Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Happy Thoughts

I’ve been having difficulty thinking positively lately. What’s new, you ask? Nothing. But I’m tired of it. So, I’ve decided to think positively for this post. In doing so, I’ve cataloged a few things that usually put a smile on my face.
1. Children. Not the bratty little bastards who stomp their feet and shit their pants when they don’t get what they want. I like the well-behaved ones who haven’t learned passive (or active) manipulation yet. Playing with them requires almost no thought and in doing so, I discover an innocent retreat in my mind.
2. Dogs. That may come as a surprise to those of you who know me. Dogs usually bite my various appendages, and I’m mostly terrified of them, but once I’m comfortable with one, there is a wonderful reciprocation of love as innocent and genuine as I find with children.
3. I enjoy being a part of people’s laughter, my girlfriend's especially. That’s not to say I take pleasure in being laughed at. I just like being there to see someone expressing happiness. Does any other animal laugh? I don’t think so. It’s ours, and I revel in it.
4. Heat. I enjoy summers in Texas. Last summer was exceptionally Hellish. It was so hot that Austin’s notorious humidity was burned out of the atmosphere, and you could actually feel the heat, sharp and alien, in your lungs. Most people bitch about it, but I embrace the extremes. There’s no experience like running in 105 degrees and then crunching down a grape snow cone at Barton Springs while the heat stroke spots clear your vision. Of course, you could die, but you could also have a brain aneurysm after spending 3 hours on Sunday trying to pick the keyhole of your bathroom door before frustratingly bashing off the whole doorknob with a hammer.
5. I take a shrill pleasure in seeing fiery meteorites. My two most memorable experiences of them were 15 years apart but equally impressive. When I was 10, I had climbed onto our roof in meteor shower anticipation and for a solid hour, I watched the brightest, streakiest, and most colorful show with my arms folded comfortably behind my head. I cherish that I own that recollection. No one in my family or on my street was committed or interested enough to join me, so I was utterly alone. As an adult, I was hitchhiking through Nebraska when I witnessed my second favorite shower. It was well past midnight and the ground was covered in snow and with the exception of the December Geminids, I was in total darkness. There were no cars, no people, no noise. Just me and dozens of soundless falling stars. Spectacular.
6. Love. I know that’s a painful cliché, but I think that’s because so many people think they’ve found it when they really haven’t. I know I’ve mistaken it on many...many occasions. My new understanding of love is that it is not just an overwhelming emotion, it’s a faith, a faith that I am blindly devoted to. I’ve never believed in a relationship more than the one I’m in now, and before now, I had never surrendered all my insecurities or laid bare my imperfections (except to you people (I love you)). It’s a...peaceful experience.
On second thought, I’m uncomfortable with such an uncharacteristic posting. Um...just remember that when you die, you’ll only be remembered for about three generations, tops. After that, no one will visit or maintain your gravesite. It’ll fall into dilapidation, and unless you’re Jesus, you will ultimately be forgotten. Even he’ll be forgotten one day though. If the human race is lucky enough (which it isn’t), it’ll spread off planet and taint other worlds until Earth gods are mythological if even remembered in their present form. The most inevitable case scenario is that human culture will simply disappear along with our hopes, dreams, and superstitions, and whatever sentient creatures replacing us will rise and fall and be replaced many times over before the universe slams into another one and destroys the nature of existence as we understand it. In short, nothing matters.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Comics, Freud, and Cyclops

I’m working on an autobiographical comic book right now while I still have the luxury of only one job. Like my books and screenplays and short stories, I don’t have a clear story to keep everything intact. All things I create, including this blog, are “bursts of creativity” (Burrell) that express my current mindset instead of describing it in a linear story. I like it better that way. Short and simple and I can articulate my angst by demonstration, however inaccessible. There’s got to be a market for that in this attention deficient nation.

The story’s about love, like all my other stuff. It’s dynamic, moving, moving, moving, like all my other stuff. And, it’s sexually explicit, like all my other stuff. I don’t know if society has made me so sexually amoral or if my brain isn’t progressive enough to think past my own enormous hog.* Maybe it’s a combination of both. Either way, Freud deserves a high five.

I only mention the comic book because if you see me commenting around the blogosphere, “liking” your Facebook status, or writing an irrelevant three-paragraph post about my deviant thoughts, I’ve wrestled my imagination to a standstill (that’s not a masturbatory reference, you dirty beast), and I’m avoiding looking at my flaccid artistry directly in its cyclopic eye (masturbatory reference). So, don’t encourage me!

*Did you click on the link? Perv. But seriously, I get that.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Austin, a Pictorial (the Zilker Park Kite Festival Edition!)

I had never been to the Zilker Park Kite Festival even though it's been an annual tradition here in Austin since 1929. I went yesterday, and it is now my favorite thing in town. Screw the ACL Festival and SXSW (which is going on right now too). Who gives a crap about Austin's movie and theatre scene. Why should I care that the Star of Texas Fair and Rodeo is, at this moment, in full swing? I want to fly a kite, and by George, I did.

I encourage you to click on the pictures below for a close up.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I'd rather be stupid.

I quit one of my jobs last week. Why, you ask? Because it was awful. In fact, for some time, I had intended to write a tell-all exposé on the shitty contract practices of General Motors, but then I realized that I was working at a call center and that there’s nothing new to expose about a place where work is outsourced domestically as well as overseas in order to prevent workers from coalescing into unions. Everyone knows that. So, I quit. I did, however, learn that there are many, many crazy/angry people in this country. And call after Tea Bagger call, I was demoralized by their discontent. It wears a person down, and many nights, I found myself pacing before my desk as restless and unsatisfied as the maniacs who’d think themselves the only ones to come up with the phrase “Obama Motors.” I voted for the man and went to his inauguration, you shithead, so don’t automatically assume I’d applaud your half-assed creativity because I don’t have a “nigger nose,” as one caller put it. See what I mean? I think my final push out of there was the day what’s-his-face burned his house down and flew his plane into a building I’d recognized since ’85 when I’d roll past it on my school bus. His suicide note was passed around within hours, and I was unsettled to find it (with the exception of his violent solution) so alarmingly rational. We live in a class hierarchy, people, and the irony of so many of my indentured coworkers shaking their heads in collective pity was not lost on me. So, I quit before my raging blood pressure caused a stroke, but since I have no intention of splatting my precious body onto the side of a government building, I now I need a second job. *sob*
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