maybe for you, now.

But not as shaky
As I must've seemed
Talking junk through her
Giggle little teenage dream.

And on the phone I could not compete
My dumb luck
Fake confidence
Was getting weak.

And for a sec
I thought I sounded sweet
But sure enough In a gruff voice I heard myself speak...

I could stay awhile
But sooner or later
I'll break your smile
And I can tell a joke
But one of these days
I'm bound to choke
And we might share a kiss
But I feel like I can't go
Through with this
And I bet we could build a home
But I know the right thing
For me to do
Is to leave you alone

I'm beginning to like you
So you probably won't get
What I'm going to do.

I'm walking away from you
It probably don't make
No sense to you.

But I'm trying to save you
From all of the things that
I'll probably say or do.

I'll probably do, now.

I could stay awhile
But sooner or later
I'll break your smile
And I can tell a joke
But one of these days
I'm bound to choke
And we might share a kiss
But I feel like I can't go
Through with this
And I bet we could build a home
But I know the right thing
For me to do
Is to leave you alone

You'll probably call me a fool
And say I'm doing exactly
What a coward would do.

And I'm beginning to like you
It's a shame
What a lame way to live
But what can i do?

Well I hope you appreciate
What I do...

I'm a martyr for my love for you.

iGun™

2009-11-18T01:45:00.001-08:00

Upload your gangsta online... and then into someone's ass! Now in five different colors! Also try the iGun Nano, its thinner than a cheap condom and it be showin' it like a mutha fucka...

Wiigasm

2009-11-18T01:41:00.000-08:00

Wiigasm (Wee-gaz-em) Noun.
1, An extreme and sudden release of excitement and psychopathic emotion upon receiving a Nintendo Wii. (See exhibit A)

You don't fuck with Jeff Goldblum

2009-11-15T22:48:00.000-08:00

You really just don't...

Pretty Much.

2009-11-13T01:09:00.001-08:00

Crow Jane... Crow Jane...

2009-11-10T21:43:00.000-08:00

Skip James... now that kids is a real blues man.

Shining Star

2009-11-10T02:04:00.000-08:00

Linger not in the somber skies oh melancholy star
Beckon loud now so you touch my ears afar
Mourn not the sullen paces amongst the long road
Let not your tears fall unheard
Let not your eyes rest uneasy on sights so dismay and cold

You are the lucid sound through time and the majesty above
Heard only on the winds so gentle to crest your words
Be not bound by the gates so black be as the unimpeded dove

You hand will touch not my own lest your song sung mighty and with love
Our eyes will meet at late in the tender suns above
Please sing to my ears but more grandly to my heart
For when our swan's step comes to rest once more comes to start

Sing oh words so true as those, sing oh words across the planes
Sights behold to your beauty warning to my own
The time draws to a narrow, the hour not so far
Linger nevermore, for you are now my shining star

I'll tear my heart out....

2009-11-01T23:33:00.001-08:00

...before I get out.

I found my name tag and got paid overtime! woot.

Norwegian Wood

2009-11-01T01:15:00.000-07:00

Thats a good song...

Okay so that last post is bullshit now, lets rewind a bit. I'm going to try an experiment here. This experiment in expressive and exploratory writing will inhibit the following qualities:

)1. Straighforward expression
)2. Absolute truth
)3. Bad grammar

Ready. Set. Bad. Grammar. Go

I'm getting older and I want a meaningful relationship and I'm tired of going to bed alone every night but I can't complain too much because other things in my life are going well. I'm grateful for those things and my friends that don't ditch me on halloween night like a bunch of cunt rags.

Okay cool great, I want a nice girlfriend that will love me for what I am and what I want to become and be content with our relationships stronger qualities not being based around money or sex. She can't look like Jack Pallance or 300 pounds though, I'm sorry but I have to have some standards.. I am only human, natural selection.. whatever the fuck.

Finally... lets talk about God... No actually lets talk about The Beatles. They are the best band ever, they're not better than God, but they are better than Led Zeppelin... ROB. YES ITS TRUE; STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN IS OVER-FUCKING-RATED.

I lost my nametag. Boss got mad.. THEY COST 1 DOLLAR TO MAKE GO HAVE AN ESKIMO PIE AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.

.goodnight.

PS: By the power vested in me by the state of Washington, I hereby declare this November the first and all that follow: Jeff Goldblum Day

5jefjiowerjio35690 4b692346jop346jhio6773u89w

2009-10-31T23:02:00.000-07:00

fuck work. fuck asshole customers. fuck losing my name tag. fuck halloween. fuck friends ditching you. fuck tripping over some idiots mess. fuck my artwork. fuck my music. fuck my blog. fuck my life.

This post marks the end of this blog for the time being. I don't want to post any of my terrible artwork, terrible music, or terrible thoughts anymore right now. Maybe some day. But not now.

The End.

The Blower's Daughter

2009-10-27T19:44:00.001-07:00

Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Did I say that I loathe you?
Did I say that I want to
Leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...
My mind...my mind...
'Til I find somebody new

Sometime Around Midnight

2009-10-25T03:18:00.000-07:00

And it starts...
Sometime around midnight
Or at least that's when
You lose yourself
For a minute or two

As you stand...
Under the bar lights
And the band plays some song
About forgetting yourself for a while
And the piano's this melancholy sound track
To her smile
And that white dress she's wearing
You haven't seen her
For a while

But you know...
That she's watching
She's laughing, she's turning
She's holding her tonic like a crux
The room suddenly spinning
She walks up and asks how you are
So you can smell her perfume
You can see her lying naked in your arms

And so there's a change...
In your emotions
And all of these memories come rushing
Like feral waves to your mind
Of the curl of your bodies
Like two perfect circles entwined
And you feel hopeless, and homeless
And lost in the haze
Of the wine

And she leaves...
With someone you don't know
But she makes sure you saw her
She looks right at you and bolts
As she walks out the door
Your blood boiling
Your stomach in ropes
And when your friends say what is it
You look like you've seen a ghost

And you walk...
Under the streetlights
And you're too drunk to notice
That everyone is staring at you
And you so care what you look like
The world is falling
Around you

You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her

And you know that she'll break you
In two

"Like all things, strength, both inner and outer, is relative. Even the rigid pillar of iron that is struck deeply into the earth will be shaken by the wind at moments, sometimes blown over completely. If such an object could think, I'd imagine that it would ask itself if it would be stronger were another pillar beside it, perhaps to hold it up against all the force that batters it. Then I know for sure it would try to forget such things because it has to accept that it must face this alone and it must survive as best it can. Maybe someday, another rigid pillar would be hammered down in its place beside it, something that belongs there to accompany such a lonely thing."

Here's Your Future

2009-10-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

God reached his hand down from the sky
He flooded the land, when he set it afire

He said, "Fear me again, know I'm your father,
Remember that no one can breathe underwater."

So bend your knees and bow your heads
Save your babies, here's your future...

YEAH HERE'S YOUR FUTURE!!!

God reached his hand down from the sky
God asked Noah if he wanted to die
He said, "No Sir, oh, no Sir!"
God said, "Here's your future.
It's gonna rain..."

So we packing our things
We're building a boat
We're gonna create the new master race
'Cause we're so pure, oh Lord we're so pure!!!

So here's your future...

God told his son, "It's time to come home.
I promise you won't have to die all alone.
I need you to pay for the sins I create."
Son said, "I will, but Dad, I'm afraid!!!"

So here's your future...
So here's your future...
So here's your future.

Champions Online

2009-08-30T20:33:00.001-07:00

Its almost here!!!

http://champions-online.com/

Gestures!

2009-08-29T22:14:00.001-07:00

Gesture drawings:

Comic Update #1

2009-08-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm gonna start posting about what comics I've been reading lately. I know only a few people read this blog and actually care.. but meh, whatever lol. So this week... we haaaveeee...

I Kill Giants Issue #1-2 - This comic is incredible!!! Its about a girl named Barbara Thorson, a 5th grader who literally lives in a world all her own. Is she a giant slaying superhero with the power of an ancient Norse hammer? Is she an uncooperative snarky teenager who plays DnD in her spare time? Or is she a harmless little girl who is highly intelligent and has trouble fitting in at school? She's all of the above and this wonderful comic from Joe Kelly is ripe with unique style.

Nana #1 - This is an older book from 1999 I believe, but its a hidden gem that I'm glad I discovered. Basically you have two girls named Nana that both live in Tokyo, wind up meeting on a train, and eventually become roomates. One is a twenty-something punk rocker and the other is a sappy post-high school girl who falls in love at the drop of a hat. This is a great example of how manga pioneered comics influence into genres beyond sci-fi and superheroes despite being released late in the 90s.

Chew Issue #3 - This is a brand new series that my local comic book sage, Chuck, down at Evolution Comics in Puyallup recommended. Chuck commented on how he's always the first to adopt a new original series before it gains a hit following haha. I'm glad I jumped on the Chuck wagon with this one, because this near-future story of a cop named Tony Chu that lives in a world in which meat has been outlawed and posses a psychic ability to see the history of anything he eats, is both amazingly well constructed artistically and compelling to read.

That's it for this week! I'm also making progress on my own book Melanchology and I hope to post some drawings real soon.

Jim Lee

2009-08-27T20:25:00.001-07:00

Jim Lee is a master of the pencil, a rightful titan in the comic industry to stand at equal with the talents of Jack Kirby and Will Eisner. I love watching Jim Lee draw, I absolutely can't get enough of it. His command over the human figure and his understanding of composition and storyline is nothing short of genius... and NO ONE, does Batman like Mr. Jim Lee does Batman.

Extraordinary Depths

2009-08-24T05:58:00.000-07:00

You've had a hard time and you've had many things bring tears.... you're such a wonderful person and I hope you woke up to a better morning today. I hope you woke up in a better place of comfort.

Julie, this note is for you my dear friend <3

Shadow Scar

2009-08-19T17:17:00.000-07:00

Darwin Thatcher was a man that often allowed his emotions to guide his actions and carry his judgment. He possessed a short temper of immense manifestation. He would break things, shout obscenities, and sometimes… even hurt himself in his storms of fury. However… under no circumstances, no matter how intense his rage became, he vowed to never harm those he cared for, and thus his word was kept. Yet he always feared that one day his principle might be betrayed by his own hands; that he would eventually lose control his anger at the worst possible moment.

One day in a fit of rage, brought on by his hatred of his father, the most potent catalyst to his unrestrained ferocity… Thatcher had hit his wife, not hard, but a slap across her face in a heated argument was all that was needed to drive her and their four year old daughter to leave him in a storm of tears. When his calm and rational feelings finally took hold, Darwin was devastated upon reflecting his actions.

After consuming a large portion of alcohol in an attempt to drown his remorse and melancholy, Darwin Thatcher learned that his wife and daughter were killed in a car accident, by a drunken driver…

For months he lived in a suspended state of perpetual numbness and despondency. Countless broken bottles of whiskey littered the floor of his dilapidated apartment as he waited to either die or be killed, whichever came first he didn’t care.

In a final bought of wrath, Darwin brandished a rusty blade and cut his wrists from top to bottom in large circles, absolutely assuring that he would bleed to death. He fell to the floor in a crimson pool of warm blood as the exposed light bulb in the bathroom burst and darkness swept into all corners of the room.

As Darwin drew his last breath, as he faded into the abysmal twilight, two ghostly figures appeared before him. The first of these apparitions called himself Darkseer, Herald of the Shadow and the second Seraph, Scribe of the Light. These beings both spoke to Darwin with unrelenting sympathy and told him that they were instructed to offer him a second chance on life, a chance to atone for his actions, for his sins… but also that this offer came with a price.

Darwin bellowed to these creatures that he would gladly pay any price to redeem himself, that he would do any deed. The two beings nodded and in a flash of light and a wave of darkness they collided inside of Darwin’s body becoming part of his very soul.

He heard a hollow voice inside his head: “In the depths of every human heart exists both light and darkness. These two sides of our soul coexist in balance when we are born, and become brighter or dimmer as we grow older. It is by the choice of every human being, as to whether we are consumed by shadow or filled with light. Are we the weapons of evil and tyranny or the voices of peace and the good of mankind. You, Darwin Thatcher now embody the supreme and absolute power of the righteous and just, the very essence of the good that exists in all human soul, and thus you must defend it against those that oppose the noble and true… but with this great power of the light you must forever carry the scars of the shadow that consumed your own heart. You must forever remember that evil never rests, even in the face of purity itself, and thus you must never let the darkest of shadows prevail over you. You are now the Shadow Scar”

Champagne Supernova In The Sky

2009-08-16T03:52:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3C7DECI0jU

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams she never dies
Wipe that tear away now from your eye
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you when we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high

Drew Struzan

2009-08-12T02:21:00.000-07:00

I've always loved illustrator Drew Struzan. I grew up with his work on my favorite movie sleeves and posters, and I was delighted to see that the Nostalgia Critic made a video about it him. If you're not familiar with this magnificent artist, then I suggest watching it; the ol' critic explains it better than I could:

The Wall

2009-08-10T20:06:00.001-07:00

He stared at the blank fortress, breathed into the wall a carefully collected orchaestra of words that had been brooding in his mind but never came to speech. Darwin Thatcher admitted that he hated his father as he bellowed the words towards the dark wall, the exclamation a bloody fist that shattered the drywall.

Who Watches The Watchmen?

2009-08-09T22:42:00.000-07:00

"For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise ... and step into the shadow now without complaint."

-Rorshach

The sun is gone, but I have a light.

2009-08-09T19:44:00.000-07:00

The sun was settling down into the horizon like a child yawning in slumbered submission, before cradling into his mothers arms; its last breath of the day cascading over the trees and buildings near the library bathing them in a lovely soft light. There were many young couples sprawled out amongst the grass whom were embraced under shades of light that left shadows of innocence and hope in varying degrees. There lay eyes that had not seen death, there rested hearts unbroken, and yet there was a cynical vigil sewed into their fate that only someone like me could see; seeing through their lovely facade to their eventual grim, sorrowed reality.

Nothing ever lasts forever in the world of tangible fate, and in the same reality, some never see a beginning without considering its end.

I waved goodbye to the sun and stepped into the dark reaches of stillness that lay in its wake, and the pure voice of simplicity. I smiled.

"Arm"ageddon....

2009-08-09T01:13:00.001-07:00

/Puns

"Armed" and Dangerous

2009-08-08T14:17:00.000-07:00

Turbo puns!

Practice Sketches

2009-07-30T23:51:00.000-07:00

Practice, practice, practice!!

Still hot..

2009-07-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

Damn you weather... oh well. I had a great salad tonight, it was almond chicken with a blue cheese ginger sauce; it was pro.

Here are some not-so-pro random sketches of stuff:

Its hot...

2009-07-27T20:11:00.000-07:00

..and its not going to cool down for four days O.o.

Heres a sketch in my new style, more to come:

Also, I'm sort of writing a novel.. yep heh.

Meet the Wifebeater

2009-07-25T10:58:00.001-07:00

Don't panic! Theres no actual "wife beating" heh.. its just the name of the main character written in by my friend Kurt and myself :).

I found a Kirby!

2009-07-22T21:06:00.001-07:00

This is a video I recorded a few months back...

Somewhere In Spain...

2009-07-19T22:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I write very random and unstructured things... this is one of them. It has a meaning, its part of a story, but that story exists somewhere other than my mind right now.. I suppose. I'll post more stuff like this.

1845 - Somewhere in Spain

The room was calm and still as the gentle candle light bounched amongst the oak panneled walls and illuminated the immense collection of books that were shelved before it. The darkness outside veiled all sight beyond it as it loomed ominously through the dirty glass planes of the one window in the room. A large desk made of oak stood before this window, and the rows of books extended outwards on the ajacent walls, all the way to the door, thirty feet in both directions without break. There stood two figures in the room, one fair and of curves, one servant to listen.

Her long fingers danced with the candlelight as her velvet voice struck to his ears. "Seldom do I ask for an ear to confinde, but you must listen to me Theodore!". Her eyes, her green eyes, so daring yet welling with tears snapped from the soft glow of the candle on the edge of the desk to the man standing but four feet away.

Theodore, a man of a harmless stature, standing but five foot four looked upon this woman with undoubtful respect and fear of her words as his fingers were locked together in front of him. His silence was gesture enough to indiciate his yearnful diposition, he was poised to listen..

"Pierced to no mending and torn asunder is my very heart" she said with quivered breath, lost of the commanding nature of her previous words.

“The eve of my life’s final descent and the the departure from my tortured soul is upon me with un-faltered haste… and by my own decision.” She continued...

“Madam?” Theodore questioned in a low whisper

The candlelight snapped from side to side violently as if struck by an invisible hand.

“I’m succumbing to a malady not of a physical threat as it is, but rather a carefully placed arrow of sorrow bearing a course of undeniable convinction to the center of my human will..”

“All of those people…”

The candlight stilled as if hung upon her words…

“Many times have my hands welcomed warm blood, but always to in dedication to those who were need of aid... Now there exisits blood on my hands that cannot be concealed by any means of rational judgement, blood that cannot be erased with water, cannot be remedied; this blood is not my own, but I would rather be skewered to a cold stone wall ten score times to no end by the hands of the most malicious of unfathomed horrors than see… smell… taste.. or gaze upon but one drop of the blood that is now scarred by shame into my skin.”

“Theodore…”

The candlelight illumated a hidden depth to Theodore’s misted eyes as his hands clutched together in a very tight, yet unaware grip. He studied the most minute of movements this woman made as if every fiber that composed her being was pointing to a clue that would tell him how the world would end.

She clenched something tight in her hand, he did not notice her pick it up off the desk.

Her lips parted as her final words escaped in an almost silent apology of her final days..

“…let Elestria never repeat the sins of her mother’s tragic account….”

The candlelight was now a whisp of smoke as the sound of the gunshot rang into the empty night..

Garry's Mod

2009-07-13T01:17:00.001-07:00

(Click to enlarge)

Is sooooo awesome. More to come, including the explanation of this screenshot.. but for now, sleep.

Meet The Artist

2009-07-12T17:51:00.000-07:00

Lets talk about passion...

Passion for ones work, for one's life, for one's lover; disregarding the specific context of the word, the basic definition and more importantly, the requirements to call it such remain unchanged in my humble opinion. It is the unresting pursuit of a subject, undertaken with the most considered of approaches in the interest of the greatest personal happiness of doing so.

Its not something I could easily live without. I like being absorbed into something I'm working on, it helps distract me if anything else, from the other mysterious and often unforgiven qualities of life.

I questioned for a moment, a few weeks, but lets a call it a moment, the motivation.. the fuel that drives the creative engine of "unresting pursuit".

I think some people want to make a difference in this world, and I think some do. Would I? Would I make a difference that would matter to society as a whole? Would I make money? Would people respect me for what I did? Would I be better off as a doctor... an engineer? a soldier?

....

Wrong. The only question that matters is, "Why do I do what I do?".

Everything is relative to a persons perspective view of the world. We all experience things in different ways, but more importantly, with different results. One person might cry at the same film that three-thousand others laugh at and only at a specific point. One person will tell me that I shouldn't be an artist and two others for that person will say that I should... but if we all base our decisions and actions soley on the views of every other individual then we become a produced and calculated result of everyone else around us.

I want to be an animator because I feel that I was meant to make this specific contribution to whatever you will define society as. I think in darker times, we need things that remind us to laugh and smile. I think I understand why I can stop to appreciate the subtle beauty of the slightly askewed perspective of a receeding road and while others will stop, look at the same thing and call me absolutely insane... and more importantly to that point, why I don't give a shit.

I love what I do, and even though I have no guaranteed plan of how I'm going to pay for my education... I still LOVE what I do.

I'm an artist and no matter if I want the title or not, no matter if I wear the lab coat of a doctor, the jump suit of an engineer, or the fatigues of a soldier... the principle and the passion will always exist within.

”Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life.” Picasso.

Meet The Engineer

2009-06-07T03:46:00.001-07:00

Team Fortress 2... this game kicks extremely large amounts of ass and me and my friends have been playing the living shit out of it!

Valve, the game's developer, makes these little animated introductions of the game's various characters; this one here is for the engineer class:

This is a fan-art drawing I did of the engineer. I really suck at digital painting... MUST IMPROVE!

Lifeline

2009-06-04T18:54:00.000-07:00

Heres another great film out of the magical land of animation genius that is Calarts!

Lifeline - by Andres Salaff

A Case Of The Tuesdays

2009-05-19T23:41:00.001-07:00

Okay so today was kind of a crappy day...

Like most people, one of my favorite things to do to relax and cheer myself up into a more comfortable zone, is listen to my favorite music. More often than not lately, this has consisted largely of going to Youtube and watching covers and original arrangements by various Youtube artists.

So, for the sake of sharing my joy, I'm going to start writing blog entries in which I list my favorite covers, original songs, and live performances by my favorite and most beloved Youtube arists because I'm seriously convinced that some of the greatest talent of our generation exists on youtube!

Today we have seven of my favorite covers.. why seven? Just seems like a good number:

Pirates of The Carribean Theme (He's a Pirate) - performed by hemo1985

Across the Universe (The Beatles)- performed by midnightfirefly14

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana) - performed by radiopeace

Would You Like To Play The Guitar (Pat Donahue) - performed by fretkillr

CLICK HERE TO VIEW

Yellow (Coldplay) - Performed by syncopatedheart

Today (Smashing Pumpkins) - performed by terranaomi and her band

Jerry's Breakdown (Jerry Reed) - performed by Antoine Dufour and Tommy Gauthier on a SINGLE guitar!

Rock on guys!!!

Solitude closest to chaos?

2009-05-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today I went for a walk; a walk which very quickly transformed into an adventure as I walked further down a path of stone behind my apartments. The prosaic sounds consistenting most strictly of car horns and people moving through life at a pace that is both too quick and too familar faded away swiftly as the path broke into a trail. This trail, appropriately named River Trail, snaked parallel to the Puyallup River for what seemed to my distant gaze... miles.. glorious secluded miles.

I continued my journey, free from my worries, free from the bonds that I've thought one would have to travel leagues to escape... it was beautiful. The concrete stormed melancholy soundtrack of busy intersections was effortlessly replaced by nature's lucid symphany of rushing water, birds, and the omnipotent odor of undisturbed brilliance.

Intersecting the trail at a point was a small opening adorned in leaves and branches but still inviting for human steps. The path broke into a wonder to be hold, a private beach.. private to nature herself. Soft sand, driftwood, fish rushing underneath the water, absolute peace and lull tranquility undisturbed as the sun cascaded behind the veil of the swaying trees.

Great day for a walk! Heres some pics.

..and the sun rises again..

2009-05-13T05:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm up early this morning! Only a little bit earlier than usual, but early. So I decided to write a quick little note here about the state of my character in WoW! Which one? Well.. the only one I really ever play, my faithful mage, Naulen.

Here is Naulen as he appears now, wearing his tier 8 chest piece, which makes his current attire a "pant-suit".. sigh... lol; I do have to say though, its nice to not wear a "dress" on my mage for the first time in.. well.. forever. Included, are also a couple screenshots of the new UI I designed!

Who's Hungry?

2009-05-08T19:59:00.000-07:00

I love watching student animated films.. and I especially love them when they succeed the quality of content found on television. Such is definitely the case with "Who's Hungry?", a first year film from Calarts student David Och.

This tale is terrifying, adorable, and absolutely brilliant!

Swine Flu

2009-04-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

Well.. I drew this today...

M-I-C .. K-E-Y.. W-T-F

2009-04-25T22:21:00.001-07:00

Just wow... roflmaoomgwtf.. but just wow...

More drawings!

2009-04-22T21:29:00.000-07:00

My second week in the open life drawing class was quite excellent! We got a new model as I was hoping and I was able to get a few half-decent sketches down, still not nearly portfolio quality, but we're getting there!

The professor said that the classes will continue during the summer beginning in June, so now I don't have to worry about finding a new one. Yay.

Here are a few sketches from the sessions:

These are a couple pages from my sketchbook; all drawn from life, except the yellow crack addicted fellow lol.

Fast Food Folk Song

2009-04-16T23:06:00.000-07:00

This is pretty wicked..

Life, and Drawing It

2009-04-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Okay.. so I want to talk about a few random things before I go to bed.. FIRST..

Julie, I'm so happy you're home now! :) I missed ya and I hope you have a speedy recovery! Love ya!

I'm looking forward to going to Calarts; at least, thats where I want to go; I want to be a character animator one day. Will it happen?, I think so but we shall see :).

Okay so I went to this figure drawing class at the local college, it was surprisingly relaxing and everyone was really nice and supportive of eachother. Nice change from drawing alone in Cafe's - heh.

Here is a sketch I did of the model, I believe this was a 10-minute one.

Finally I would like to post this picture. This is a pic of the sign outside Alfy's Pizza next door to my apartment. You know your towns economy is failing when you see this shit..

La Maison en Petit Cubes

2009-04-07T23:28:00.000-07:00

I found this animated short while I was browsing Youtube the other day. I can't believe i missed this one! It won an academy award for Best Animated Short and rightfully so.

Best scream ever?

2009-04-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

Better believe it!

/Yawn

2009-04-06T05:56:00.001-07:00

I'm up pretty early this morning, which is odd because I hate waking up early, especially if I have to work lol. I'm the kind of person that is somehow always on time anyway, regardless of when I head out... anyhow, I thought I'd post some random artwork this morning. A couple old pieces and a couple new ones, nothing special at all:

I'd like to also wish my friend Julie an extra special excellent day.. <3 <3 <3

I'm not like them; I can't pretend.

2009-04-04T22:35:00.000-07:00

Today I went for a stroll, a stroll with a purpose to capture some interesting people in my sketch book. Truthfully, I can find interest in a variety of subjects... a woman arguing with her boyfriend, two kids playing catch, crows fighting over pieces of bread, a broken telephone pole... However, not one of these things ended up in my sketchbook this afternoon.. but point made.

I was however privied to a view, while resting on a bench afar in the corner of the park, of an older gentlemen playing with a child. I didn't know their relation to one another, my best guess was that the little guy was his grandson. As I removed my sketchbook from my pack and began to flesh out the structure of this scene before me, I started considering the unique gestures present, starting from the man's stance and working towards what his eyes were affixed towards.

The man himself was sitting, slouched over, his back arched forward as if leaning on his own support; his legs extended outward, lazy and relaxed and with his arms rested in his lap. His body gesture was not unordinary by any means, his facial expression however was most revealing of something out of place in this seemingly delightful scene. His eyes were not affixed towards the child playing before him, but were looking downwards, seemingly scolding the ground as if locked in a contest with is will... He looked bewildered, angry, and most definitely beyond all assumptions, troubled by something that was not of tangible form but rather deep inside his subconscious.

By contrast, the small boy, the child, was frivolously enjoying the motion of his own body.. laughing and dancing like a small bird that has caught a worm from the soil. As I carefully observed his movements, and sketched the gestures of his dance, the pattern that emerged before me inspired my mind to wander. I could remember when I was that young, but realized that no matter how much I pondered and even observed, I couldn't truly understand anymore what this child was feeling, I could never return to being so careless and free as my former child-self. I smiled, envious slightly, but more so humbled by the power of the observation itself..

The man in stark contrast to this small boy was distressed about things this child probably didn't even know existed in the same universe as himself, but as the man embraced this boy in his arms he almost transcended himself to become as if un-aged 50 years.. he was so serenely happy for that moment, a moment that probably meant more to him than any other in his life to that point.. and the child not even knowing this, was just happy to be with his grandfather. It was pure innocence incarnate if I had ever layed eyes on it before.

And so here I was.. the artist, so privileged to capture this moment not of my own mind and kneel in respect for its brilliance to me.

As artists, it is our power and responsibility to capture these images and to humble before what they mean to the subject. I want to understand what I'm drawing, I want to know my characters and I want to be part of their story.. I think thats what will make me the animator I want to be.

--------------------------------

Also.. to my troubled friend Trevor:

Mistakes we make in our lives do not make us mistakes as people, but rather encompass a necessary part of our growth. Mistakes as much as success can provide us with reflection of what we like and dislike and what we want to do with our lives. Ask yourself what you want to do with your life, which is just as valuable as anyones, and decide how you're going to do it.. you don't have to have all the answers, no one does, just keep on to the plan you feel is best. You will make mistakes, it will not be easy, but whats the point of even living if you don't set out in the first place out of pure fear of failure? Remember that no matter how small a positive thing may seem, it is still a positive and you must try and find, and focus on these things... because by contrast, even a small positive element is better than the largest negative in your life. I don't want you to be happy all the time and I don't expect you to be a certain way to be a good friend, I like you for whoever you want to be.. as long as you're true to yourself.

Artwork

2009-04-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

Well.. my cell phone camera offically sucks balls, but heres some sketches anyway:

LEGS
HANDS

My Love In 92'

2009-03-31T22:57:00.001-07:00

My Love In 92'

Marvelous and crimson before my eyes

A rosewood neck and real spruce sides

Stratocaster on the head

My face of yearning deep in red

I walked away and let a sigh

Beauty evades all but my eyes

My hands tremble for its feel

Its voice so cosmic and surreal

Forward I moved on down the street

Tis no longer concrete beneath my feet

Where were the people, where had I come

The buildings were dark and there was no sun

I stop on yonder to rest my step

An echoe of a shadow to my side had crept

A cloak of soil and a face of decay

This figure before me had something to say

Flee not from me or suffer my intent

Empty your pockets of every last cent

Disobey and be taught my lesson

Said as he produced his smith and wesson

Shuffled were my hands to my contents inside

The last of my coins to his palms I confied

He crept afar slowly, his eyes fixed to me

My gaze never broke until he was too far to see

Why now did I deserve such an act

What actions of mine should have I retract

My hands found my brow now moisted by fear

My body moved onward with no mind to steer

Finally I had come back to the light

My heart torn a sunder from all its might

I shuffled on down to the cafe on 1st

Slumped down in my seat accepting the worst

My thoughts flashed abroad to hours now gone

My precious red darling oh sing me a song

Tell me of how I could see through this day

Through her voice I could surely find a way

Oh woe was the moment when this thought had past

I knew since that moment that my hope could not last

For my hands were empty and my voice was still

My smile forgotten along with my will

The sun abandon the city as the hour grew late

I made for home and accepted my fate

The night had come as I passed fith and main

The urge to start weeping was hard to refrain

I sat with no care on the side of my street

When something bright orange was now under my feet

A concert was playing across the way

A voice bellowed forth with something to say

Stoic my thoughts but swift was my step

Across the pavement I ran, up the curb I lept

A smile blossomed finally for me

Delighted was I to find that the concert was free

I wandered inside with my heart a lift

Heard on the air was a lightning fast riff

The smell of ozone from the amps on the stage

The roar of the band, their torment and rage

A maelstrom of fans were now before me

Screaming along with the bands anarchy

Salvation from my pain was born from my fury

I beat my head wild till my vision grew blury

The singers voice, hoarse yet pronounced

The smooth bassline scratched and bounced

The distortion so loud that from miles one might here it

This particular song was called Smells Like Teen Spirit

Haunting were the lyrics from the man with blonde hair

His hands moved with purpose yet his eyes without care

For in his own world did he let us walk through

His pace was now quicker and the volume had grew

The solo fired and the crowd was a blaze

Broken glass on the ground the air a thick haze

In one final leap the man hurled forth his guitar

The last chord rang as it soared violent and far

Extended were my arms as my eyes were shut tight

I leaped in the air with all of my might

I caught the axe firmly to my speechless surprise

Time seemed to stop as I openeded my eyes

I fled from the crowd with haste not of my own

I rushed to the street and then to my home

I slammed closed the door and fastened the locks

My lungs were now strained and my legs felt as rock

I collapsed to the floor with my thoughts lost afar

I simply stared in disbelief at my crimson guitar

Shining with beauty too immense to be real

Bested only by the comfort my heart could now feel

My breath now returned as I got to my feet

I scanned over my beauty my sorrow in retreat

I then noticed a scratch as there I stood

I could see some writing carved into the wood

My thoughts refocused, of course! The singers name

Etched into the body was Kurt Cobain

"Ain't but one kinda blues...

2009-03-27T20:16:00.000-07:00

..and that consists between, male and female thats in love"

-Son House

I love the blues; its the music that introduced me to the fundamentals of the guitar and its the music that helped heal my soul after life, and a girl whom I cared for, rendered it broken.

Eddie James House Jr., most famously known as Son House, is my favorite blues musician. When I first heard him agressively strum the opening chord of Death Letter Blues, I knew this was a man that I respected.

He is the father of the Delta Blues style and a tremendous force in the inspiration of contemporary artists. His voice echoes through history as one of tragedy and tremendous power. You will seldom find an artist that pours more of his heart and soul onto his six strings than this man.

Son House sir, heres to you!

Animation Ahoy!

2009-03-22T14:54:00.000-07:00

I've been working on my portfolio a lot lately and I've also been juggling a couple animation projects around. I have a lot of bottled up ideas! Here be some screenshots of some recent works in progres:

The Immortal

2009-03-18T20:44:00.001-07:00

Tonight my guild in World of Warcraft became the first Alliance guild on our server to complete the Heroic: Glory of the Raider achievement!

Gaming Impossible

2009-03-12T17:41:00.000-07:00

I've been a gamer since the tender age of three, and while I've experienced my fair share of the digital entertainment palette, I recently found myself hungering for the savory delight that is indie gaming.

Indie game developers are basically the garage band crowd of the game development community. The titles they produce are often created by a single person, or a small team, and are imbued with none of the marketing perks of their larger corporate competitors.

However, like anything that is home brewed, these games often have a certain charm that you simply won't find from a large-budget title. They often bear strange themes, have unique gameplay, stories, and most notably, are generally more considerate towards a specific fan-base. Take the hyper-abundance of fan remakes out there on the internet... classic games and even sequels to classic games that are made solely by and for the fans of the franchise, out of a love for the game and nothing else. Or the slew of mods that exist for games that enhance certain features, create new stories and characters or change it into a new game completely. The list and the possibility is, like many things of a creative nature, utterly endless.

(Super Mario Fusion - a mario remake featuring enemies from Halo)

One of the most famous and popular multiplayer games in history, Counter-Strike (below), started as a single-person-developed mod for Half-Life and was later adopted by Valve and marketed as a standalone title. CS alone has had three sequels and countless remakes, imitators, and even mods on itself. Simply amazing.

(Half-Life: Counterstrike .. De_Dust)

So anyhow, without getting carried away into introductions....

I recently game across a game that is not only original, inventive, charming, and even nostalgic... but also fucking hard! This is not a game you'd port to the Nintendo Wii and play with Grandma; this game is TOUGH. That is however, part of what makes it unique.

IWBTG - short for I Wanna Be The Guy- developed by Mike "Kayin" O'reily, is an 8-bit styled platforming tour de'force through a retrograde environment featuring delightfully deadly traps, 90s techo rock, mutated versions of classic video game characters, and more one hit deaths than every pool of lava in a mario game has ever claimed.

(A typical room in IWBTG)

You play as "the kid", an archetypal hero character that sports a cape and pistol as you navigate an endless maze of killer spikes, murderous falling cherries (they fall UP too), giant rolling boulders, zombies, clouds, and anything else from your worst nightmares about Kirby's Dreamland. Just about everything in this game has the potential to kill you.

You get only one life, and can take only one hit from any damaging source, but are able to continue at any time from one of the games numerous continue points.. which believe me, you will need to again.. and again.. and again. If all this wasn't enough, the game also features an Impossible Mode, of which you have ZERO continues.

You really have to play this titanically difficult gem of a game to really understand its unique approach, so check it out! Fans of classic games will appreciate its many references to retro gaming.

IWTG Official Website

Mixture

2009-03-08T11:38:00.001-07:00

Have you ever felt a mixture of emotions that each demand your attention yet none take the center stage of your conscious thoughts?

For me its anger and sadness... two hostile things that can cause even a level headed individual to make bad decisions and think poorly about his or her life. Anger keeps you going and fighting towards supplanting your unpleasant despression over a subject... and then when you stop to breath, and your rage fades... sorrow takes its place and keeps you there until you remember why you were angry.

No one can truly describe their deepest feelings completely to words.. or at least few can, and I know I can't, but I'd prefer to think this assertation comes somewhat close.

On a lighter note.. finished a new song. :)

Also.. thank you to my best friends for your help even when I don't look like I need it or ask for it. You know who you are.. you're reading this <3.

"I don't ever want to feel like I did that day"

2009-02-26T21:01:00.001-08:00

The Red Hot Chili Peppers are one of my favorite bands of all time. I remember first hearing them on the radio when I was just a kid living in California. Their soulful and captivating music has stayed with me ever since.

Nowadays I find myself studying and emulating the technique of their guitarist, the brilliant John Frusciante. His playstlye is heavily reminiscent of, and inspired by, the late and great Jimi Hendix; it bleeds with geniune emotion and speaks for itself on so many levels. Great stuff for any budding guitar player like myself.

I went to youtube the other day to look for the official video for one of their classic songs "Under The Bridge", which I had recently started playing the guitar again, and to my collasal disappointment I found that Youtube had removed the video along with several other performances by the band.

I did however come across, what is my humble opinion, one of their most unique and hypnotic live performances of the song. The concert itself, which was at Slane Castle in Ireland, is quite worthy of such praise too.

Listen the crowds reaction when John plays the opening chord... imagine what its like to sit up on a stage with your best friends, play some music, and have 50,000 people sing along with you.

Sometimes I feel
Like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel
Like my only friend
Is the city I live in
The city of angels
Lonely as I am
Together we cry

I drive on her streets
'Cause she's my companion
I walk through her hills
'Cause she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds
And she kisses me windy
I never worry
Now that is a lie

I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way

I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way

It's hard to believe
That there's nobody out there
It's hard to believe
That I'm all alone
At least I have her love
The city she loves me
Lonely as I am
Together we cry

I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all that way

I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way

Under the bridge downtown
Is where I drew some blood
Under the bridge downtown
I could not get enough
Under the bridge downtown
Forgot about my love
Under the bridge downtown
I gave my life away
Yeaah..........

Oh well, whatever, never mind

2009-02-21T04:06:00.000-08:00

I think as humans we often feel lost, we feel disconnected from our world, we feel saturated from ourselves and what we consider to be a state of tranquil normality. Lately I've been feeling alone, I've been feeling distant from the things around me, and I've most of all been feeling out of control. Its alright though, because when I feel this way I like to take a leap backwards from my introspective existence, acknowledge the vastly unpredictable nature of the world around me and pat myself on the back in relief that its okay to not be in control of my life; its okay to see my perceptions about things warped and even destroyed. Its okay because the world will always be too big for me to completely understand... and then I try and focus on the things make me happy, and that remind me of why I'd rather not be dead.

One thing are my friends, talking to them in a collaboration of unbarred emotions about their lives and what they're doing, always helps me to ascertain a different perspective on my own life and what I'm doing with it.

Another is music.. something in my life that often takes stage as a centering mechanism. Today was the first day of an all 90s rock marathon on 1077 The End, a local alternative rock station in Seattle. One of my favorite eras of music.

I remember when I was younger and feeling no more centered in my life than I am now, that I got my hands on a copy of Nevermind by Nirvana and heard a band speak to me in a way that up until that point, no one in my life could understand.. its not that they didn't care, its just that I didn't let them in. Since that point, the music I've listened to has serverd as a means for me to extrapolate abstract thoughts about my life and reflect upon them; and be comforted by someone's lyrics that possibly define a similar struggle. Its also one hell of a stress relief, I decided to run through a whole set of Nirvana and Red Hot Chili Peppers songs and then play them on my guitar.

There are times when it helps to just sit back and listen to the music and let your day destroy itself from the inside-out and just hope you'll have a better one tomorrow.

Melanchology

2009-02-20T01:19:00.000-08:00

I've been reading my friend's blogs for a long time. Its helped me to feel included in their lives when my own life limits my interaction with them. Circumstances vary as to what I mean, but its mostly the usual stuff.. work, problems, and of course time; the universal currency of our lifetimes, of which we issue complaints of there being too little or too much of on a daily basis. I think time is like any other currency, in which we often trade it to acquire things we desire. You give your time to your boss and you get a paycheck, you give your time to your lover and you get a kiss, you give your time to your friends and you get a smile... but when you have lots of time on your hands, and you have nothing else to do with it, where do you put it? What do you spend your hard earned time on? I suppose that depends on the person, but for me I've decided to devote this amount of time to make my first blog post, because I'm restless and I'd rather not trade it to my ceiling as I lay in bed and stare at it.