Review: Thirty Seconds to Mars - This Is War

A quick one to say that my review of This Is War, by Thirty Seconds to Mars is up at Breakthroughband.com. You can read it here.

Pretension.

I think “pretentious” is now synonymous with something people don’t understand. That’s the thing I don’t get. If it is anything beyond what someone is used to, it is pretentious until ten years later, and then they go back and listen, and suddenly it is “ahead of its time.” If everyone was just more open-minded nothing would be pretentious, nothing would be ahead of its time, nothing would be genius. Everything would just be enjoyable to a certain extent. There’s no doubt there is music that just sucks, and there is no doubt there is music that is better than the rest. But people spend so much time trying to categorize it around what card it would be behind at Barnes and Noble, and above that to have to always say if something is smart, pretentious, or whatever. It’s the same thing as saying something sucks. No one gains anything from that.

-Casey Crescenzo

Brand New show 10-2-09 Cleveland

Caught Brand New before they headed out with Thrice, but I heard Manchester Orchestra was going to open for them, so that sealed the deal.

I became a fan of Manchester Orchestra when I heard "I've Got Friends" on the radio, then I happened to be in a record store and saw that Everything to Nothing was on sale for $8. I immediately liked the record, and coincidentally, thought they sounded like Brand New and should tour with them. Lo and Behold, my prophecy came true.

Brand New was pretty explosive, opening the show with you "You Won't Know" from the The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me. Their set spanned their catalog, but the songs I enjoyed the most were from Devil and God, including "Sowing Season (Yeah)", "Jesus Christ", and the very atmospheric "Welcome to Bangkok". They played a good bit of their new stuff from Daisy, most of which I didn't know, because I didn't have a chance to pick up the record before the show.

All in all, a good show. Not great, but memorable.

Empty

On the most recent open mic night, I performed "Empty" by Ray LaMontagne. You can watch an incomplete video of it here.

The Low End of High

Hey.

It's me, I'm sorry it's so late.

But I couldn't sleep.

This weekend was a good weekend. I guess when I say weekend, I mean the last four days. I had Thursday and Friday off for the Holiday. Thursday was reserved for family of course, to celebrate our blessings together and the one year anniversary of my father's heart-surgery. We played poker (I won), and Mad Gab (I won both times, albeit with different partners).

Friday was another open mic night at Coffee Fusion. It was okay, kind of embarrassing (not for me, for others, being watched by me, but they were just young kids, so you kind of have to cut them a break). My songs were as follows:

Beggars -Thrice
Red Sky - Thrice
Empty - Ray LaMontagne
Whiskey Lullaby - Don't even know the artist. But it was a duet between myself and my friend Madison Trainer.
Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron and Wine

Pictures and videos will be put up soon, and when they are, I will link to them.

After the mic night, several of us went to a cabin on Gilford Lake. Games and laughing and music and drinking ensued, but I had to leave early as I had plans the following morning.

Said plans were a trip to see New Moon (Good, much better than Twilight). We then ate at the Cadillac Ranch where I ordered Ranch Mac and Cheese (so good I almost punched the waitress in the face when she tried to take it away before I was finished...okay, not really). Then it was back out to the cabin for me, to spend Saturday evening through Sunday morning.

Walks were taken, lakes were jumped in at below freezing tempatures (by yours truly and one other brave soul), runs were taken in haste back to the cabin to put on clothes and thaw myself in front of the fireplace. Philosophical conversations were had on the dock at 2 a.m., and then since all the beds were taken, I stretched out in front of the smoldering remains of the fire and fell asleep, which was a little glimpse of heaven as far as I'm concerned.

You know, I have almost come to be reluctant about the highs in life, because they are inevitably followed by lows. Like right now. I can't sleep. The weekend is over. I'm alone. And I have to get up in roughly five hours to go back to work. And you know what I'm going to do when I'm done with work? Go home. Alone. And do it all over again until Saturday.

The book continues to grow and take on a life of its own, and the journey, both of the characters and the process of writing it, is nearing its final leg. I have never felt more passionately about anything as I do about this story.

I suppose I'll leave you with this:

Pessimism is what Optimists call Realism.

The Snoopy sticker on my laptop is wearing off (How things are right now)

I'm not sure when my last post was, but suffice it to say, it was too long ago. Life ticks by the days and sometimes these things get left in the wayside, even though they are extremely important (I have let down my millions of blog-readers).

Well, folks, I'm back. Get ready.

I have nothing philosophical or deep to say in this post, other than to catch you up on what's been going on in my life.

Well, I met a girl...

HAHAHAHAHAhahahahaha....oh boy, that was fun.

No, for real, there is no girl.

Most of what's been going on in my life revolves around music, actually. I started a new job, which is why I haven't been blogging as much, but that job is barely worth mentioning, as it is probably the least important part of my life right now, other than the fact that it pays the bills. I go in, do my time, then forget about it before my body hits the seat in my car for the drive home. I am thankful for it, however. It is a good thing to have a job in these times.

Probably the coolest development in my life as of late is the beginning of a local open mic night which was started by some friends and myself at a downtown coffee shop. Until the point I walked into the place to perform, I hadn't even been aware of its existence, but it's actually a pretty nice place, and if you're ever in the East Liverpool, Ohio area on a Saturday night around 7, you should hunt down Coffee Fusion and come see me.

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The people who run the coffee shop liked it so much that they talked to us about doing it on a regular basis, which is very exciting. I really enjoy performing (except for the occasional nerves) and look forward to future evenings spent there, even if the only people who show up are my friends and I.

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I performed two songs: "Intensity in Ten Cities" from the album Bone Palace Ballet, by Chiodos, and "Beggars", the title track from the new Thrice record. If you're interested in seeing a video of my first performance, go here:

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http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=55704018#/video/video.php?v=1180000258865&ref=mf

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Also on the subject of music, I attended the Polar Bear Club/The Dear Hunter/Thrice show this past Sunday at the Deisel Club Lounge in Pittsburgh, PA. Great show, horrible venue. But, The Dear Hunter surprised me in a really, really good way, and Thrice was as amazing as ever. My respect and admiration for those guys is boundless. I hope to post a review of the show and some pictures along with it sometime very soon.

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What else? The usual festive autumn stuff: carving pumpkins (pictures on their way), trip to Cedar Point for Halloweekends (a tradition for the Clark siblings and crew). I've also been writing a LOT. I'm working on a group of short stories that have been nagging me for quite some time. So I'm taking a break from the book (which is about 60-70% complete) to clear the backlog of stories in my head, and after I'm done with that, back to the novel.

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Oh, and I have begun reviewing records, the first of which is Creed's new record, Full Circle. You can find the review here:

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http://www.breakthroughband.com/Series/MusicReviews/AlbumReview_Creed_FullCircle.html

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You can also find a lot of information about getting a band on its feet, so you should check it out, it's an all around cool site. Breakthroughband.com

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I'm just realizing how much catching up I have to do. Hope you stick with me while I get back into it. I hope to have a flurry of activity on this blog, so stay tuned.

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Currently Reading or Recently Read:

A Canticle for Leibowitz - Walter M. Miller, Jr. (Interesting, but not great, and a bit strange)

The Affinity Bridge - George Mann (Cool story, poorly written)

The Dark Knight Returns - Frank Miller (Excellent)

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Currently listening:

Trans-Siberian Orchestra - Night Castle

In Fear and Faith - Your World On Fire

Emery - ...In Shallow Seas We Sail

The Dear Hunter - Everything

The Gaslight Anthem - The '59 Sound

Oh, Sleeper - Son of the Morning

Ray LaMontagne - Gossip In The Grain

In case anyone is interested.

Awhile ago, I posted a blog about what is, in my opinion, one of the best songs ever written: Tool's "Lateralus".

Here is a review of the entire album, albeit from a stoner's perspective:

http://www.metalsucks.net/2009/06/19/12-tool-lateralus/

It made number 12 of 21 on their list of top metal albums of the 21st century.

From a band that until recently was my favorite band ever, came an album that defined and inspired me for many years, sonically and lyrically.

I think you can tell a lot about a person from the things they like, and especially the music that inspires them. This may be a glimpse into my psyche, if, as the title suggests, any of you are interested.

THE BANQUET

Rumors went out through the streets of the city
Of a banquet set by the King
My brothers and I, were the first ones in line
So we wouldn’t miss a thing

They opened the gates of pearl and gold
And at the table we took our seats
Then the King entered and in his presence
We all began to eat

When the meal was over, the King raised a glass
And he gave a toast to the night
Then my blood ran cold and shivered my soul
As he leveled me in his sight

The King passed the cup round the table and said,
“Welcome, friends, all, to my home.
Though the moon becomes high and night becomes late,
I must tell you a tale ‘fore you go.”

Then he told us a story of deceit and betrayal
And a shudder swept through the room
But before we could ask, “My Lord, is it I?”
He said, “The traitor lies among you.”

Then all of us there began turning our heads
And looked round the room to see
But when my turn came to drink from the cup
I realized the traitor was me

Tears streamed down my face and I hung my head
Then I felt the good King draw near
He kneeled before me and wrapped me in His arms
And he whispered this in my ear:

“My child, my son, wipe clear your eyes
Weep no longer for your soul
I set this meal and invited you here
My son, you were forgiven long ago.”

The Tide

It is said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result.

If this is true, then I have been insane for awhile.

How does one change? How does one truly alter a way of thinking?

For the longest time, I have accepted life as it is. I have allowed certain things to become the status quo. I keep doing the same things, acting the same way, thinking the same way, and then turn around and ask myself incredulously: "Why is nothing getting better? Where is that thing I keep expecting to come along to make things better?"

Why?

Because it's comfortable. Because it's convenient. Because it suits me. Because I have used the excuse that it is who I am. I have fooled myself into thinking that everything I do extends directly from my personality and the kind of person I have become. And as I have fooled myself, I have become a fool.

Part of the problem is that we have these ideas about ourselves, these pictures of who we want to be, who we fancy ourselves to be. And we get used to viewing ourselves that way. We operate in this fantastical realm of self where who we are is who we want to be. And somewhere along the way we convince ourselves that this is who we are right now. We wear a disguise, a disguise so good, that it even fools ourselves, and we fail to see that this picture of ourselves is far from reality.

If we were to take a look at our lives, a real look, an honest look, we would have to admit that who we think we are, and who we are in reality are two very different things. Like Neo after he wakes from the Matrix into the real world, he must deal with the "residual self-image" and face the reality of what he is.

But we don't want to do that. Because it's uncomfortable. Because it's difficult. Because we might have to...change.

It's not just habits. It's thoughts. And if you sow a thought, you reap an action. Sow an action, you reap a habit. Sow a habit, reap a character. Sow a character, and you reap a destiny. And when we fail to change our thoughts, we wonder why our destiny hasn't altered one bit.

"Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind..."

Who we are is the most powerful tool we possess in order to make of our life what it should be. But the first step to that is to realize that the glorified picture we have of ourselves is not correct, and to wait around for things to change, while in the meantime we change nothing, is foolish.

We aren't locked into who we are. We can change. We can become. We are not merely rafts tossed about on the sea of our personality.

For a long time I have lived with life being less than what I want it to be. I have shouted and shaken my fist at God, asking why things aren't getting better. But all the while, I have been acting and thinking the exact same way. That must change. That will change. I have reached the point where I am frustrated with being frustrated. I am tired of being tired of life.

I could let it go on. I could sit and do nothing, like I have done. I could wallow in who I am and what I want. I could wait around for things to change, and undoubtedly, some good things would happen, some bad things would happen. That's just life. But to get to where I want to be I have to BE who I should be.

If I change nothing in my life, then life will never change.

Thoughts Amidst The Sniffles (I have a cold)

The summer wanes, and the first hints of Fall begin to settle in over my particular region of Ohio. You ever notice that you can smell a season change? One day you wake up and it just doesn't smell like summer anymore. It's in the air, coming from that factory from which God makes seasons, but only four per year.

Well one morning this past week I woke up and stepped outside and fall was in the air. The sun was still bright, the sky was clear, but you can just tell. Though it is only September, we had a very mild summer, and thus I expected an early fall. The past three days have been cooler, and it has officially become the kind of weather in which you can wear a hoodie AND shorts and be perfectly comfortable. It is my favorite kind of weather. No surprise, for a was born in October, and thus am an autumn person, in many ways.

You see, fall is an in-between season, a time of change, a saying of goodbyes and a waving of hellos, and a settling into the long winter ahead. It is somewhat melancholy, yet bright and clear and crisp and refreshing and beautiful. Those of you who know me, know this is analogous to my personality. But more than that, it seems to be a metaphor for this particular stage in the life of yours truly.

I was reminded today at dinner with my parents and my recently married sister that I will be turning the grand age of twenty-five in just over a month. That number seems to me to be unreal. I am in my mid-twenties. I am halfway to fifty. This doesn't seem like it should be.

I recently purchases the latest release by Rise Against, a band that I am familiar with from the times in 315 where my roommate Jamie would play them. As I type I remember those days fondly. Which is perfect, because that's what this blog is about. Remembering.

The time has come for turning. Change is here and I seem to be in the in-between. Not in college but not in the routine of life just yet. I haven't found a permanent place, and I can't say that's a bad thing to me. And as fall is a somewhat wistful time, so this is a wistful period in my life, one where I long and yearn for the days past, days with my friends in Virginia.

And, again, as with autumn, I feel the approach of the winter of my life, one spent away from them, away from Virginia and all the goings-on there, away from the atmosphere of Campus Church and Liberty University, away from pursuing the things I want to learn. But that time is past.

I mentioned I purchased the Rise Against record, and on it is a song entitled "Audience of One." Some of the lyrics are as follows:

I brought down the sky for you
but all you did was shrug
You gave my emptiness a name
But you ranaway
Now all my friends gone
Maybe weve outgrown
all the things that we once loved

I won't try to explain exactly what those mean to me. It's something, like the coming of fall, that you just...know. It's in the air. Some people will look on your life and turn the other way, completely oblivious, or willingly careless. Some people will come alongside you. Some people will be held fondly in your memories forever.

But when the time comes for turning, it is a turning within, one that must be faced by yourself, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, either.

But it sure would be nice to have some company to take a walk through the falling leaves.

But God's factory at the edge of the world keeps cranking out those seasons, in weather and in life, and I guess this is me realizing that one season is coming to a close and another is beginning. And I'm melancholy, excited, a little nervous, confident, a bit lonely, a little sad, and mostly...content.

Basically, I'm everything I should be.

So, in the words of my friend, comrade, prayer minion, hallmate, fellow-member-of-the-golden-age-of-22-3, guitar hero god, magic card wizard, yankees fan and the former official voice of the Colonie, New York little league, Bill Monthie: "Alright. I've said what I needed to say. Now SCRAM."

The X-files: A Series In Review

Upon returning to Ohio towards the later part of May this year, I found myself in a quandry. The LOST series had recently ended for the season, and as that is really the only show I watch that is still in progress (I don't watch much TV, usually), I found myself in need of something else for my viewing pleasure. It is something of a habit of mine to watch an episode of something as I get ready for bed.

I wandered upstairs to my sister's room, and Lo, there was the complete X-files series on DVD, lined up in a neat little row on the shelf, ripe for the picking. It was settled. My summer would be an X-files summer.

Now, the X-files is one of those things that have always been there. I remember before I even moved to Ohio, when we still lived in Pennsylvania, sitting down to watch the pilot episode with my brother and sister. From then on, the X-files was a weekly staple. It became a part of the fabric of the Clark household, and part of the collective psyche between me and my siblings. The adventures of Mulder and Scully were things that were referred to often and with fondness. I went through junior high and high school watching the show.

At some point, probably around season 6, I stopped watching regularly, but still kept up with it, enough to know the basic gist of what was going on. That is, until I got busy with other things and stopped watching altogether somewhere along the latter part of season 8.

Well, last week I completed my X-files summer. Nine seasons and two feature films later, I am of the opinion that this series is far and away the best television show ever produced.

For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Special Agent Fox Mulder of the F.B.I. is something of a rogue, interested in the paranormal and unexplained cases, and as such is assigned the unit no one else wants: the X-files. His position in this unit is already established at the outset of the series. It is Special Agent Dana Scully who we see first enter the X-files. She is assigned there by her superiors because she is a rational scientist, sent to accompany Mulder as he investigates these phenomena, so that she may debunk Mulder and his paranormal theories with sound, rational and scientific facts.

Many of the episodes take the form of monster-of-the-week stories, Scully and Mulder hunting down various unexplained occurences, usually coming away with nothing conclusive. The rest of the episodes, the mythology episodes, deal with Mulder's past as he hunts for his sister, whom he believes was abducted by extraterrestrial beings when they both were children. This tragedy is what has led his life to the FBI, and the X-files.

Many of you might roll your eyes at this premise. Okay, that's fine. I freely admit that many of the episodes are outlandish, fantastical, even down-right silly. That's granted. That's not the reason I love this series so much. I could do without the monster-of-the-week episodes, because these episodes might have a cool or creepy idea to center around, but most of the time they don't develop the main plotline, or most importantly, the characters.

It is one of the tenants of story that plot does not make good characters. Good characters create plot. If I had to boil it down to one reason why I love the X-files series, it's because of the characters of Mulder and Scully.

It would be possible to look at the journeys of Mulder and Scully as two separate paths. But I won't do that here. Because I believe their journeys lie intertwined, and that's what makes them so powerful.

At the beginning of the series, Scully plays the foil to Mulder's belief, trying to dissuade him from leaps of faith when it comes to explanations for the cases which they investigate. Scully is a scientist, independent to the core, a rational thinker, was raised a Catholic, but since has strayed due to her scientific education and need for evidence in all things. Mulder is intuitive, a true believer, ready to believe any far-reaching, paranormal, or supernatural explanation. He is a man of faith in many things, not only a supreme being. He believes in the existence of extraterrestrial life, and his belief is what drives him and defines him, even when the facts are to the contrary.

It is hard to sum up how the characters get from point A to point B. But as Scully and Mulder pursue these cases together, Scully gradually begins to see things that her science and rationality will not explain, and Mulder's stubborn and ungiving faith begin to win her over.

I suppose the series could be summed up by the three recurring phrases that echo time and again throughout.

TRUST NO ONE.
I WANT TO BELIEVE.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE.

That last one, 9 times out of 10, graces the screen at the end of the introductory credits.

TRUST NO ONE - For a show all about conspiracies, misinformation, deceit and lies, this would seem a fitting phrase. However, the thing that makes this phrase so powerful, is, again, the journey that Mulder and Scully take together. Time after time they face down death together, saving each other's lives on numerous occasions, and eventually realize, when they are caught up together in a global conspiracy, that the only ones they can trust are each other. Scully's unyielding independence gradually softens, and she confides in Mulder in rare soft moments. Mulder's unflinching faith gets through to her, and she eventually takes on his cause, and he can finally let her in and trust her with everything.

I WANT TO BELIEVE - This phrase can be seen nearly every episode in the form of a poster hung in Mulder's office. It is, indeed, Mulder's faith that drives the X-files. But what happens when all evidence presented to you is contrary to what you know to be true? What happens when you can't tell the lies from the truth, and your friends from your enemies. See, it's not as easy as believing. Sometimes, you simply must say, I want to believe, because my desire to believe is all I have left. Mulder comes to this point so many times in the series, and it is Scully who holds him up, even she doesn't necessarily agree with him. She still encourages him to keep his faith and to never give up.

From the very beginning of the show, Scully wears a small gold cross around her neck, a symbol of the faith with which she was raised. Somewhere along the way, she lost that faith amidst the rational thought and scientific education that constituted her later life. But she never stopped wearing that cross. As the viewer watches her progression through the series, we see her rational personality crack, and Mulder's faith inspires her to rediscover her own, because her scientific explanations are no longer enough for what she has seen and experienced.

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE - Like any good story, the X-files is about Truth. Mulder's search for it, and Scully's gradual acceptance of it. What's so great about this phrase is that it admits that the truth is elusive, not easily found, but it does lie out there, somewhere, for those who are strong enough, brave enough, and have sufficient faith to find it. Mulder and Scully eventually do find it, together, a journey that they never could have made without the other. But even when they do find it, any evidence to prove it is destroyed and they are left with nothing but the knowledge that they are right. Sometimes, that is enough.

Mulder and Scully are superbly portrayed by David Duchovney and Gillian Anderson. Duchovney stayed with the series through season 7, then left, although his absence was written into the show, and he continues to appear in a few episodes leading up to the end of the series. Gillian Anderson starred in all nine seasons. (A side note: Gillian Anderson as Dana Scully just might be, in my opinion, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I could stare at her face for hours.)

To see these two act in the series is to see them become their characters, to the point where the viewer is familiar with them, can read their facial expressions, and feels their emotions. There are several moments when Gillian Anderson talks about Mulder after his disappearance, and the viewer believes that this is a real person. And when Gillian Anderson smiles, it's lights up the screen, because Scully is usually so stern and solemn. Likewise, Duchovney's sense of humor and wise-cracking is something I particularly appreciate about the series.

All in all, I guess you could say the X-files is a show about trust, faith, and the truth.

As Mulder and Scully take the journey together, their lives become intertwined, until they both realize that they cannot live without the other. Their journey from partners in the FBI, to confidants, to friends, and eventually to two people who realize that they cannot live without the other is inspiring. And makes this show about one more thing, above all.

It is a show about Love.

Real love. Devoted love. The kind of love that goes to bat for the other person, that sacrifices everything, including itself for the well-being and protection of the other.

The last entry in the series is the film THE X-FILES: I WANT TO BELIEVE. There is a rumor of a third film, the last, that would be the end all of everything. But even if it doesn't get made, I am completely satisfied with where the characters of Mulder and Scully end. It leaves them on a good note. Not the best note. That's what I love about it. It's an ambiguous end that promises nothing. It merely says that for now, things are good.

The characters themselves sum it up best at the end of the film.

Mulder: "Go help the boy, and then we'll get out of here. You and me."

Scully: "Away from the darkness?"

Mulder: "I don't think it works that way. I don't think we find the darkness. I think the darkness finds us."

The X-files is a series that faces hard truths, real truths, about the existence of truth and the battle for it, about trusting each other along the way, about never giving up faith, and finding a love that will help you face the darkness that is ever present.

A Melancholy Anniversary.

Hi. How are you?

Glad to hear it.

Me? No, I'm fine.

Well, yeah I AM fine, I'm just thinking. Nothing's really wrong. It's just one of those days.

You see, I realized today, at some point after I had woken up, that classes started for the fall semester at Liberty University today. And for the first time in five years, I'm not there.

Okay, technically, I wasn't in classes last year. But I was there, I was in Lynchburg, and I still got to do most of the regular college stuff: hang out on the dorm, go to the dollar movies, do stupid random things, make funny videos, stay up til all hours of the morning. I even ate at the rot a few times, including one glorious, bleary-eyed morning when we shared the best breakfast in the history of the universe.

I took a walk today, a night-walk, which is, in my opinion, the best kind of walk there is. Second only to the night walks that take place with friends at your side, such as the ones I used to take earlier in the year, with the legendary William Decker-in-the-face Monthie III, and the epic Danny Strutter-Buckets Latin Smith. I miss walking amidst the orange glow of the lights of LU, wandering aimlessly around campus, talking and thinking and laughing and enjoying the night.

On this night walk I got to thinking, and a deep sadness settled over a part of my heart, the part of my heart that will always be that dude who lived on 22-3, rooms 323, 309, 315, and most memorably, 305. I realized that I may never again take such a walk across the university campus, let alone with my trusty companions. I realized I may never again hear the sound of Bill coming down the hall, never hear the rattle of door handle as he bursts into our room to declare the latest news in his often hilarious and usually frustrated life. I may never again be the victim of Danny Latin's McGuyver-esque schemes. I may never again hear the eloquent rants of Sir Ryan Trammell and be able to laugh with all of my friends in the same room.

That part of my heart can hardly take that thought...

What? Yeah, I'm fine.

I just keep wondering if that sound will always be in my head.

What sound? You know, that sound...

...The sound of the hall door of 22-3 slamming closed, echoing down the hall of my mind...

That's what I feel like.

Like a door has been shut, and will never open again.

Two-word Prayers

I don't know about you, the one or two of you who read this blog, but I've never been a fan of long, drawn-out prayers, spending hours and hours immersed in a spiritual haze trying to break through to some mystical plane where God's presence can be felt. (A thought enters my mind: Jerry Falwell spent hours and hours in prayer, and look at his life. Perhaps we all should spend more time in prayer) I spend a goodly amount of time during my day talking to God, because I've always believed that prayer isn't something that happens at a designated time and place. I believe prayer should be a conversation, one that never really ends, but merely one we step away from for a bit.

It is with this in mind that I write this post. I was taught in my english classes at Liberty University that brevity is often much more powerful than eloquent speeches and wordy rants. And really, sometimes when I pray my own penchant for words fails me, and I can only think of one or two to utter to the One who has so completely saved me. I've been thinking about writing this for awhile, and I hope this encourages someone out there in this infinite void through which we all interact.

Without further ado, five two-words prayers that have helped get me through time and time again.

1. Thank You - The other day, my mother went to the mall, and when she got home she handed me a brand new shirt, randomly. I love it. It's exactly the kind of thing I would pick out for myself, and she just saw it and bought it for me out of the loving-kindness of her heart. I thanked her several times. But later, after I had gone out and come home after everyone was in bed, I went downstairs and saw the shirt again. I looked at it, and this small item reminded me once again of how extraordinarily blessed I am. And all I could say into the darkness of my basement apartment, was thank you. I don't know how many times I said it, but it was more than three. I don't think God requires some grand display of our gratitude. And those two words were some of the most genuine words that I had uttered that day, stemming from genuine thankfulness for everything He has given me.

2. Help Me - This is a big one. It has many applications. When I can feel myself getting angry or frustrated. When I don't really have time to say anything more in the way of prayer before I have to deal with a tricky situation or say something to someone I may not want to say. Or for courage when I get up to speak in front of people at church. I find I use this very often. Sometimes there just isn't time to pray anything else, and I believe God hears when we call for Him, and His strength has helped me through more times than I can count.

3. Forgive Me - This is pretty self-explanatory, but no less important. The older I get, the more I realize - and the more I'm willing to admit - what a major screw-up I am. In the past it's been hard for me to admit my mistakes, especially to myself. But God sees right through me, and that's actually more of a comfort than anything else. We're all guilty of trying to put on a good exterior, but when I catch myself falling back into something that I've repented of - my mouth, my mind, the way I sometimes treat others - I have to go to Him again, and start over. These two words are a fresh start every single time.

4. Lead Me - I've used this I don't know how many times, especially at this point in my life. As much as I believe in the will of man, I also believe in the leading of God. I don't so much get daily inclinations of God leading me as I get one big one once in awhile. I think the rest of the time, God is more interested in who we are than what we do. I think He shows us just enough of the path ahead for us not to completely face-plant, and enough for us to learn. A step at a time. Recently, I haven't really known what the next step is for me. And these two words are my way of asking him to show me. I want to be able to look back at the end of my life and know that I haven't wasted it.

5. Change Me - This should be number one. Not a day goes by when I don't pray this over and over. I know myself better than anyone, except God. I know what a jerk I can be. Whereas salvation is a one-time deal (thank the Lord), redemption is a daily process. There are things that need weeded out of my life, out of my heart and mind, and I believe God honors our desire when we honestly want him to change us into the men He wants us to be. I find when I DON'T pray this, I can see myself slipping away into selfish-mode. We are all in the process, to a greater or lesser degree, of becoming. What we are becoming is up to us. I'd like God's help in the process.

Back from the Brink (Notes On a New Optimism)

I find that blogging serves as a sort of synthesis, one in which I ask myself to evaluate my life and come up with a cohesive summation of where I am, what I'm doing, and where I'm going, drawing from the endless spectrum of variables, circumstances, elements, and general goings-on in my life that have brought me to this point.

For this particular blog (this being my, hopefully, return to a semi-routine lifestyle of bloggery) I draw from events over a year in the making. None of which I will go into detail about here, but if you would like to know more specifics, just ask, and I will tell. That's something that you may not know about me. People tend to see me as a closed book. And I am. But I would also remind you that to know the contents of a book, one has simply to work up sufficient curiosity to reach out and turn the cover.

Rather than beat a dead horse and recount the fact that I've had a terrible year, let it be enough to say that I have been at the bottom of the proverbial pit, the end of my rope, and faced with a very bad choice indeed. One which I never intend to entertain again. Several factors have swooped into my life that have pulled me back from the brink, the edge of whatever chasm upon which I stood. Not the least of these is a very close friend, and a small but vital piece of information that explained a lot of things (and which I wish I had known much, MUCH earlier).

Cryptic allusions aside, I know that many people around me are going through a similar trial, one that echoes my own. And so I write this.

I have never been a particularly cheery person, nor am I naturally optimistic, intrinsically bright-sided, or any other manner of glass-half-full disposition. That may be changing.

Not that things are really looking any better than they were. Bills are piling on. Work is scarce. Genuine friends are hard to come by. Even those you love can become an irritation or obstacle. It is not out of circumstances that this choice comes to me. It is out of necessity.

See, there comes a point, I believe, where one has to make a choice, a relatively permanent choice. Not a choice of how to live your life, but a choice on how to view your life. I am butchering what, to me, is a beautiful idea in my head.

Basically, what it comes down to is this: Choose one, hope or despair.

Those of you who have not walked the razor's edge of despair, I hope and pray you never have to. I have, and will again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. But someday circumstances will bear down upon me once again. And I'll have to make the choice all over again.

For a long time, I have lived in despair. Not all of this is my fault. Some of it is inherited (that fact helps, but does not erase). I let it weigh on me for so long, I didn't know there was something different. And with age, maturity, experience, and reality, despair becomes like a multiplication of gravity, increasing exponentially, pressing me further and further into itself.

At the risk of making it sound like some corny resolve, some heroic effort to convince myself things will be otherwise, I have decided to no longer let this be the case.

Yes, bills are pressing in. But I have a job, and I have enough to pay them. Barely, but they get paid, in no small part because of the provision of God.

Yes, I still go home alone. To an empty room, to an empty part of the house. But I have friends. Good friends. Friends that may not say much, but I know I could count on them if I had to.

Yes, I am working a crappy, bad-hours, underpaid, manual-labor job. But I have work.

Yes, my dream of being a writer is unfulfilled. But I have time to write. My book is taking shape. I have found what one of my good friends recently wrote about in his blog: I found that about which I am most passionate, and I am pursuing it. Though no one else sees, comments, asks, or believes. And I believe it is just a matter of time.

Even if it is not, it's alright. I will save what little money I make, and I will put a down payment on a house. A quiet place. An old place. Perhaps a small place. Perhaps not the nicest. But it will be mine. And I will write. And I will keep in contact with those people most important to me. And I will commune with my savior. And perhaps I will find a woman who loves me, respects me, and is brave enough, cares enough, and understands enough to step into my little world and find my excuse for a heart. Because you know what? If a woman requires a huge house, a nice car, and money to burn in exchange for her hand in marriage, then she can keep that hand, for all I care. I will take care of my wife and cherish her with everything I have in me and at my disposal. But not because she requires it. I will do so because I require it of myself.

See, it's not about being optimistic for optimism's sake. It's about survival.

If I continued to wallow in despair, I would wither and fade and die. So I was wrong. It's not a choice. I have no choice. It's necessary. I refuse to be a man of such weak faith and fortitude as to let my circumstances dictate my future.

This will be the last post in reference to the past year. I resolve to leave it there.

I have failed already.

I made a resolution to write at least one blog a week this summer.

Obviously, I am a blogging failure.

(That last sentence is kind of funny if you read the word "blogging" as a swear word.)

Moving on, a have just completed a crazy insane work week, in which I worked in excess of 70 hours. You may be thinking in my direction, "That sucks, but at least you get a fat paycheck at the end of the week!" But guess what? All of that money is already spoken for. I've found this to be a rule of life when you get an age over 20 or so. And let me just say, I don't like it.

In other news, I now have four days off in a row, which is practically heaven. And I'm actually not being lazy with it either. I'm using these four days to lock myself in a church and record new songs for my Mythic project, and hopefully these songs will round out what will be the first Mythic EP. I got one knocked out today (sans drums), and hopefully I will get one done each day this week.

It's exciting but also very exhausting. Concentrating on anything for hours at a time is tiring, but especially when its a musical instrument you're trying to play perfectly take after take. Grueling.

Things I'm enjoying, or have enjoyed, recently:

• Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown
• Up
• Terminator:Salvation
• Bones - Season 3
• Law & Order: SVU - Season 2
• X-files - Season 1 (and 2, 3,4,5...etc.)
• Lord of the Flies
• Jim Gaffigan - King Baby

Some artwork...

Update:Home, Work, and Day Ruiner's

A quickie.

I am home.

The drive was arduous, but uneventful, so I can't complain. We pulled into the driveway at 5:45 pm, and had the U-Haul totally unloaded by 6:10. Miraculous.

I succeeded in making it to Target to obtain aforementioned tiny wind-up robot, and it is now sitting on my desk, in my cave, in the basement, awaiting the results of my decision to either open it and place it somewhere to be displayed, or left in the package, also to be displayed. My inclination is toward the former, but I'll wait until I have a good night's sleep to make such a weighty decision.

I trained for a few hours for work today, said hello to a few good friends last night and through this afternoon, and I am almost done putting my room together.

In closing, I hate Day Ruiner's. That is the name I have given to things that come out of nowhere to ruin a perfectly fine or great or mediocre day. I especially hate them in their most vicious form: the-snide-comment-about-yourself-that-you-were-never-meant-to-hear-but-overheard-or-overread. This particular instance was the latter. Good thing it came at a time when I have little day left to think about it, and I can lose it in the realm of sleep.

Hopefully it doesn't bleed over into tomorrow.

Goodnight.

One for the Road...

Hi everyone.

I find myself teetering on the brink. My final hours, or rather, hour, in Lynchburg is upon me, and the view from the Hilton Garden Inn, Room 428, is a rather melancholy one. Maybe that's just my mood.

My brother, Lewis, and my sister, Jessica, and my sister's fiancee came down this weekend to help me move out. Everything is now loaded in the U-Haul, ready to trek back northward. We went to see Angels & Demons on Saturday night, after having dinner at Rivermont Pizza. I haven't made up my mind about the movie yet, but when I do, I'm sure you'll hear about it.

But a curious thing happened whilst we dined at Rivermont, and I'm debating on whether I should blog about it here. I think it may be an entry that should be saved for a more personal space, such as my hand-written journal (just another way that I am behind the times, Bill. How Archaic of me, no? I didn't even us Mapquest to plan my route home). Anyway, tangents aside, let's just say that while I was eating my pizza at Rivermont Pizza, I saw a girl, and I was completely and utterly spellbound. I've never seen her before, but she has gripped my thoughts for the last two days with fascination. Alas, that such an event would occur when I am moving away. That seems to be the way the universe works. I give myself up to its madness.

That was not the only "Two ships passing in the night" moment that I had this weekend. But again, perhaps some things are better left unblogged. (In my head, that last word is pronounced unblogg-ed, like wretched). I'm in an Olde English mood, I suppose.

Lastly, something I got a kick out while I was wandering around Target last night was this: In the front of the store as you walk in, they have these bargain racks that you can find some treasures in if you look. And there on the shelf was a tiny wind-up robot, no bigger than my thumb. The part that I found hilarious was the fact that this tiny little mechanical beast had the word "DESTROYER" stamped across its chest. I chuckled to myself. I also found it somewhat appropriate, as it is a law of the universe that the smallest things can often be the most destructive. I am kicking myself for not having bought it right then and there. I might try to drop by and grab it, if there is time before we roll out.

This post is already longer than I had expected, so I will sign off now. Godspeed, world, intrepid readers, and all others who I will not see for at least several weeks. You are already missed. When next we meet, may it be on the sandy shores of the Atlantic . . .

Bloggity-Blog (On an End and a Beginning)

The past couple months have been a blur.

Ever since I got laid off from my job, things have been crazy. I haven't really operated according to any schedule or routine since then, and I can't say that I mind. I like not having a routine. I like not having a schedule. I like not knowing what's going to happen at any given time of the day. I like being able to just pick up and go at a moment's notice. I like my freedom.

My time over the last few months has been split mainly between four places: My apartment, my parent's house in Ohio, my buddies' dorm, and a sod field in the middle of nowhere Virginia. Thankfully, the sod field has provided me with enough work to get by, feed myself, and pay my bills. Just barely. I guess that's the disadvantage of having that kind of "freedom" - the lack of a steady paycheck. But when I think about it, I don't need that much. There's not a whole lot that I want. I could keep on living like I am living for the rest of my life and I would be fine. I don't need to be rich. I have everything I need.

This is a strange time of year. I graduated from college almost exactly one year ago, but I feel like I've been in college this year, in a good way. I've gotten to hang out with my friends on campus, at their dorm, and basically live the college life without having classes. This year has held more than it's share of frustrations, but most of those are coming to a close. The only problem is that I'm moving pretty much permanently back to Ohio, and I won't be around much next year. My friend Bill remarked the other day about how he hates this time of year, and I can't say I blame him.

I was watching a documentary the other day, about a band and their tour, and one of the guys on the video made this statement, which I will summarize:

Things are never going to be the same again. Whenever a group of people get together and hang out, there's a certain vibe that is created. We've been going on the same vibe together for so long, but after right now, it's never going to be the same. The vibe right now is good, and even though you'll see each other again and hang out again and there will be a new vibe, and that vibe will be good too, it will never be the same as the vibe that is right now. Things will never be the same.

I found this to be pretty relevant. I can't say I'm thrilled about leaving Virginia, but I'm not dreading going home either. I am kind of tired of being split between two places, and it seems that for five years my heart has been both with my family in Ohio and with all my friends in Virginia. While this is a good problem to have, it wears on you after awhile. I miss my siblings and my parents and the handful of friends I have at home when I'm in VA, but I miss all my friends something fierce when I'm in Ohio. And there's no way to reconcile the two.

I guess I have to finally face the fact that college is over, that I have to move on, that I have to go onto the next thing in my life, whatever that may be. I have to start paying off the mountain of debt I have incurred from going to college. I have supported myself for a year, so that's not a problem, but now I have to step it up a notch.

And when I think about what's ahead of me - a world of finances, of 401ks, of retirement plans, of salaries and benefits and insurance and bank loans and payments and stock portfolios - of all this stuff that I'm supposed to care about - it depresses me. Is this what life is? Am I suppose to care about these things? Because I don't. And because I don't, I feel like somehow I'm less of an adult, like I'm not responsible, not capable, not a man.

I know that's not true. I am responsible, I am capable, I am an adult. But I just don't care about all these things that the world is telling me are supposed to be my priorities.

My priorities are the people in my life. And a distant second, are the things I want to do. I want to write and publish. I want to record music. If God sees fit to bless me by allowing me to make a living by doing these things eventually, I will be thrilled. But the vast majority of people will simply see these things as silly hobbies, pasttimes of a wayward young man.

That's okay. I would rather live my life with passion and love than working towards a retirement plan.

The worst part about this is that I have to say goodbye to my friends, some of which, no matter how much we say to the contrary, I will never see again. And even if I do, it will never be the same.

Why The Matrix is a trilogy (What happened, happened, and couldn't have happened any other way.)

These words spoken by Morpheus I will use to open my argument. It is appropriate that a quote can be found within the film trilogy itself that can be used to defend it.

I don’t exactly know why the Matrix trilogy has this stigma about it, this idea that somehow the second and third films don’t live up to the first, that somehow the story falters. To this writer, the merit of the latter two installments is exceedingly obvious. In no way was I disappointed.

So, I think it might be easier for me to address the cited “problems” that others have with the Matrix as a trilogy.

First, the most common (and, might I add, the worst) reason for not liking the second two episodes in the story of Neo, Trinity, Morpheus, and Smith is that it is just toooooo haaaard to understaaaaaaaand. If you pick up a certain sarcastic tone that emulates a whiny baby, give yourself a gold star for your skills of perception. This problem is not exclusive to the Matrix films, as I have heard it used as a reason for not liking several films, most recently Watchmen, and I have written on this blog previously on this same topic. And like most complaints, this problem says more about the people complaining than the thing about which they complain. In point of fact, I have never seen a film, that upon further thought and discussion, I did not understand, with one exception. (The Fountain – which I still do not fully understand. It should be noted, however, that my lack of understanding does not in any way affect my enjoyment of the movie. I love it. I loved it the first time I saw it. It is, as my compatriot Bill Monthie says, English literature on film. Besides, the writer and director designed The Fountain to be a movie that you can draw your own conclusions from, and fill in the blanks on your own.) But therein lies the problem. People don’t want to think. People don’t want to discuss. People don’t want to be challenged to step outside their little limited boxes. People want to whine like little babies that don’t want to use the brains that God has given them.

The main scene which I have heard complained about the most, in terms of being incomprehensible, is the scene in Reloaded, where Neo has a confrontation with the figure called The Architect. Many people have told me that what the Architect says makes absolutely no sense. This is absolutely false. In fact, contained within the Architect’s speech, if one were to get past the biiiiiiiiiig woooooords, is the entirety of the story so far. He explains everything. (I think this is quite clever, and it makes me wonder if the Wachowski brothers were banking on the fact that people wouldn’t understand this scene, because basically they give away the entire plot in the span of a few paragraphs. It’s like an easter egg with a very intimidating vocabulary. (p.s. vocabulary is awesome.)) If only people took a moment to think about what The Architect says, all the rest of the pieces that follow would fall right into place.

The second reason that people don’t like the latter two Matrix films is this: They don’t like where the story takes the characters. There is a bit more allowance for this reason than there is for the first, but not by much. Whenever I hear this reason I inwardly chuckle at the silliness. Saying you don’t like what happens in the second two films is like opening up one of your favorite books and saying, “Okay, I like chapters one through five, don’t like chapters six through eight, chapter nine was okay, but I HATED chapter ten, especially the epilogue,” then proceeding to rip out all the chapters that don’t suit your fancy. Then, you sit down in a nice chair with a cup of tea, and commence reading what is left of the story.

That. Is. Silly.

If you do that, why stop there? Let’s forget about The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. Darth Vader is NOT, in fact, Luke’s father, nor is Leia Luke’s sister. Han and Leia never hook up. The Empire is never defeated, the Rebellion never wins, and Emperor Palpatine continues his ruthless reign over the galaxy. Also, Peter Parker doesn’t end up with Mary Jane, Jack Sparrow never gets the Black Pearl back, Elizabeth and Will never marry, John Conner never brings down Skynet, Indy never makes up with his father, and Jason never actually learns that he is David Webb.

Oh, and by the way, Frodo never makes it to Mordor.

You may not agree with all of the above examples, but my point is this: You can’t just abandon the characters that you so love. At the end of the first Matrix film, you have no idea what’s going to happen. It does not resolve itself, it leaves the characters still hanging in the balance, still waging war, still in the struggle. What happens next?

I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to dislike parts of the films. Of course you are. But to write the entirety of both films off as a mishap, simply because you didn’t like the new characters, or that shot was cheesy, is a foolish thing to do. (As for the cheesy shots in the Matrix, yes, they are in there. But lest you forget, they are KUNG FU FILMS – at least, partly.)

I am convinced that the main reason people don’t like the second and third films is that they are not the first film.

The Matrix:Reloaded and The Matrix:Revolutions are not The Matrix, nor should they be. How good would a book be if the second and third chapters were exactly the same as the first? They take the story hinted at in the first film, and develop it accordingly.

Why do I like the Matrix Trilogy so much?

Despite having two of the most jaw-dropping moments in my cinema history, and in addition to having amazing philosophical and literary tones that I enjoy oh-so-much, it does what I love in a story: It starts on a miniscule scale and explodes into epic heights, and it does so with a groundbreaking style, some of the most unique and fleshed out characters in recent cinema memory, and a story that grips me right till the very end.

If you don't see the human aspect of the story, you're probably an Agent.

To abandon Neo at the end of The Matrix is to cut short the hero’s story. You never see him through to the end of his epic journey, one that every hero must take. He leaves behind everyone he knows, severs his relationship with his teacher and his friend, loses the source of his power – the thing that defines his entire character (his sight), and must say goodbye to the one person he cares about most in the world. And despite of all this, he STILL finds a way to save Zion.

You know, stories haven’t changed much in the last few millennia. The basics are still around. The only thing that changes is the context. What Star Wars did for my brother, The Matrix did for me. It took The Classic Story, and put it in context for my generation. The story is the same and it speaks to what is human in me, the worst and the darkest and the greatest and the best.

The human mythology lives on.

I look forward to the next installment.

Kings and Fools

I've been thinking (Uh-Oh), and you know those people who always say "Live life with no regrets," or "I don't regret anything, it's made me who I am today" ?

Well . . . That's bullcrap. For several reasons.

And since you asked, here they are:

That kind of attitude reflects an immature, ignorant, naive, selfish outlook on life and those around you. If you say that you don't regret anything in your life, you are one of three things. You're either a liar (and you do regret things, you just don't let on), you're deceiving yourself (and you won't admit to yourself that you regret things), or you're careless.

You (and when I say "you", I am speaking to the figurative collective that embodies the ideal of "not regretting anything") don't regret ANYTHING? Really? No sin you've committed? No words you've spoken rashly that hurt yourself or someone you love? Not something you did or did not do that made your circumstances harder, or hurt someone else? Not a decision you made that ended up bringing you more headaches and harm than good? Think for a second...you really don't regret anything?

That is so foolish.

If you don't regret things you've done, or words you've said to someone you love, you are selfish, careless, and ignorant. To say that you don't regret hurting someone is the epitome of naivete. How wrapped up in your own little world do you have to be in order to say something like that?

When I think back on my life, there are more than a few moments that I would like to reach out into the air and snatch back the words that I just spit out of my mouth, because I can see the damage they've done written on the faces to whom they were directed. I can see the consequences of actions that I have taken without thinking, actions that have ended up hurting me, and hurting those I love, consequences that could have been avoided if I had just paused, and thought, and calmed myself, and controlled myself, just for a moment.

To say that you don't regret anything in life is to say that you don't care who you hurt, you're going to do and say and be whatever you want, regardless of the people, feelings, or consequences that are wrought from your attitude.

And to say that you don't regret anything because "it has made me what I am today" is equally, if not more, foolish. Have you ever stopped to consider the fact that "who you are", this person that you have become and take so much pride in, isn't who you should be? Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, who you've become isn't that great of a person? (How do you tell a friend that you don't like what they're becoming?) Probably not, because your pride is more important.

To say that you don't regret anything is to say that you haven't learned from your mistakes.

Yes, my decisions have made me who I am today, but some of those decisions I regret, and they have made the difference. They have made me more sensitive to people, more careful, more considerate, more loving. It is BECAUSE I regret those things that I will not repeat them.

And really, saying that you don't regret anything is just another way of saying that you haven't done anything worth regretting. Your life has been meaningless. You haven't ventured, you haven't risked, and odds are, you haven't loved.

Fools.


If that statement (Live life with no regrets) is more of a pre-emptive attitude, then fine. If what you mean is don't let an opportunity pass you by, and in that way, you won't have any regrets, then good. But I'm willing to bet that's not what you mean.


I would rather live with a mountain of regret than live a life where I have never put anything on the line, never risked myself, my pride, my being, on something that could be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I would rather carry the burden of my mistakes, then be so prideful as to think that I have never made one. I would rather carry with me a heart full of hurt, than shovel that hurt onto someone else through my actions and words.

I regret, yes, but I have lived.

What have you done?

2 down, 19 to go.

It has been a dream of mine for a long while to record music. Ever since I picked up the guitar in high school, I have wanted to start something. A band, yes. But it was more than that. I wanted to complete a dream, to see that dream pass on to other people, and have them benefit and enjoy what I have created.

This week I moved one step closer to that dream. My good friend Ryan Trammell (whose blog you can find here) was up from Florida for the week, and we took advantage of my time off to record some music together. Usually, when I get together with Ryan, our sessions bring out the softer, more mellow side of my playing, because that's Ryan's style and I enjoy making that type of music. So we recorded a few things, a beachy tune, a bluegrass song, and a dark lullaby sort of thing. We were happy with all of them. But we still had some time left and we didn't have any ideas to work out together, so I asked Ryan if he would be interested in helping lay down a song that I've been working on for the better part of four years. I wrote the main riff I believe my freshman year of college. So we went with it.

The song is called The Phoenix, and it is my favorite thing that I have ever recorded. It is so fulfilling to finally see and hear a vision of mine come to fruition. It turned out so much better than I thought it would. We recorded it in his parents basement using Garageband and a simple recording box, a mic-ed amp, and a custom guitar that was designed and built by the younger Trammell brother, Kent (I have since purchased this guitar from him, and we are both very happy - him for having sold it, me for having gained an amazingly beautiful guitar that has a smooth, thick sound, that was made by a friend). Using these simple tools, we were able to create a piece of my dream. Kent described it as the "definition of epic", which is certainly what I was going for. So I am very pleased.

Another friend of mine, Jamie Newman, and I recorded another song my sophomore year, called The Storm, and that song along with The Phoenix are the first two pieces of an ambitious puzzle that I have named Mythic. Mythic is the name that I came up with a very long time ago for a band, if I were to ever start one. As time went by, Mythic became more and more a personal project, involving artwork, music, and a story, all woven together in different mediums to create a cohesive whole.

So I guess this is the humble announcement of the beginning of MYTHIC, a project by Andrew J. Clark.

Mythic will be three cd's, or EP's, each with seven songs each. This trilogy will have accompanying artwork, and a small amount of prose to flesh out the story as I see it. The entire music project will be instrumental, and will sonically reflect what the story is about.

It doesn't take much to make me happy. Making music and recording it is one of those things. I don't have to sell copies. I don't need a lot of people to be interested, because a lot of people won't. They won't like the instrumental aspect, they won't like the heavy nature of the music, and this project might be deemed "pretentious". That's okay. It's a personal project. I would love for people to take it and make it their own and love it, and if that happens, great. But that is secondary. I am doing this because this is what I want, what I have dreamed of doing, what I am passionate about. If people pick up on that passion and use to fuel their own, then my dream will have come true.

As soon as my mountain of bills diminishes (brakes on my car, rent, electric bill, credit card, student loans, other debts, feeding myself), then I will be buying my own program and my own recording tools so that I can flesh this project out more and more. But for the time being, I have two songs done.

Only 19 more to go.

Welcome to MYTHIC.

A Blog in Three Acts

ACT I: ENEMIES AND BROTHERS

Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, isn't it? I suppose it relates to the fact that the people that you love are the easiest to be disappointed with, the easiest with whom to get angry, the easiest to learn to resent. You don't expect much of people who you don't consider your friends, so they can't get in and hurt you like your friends can. When you expect a certain understanding, a certain acceptance, a certain care from your friends, you create the potential for failure and resentment, the potential for disappointment. When your friends become hangers for your emotional clothing, and then they let you down, it's a wound waiting to happen. One could argue that this shouldn't be the way one approaches friendship, and I would be inclined to agree. But sometimes, that is exactly the way I view friends and my role as a friend to others.

If you can't go to your friends, if you can't trust your friends with your problems, if your friends don't ask you how you're doing, if your friends aren't sensitive to the way you are, then who will be? Again, is this the right way to view friendship? As a friend, I do my best to be caring, to be sincere, to not tear my friends down, to build them up and be there for them no matter what. I must admit that I don't find this reciprocated much. Not that I'm the epitome of what it means to be a good friend. But as I've said before, I don't expect anything of anyone else that I don't expect of myself.

I suppose I could go with the phrase, "Never take friendship personal". But I've never quite been able to wrap my mind around that, and figure out if that is truth and wisdom or falsehood.

I suppose I could begin by laying down my definition of friendship. To me, friendship is a brotherhood. It's not just hanging out or doing things together. It's taking an interest, investing in each other's lives on a more than superficial level. It's inquiring into the struggles of the other, and coming alongside them, making sure that they know you are there, through thick and thin. It's actually talking, having a conversation about real things, about the real stuff that life is made up of.

The funny thing is, I can't remember the last time I had a meaningful conversation with one of my guy friends. I can't remember the last time one of them asked how my life was going. I can't remember the last time they asked how my writing is coming. To be honest, I'm pretty sure most of them kind of inwardly smirk when I talk about writing or being an artist. They don't really believe that that's what I'm going to do. Worse, they don't really see that that is what I am.

How can you be friends when you don't talk? Am I wrong in thinking that? How are we friends if you go out and don't give me a call and let me know what's going down? And then they're surprised when I don't know what's going in their lives. Basically, it's because we haven't talked in over a year.

I'll be candid. None of my guy friends know or understand what I've gone through this past year. They don't know how hellish and difficult it has been. How could they, when they don't talk, when they don't ask? I feel as though my friends have been willingly absent. No one wants to take on the burdens of another.

I find myself thinking almost every day about the story of David and Jonathan. Two men unconditionally bound together by friendship. (I can see some of my friends reading this and smirking, calling me a girl, or calling me gay.) The sad fact is, biblical friendship has gone almost completely down the tubes in our culture. Men don't understand the importance of having a David, having a brother who you can rely on for anything, in any situation. This is integral to being a man, and the modern man wonders why something is missing from their lives. It is vital. It is important.

If I am David, where is my Jonathan? But more importantly, if I am Jonathan...where is my David?

ACT II: VAGABOND

Sometimes I imagine a different life. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to just leave. To sell everything I owned and hit the road. I think I could do it. Fit everything I needed in one backpack. Take my knife. The pocketwatch that my parents gave to me. My journal. My writing notebooks. Two or three of my favorite books, which I would read over and over again. Paradise Lost. The Grapes of Wrath. The Bible. A spare shirt. One good tough pair of worn jeans. One pair of beat up boots.

I could take these things and hop on the back of a train, criss-crossing the country for a couple years. Get away. Forget the job. Forget the money. Wash dishes in some greasy spoon if I need extra cash. Leave everything and everyone behind for awhile. To sleep on the floor of a boxcar. Be okay with being dirty for days on end. Meet people. Hear stories.

As lonely as the last year has been, I may as well. Sometimes I think I wouldn't be missed. Because as time passes, the more I feel things slipping away, and the more I feel like the people I once called my friends are rapidly becoming The-People-I-Used-To-Know. I hate the thought. But that's the way I feel. I know people come and go in one's life, but you'd think one or two would stay. Or at least act like they want to be there. Is this the truth? I don't know. But it's the way I feel sometimes.

ACT III: FRIENDS AND LOVERS

I've always considered myself a hopeful individual. Optimistic? Maybe not, but hopeful. It pains me to say that I have felt this side of me slipping away over the past year or so. I used to dream of ideals. To believe that the best was yet to come. To believe that somewhere out there, someone cared, whether friend, or future mate. To believe that something good was on the way.

I feel like my legs have been chopped out from underneath me. My hope and my dreams have come under systematic fire, and I feel like I'm scrambling around on my hands and knees, desperately trying to collect the pieces and put them back together, to form some semblence of what it used to be.

I have always tried to be the best person I could. I've never intentionally sought to hurt anyone. I've always tried to be the best friend, the best acquaintance, the best person I could to those around me. I have failed time and time again. But I tried. I have tried so hard for so long, and I feel myself growing weary, and I ask myself how much longer I can keep this up. When will I see something in return? When will these small investments start paying off? Will they ever? I don't know.

Then I hear those words in my mind once again, spoken by a voice I know so well. "Come, all you weary . . . " And I drag myself back to the source, to a place where I get my strength to keep trying, to keep giving, to hold fast to the hope which is mine, mine personally, my own hope, the hope the belongs to me and only me.

Thing is, this place and the Voice I know so well, neither one changes the way I feel. Nor should they. I feel the way I feel. With good reason. There is no shame in the way I feel. There is nothing wrong with the way I feel. The only thing that changes, is that I regain the resolve to keep going. In the face of the betrayals, the hurtful words, the negligent actions, the disappointments, the blows, and everything else that comes along with being human in a fallen world, I find the strength to carry on.

And my hope is restored.

Hope that somehow, someday, something special will come along and change my mind about a lot of things. Someone that will shatter the jaded preconceptions that have been formed from everything I've gone through.

Maybe that's what love is: Finding that one person, whether it be a friend or a lover, that proves you and everything and everyone else . . .

Wrong.




-a.

Ho-Hum

This might be the first blog that I've written that has no point. I really have nothing to say, but I feel like saying something. So I guess now all I have to do is decide what exactly it is that I want to say. This is proving difficult.

*sigh...

Does a blog count as a friend if it's the only "person" around at the moment to talk to? I suppose that's why I'm writing this particular entry. I feel like having a conversation, but there's no one around to have one with. I suppose I could call someone, but I don't particularly like talking on the phone. Plus, I don't know what I want to talk about, I just want to talk. About something stupid and completely pointless. Just to talk, just to interface with another human being (In my head, I hear those last two words pronounced the way my friend Phil Worthington would say them).

Speaking of Phil, he's probably in Lynchburg, Virginia at the present moment, and I am not. I think I should be. I will be at the end of the week. I am growing antsy and experiencing a touch of wanderlust this evening, I believe. It's time for me to move on. Or move back. Or whatever.

Um....................

I suppose a blog is the same as a journal or a diary, in that you tell it things that you don't really think would fit into everyday conversation. Does that constitute a friendship? I dunno. Kinda wierd if it did. To be friends with a blog. Journals are private places for private thoughts, so I suppose a blog would be one of those friends who you tell stuff to and then they go and tell everyone else, and pretty soon all your shtuff is spread around. But you can't really blame them because you should know your friend well enough to know that they're gonna tell everyone, but it still makes you kinda irritated because, dude, you weren't supposed to tell people that.

I suppose I should be careful what I tell my blog.

Even though there's only, like, four people who read this. Maybe not even that many. I have four followers, which is hardly a crowd. So I think even if I wrote some secrets on here it wouldn't go very far. Maybe I have and people just don't realize it. How sneaky.

Bob Dylan's "The times are a-changin'" is playing in the background right now. It's on the Watchmen soundtrack. I'm not even gonna pretend like I knew about this song before I heard it in the movie. I didn't. But I'm glad they included it in the film because it's a good song, and I enjoy it. And now I know it, so thank you Watchmen soundtrack compilers.

I guess that's all I have to say. Did I really say anything?

Who knows.

MACHINES.


Cordially,

-a.

Knowing

There's not much in this little world of ours that I love more than going to the movies. I so enjoy going to the theater (think about that for a moment...Theater. That's what it is. You're going to see a show. It may not be a play, but it's still a show. It is the modern equivalent of a night at the opera or, more closely, the theatre. I think this is lost on us most of the time, and I like to remind myself of it occasionally). I enjoy going out for a night at the movies, because that's what we do, and that's what we've always done. When March rolls around, my brother, my sister and I shout with joy and glee "Movie Season!". We love it. Soon after we gather the crew together for a fresh series of our quality program, The Clark Family and Friends Present: A NIGHT AT THE MOVIES! There's nothing better than driving on a warm summer night to our choice of cinema establishment, walking into the cool auditorium and taking our seats and getting swept away, if only for a couple hours. It's a beautiful thing. It makes my heart all warm and fuzzy.

I also think this is because I am one kid who never outgrew his bedtime stories. When I was an infant it was my mom and dad reading me stories. When I was still young, it was the ADVENTURES IN ODYSSEY radio program from Focus on the Family. I loved those tapes oh-so-much, and fell asleep listening to them most every night growing up. After that, my parents finally let me have a television and a dvd player/playstation 2 in my room, and I would watch movies as I fell asleep, something I still do quite often. Sometimes it's dvds of television shows, but movies are the subject of the hour.

I relish the opportunity to sit in a darkened room filled with other people and be taken in by a story. Stories are so vital to us as human beings (this is something I wish to blog about in the future, so stay tuned). Why do you think we do this? Why do you think a couple hundred strangers gather together into said darkened room just to watch a movie? It's because stories are integral to our psyches, they fuel us, inspire us, make us laugh, and, dare I say, they sometimes even make us cry. This is the modern day fireplace. Our forebears gathered around the hearth in the eveningtime and listened to their elders tell them stories of adventure, intrigue, and excitement. The movie theater is no different, except that our narrator usually has a much better budget.

I am encouraged by this phenomenon.

Tonight proved to me once again why I love movies so much. I went to see the film Knowing. Before you say anything, I realize that I am talking about a Nicolas Cage movie, and likely what many will call a "special-effects popcorn flick"...(It is not lost on me that many times I have criticized both Nicolas Cage films and special-effects popcorn flicks). For some reason, this movie was different.

It's going to be difficult to say anything about this movie without revealing things, but I shall do my best.

There are so many things that could have gone horribly wrong with this movie, but they didn't. Actually at one point while viewing the movie, I thought to myself, "This movie is so good...it's got such a good grip on the story...don't lose it, don't lose it..." And for once, it didn't. It held out until the end and finished what it started. It didn't blow it, as has happened in so many movies of this particular genre. I thought this was going to be one of "those" movies, where it has the potential to be really bad or really good, and most of the time they end up being the former. One of the movies that take a good idea then saturate it with so many digital effects that somewhere along the way the story is suffocated.

I thought this is what Knowing was going to be. It wasn't.

It had good ideas, then finished them well. It gripped me, and didn't lose me until the credits rolled. It was intense, the special effects were very well done AND only used when necessary (something I very much appreciated), and the cinematography was actually quite beautiful at many points (thank Alex Proyas, the director, who also did The Crow and I, Robot).

I wish I could discuss this movie with people. All I can say is that I had a prediction regarding the plot of this movie, and I was right. I just didn't know how right I was, and how awesome that prediction would turn out to be.

I am going to say it right now, many people won't like this movie. Why? Because it's a genre that has been done so many times before, mostly in ways that have been disappointing or have likely left a bad taste in peoples' mouths (I could name some of the films I am talking about, but it would probably clue you in to the plot of Knowing, so I won't). It has many cliches, many typical elements, and many things that we have seen time and time again.

BUT.

At no point did Knowing feel old or tired, and the "typical elements and cliches" are done in a way that was, to me, fresh and new. It was like this film took all the good parts of the kind of movies that came before it, and threw out all the bad parts, and finally did it right. Finally.

But people still won't like it because of the kind of movie it is. I know this, expect it, and accept it. I still loved the movie.

There were parts of the movie that seemed so real, and were so intense that I was completely lost in what was happening on screen. I forgot I was in a movie theater. That is my definition of a good movie.

Normally, I see a trailer for a movie and one of two things happens. First, I think it looks good and it is. Second, I think it looks bad and it is. Rarely, I see a trailer and I'll think it looks good and it sucks. But the rarest of all is when I see a trailer for a film and think that it will be okay, at least worth watching, and it shatters my expectations and goes vastly beyond what I ever hoped it would be. This is what Knowing did for me tonight.

And so, knowing that I am starting to ramble, the award for Suprise Movie of Life goes to: Knowing.

You should go see it. It's GREAT, and it reminded me once again why I love movies.

My WATCHMEN experience (no spoilers)

In a word, it was predictable.

Not the movie. The situations surrounding the movie.

I pretty much called everything that happened within the 24 hours following my viewing of the film.

Firstly, as soon as my group took their seats in the theater, in walked a mother and father with their two boys, who, by my estimation, were somewhere between the ages of seven and nine. Called it.

About an hour into the movie, said family got up and walked out. Called it. This is what happens when parents aren't freaking parents anymore. Check the daggum rating. Rated R for "strong graphic violence, sexuality, nudity and language". Morons. The thing is, those are the kinds of people who go to the ticket office and complain because "if I had known I wouldn't have taken my kids to see it." Uneducated, uninformed, ignorant.

Which leads me to my basic premise of things surrounding Watchmen, and many other films of similar nature. To so many people, Watchmen is "just another superhero movie". Likening Watchmen to an ordinary run of the mill comic book or superhero movie is the same as likening The Simpsons or South Park to Looney Toons, and subsequently plopping your kids down in front of the tv, expecting them to get the same thing out of both. Watchmen is a mature film, just like The Simpsons is a cartoon for mature audiences. They are not, and cannot, and should not be viewed on the same level.

But I expected things to be like this, because of the stigma that is attached to comic books, superhero films, and those who enjoy them. Apparently these are only for immature people, dorky people, thirty-something white men who still live in their parents basements. (This is utterly false, and I have written about it in a previous post, entitled "In Defense of Comics").

This makes me irritated, because the entire point of Watchmen is that they're NOT superheroes. They are normal people who happen to be masked vigilantes. They have real life problems. They're real people, and it looks at how they're unusual activities affect their lives and their minds and their relationships. Only one character in the story really has extra-normal abilities, and that is Dr. Manhatten. That's the point of his character: He disconnects from humanity because of his powers. It's brilliant commentary on the "superhero".

Moving on to more things that I predicted.

When Dr. Manhatten came on screen, I heard half the theater giggling like little schoolgirls. Seriously? Apparently America is still in the third grade. Called it.

The day after I saw it, I talked to another of my friends who also saw it (not with me, with a separate group). This friend, whom I love dearly, belongs to the Talledega Nights/Superbad crowd to which I have referred previously on this blog. He said, "I saw the Watchmen yesterday, the movie was the dumbest, most retarded thing I've ever seen, don't you think?" Already knowing what answer I would receive, I asked him why. "Because I didn't understand it!" I then asked him to explain which one was the dumb, retarded one, the movie or himself. It seems to me that if you don't understand something, it is YOU that is dumb, not the object in question. But this reason has been given to me again and again for why a movie is bad. A person's lack of understanding or ability to comprehend something measures more that person then it measures whatever they are viewing.

The funny thing is that my friend expected me to agree with him. He was surprised that I didn't.

But perhaps the award for quote of the night goes to the unseen gentlemen whom I overheard in the bathroom immediately following the film. "You know why that movie was interesting? Because it had so many ideas in it. It was almost like....almost like a book."

I then started banging my head against the wall.

Not really. I mean, at least he picked up on the depth of the film, which is more than my friend did, and more than most people will do. Maybe it's just me, but I don't know how people don't know that Watchmen is based on a graphic novel. You have to live under a rock. Not only was there a lot of controversy surrounding the film, but it says on the daggum trailers, "based on the acclaimed graphic novel". And unless I am mistaken, I believe it said it at the beginning of the film. I could be wrong, I don't exactly remember.

Not to be tangential, but another thing that I called was the reaction I got when I was explaining to a group of people who asked me about the movie that it was based on a graphic novel. They asked me, "Isn't it based on a comic book?" I wussed out and instead of saying, "No, it's not a comic book. It's a graphic novel", I said "Sort of." I THEN explained the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel. Then there was a chorus of "you're such a dork!", "Oh my gosh, hahaha", "It's the same thing! You Geek!" etc.

Yes, I'M the dork for knowing what I'm talking about, for actually being informed.

I won't go into the differences between a comic book and a graphic novel. But suffice it to say, they're not the same thing. I know this because this is my field. I'm a writer. Plus I'm not an idiot.

I digress.

Finally, to the point. What did I think of Watchmen?

It stayed very true to the source material. The ideas. The characters. The violence and sexuality. All of that was in the graphic novel. And it all made it to the screen intact, for better or worse. I think some of the violence and sex was a little overboard, but the graphic novel didn't shy away from that stuff either.

But perhaps the main reason I say that it stayed true to the source material was that I walked away from the movie with largely the same feeling I had when I finished the graphic novel: conflicted. This solidifies my personal definition of Watchmen, both novel and film, as something that is not so much something to be either liked or disliked, as much as it is something to think about. It is thought provoking to the extreme, and not something you easily forget. This is precisely why people are reacting the way they are to the film.

People don't want to think. People don't want to use their brains. Anything that is challenging they label as "dumb" (when it is THEMSELVES that are dumb), and they sit around until the next Will Ferrell or Seth Rogen movie comes out.

I've probably beaten that horse to death. So I'll wrap this up.

Two best things about the movie? Jackie Earle Haley WAS Rorschach. Aside from Heath Ledger as the Joker, that was the single most amazing performance of a pre-existing fictional character I think I've seen.

Also, at the end of the movie, when there is a certain shot of a certain object and a certain song by a certain band kicks in: FREAK YES.

The truth will out.


-a.

35 Albums That Changed My Life.

1. A Perfect Circle – 13th Step
2. Audioslave – Self-Titled
3. Brand New – The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me
4. Chevelle – Wonder What’s Next?
5. Chiodos – Bone Palace Ballet
6. Creed – Human Clay
7. Creed - Weathered
8. Dashboard Confessional – Dusk and Summer
9. Evanescence – Fallen
10. Green Day – American Idiot
11. Linkin Park – Hybrid Theory
12. Linkin Park – Meteora
13. Live – The Distance to Here
14. Live – Throwing Copper
15. Mae – The Everglow
16. Muse – Absolution
17. Muse – Black Holes and Revelations
18. My Chemical Romance – Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge
19. My Chemical Romance – Welcome to the Black Parade
20. Oasis – What’s the Story (Morning Glory)
21. Oh, Sleeper – When I Am God
22. Queen – Greatest Hits
23. Ray LaMontagne – Until the Sun Turns Black
24. The Juliana Theory – Emotion is Dead
25. The Receiving End of Sirens – Between the Heart and the Synapse
26. The Smashing Pumpkins – Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness
27. Thirty Seconds to Mars – Self-Titled
28. Thirty Seconds to Mars – A Beautiful Lie
29. Thrice – Vheissu
30. Thrice – The Alchemy Index Vols. I – IV
31. Tool – Lateralus
32. The Phantom of the Opera – Andrew Lloyd Webber (The original cast)
33. Master and Commander – Soundtrack
34. Dustin Kensrue – Please Come Home
35. John Mayer - Continuum



Not necessarily in this order. But if a band has more than one album on the list, it's likely they are near the top. With a few exceptions.