Month: June 2013

Plans

Fell into the ineffectual pattern of making plans. This thing, that thing. Items on a list that grows longer and longer. To compensate, I’ve been reducing where I can. Getting rid of devices, clothes, things. Online accounts of all sorts. Inexplicably, I had multiple accounts at sites like tumblr, twitter, google, yahoo. Just need the one for each, if that.

Keeping my transportation though (bicycle, motorcycle, SUV). There’s a lot of value in that.

Don’t know why, but when I visit my grandfather’s grave, it feels right to kneel. One knee. Talk, probably, and explain things. That habit that one never shakes. Explaining why things have turned out the way they have. Tell him how my pop is doing, since I don’t figure my pop to be someone who’ll visit a grave. My brothers, my mom. Tell him about the way the place has changed since I last visited the family in Tepa. More stores, more people, newer cars. Tell him that I’m not and will not ever be the family man, but that even though things weren’t perfect for anyone, we turned out alright. Alive and responsible for that life, anyway. That bit of maturity.

Aw, hell. What happens in the moment is anyone’s guess.

Bought the ticket. I’ll be there in January, a few weeks after visiting my folks. I’ll need to ask my pop to borrow the keys to his house, which is built over the house he originally bought for his folks. My grandma’s still around some when she’s not out in Chicago or Los Angeles or Modesto, staying with family. Kind of hope she won’t be there when I visit. I’m hoping for no fuss.

Plans

Fell into the ineffectual pattern of making plans. This thing, that thing. Items on a list that grows longer and longer. To compensate, I’ve been reducing where I can. Getting rid of devices, clothes, things. Online accounts of all sorts. Inexplicably, I had multiple accounts at sites like tumblr, twitter, google, yahoo. Just need the one for each, if that.

Keeping my transportation though (bicycle, motorcycle, SUV). There’s a lot of value in that.

Don’t know why, but when I visit my grandfather’s grave, it feels right to kneel. One knee. Talk, probably, and explain things. That habit that one never shakes. Explaining why things have turned out the way they have. Tell him how my pop is doing, since I don’t figure my pop to be someone who’ll visit a grave. My brothers, my mom. Tell him about the way the place has changed since I last visited the family in Tepa. More stores, more people, newer cars. Tell him that I’m not and will not ever be the family man, but that even though things weren’t perfect for anyone, we turned out alright. Alive and responsible for that life, anyway. That bit of maturity.

Aw, hell. What happens in the moment is anyone’s guess.

Bought the ticket. I’ll be there in January, a few weeks after visiting my folks. I’ll need to ask my pop to borrow the keys to his house, which is built over the house he originally bought for his folks. My grandma’s still around some when she’s not out in Chicago or Los Angeles or Modesto, staying with family. Kind of hope she won’t be there when I visit. I’m hoping for no fuss.

Happiness

I had a dream in which I slept with a woman who I’ve never met. I discovered her years ago and her writing immediately got to me. Very visceral experiences, sad and tragic, but there was a strength there as well. There is such a strength in her writing. Not an unfamiliar story for me, to be drawn to a woman like her, but she also expressed an interest in my writing. It was a thrill for someone whose work I admired to like my stuff as well. In this way I developed a shy Internet affection toward her. The kind of affection expressed in clicking little hearts and stars.

But affection developed on the Internet has burned me. I feared going through it again, and bringing unnecessary drama into someone’s life. As much as I hate it, I seem to nurture that sort of bullshit. Goes back to before any of this Internet stuff. I wasn’t up for it again, in any case.

My heart is racing like it hasn’t in years. The dream was simple. We talked, we flirted, then we slept together. It’s the happiest I’ve been since I don’t want to know when. Haven’t felt a tenderness like I felt in that dream for a while. Just the possibility that I could be with someone with whom I could be natural, free. Happy. That word is rare in my vocabulary. Don’t even think it. It felt dangerously good. The kind of thing that becomes a fantasy. An unreal escape.

I wonder sometimes if that’s the worst thing. A pleasant fantasy. Of tenderness, lust, what have you. I’m like to agree with the opinion that it’s unhealthy, but who’s to say what happens in a dream? It’s a free zone of sorts. If happiness and beauty happen, then they happen. Appreciate the presence while it lasts.

Happiness

I had a dream in which I slept with a woman who I’ve never met. I discovered her years ago and her writing immediately got to me. Very visceral experiences, sad and tragic, but there was a strength there as well. There is such a strength in her writing. Not an unfamiliar story for me, to be drawn to a woman like her, but she also expressed an interest in my writing. It was a thrill for someone whose work I admired to like my stuff as well. In this way I developed a shy Internet affection toward her. The kind of affection expressed in clicking little hearts and stars.

But affection developed on the Internet has burned me. I feared going through it again, and bringing unnecessary drama into someone’s life. As much as I hate it, I seem to nurture that sort of bullshit. Goes back to before any of this Internet stuff. I wasn’t up for it again, in any case.

My heart is racing like it hasn’t in years. The dream was simple. We talked, we flirted, then we slept together. It’s the happiest I’ve been since I don’t want to know when. Haven’t felt a tenderness like I felt in that dream for a while. Just the possibility that I could be with someone with whom I could be natural, free. Happy. That word is rare in my vocabulary. Don’t even think it. It felt dangerously good. The kind of thing that becomes a fantasy. An unreal escape.

I wonder sometimes if that’s the worst thing. A pleasant fantasy. Of tenderness, lust, what have you. I’m like to agree with the opinion that it’s unhealthy, but who’s to say what happens in a dream? It’s a free zone of sorts. If happiness and beauty happen, then they happen. Appreciate the presence while it lasts.

Peter Heller’s ‘The Dog Stars’

This is what I call a good cover. I can look at it, read the jacket, and know that I’ll like it. The base elements are: post-SHTF, flying, dog as a companion, apocalyptic survivors. Leastways this is how its presented. It was recommended to me at a book shop near the boat. Must’ve been the living in those cramped, isolated conditions that really put me in a mood for post-apocalyptic fare. I bought up a few different ones aside. Didn’t even get to read it until I was off the harbor and in a place of solid walls. Not that I read there, either. Train commute to work’s the only place I can muster it.

The Road came out a few years back now and its inevitable to compare any post-SHTF scenario about lonesome survivors with that book. McCarthy’s delivered such a solid punch in the gut with his story that there’s no forgetting it. Heller’s book isn’t quite the same in the level of bleakness, which is something I dig. Hopelessness makes hope shine all the brighter. But he ventures into some of that despair early on. I reckon the first half, perhaps a bit more. It’s all set-up for the end, in hindsight. That’s a way to think of it, ain’t it? Waiting for a punchline plain as day. The early story’s focus is on Hig the protagonist, his dog buddy Jasper, and his survival buddy Bangley. Hig’s got some of the sensitivity of a poet hunter, naturally, and his dog’s a pitch perfect man’s best friend. Easy to tell that the author channels himself into the man. Bangley’s the foil, but also a bridge between Hig’s civilized man and the few people who scour the land in search of food, shelter. No different from any other human in this world. As unlikeable as Bangley gets, he’s on Hig’s side, and of course your side as the reader. Hig says it himself: “He was giving me a pep talk. It was working. Goddamn Bangley.” A vile dude, but you’re grateful as hell to have him around, and wary of ever crossing someone like him.

The emotional layer later in the story rubbed me the wrong way on account of a meeting with a woman and a build-up to sex scenes that is lacking in subtlety. Badly written sex leaves a mark on a story. But it passes, and I don’t begrudge them some tenderness and companionship given the place these characters are in. Just has that contrived sense to it. I say more and I spoil it rotten, but suffice to say, it stuck. Like meat fibers between molars. Just think of the Queen and it’ll pass.

That comparison to The Road is what does me in about it. I can’t get over the way that story goes, and the way this story doesn’t. Like one kind of apple compared to another, and the aftertaste. Time and distance from it ought to help sort things out. Best I can say anyway is it’s good enough for a second read. That short stack of stories worth revisiting.

Peter Heller’s ‘The Dog Stars’

This is what I call a good cover. I can look at it, read the jacket, and know that I’ll like it. The base elements are: post-SHTF, flying, dog as a companion, apocalyptic survivors. Leastways this is how its presented. It was recommended to me at a book shop near the boat. Must’ve been the living in those cramped, isolated conditions that really put me in a mood for post-apocalyptic fare. I bought up a few different ones aside. Didn’t even get to read it until I was off the harbor and in a place of solid walls. Not that I read there, either. Train commute to work’s the only place I can muster it.

The Road came out a few years back now and its inevitable to compare any post-SHTF scenario about lonesome survivors with that book. McCarthy’s delivered such a solid punch in the gut with his story that there’s no forgetting it. Heller’s book isn’t quite the same in the level of bleakness, which is something I dig. Hopelessness makes hope shine all the brighter. But he ventures into some of that despair early on. I reckon the first half, perhaps a bit more. It’s all set-up for the end, in hindsight. That’s a way to think of it, ain’t it? Waiting for a punchline plain as day. The early story’s focus is on Hig the protagonist, his dog buddy Jasper, and his survival buddy Bangley. Hig’s got some of the sensitivity of a poet hunter, naturally, and his dog’s a pitch perfect man’s best friend. Easy to tell that the author channels himself into the man. Bangley’s the foil, but also a bridge between Hig’s civilized man and the few people who scour the land in search of food, shelter. No different from any other human in this world. As unlikeable as Bangley gets, he’s on Hig’s side, and of course your side as the reader. Hig says it himself: “He was giving me a pep talk. It was working. Goddamn Bangley.” A vile dude, but you’re grateful as hell to have him around, and wary of ever crossing someone like him.

The emotional layer later in the story rubbed me the wrong way on account of a meeting with a woman and a build-up to sex scenes that is lacking in subtlety. Badly written sex leaves a mark on a story. But it passes, and I don’t begrudge them some tenderness and companionship given the place these characters are in. Just has that contrived sense to it. I say more and I spoil it rotten, but suffice to say, it stuck. Like meat fibers between molars. Just think of the Queen and it’ll pass.

That comparison to The Road is what does me in about it. I can’t get over the way that story goes, and the way this story doesn’t. Like one kind of apple compared to another, and the aftertaste. Time and distance from it ought to help sort things out. Best I can say anyway is it’s good enough for a second read. That short stack of stories worth revisiting.

‘Legend of Silence’ from Mike Meginiss’s ‘Navigators’

Legend of Silence is a fictional video game in a short story that is compelling for the way it presents the character’s downward spiral. The video game character’s descent into enlightenment mirrors the father character’s descent into isolation. The reader wants to find out how the game ends as much as the father and his son, through which the story is told. That said, the game doesn’t actually seem fun. So, although it is interesting in the story, who would actually want to play it?

legendofsilence3

A fake screenshot for a nonexistent video game.

The story’s author discusses that in a post on his blog. He covers a lot of it.

http://uncannyvalleymag.blogspot.com/2011/06/screenshots-for-my-fictional-video-game.html

I wrote about this story before. Immediate thoughts for future reference.

Contrast immediately. Mention of Walmart. Decidedly modern. Considered what I may have submitted that was more “classic” or “universal” but c’est la vie and all that.

Are video games really as niche?

“In games, where it was so often so easy to lose perspective, but also in life.” This line was not necessary. This story could’ve been a parable. I’m going to be thinking about it the whole way through.

“The ill-gotten fruits of not being and not knowing.” Is this an attack on denial of responsibility? Is existence an acceptance of the responsibility to exist?

The Road is about a father and son. Its style is more barren. Prose to match the landscape. Their journey is one for survival. Literal life and death. This one’s father and son are also on a journey. Is it metaphysical? Is their journey towards completion of the game–towards not being–also about survival? The title is plural. They’re in it together. They’re mapping the world towards the goal of nonexistence.

Why is the character in the game a woman? Aping Metroid’s protagonist? How do things change when the lead is a female? How does this affect the perception of it?

The first moment of understanding is the loss of her wings. She is a bird girl and then she is weighed down by her choice to don the metal boots. Their choice, not hers. She can’t take them off. She loses her flight before she loses the added weight.

In Shadow of the Colossus, the player character goes on a journey of sacrifice. Double-edged sword: sacrifice the creatures, sacrifice your humanity. He becomes a monstrous doppelganger of himself. The gargoyle’s significance. Why must it look like Alicia but with horns and healthy wings? As she sacrifices, others gain strength? Laughing in her face? Aesthetic choices on the author’s part, probably. From a game design standpoint, you simply reuse what you have. One less in-game art asset to design from scratch.

Cheddar scabs are fucking great.

“where dollars and coins flew at Alicia from all sides and clung to her body, briefly rebuilding her wings in their own green image.” Money is only a temporary fix for permanent problems. Okay.

The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod. The chamber of commerce. The dirt. The chamber of commerce. The dirt and the chamber of commerce. The chamber of commerce. Dirt and commerce. Dirt and money.

Kill the orchestra. Kill the music. Kill art. Silence.

This kid’s dialogue makes him seem older in places, younger in others. Wonder if that’s intentional.

Looking for a replacement for mother?

Perhaps the dialogue is indicative. Joshua’s getting older. He’s learning things.

You forget fear. You forget love.

To be, then, is to forget. To be is to not know you are.

Waiting.

In hindsight, the game character was a replacement for someone they’d both lost. The complete devotion to playing through the game isn’t about fun. There is no fun to be had in this sort of journey.

‘Legend of Silence’ from Mike Meginiss’s ‘Navigators’

Legend of Silence is a fictional video game in a short story that is compelling for the way it presents the character’s downward spiral. The video game character’s descent into enlightenment mirrors the father character’s descent into isolation. The reader wants to find out how the game ends as much as the father and his son, through which the story is told. That said, the game doesn’t actually seem fun. So, although it is interesting in the story, who would actually want to play it?

legendofsilence3

A fake screenshot for a nonexistent video game.

The story’s author discusses that in a post on his blog. He covers a lot of it.

http://uncannyvalleymag.blogspot.com/2011/06/screenshots-for-my-fictional-video-game.html

I wrote about this story before. Immediate thoughts for future reference.

Contrast immediately. Mention of Walmart. Decidedly modern. Considered what I may have submitted that was more “classic” or “universal” but c’est la vie and all that.

Are video games really as niche?

“In games, where it was so often so easy to lose perspective, but also in life.” This line was not necessary. This story could’ve been a parable. I’m going to be thinking about it the whole way through.

“The ill-gotten fruits of not being and not knowing.” Is this an attack on denial of responsibility? Is existence an acceptance of the responsibility to exist?

The Road is about a father and son. Its style is more barren. Prose to match the landscape. Their journey is one for survival. Literal life and death. This one’s father and son are also on a journey. Is it metaphysical? Is their journey towards completion of the game–towards not being–also about survival? The title is plural. They’re in it together. They’re mapping the world towards the goal of nonexistence.

Why is the character in the game a woman? Aping Metroid’s protagonist? How do things change when the lead is a female? How does this affect the perception of it?

The first moment of understanding is the loss of her wings. She is a bird girl and then she is weighed down by her choice to don the metal boots. Their choice, not hers. She can’t take them off. She loses her flight before she loses the added weight.

In Shadow of the Colossus, the player character goes on a journey of sacrifice. Double-edged sword: sacrifice the creatures, sacrifice your humanity. He becomes a monstrous doppelganger of himself. The gargoyle’s significance. Why must it look like Alicia but with horns and healthy wings? As she sacrifices, others gain strength? Laughing in her face? Aesthetic choices on the author’s part, probably. From a game design standpoint, you simply reuse what you have. One less in-game art asset to design from scratch.

Cheddar scabs are fucking great.

“where dollars and coins flew at Alicia from all sides and clung to her body, briefly rebuilding her wings in their own green image.” Money is only a temporary fix for permanent problems. Okay.

The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod. The chamber of commerce. The dirt. The chamber of commerce. The dirt and the chamber of commerce. The chamber of commerce. Dirt and commerce. Dirt and money.

Kill the orchestra. Kill the music. Kill art. Silence.

This kid’s dialogue makes him seem older in places, younger in others. Wonder if that’s intentional.

Looking for a replacement for mother?

Perhaps the dialogue is indicative. Joshua’s getting older. He’s learning things.

You forget fear. You forget love.

To be, then, is to forget. To be is to not know you are.

Waiting.

In hindsight, the game character was a replacement for someone they’d both lost. The complete devotion to playing through the game isn’t about fun. There is no fun to be had in this sort of journey.

Careers

Dedicated two hours to Linkedin profile updates. I included progressions via promotion (intern to assistant to associate, for instance), the many projects I had not yet included, and a change in layout so that Experience and Projects are at the top of the page. You reach a point in life where it’s all that matters.

Browsed through some of my connections’ profiles at the tail end of it. Folks I worked with in one city or another have begun to disperse now that they have more experience. Some surprising, some as I would expect. A few had a tenacity and professionalism that meant they’d climb high on the ladder and quickly. I’m glad for anyone who succeeds. Doesn’t spend too much time in one place.

Got me thinking about the purpose of a career. I figure it as some folks are climbers, end of story. Some need a certain stability and safety, and they’ll work to get it. Some just go along with it. Early on I was squarely in the latter, but now a career’s a bit more important. Still not interested in conscious effort to hold a position or power, but I do want to work on cool stuff. And I want to be paid well to do it. A career will afford me the chance to get both. It won’t last forever, and certainly not for decades, but for as long as I can make it work.

Careers

Dedicated two hours to Linkedin profile updates. I included progressions via promotion (intern to assistant to associate, for instance), the many projects I had not yet included, and a change in layout so that Experience and Projects are at the top of the page. You reach a point in life where it’s all that matters.

Browsed through some of my connections’ profiles at the tail end of it. Folks I worked with in one city or another have begun to disperse now that they have more experience. Some surprising, some as I would expect. A few had a tenacity and professionalism that meant they’d climb high on the ladder and quickly. I’m glad for anyone who succeeds. Doesn’t spend too much time in one place.

Got me thinking about the purpose of a career. I figure it as some folks are climbers, end of story. Some need a certain stability and safety, and they’ll work to get it. Some just go along with it. Early on I was squarely in the latter, but now a career’s a bit more important. Still not interested in conscious effort to hold a position or power, but I do want to work on cool stuff. And I want to be paid well to do it. A career will afford me the chance to get both. It won’t last forever, and certainly not for decades, but for as long as I can make it work.