You probably think by now there is no structure to this site, and no method to my madness. You would be right to think that, yet you would also be wrong. The blog is random, sort of. There is no certain topic attached to it yet it always speaks about the same thing. If you have payed attention you probably noticed by now, the site is about me. Ill admit it might come of as a bit presumptuous or narcissistic, not unlike the author at times. But, this is me. A series of disjointed thoughts and ideas brought together by... well I am not sure to be honest.
The site was first supposed to be a fictional account of life events that may or may not have happened to me, but that quickly changed. After writing my first post i was no longer content with doing that, and after changing subjects and writing a second post the same thing happened. Story of my life. I am now letting things take their natural course and let the blog be whatever it wants to be, meanwhile I will just write.
I flex my fingers and crack my knuckles. A symbolic gesture mostly, but one that signals that I am ready to begin. Or so I believe. In reality I am sitting in front of my computer trying to come up with something witty or clever to begin a new post, yet nothing comes. "Writer's block" I think to myself jokingly. Not that I think its really the case. I can write, but i am no writer. I can put out word after word, yet I cant make them sing. Its not about grammar errors or structure issues, even though I got plenty of those. There is something else, something that I lack and can not put to words. So alas I am no writer, but I write. Not right now though, now I am just sitting here in front of the computer with nothing to write about. Well, more like everything to write about yet no idea how to do it. After a while the words start to come, slowly at first but quickly gaining momentum. Before I know it I am typing furiously, going from one sentence to the next and then.... I am done. My work is finished, but i am not sure if it is a good one. It will have to do for now though, I cant think of anything else again.
I learn a lot, as i travel. Learn about new cultures, ideas, and ways of life. I learn about myself too. Traveling has a special quality unmatched by any other activity i can think of, and what joy i find in traveling comes not from the destination, but from the journey. No matter the method of travel i choose i can always sit back and enjoy the ride. No matter the backdrop there is always something to discover hidden away in plain sight, and it can only be seen by eyes unfamiliar with the setting. Be it the forest or the city, both hide wonders only those with wanderlust can see, and there are many ways to go about it. Flying, driving, riding, walking, and even dreaming. They all have their merits. When you fly you get to see the world as a map laid down before you, and to realize how close and far we all are. When you drive you become a fixed point in time, as the world moves around you. Walking gives you more of a hands-on experience than the rest, and more time to appreciate your surroundings. I also find that whenever i walk somewhere that place is forever bound to me by memory, and i can always find it no matter where i am. Of all the shapes travels can take, only dreams are truly limitless. Dreams can come to life at night during your sleep or during the day while you are wide awake. They mix fantasy and reality to create the ultimate form of travel, one that is not bound by any shackles. Yet as limitless and full of possibilities as dreams are, they can never compare to reality. We can walk, ride or fly to travel through space. We can remember to travel through time. And we can dream to travel anywhere.
Pulitzer Prize, New Hampshire (1924) Honorary degree, Yale University (1924) Russell Loines Poetry Prize (1931) Pulitzer Prize, Collected Poems (1931) Honorary degree, Dartmouth College (1933) Pulitzer Prize, A Further Range (1937) Honorary degree, Harvard University (1937) Gold Medal for Poetry, National Institute of Arts and Letters (1939) Gold Medal, Poetry Society of America (1941) Honorary degree, Princeton University (1941) Pulitzer Prize, A Witness Tree (1943) First Annual Poetry Award, Boston Arts Festival (1954) Medal for Distinguished Service, Theodore Roosevelt Society (1954) Honorary degree, Oxford University (1957) Honorary degree, Cambridge University (1957) Gold Medal for Distinguished Service, Poetry Society of America (1958) Emerson-Thoreau Medal, American Academy of Arts and Sciences (1958) Medal for Achievements in the Arts, Signet Society, Harvard College (1958) Congressional Gold Medal (1960) Poet Laureate of Vermont (1961) Edward MacDowell Medal (1962) Bollingen Prize in Poetry (1963)
Can you even have a proper blog without a post such as this? Yeah you certainly can, but i think it adds flavor to it. There are many ways i could approach this subject, but ill go with a simple one. Name, reason why i like it and trailer.
These are some of my favorite movies, separated by genre.
Serenity:
A space western. How crazy is that? This move has a nice blend of action and comedy, and also features a cast likable anti-hero like characters. It takes some established tropes and turns them over their head, which makes for nice twists. It has some romantic elements, but doesn't let them ruin the overarching plot of the movie, which is really nice.
The Babadook:
This movie is a breath of fresh air for the horror genre. It has a nice amount of mystery, just enough to keep you guessing. It doesn't fall into the classic tropes these movies do, it has a nice amount of character development and the plot also develops at a nice pace. There is a transition midway through the movie which is delivered masterfully, and doesn't feel tacky in any way.
What if? (or the f-word):
This is a romantic comedy unlike many others. While the overarching plot is not something really new, its the way its delivered that makes it shine. The characters feel real, and easy to connect with. This is thanks in no small part to the acting from both leads. Their acting is superb. They know how to sell the joys and pains of their lives and relations.Also the comedy is born out of their interaction and jokes, and not just due to "funny" situations like usual. Last but not least the soundtrack is amazing.
The princess bride:
This movie is so freaking good. I am not sure i can even describe why it is so good, but ill give it a shot. For starters, the dialogue. The lines in this movie are so good i could write a whole post just about quotes, and maybe i will. This is one of the reasons it has a huge cult following. The movie is many things: a tale of vengeance, a romantic story, a story of treason and many more things. Even so none of these conflict with the other, and only server to enrich the movie.
So it comes the time when i have to write about the class, and write i will. When i started the class i was not sure what to expect. I loved my two previous English classes, yet they were different in their approach and focus. This time was no different from the rest, yet it was. Throughout the semester i was thought about literature, poetry, drama, and many more things.
I learned about detail, seeing between the lines. Uncovering the meanings behind hidden in plain sight. Of character, of plot, of devices to enhance the work before me. I learned a great deal about many things when it comes to English, but also some things about myself. I am talking about the blog.
At first the idea of the blog both excited and annoyed me. I've always toyed with writing, yet deep down i knew my lazyness and procrastination would keep me from delivering my work on time. I was not wrong. I am sitting in the dinner while i write these words, mere minutes before the class starts. Its hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Still i write. For the last semester whenever the issue of the blog reared its head, my own was filled with infinite possibilities and ideas for it that never materialized. Whenever i did write for it i deeply enjoyed the experience, even if sometimes i would go back and delete my own work. I am not satisfied with the output, mostly because it what it could be. Even so, i like what i have done so far.
In the end this might not be quite what professor Candia or i wanted, but it is something alright. It is my hope that this is only the beginning. The spark needed to do more, yet sadly i know myself far too well. The future of the blog is uncertain, but its present is comforting. It is proof that a class can teach through unconventional means, and proof i can do something interesting if i at least try.
If you ask a group of people what is their biggest fear you will get different answers. Ask enough people and you will start to see some common fears. That is normal, as some fears are universal. Fear of ending up alone, of being hurt, of the unknown, and of death. Yet while i share some of the common fears, and some more uncommon, i have a fear more particular than some. I am afraid of fear itself.
Allow me to explain myself. If i have learned one thing throughout my life is that fear is the progenitor of hate and weakness. Fear can make us irrational. It can bring out the worst in a person. That makes me afraid, which probably sounds confusing or crazy. I am afraid of fear driving my decisions, steering me out of my ideal path. I am afraid of fear making me hurt those i care about. I am afraid of fear, yet fear has it uses. Only when afraid we can be brave. You see brave is not the person who is not afraid, but one who acts despite of it.
So even though i have fears, there is a silver lining.
I am locked inside a room, my room, and yet i am not here. There is music blasting from my computer close by, and it is filling the air with static. The music is fast and aggressive. It beats like a war-drum, yet deep down it is soft and soothing. Adrenaline fills my body as the tempo of the music comes and goes, rises and falls. It speaks to me, tells me of fantastic worlds and amazing realities. It can show me all if i let go, and i do so.
The walls of my room vanish. The world around me fades away as a new world materializes to take its place. I travel through space and time, and through memories. I see moments of my life i thought long buried in my past. I see my future, all its possible paths and branches laid out before me. I can see it all, i understand it all. Now i'm back in my room, and the song has ended. All i saw slowly dissipates from memory. It was never real, except it was.
There was a time when "My life as fiction" sounded like the perfect name, the perfect idea for what i wanted to do with this blog, though not anymore. As i keep writing and making posts my ideas change, and with them so does the blog. That is the crux of the matter. The blog has changed, it is no longer what i once envisioned it to be, and as such the title no longer fits. But that is ok. In its current form the name reminds me of how transitional my own ideas have been.
Throughout my life I've done many things, some more interesting than others. I've played guitar, practiced capoeira, attempted to write songs, made animated videos, gave a shot at game design, and practiced free-running. I've done all these things and many more, yet all for a short time. It always starts the same way. A burning passion to do something new and exciting, followed by weeks of feverish action in some subject of my choosing. Then poof, the excitement is gone just as quickly as it came. I no longer have that desire to do whatever i set out to do, and so i move on to the next thing.
This is who i am, and while i can be at odds with it some times i've come to accept it. The title is no longer what i want, but that says something about me.
This is another poem i really enjoy by Frost. I like how it talks about nature's ever changing nature, and where its beauty comes from. Nature is eternal when compared to us, yet even it follows a cycle of life and death. As the seasons pass it changes, yet it always remains the same.
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
The list of things that amazes me is definitely not short, and a Capella singing is usually in that list. While the songs usually sung in such a style are generally not my cup of tea i cant deny the amount of talent required to make such arrangements work. I'm particularly impressed when a group uses their voices to create sounds simulating instruments to take their performance to a new level while not breaking the rules of it.
Take Pentatonix for example. These guys are not only really talented and have amazing voices, but have great harmony between them. Their masterful use of boombox style sounds and other voice effects brings their performance to life in a really cool way.
To just say Frost was a talented poet would be the same as saying Albert Einstein was a smart man. While both statements are true, they simply are too vague and can not make justice of these men. Robert Frost had a way with words, and his poems explored themes of nature and duality. While his poems have an optimistic tone, they don't forget the more dark aspects of nature.
Duality was one of the aspects that interested me more of Frosts poems. Poems like Design, Desert Places, Fire and Ice and Nothing Gold can Stay can seem simple at first sight, but have deeper meaning behind them. There is a contrast between what its written and what he writes about, and this speaks to me.
This is my favorite poem from Robert Frost. Though a very short poem it effectively goes back and forth between two diametrically opposed elements, fire and ice. It uses both of these to talk about the same scenario and it does it perfectly.
I've always considered that i have a weird sense of humour. I love comedy that takes a seemingly normal element and takes it to new places that would normally not make sense. Or in other cases it takes a known quality of something and just plays it to crazy levels.
Take for example this video, "Shia Labeouf" Live by Rob Cantor. Its a live singing Rob Cantor's song "Actual Cannibal Shia Labeouf". This song takes Shia's image of being weird and quirky and brings it to a whole new level. The song itself is already pretty funny, but this video brings it to a whole new level with its style and production, and also the conflict between the seriousness of the actions and the ridiculousness of the song.
Freerunning is a martial discipline founded by Sebastian Foucan. Described as an evolution of Parkour, freerunning is about moving fluidly and incorporating moves from other martial disciplines into it. While Parkour is about efficiency Freerunning is about expression. Parkour concentrates on getting from point A to B while maintaining as much momentum as possible while freerunning focuses more on movement as a form of expression.
In this video by StuntsAmazing, we have a collection of clips from different freerunning practitioners showcasing the discipline's focus of movement and expression:
In the Clearing (Holt Rinehart & Winston, 1962) Hard Not to Be King (House of Books, 1951) Steeple Bush (Henry Holt and Company, 1947) Masque of Reason (Henry Holt and Company, 1945) Come In, and Other Poems (Henry Holt and Company, 1943) A Witness Tree (Henry Holt and Company, 1942) A Further Range (Henry Holt and Company, 1936) From Snow to Snow (Henry Holt and Company, 1936) The Lone Striker (Knopf, 1933) The Lovely Shall Be Choosers (Random House, 1929) West-Running Brook (Henry Holt and Company, 1928) New Hampshire (Henry Holt and Company, 1923) Mountain Interval (Henry Holt and Company, 1916) North of Boston (Henry Holt and Company, 1914) A Boy’s Will (Henry Holt and Company, 1913)
Robert Lee Frost (March26, 1874 – January29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century,Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary figures, almost an artistic institution." He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetical works. On July 22, 1961, Frost was named Poet Laureate of Vermont.
In Contemporary Literary Criticism, the editors state that "Frost's best work explores fundamental questions of existence, depicting with chilling starkness the loneliness of the individual in an indifferent universe." The critic T. K. Whipple focused in on this bleakness in Frost's work, stating that "in much of his work, particularly in North of Boston, his harshest book, he emphasizes the dark background of life in rural New England, with its degeneration often sinking into total madness."
In sharp contrast, the founding publisher and editor of Poetry, Harriet Monroe, emphasized the folksy New England persona and characters in Frost's work, writing that "perhaps no other poet in our history has put the best of the Yankee spirit into a book so completely." She notes his frequent use of rural settings and farm life, and she likes that in these poems, Frost is most interested in "showing the human reaction to nature's processes." She also notes that while Frost's narrative, character-based poems are often satirical, Frost always has a "sympathetic humor" towards his subjects.
He is soaring over mountains and plains, flapping feathery wings in a mesmerizing motion. He can see the sun above and the earth below, but he is not bound to either of them. In fact, he is not bound to any place. No, he is as the wind that flows through his wings: majestic and unstoppable. Suddenly something catches his attention far away in the ground below. His sight is powerful and he can detect the smallest of details, and detect something he has. He has found his prey.
He ascends, higher and higher, but never losing sight of his target. Then he suddenly stops, folds his wings and starts to descend. He knows how this will end. But something is wrong, and now he is not descending but falling. He tries to open his wings but realizes he no longer has them. He is gaining speed so fast he starts feeling vertigo, he never felt that before. He can see the ground is only seconds away now, and tries desperately to stop the inevitable. But there is no use, he knows how this will end. He throws one last glance at his prey and notices something that chills his soul. It is looking at him, smiling a deadly smile. The smile of someone that knows. The ground is so close he can almost smell it, he waits for the end to come and suddenly.... Darkness.
His eyes try to adjust to the darkness around him. They are no longer powerful. He takes a second to examine his surroundings while his sight gains strength. He is in a small room. He wonders how he got here but can not seem to remember. In fact, he is starting to forget. The feeling of the wind through his feathers, the sun warming his being, all that is slowly fading away. Now nothing remains but a fleeting feeling of being something else, somewhere else. As his memories fade new ones take their place. He knows where he is, and he knows who he is. Still he can see through small glimpses what was before. But he is not there anymore, nor is he yet here. He is somewhere in the middle. But then his senses finally take control, and he loses the last remnants of those memories. He feels and overwhelming sense of loss as this happens. Suddenly he is here, completely this time. He feels sad but is not sure why. Finally he gets up, and heads out of his room to get ready for his first class.
