Saturday, January 15, 2011

A Week of Fiction, Maybe Years

The end and I were already fairly intimate by the time the beginning of the story rolled around. Kurt Vonnegut once recommended that all fiction start as close to the end as possible, and I suppose our relationship was as tight as it was going to be without getting sweaty. These are lonely nights in the city. A small apartment feels emptier for the things in it. Confused thoughts were comforting, something to think away the silence with. Nothing ever got figured out. At nights, she lay quite still and fell to thinking.

Monodon Monoceros

Once upon a time, there was a silly sort of dolphin who could not see for lack of echolocation. All of his companions made fun of him for bumbling and stumbling about the ocean, especially comical for lack of things to stumble upon in the great wide sea. Eventually, it became so that fish would poke fun at him. Laughing with their scaley little fin-gers. At night, the dolphin started to believe that he could hear an endless chorus of plankton, giggling at his plight. It was terrifically saddening to see, a blubberous dolphin blubbering about his inability to echolocate. So, amidst all of this melancholy, the dolphin left his pod and ventured out to the lonely see, bumbling this way and that, but at least no one was there to laugh at him. For a long time he wandered, past wondrous chasms and glorious flocks of jellyfish lighting the depths like stars. Of course, the echolocation-less dolphin did not know he was in the presence of beauty, nor did he know what stars were or that they were considered beauty-full. He valued what he had, however. Pretty alright food, two perfectly good flippers, and a solid noggin. Otherwise he may not have been in able to bump into so many things. At long last, he came to a university of fish. He found experts in all the fine arts and sciences. Artist fishes. Mathematician fishes. Scientist fishes with little lab coats and beakers, though that was not appreciated at the time. He at long last found a place where he was not viewed as a freak, he was an object of science, though that was still not quite as good as being equal to other all things in his own right. The pre-med fish studied his brain. The fishes studying physics tested exactly how unable this poor dolphin was to see. The geologist fishes studied fishures, or so the liberal arts fishes liked to joke. After all of the prodding and investigation and conversation, one ingenious fish came upon a solution. They would modify the cellular code of the echolocation-less dolphin to contain the gene of a magical unicorn. Damn the scientific accuracy of such a proposal, they're fish for goodness sake, at least they were trying. Through grueling hours of science, the dolphin endured, at last waking up, still unable to echolocate. Distraught, he demanded why they'd ever subjected him to such an ordeal. He raged and cursed like the allusive sailors he'd never seen. Calmly, the lead fish doctor explained, "For now and ever onward, you shall be known as the narwhal and no longer bump into things. The horn upon your head will give you a warning of at least three feet, and the lady narwhals will be impressed by the vigor of your 'rod.' Please, go forth and prosper, we've done all we can." Realizing what this meant for him, the newly christened narwhal cried undetectable tears of joy into the dark and salty ocean. Thanking the good doctors who invested their time, he left the university and return to his pod. Hesitant to greet their prodigal, bumble-less friend, his rediscovered dolphin pod was silent at his arrival. They easily echolocated the stunning new horn and were amazed. Right before they met their death at the hands of the narwhal spear.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Pictures

This morning, I finally printed out pictures of friends on glossy, high quality photos. Some are old, some are unfocused, and some are more meaningful in memory than reality, but I'm glad to have them none the less.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

"This Film Is Not Yet Rated"

I don't think I'd ever seen a female orgasm on screen.

While I'm still trying to figure out what Netflix's angle is on producing the film, it's a powerful documentary none the less. Censorship is most certainly existent, what with a few corporations owning 90% of the American media, but I'd never realized to what extent my cinematic experience was being censored. For goodness sake! The MPAA is comprised of anonymous, average American parents, though all hired and fired the white, rich Republican, Joan Graves, and every appeals hearing has two members of the clergy present. Rating discussions are attended by major studio heads, and the chairwoman, Graves, both votes in the rating and is the tie-breaker in the event of a deadlock. She was appointed by Jack Valenti, former press manager for JFK and loyal aid to LBJ. This was the man who left Washington at the urge of Universal Studios to start the MPAA. He knew money, power, and politics and was in the pocket of major studios. There is immense collusion between the powerful I'm not aware of. Sometimes it's sneaky, and I don't always know where to look. This is blatant. Though, the movie did have to point me where to look.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Krissy and Chloe Take PSU

Sunday morning, I buckled up with Lauren, Melissa, and Melissa's parents for the trip to PSU. Lauren's stuff took up the majority of the trunk, requiring a quick game o' Tetris, but we were out of GV by 10:45. Conversation on the way down went through lulls, and the toasty car gave strong inclinations towards dozing. It snowed nearly the entire evening we were there. Melissa's parents treated me to lunch at The Corner, though our wait was overly long. The time spent getting to know her parents much explained why Melissa turned out as she did. I loved meeting her friends. Grace, her roommate, is wild, and their interactions are endearing. We caught dinner en masse in East, then retired to Grace and Melissa's room for more conversation. Around 9-10, we made our way to Jeff's room and hung out with his crew. I was moody and irritated by the group dynamics. The night was not so good, and I slept badly, but the morning made up for it. After a walk that lapped both of our campuses, Krissy and I sat in on Matt's engineering mechanics class and understood the first day concepts! Unfortunately, we were half of the females present. Though Matt had another class, we met up with Lauren and Melissa for lunch, with Jeff joining us after his 12:00. A few minutes were spent conversing in Jeff's room with live background music before heading off to Intro to Archeology in an Indiana Jones hat. Getting there early, we elected for pictures with the Nittany Lion. Monday Archeology was only the recitation of 15 people, so we were pretty easily called out as non-natives. Krissy and I 'fessed up our visitor status, and the TA was fine with that. Back in Melissa's room, we watched "My Soul to Take," filmed down the street from Sam in CT. It was pretty alright, and a good way to spend some time. Dinner was exciting for seeing Will S., and afterward we hung out with Jeff's bunch again. Melissa and Krissy left a little before 11, so we watched the Daily Show then went with Matt and Jeff to another buffet. MINI M&Ms! :D I felt a lot better after hanging out with the guys. Night saw fitful sleep, but the morning was nice. It was a sad goodbye to everyone.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Words were missed then, some apology...

I've never loved fearlessly, even the first time and even in the summer. While it's something I hope for, it's not something I expect to achieve. My brother I love completely and without reservation. My friends I love warmly and for my idea of them, even if that concept is not accurate to their reality. It's hard to thoroughly know someone to love "the real them." I love concepts in the interim, striving for that full disclosure. It is being in love, however, that is scary. It is something with finite end, but changes relationships despite that previous knowledge. I know that this cannot last, that my silly girl thoughts are born of naivety and impracticality. This is not beneficial. This is creating a terrible model for the future. Still, it feels good. It would feel even better to abandon thought and "do." I'll forget that it will end and hurt and ruin beautiful things so that there is more sweetness to remember when the pain finally does kick in.

I am battered by the tumultuous nature of "us." I hate how easy it is to fall back to indulgent habits. I am plagued by a sense of powerlessness and a guilt for feeling powerless.

This is not how the real world works.

Dumb Girl

After the party Friday night, I arranged a ride home with a couple returning to West Chester, though the driver was obviously somewhat intoxicated. Being me, it was a scary mix of two fears already intimidating on their own: cars and alcohol. Calling my mom, I walked down to the corner to get the street address. She didn't pick up. Having guests in the morning and with the expectation of snow, I accepted the ride home. I will never tell my mom or dad. The route home was essentially 95 to 202. High speeds, late night, getting over a recent snow. There wasn't a lot of swerving, but not a lot of consistency in the lanes, either. I thought of when I'd started driving; I'd draft texts of love, hoping, in the event of the worst, my friends and family would be left with last words. I began to draft with an unnecessary sense of finality. I thought of what I could leave in 160 characters. Finished, I sang to the too-loud music. If anything, going out singing wouldn't have been so bad. "Dogs" by Pink Floyd was on coming out of an exit. We nearly hit a corner support of the ramp before jerking back into the lane. The girl in the passenger seat looked back at me with relieved "woah" eyes.

. ......... ...........

I need to reexamine my concept of a relationship.