love

across the endless sea of faces (what should be seems so far)
into the night, the endless faces (who should be off so far)
they're only breathing for this moment (living just to see)
will tomorrow hold them prisoner (will it set them free?)
are they crying (are they smiling)
are they happy (damn it, they're smiling)
standing here all alone (stuck in the thick of it)
do they know they're destined to be (infinite)
twinkle twinkle pretty stars (across the kindred skies)
stretching to my open arms (holding off all lies)
do they know they're destined to be (infinite, infinite)
when we reach the end (only to discover we haven't even begun)
is when our time will come (like the stars that accompany the sun)
perched atop your pretty hills (drowning in sweet little smiles)
running to reach you and hold you tight (baby, i'd run for miles)
in this helpless world (that topples and cries only one thing is true)
there's only one thing still on my lips (darling, i love you)

everyday healing

i see you everyday, but i don't think we've ever spoken. on at least a few occasions, we've locked eyes only to look away. have you taken in my thoughts and ideas with your optical undressing. i have seen the way you ignore me, and i have accepted it. to live with you by my side, but never entangled in communal affairs, will set me free and let me live. i see you everyday, but yet we are so damn far apart. we are farther than the begining and the lovely end of the day. intriuge me with your mysterious glances, and chosen option to ignore me. ignore me, and destroy me with your bliss. i think i love it. i think i do. and if all the leaves fall down this autumn and no one's here to see, will you still remember me? will you lay in bed and close your eyes only to find that it's where i belong?

skeleton birds rattle the cages

GREED!
I ALWAYS WENT MATERIALISTICALLY.
I TRY NOT TO, BUT MONEY TALKS AND
THERE IS A PRICE ON A FRACTION OF MY
HAPPINESS.

ENVY!
A LOT OF TIMES, I SEE THINGS OTHER PEOPLE
HAVE AND I WANT THEM MORE. I WANT WITH
A PASSION.
GLUTTONY!
I USED TO HAVE MORE OF A PROBLEM WITH GLUTTONY
BUT NOW I FEEL JUST THE OPPOSITE ABOUT EATING.
LUST!
THERE HAVE BEEN SO MANY TIMES I HAVE ACTED MERELY
ON IMPULSES OF LUST THAT CAME ACROSS AS MIRAGES OF
LOVE. CAUGHT IN INTIMATE MOMENTS, HEARTS BEAT
FASTER AND THE STAKES GO UP. I LOVE LUST.
WRATH!
AS FAR AS WRATH IS CONCERNED, I'VE BEEN KNOWN
TO BLOW THINGS OUT OF PROPORTION. MY ANGER
CAN INFLATE AND WORDS TO PUNCHES ESCALATE. I AM
PRETTY VIOLENT SOMETIMES.
PRIDE!
I AM PROUD OF WHO I AM, AND I AM HIGHLY
ABOVE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING. IF I AM
CALLING MYSELF CREATOR, I AM BEING
MODEST. I AM EVERYTHING.
SLOTH!
WHEN I AM NOT BUSY EXERTING MY FULL FORCES
ON THE OTHER SIX SINS, I AM SLEEPING AWAY THE
DAY. MY EYES CLOSE, AND I FORGET.

barton fink

Okay. So here's the deal. I was at work tonight and for the life of me, I could not stop thinking about the tantalizing tale of Barton Fink. Seriously, I couldn't let it go. So, I decided to come here and write a little bit of what I thought about the movie.

First off, I have to get some things off my chest. This really was an outstanding movie, and it offered a lot to all viewers. Also, I think that the movie was pretty straightforward (but in a slight bit of contradiction, I'm going to bring up many things that seem to be deeper and though unintentionally cause many more loopholes in my theory of it being a simplistic movie). So, you might think it lame, but I looked up some facts about the movie. I can feel you pointing and laughing already. I found out that it only took Joel and Ethan Coen three weeks to write it. I looked at that and I seriously thought to myself, "No way. No way they could do that!" But, they did, and it's incredible.

Okay, on to the actual movie though. Does anyone remember at the beginning, when Fink is standing backstage as the play? Well, I vaguely remember the opening actor's bit, and what I heard was a startling parallel that ran the lines of the actual movie. The actor says, "I'm blowin' out of here, blowin' for good. I'm kissin' it all goodbye, these four stinkin' walls, the six flights up," And he goes on and on talking. Anyways, Barton's room was not only on the sixth floor but also accompnied by four walls that were perpetually oozing (and indubitably horrible on the olfactory nerves). To me, this was a key compnent in intertwining Fink's 'inner-struggle' with his work.

Well on the topic of Fink's 'inner struggle', I think Fink's whole idea behind the glorification of the common man was simply an idea. Fink has the abstraction embedded in his mind that he is able to empathize with the common man. The catch here is, that to have empathy for the common man, you need to understand the common man. Barton has put himself up so far on a pedestal that it's nearly impossible for him to percieve the plight of the common man. When he gets to his room in Hollywood (where he honorably tried to get a room where he could immerse himself in the common man's world). Behind his four walls though, Fink is barely able to do anything. His contact with the common man (as well as most of the world) is simply cut off. The only one who really frequents his room is good old Charlie Meadows. But ironically even when Charlie is over and offers to tell some of his (Charlie being one of the common men that he's trying to understand) stories, Fink dives off on random tangents and in effect furthers the barrier that prevents him from understanding the straits of the common man.

What's in the box? Well, frankly the only thing I can say about what is in the box is that it will forever be open to interpretation. The contents of the box are not the main point of the movie, hence we weren't told the contents of the box. The idea behind it is great, because it leaves it up to the film viewer to put something in that box. Other than the one time that we heard something thump inside the box, there's really nothing that gives anything away. It's rather an abstract idea that goes to say (in my opinion), that inspiration can come from places or things that we don't have the slightest idea about. Fink knew there was something in that box, but never felt the need to open it. He really came through with the whole, 'ignorance is bliss' philosophy. If he would have opened it I think that it might have fallen short of his expectations and in all reality provide him with nothing. His ability to not open the box merely on impule really showed his maturing through the movie. To Barton, the box was his inspiration. It was not the contents of the aforementioned box, but the absract idea of the box.

Another interesting topic in this movie, and perhaps the one that we were supposed to concentrate on most was Barton's assiduous case of writer's block. Fink's specific case of writer's block is a primary focus of the movie, and throughout the movie we see as a twisted series of distractions causes Fink to spiral into a more complex psychological inability to write. Of course, who would be able to do anything given the odd events that seem to follow poor Barton around?

When we finally see Fink open up and start to write, it's only due to the fact that Charlie has 'taken care of' Barton's messy little problem. Fink goes on to blaze through the Wallace Beery wrestling picture saying it's, "Not big in the sense of large - although it's that too. I mean important. This may be the most IMPORTANT work I've done." Sadly however, Fink was merely befuddled and did not realize that this piece of work was garbage. Not only did he write a completely irrelevant picture, but it was eerily similar to the script he had penned at the beginning of the movie (note how both pictures contain the phrase, "We'll hear from that kid. And I don't mean a postcard." as while as the formulated structure of the fishmongers and complex inner struggle).

Overall, it seemed that Fink simply lost his head. Fittingly appropriate, throughout the film there were twenty-six references to cranial spaces. Almost all the characters made some overt reference to the noggin somewhere in the film. Lou comically delivered the line to Fink, "Right now the contents of your head are the property of Capitol Pictures, so if I were you I would speak up." We also had Charlie sporadically skip town because he states, "Things have gotten all balled up at the Head Office." And still, there is the liquored up Mayhew, "It's when I can't write, can't escape m'self, that I want to tear m'head off and run screamin' down the street with m'balls in a fruitpickers pail."

Every character makes at least a little bit of sense in a movie that begs the viewer to try and walk away with more than what was there. The reason we seem to find so many complexities is in my opinion because we all have things 'balled up at the Head office', and in watching the movie, it helps to bring to light the circuitous puling gray matter that is our brain. It may not help us figure it out, but it damn well brings up a lot of topics that spur an infinite realm of questions we may ask ourselves. After all, every writer is a little bit of Barton Fink.

vital signs on a monitor in denver mean nothing to a dead man in reno

here i sit, at 4:06 in the morning. at least that's what the clock on my computer says. i believe it (give or take five minutes). anyways, i'm sure i must be getting on with this. i wanted to take the chance to say some stuff about my life. i think i'll start with the most generic and bland things and work it up. i like saving the juicy bits for the end.

well, i guess for starters i should tell of the wonderful thing that occured saturday morning. i was able to sleep in! yes, this is a scarcity in my life. usually, i'm hauling my ass out of bed at 6:00 am. not this particular day! i didn't even wake up to an alarm clock. i woke up on my own, when i wanted to. i know that there's many people out there who haven't done this, and so that's why i'm taking this as an oppurtunity to tell them to do it once before they die. it's an experience like no other.

i woke up to my tropical island breeze ringtone, and it was amazing. picking up the phone and hearing the excitement of the voice on the other end brought a jolt of life to my body. i enjoyed a good 20 minute phone call. i liked the way that day started. it was incredible. i felt infinite in my own right. i did some cleaning up around the house, and then i left to go hang out with my friends.

i fucking adore my friends.

we did a lot of hanging out. we're strange sometimes, but we keep ourselves in check. friday night was an amazing night, and i do believe it was about midnight before i had to see them to the door. saturday was like the k.o. punch. in case you didn't notice, the weather was amazing. i loved it. we rolled the windows down and felt cool breezes roll through our hair. we smiled and laughed and pulled out an insane amount of inside jokes as we finished out rocky rococo's pizza. we went a few places. i remember rocky's, culver's, the house, the van, and the cemetery. don't think it morbid, but the lucidity of cemeteries is a dynamic thing. it helps me to think.

i did go to work on saturday, but it was only five to nine. i like that shift. i spent a deal of time running out the trash, only for the simple fact that i could spend my time outside. i locked the trash corral, and took a break. i stared up at the sky, and watched the billowing clouds pass by. it was 61 degrees, and i loved every single bit of it. i spent so much time out there, i'm suprised ther was no search party sent after me.

nine came, and i left. my friends were waiting, and as soon as i was done we departed. we went to the city. yes, i do mean madison. the bowling alley there was pretty lively. the whole bowling alley ordeal seems a blur to me. i remember some faces, sounds, and this one really annoying t-shirt. i got kicked in the testicles too. that hurts. we left the bowling alley though (for reasons i can't disclose), and after some debate we cruised east wash.

i remember then that we pulled over in the parking lot at pedro's. i got out of the van, and got into an SUV. i climbed on the cars so i didn't fall into the massive puddle underneath the cars. we went back down the way we came. we raced some college kids in a souped up acura. we won though. at a stoplight, i let my torso protrude from the sunroof. some chain-smoking, thick-accented, dolt of a woman yelled at me. i yelled back that i was poor, and she should just shove off and suck on her cancer sticks. then we rolled the windows up.

we got back to sun prairie.

we went to kwik trip. i bought a rockstar (which is currently in my fridge), and everyone else got slushies. i want to drink my rockstar right now, but i'm fighting myself about it.

i fight myself about stupid things. don't hate me for it, just accept it. or don't. that's your perrogative i guess.

after that, i wound up sitting on a bed with three (maybe four) other people. the other two just stood there. we talked, but i can't disclose the nature of our talks, mainly for the fact that i was too engulfed in other thought while we talked. pretty soon, we left though.

it was 11 o'clock. i wound up at another house, on another bed. i'm not complaining in the least bit. understand that. sitting there, the two girls i was still with were zoning out due to sleep deprivation. one was out cold on the floor, and i lay on the bed with the other. hearing another heart beating next to your own is amazing. i left a little after midnight though. i wish i could have slept there all night.

that's awkward to say considering the fact that i still haven't slept. i'm an ironic person i guess. i say, 'i guess' a lot too. i don't know why i second guess myself. i just do.

here at home, i haven't done a whole hell of a lot. i ate some food, and had a livation. that was a mistake. i threw up all over the bathroom. it's okay though. i started watching a movie. it's pretty violent. i just saw a bullet tear through some poor guy's brain. here's a prime eample of the hollywood violence that we talked about in school on friday. i also started reading a book i recieved tonight. it's called 'the perks of being a wallflower' and from what i've read so far it's right up my alley.

i like to read books. i told this to my girlfriend tonight. she just walked to the other side of the room and handed me the aforementioned book. i love her. i find myself wanting to be with her all times of the day. it's not a twisted want though. it's mutual, and i love how she wants to spend time with me.

me feet are cold, and they're putting a story on the news. two los angles police are beating the shit out of two illegal immagrants. this is violent. not the hollywood violence. this is real, and there's a man with round glassed trying to justify it. i feel obligated to change the station. it's hard to find beautiful programming at 4:45 in the morning.

i wonder what time the sun comes up. i don't really care when. i'm going to go and watch it. there's something about watching the sun come up. christening a new day with bursts of liquid sunshine. sunrise reminds me of last summer. it was a beautiful summer. me and this one girl woke up extra early and went for a three mile run before the sun even came up. it's an amazing feeling. i also reccomend trying this before you die.

i need a glass of water. well, i just went and got one even though you can't see it through my writing. just take my word for it. i am drinking a sixteen ounce glass of water (give or take a few ounces). i realized where i wanted to go with this entry.

i had this dream last night, and i'm debating what exactly it means. in the dream, i was driving a car that was not my own and i was on streets that were strange to me. the screwed up part of it was that when i came to lights, i would go on red and stop on green. the people in the dream hated it. i think that's my subconcious trying to tell me a given (that certian people would just as soon punch my lights out than smile at me). i made it safely through every light, but near the end of the dream everything got kind of hazy. there was one last thing though. the bluish haze was fuzzy, and i heard metal collide.

that was the end of the dream. i've finished my glass of water now. i promise that i have. i haven't lied at all here, and i'm rather proud of that. my feet are cold even though i'm wearing socks. i get cold a lot here in the basement. i guess being surrounded by cold, moist earth isn't going to bring natural heat into the house. damn it, the woman on television is ranting about tax breaks. it's time to change the station again. i keep spacing out.

random periods of time where i can't recall a damn thing. i just had one of those. oh well, now i want to talk about feelings. oh god. wait, that's a taboo word today isn't it. well, i'm david and i don't really care. i'm not sure what i've been feeling a lot lately. physically, i'm sore right now. not only gym class, but i've been through a lot of other stuff lately too. my body aches. mentally, the most thinking i've been doing lately concerns the quasi-immediate future. by that, i mean this specific moment in time until next year about mid-february. i have dceided to cherish this time and spend it with my newly made friends.

i adore my friends.

i've also been accompnied by a lot of love. i have a special lady friend, and it is great. i also have been feeling an increased sense of belonging. i have friends, and we do things. if that sentance wasn't at all annoying, then you didn't read it as i intended it. i feel warm inside in contrast to my cold feet. i feel a lot of things right now. more than i could list here. among the other ones i am feeling at this point in time are: excited, anxious, lucid, calm, aware, silent, and invincible.

i don't know why i feel invincible. i just have lately. i don't think its a bad thing. i really like it actually. when i walked through the cemetery yesterday i looked at the dates and the names, and felt like living right now made me everything. the trees were somewhat dead, but the air around me was so alive. the air will never die. i want to be like the air.

it's five in the morning. my desk lamp is attracting my eyes, and everytime i attempt to look away, i am temporarily blinded. my feet are still cold, but i don't mind it when i think of everything going right in my life right now. even with the two funerals i attended last week, i feel wonderful.

for some dumb reason, my alarm clock just went off. i guess i need to wake up now. i really don't want to leave this though. i started writing, and i fear stopping. granted, i have taken a few brakes, they've been revealing in their own way. i believe this is quite a lot for one person to puruse thruogh, and i apologize if my way of recording this was scatterbrained and rediculous. oh well.

i'm ready for the day. i am the day.

did i at any time mention that i got a haircut on friday? no. but now i have, so i guess it's all okay. i'm off to find something else to do now. i'm forcing myself to stop writing. how rational is that? not very. close the door and walk away.

shit.

you know what really bothers me? how some of our stories can be just fine when characters use phrases such as, "i will kill you.", and it's perfectly fine, but when i insert the word 'shit' three times into a story, i automatically lose two points. i don't know what's intended by this. if 'shit' is the most fitting word to go into the sentance, then god damn it, i will say 'shit'. i shouldn't be penalized for using 'bad words'. i'm not trying to start anything, but forgive me, i just don't understand the rationale behind that. i think describing somebody's eyes as 'glossy pidgeon shit' or saying that a bunch of hyped-up talk is 'bullshit' is completly plausible and realistic. honestly, i give a shit about what i can say in my writing. in case you haven't realized, i have already put the word 'shit' in here several times. i don't think that it's hard for many people to see that i am vehemently opposed to this docking of two points (that's textual sarcasm. the main point is that i shouldn't be penalized for using words that i find fitting in my writing. after all, this is creative writing and by limiting the scope of words i am allowed to use, it does infringe on my ability to be creative to some extent. furthermore, i don't wan't to see anyone elses' work get docked for using words that are fitting in the text. doing so makes a paradox of the fact that the class we are enrolled in is called creative writing. please note: it is not called creative writing with a small amount of intellectual interference and contradiction.) basically, i'm just really pissed off at the fact that saying 'shit' in a post lost me points. shit. shit. shit. i think that's all i had to say on the subject.

dreams are reality, and reality is dreaming

i came here to write a story. i came here to write a dream. i came here to take my mind off of reality for a while. i came here to set the record straight and to dive into a world apart. here i am. here is the story. i came home the other night feeling drained of all my feelings. my fingertips were numb. in fact, i'm quite sure that they were bleeding. oh well, it's of no relevance to me. i was ready to head to bed. i wanted to rest my throbbing head, but instead i dove into the imaginary realm of make believe. i saw a funny sight. i'm not saying this is right, but the sky was bitter toffee flavored and painted like a dream. the grass below my bare feet tasted like honey. it was long, and ran up to my ankles. a river flowed nearby with serpents peering their ugly heads out. the river wasn't filled with water. it was filled with dead imagination. i smiled at the serpents as i grabbed a red balloon and floated high above the mesa. all the ground below me failed to seal together. it broke and crumbled. i cried and crashed. i landed in a tree. it's branches spread like spiderwebs. it's fruit was bittersweet. i made a wish to fly, and i cattapulted into the sky. i eliminated everything. there was no way to find a sin. in my own little world, i saw the smoke signals from a cave. the wisemen there had made a pact to watch me as i learned. there were sins and killers left in hiding. eliminating was evolving. i sat on the floor of the giant mushroom forest, and inhaled sweet relief. then, i flew once more into the world that was one.

weekend weekend on the wall, we had ______ and _____

This is a fictional account of my weekend. Everything, and I do mean most everything, has been changed in some way or another. My real four-day weekend wasn't exactly the quality of work that my teacher wants us to be going around and advocating, so I took the liberty of skipping all the petty 'weekend to end all weekends' bullshit. This is going to be the most fictionalized account of my four day weekend that anyone's ever had the chance of reading. It really was a great weekend, but of course I can't go and tell you all of that silly shit I did.

Thursday night, I really got into the weekend mindframe. I flung my sorry underpaid ass into the car and got to work. I arrived the usual five minutes late, and did my best to get sent home early. I threw my hat on the ground, and danced around with my dazzled eyes half-baked in a crystally glaze. I got off of work shortly after my ridiculous display of insanity. Thrown aside into the world, I realized the night was young. My watch read 9:00 PM, and I knew that I had hours upon hours to kill. I hopped into the car, revitalized and ready to go, and drove to a house. Thise wasn't just any random house, but it was the house where all my friends were already waiting to begin the four-day weekend celebration. I arrived, and the party got underway. The following is a list of the illegal activities that occured: _______, ______, _______, ______, ______, and an abundance of __________.

I arrived home early the next morning. Okay, so I lied. It was actually 12:30 AM that I walked in the door. It really made no difference though. I just lethargically waddled down the stairs, kicked off my shoes, and passed out across my bed. I woke about five hours later, to the sound of my phone chirping from the next room. I ansered the phone with the kind of voice that usually answers phones after slumber. It was a rhaspy, deep voice, that had an air about it that said I was under the influence. I wasn't however. I was just tired, so as I struggled to piece together the conversation in my mind, it took a while to stick. I was able to gather something though, about a party that was kicking off at nine. I hung up, and called my place of employment. Regretfully, I told them that I couldn't make my 7-12 shift, due to my excessive vomitting. I was lying to their faces through the phone. It was a thrill.

I got ready for the party and slapped myself awake. I called a friend by the name of Ziggy. He usually got me my party accesories for a cheap price. Ziggy didn't answer though, so I cut my losses and headed to the party. Everyone was already there when I arrived the usual ten minutes late. I saw a group of friends over by the staircase. The party atmosphere just wasn't getting us excited. A few minutes later, we were in my car and headed to my house. We waltzed into the empty house and made our way down the stairs. I flung off my shoes, and six pairs of shoes followed my example. I went to my room, and turned turned on the DVD player. I inserted The Wall into the slot, and punched the play button. The movie began, and I dimmed the lights.

The room filled with a lingering smoke, and for a minute an hour, I was lost. The images on the screen cut to and fro, but all the while I stayed somewhat composed. Then the trouble started. The maggots began to seep down through my ceiling, and as they fell onto my bed, they turned into capped mushrooms. They danced and swayed with the billows of smoke that poured from the mouths of my friends. Their faces looked like glossy pidgeon shit and as I whispered for them to get away, they laughed with disgorged guttural laughs. My mind slowly drifted with the smoke and mushrooms, and as the mirrors transferred my reality into nightmares, I entered into a prolonged slumber. I awoke Tuesday morning and as I left for school, I smirked. It was a good weekend.