Grant Wallace
Creative Writing
09/31/2009
“I want you to get a pint of milk, 2%, not whole milk, understand?”
“Yes, mom.”
“And get the store brand, not Mayfield. Too expensive.”
“Yes, mom.”
“And hurry back, the guests will be here soon. I want to make a good impression for my boss you understand?
“Okay, mom. I got it. “
“Hey boy, watch your tone. Here’s a dollar, and I want the change. Now hurry back.”
But Freddie was already out the door, dollar in hand, holding it up the sky’s light, pretending to legitimize it like he seen the clerks do when he went to the bank with his mom. Walking, Freddie spotted a nearby bluebird perched on a tree’s branch.
“Hey, Mr. Bluebird. Guess what I got!”
“Oh, my. Did your mother give that to you?” replied the bluebird.
“YES, she did. And if I have change leftover, I’m going to get some candy. Some red licorice, jellybeans, chocolate bars, lollipops!”
“Oh my, oh my. Isn’t that nice. Make sure to brush your teeth later okay?”
But Freddie was already skipping down the street, thoughts of laughy taffy and gumdrops gumming up his thoughts. Smiling, Freddie skipped into Sam’s Grocery where Sam greeted him with a respondent smile.
“Hey there Freddie. What can I do you for today?”
“Candy Sam please!”
“Well isn’t that nice. What would you like?”
“I wannnnt, one of those and… one of those. Two of these, and a handful of those? Yeah, I definitely want that.”
“Is that all?”
“YES!”
“The total comes out to… 88 cents.”
But Freddie had already laid the dollar on the counter and ran out, beans and bars in hand scarfing them down as fast as his tiny mouth would let him. Eating and walking, walking and eating, it wasn’t long before the candy ran out and the reality set in. Freddie started to sob realizing his mother was going to beat him for this.
“Why are you crying?” asked the nearby bluebird.
“I… I spent, I spent the money on candy instead of milk like mom asked.”
“Oh my, Freddie. Why did you do that?”
But Freddie was running, running as fast as his little legs could. Just running. Maybe it was the sugar rush but that’s all Freddie could think to do right now. Freddie ran past his house, past the old cemetery, through his school’s parking lot and then around the playground but the tears were still running with him. His math teacher spotted Freddie from inside and ran out to him.
“Freddie, my dear. What’s the matter?”
“I spent the money.. on candy, I was suppose to get milk,” Freddie said, letting the tears pour out onto Mrs. Mooninghams floral blouse.
“My dear boy, you had me so worried. Here, come with me, I’ll drive you back home.”
And Freddie realized then that he had to go with her. There was no way out of this, he would have to accept the consequences like a man. And so he continued to cry, louder now, his nose dripping drips of tears and mucus onto his blue polo. They arrive a few minutes later.
“Trust me Freddie, everything will be fine. Go see your mother and I’ll see you in class on Monday okay?”
But Freddie was already out the car door, running up the stairs, crying like a baby. He was running straight into Beelzebub’s arms but at the time, the only person he knew who would make him feel better was his mom.”
“Mommy!” cried Freddie, throwing his arms into the air, letting her pick him off the ground and holding him tight.
“Freddie, my God, are you okay?” she asked, scared and concerned, rocking him back and forth in her arms.
“I… I…”
“Shhhh, shhh now. Everything’s okay now, understand?”
“Yes, mom.”
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
A Day in the Life of the Africa Stain
A Day in the Life of the Africa Stain
Grant Wallace
My anxiety is getting the better of me. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Always promptly followed by a sense of false hope and an immediate rejection. I feel like The Plague is more popular than I am and it’s not like that helps any. He kills 15,000 people in a single reading yet everyone wants him. And it’s not like he’s all that different from me. Bound and branded, inked in numbers, costing next to nothing, hundreds of us just waiting to be picked off. Yet by the end of the day, they’re all gone and I’m the only one left. Am I that disgusting? Am I jealous? Am I jealous of Anne Frank? It’s gotten so bad I can’t even been stolen. Dam The Criminal Justice. I’m now the last of my kind, used and abused and covered in dried coffee. Oh, the stain. The stain of all stains. Every time someone touches me they instantly pull away. It’s true, the biggest moments in your life happen in just a few sounds and before you know it, you’ve turned from new and loved to sad and stained. I call it the Africa Stain because of the way it’s shaped. I tell myself it’s unique and endearing but then I’d just be lying to myself. And I know better than that. Once a customer suggested I be moved to the Monsters and Grotesque section. Those were dark times but I’m better now. I’ve accepted my fate and learned to live with my scar. I fall asleep each night reading Essentials of Children’s Literature. It relaxes me. But only the 5th edition, not 6th. I feel more comfortable with books my own age.
Grant Wallace
My anxiety is getting the better of me. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Always promptly followed by a sense of false hope and an immediate rejection. I feel like The Plague is more popular than I am and it’s not like that helps any. He kills 15,000 people in a single reading yet everyone wants him. And it’s not like he’s all that different from me. Bound and branded, inked in numbers, costing next to nothing, hundreds of us just waiting to be picked off. Yet by the end of the day, they’re all gone and I’m the only one left. Am I that disgusting? Am I jealous? Am I jealous of Anne Frank? It’s gotten so bad I can’t even been stolen. Dam The Criminal Justice. I’m now the last of my kind, used and abused and covered in dried coffee. Oh, the stain. The stain of all stains. Every time someone touches me they instantly pull away. It’s true, the biggest moments in your life happen in just a few sounds and before you know it, you’ve turned from new and loved to sad and stained. I call it the Africa Stain because of the way it’s shaped. I tell myself it’s unique and endearing but then I’d just be lying to myself. And I know better than that. Once a customer suggested I be moved to the Monsters and Grotesque section. Those were dark times but I’m better now. I’ve accepted my fate and learned to live with my scar. I fall asleep each night reading Essentials of Children’s Literature. It relaxes me. But only the 5th edition, not 6th. I feel more comfortable with books my own age.
EES.
Grant Wallace
Creative Process
8/25/09
Creation Myth
It started with a start button. It was shaped like a NES controller only it was more aptly titled back then as the EES, earth entertainment system. The Controller came from another controller that came from another controller and so on. It was made this way so everyone knew where he or she came from without question. An infinite amount controllers.
The Controller was also self-programmed so He could press the button upon his own request. Which is to say, in our human lifetime, the start button has only been pressed once. Before that it is unclear since The Controller decides on His own when he wishes to press the button. This is also to say that we are at His mercy and everything could evaporate and start over within minutes, just like when NES would randomly shut off and we would have to start over from the beginning.
However, it’s not as fickle as it may seem. The Controller set up some game rules for his creation to follow by promising to spare their lives in return. The Controller unfortunately hid these rules in a cheat, which no one has yet to figure out. Upon figuring out this answer, we can only assume that we will have either figured out something extraordinary or made Him incredibly mad thus resulting in Him pressing the start button. So in a certain aspect, it is exactly as fickle as it seems but we can rest assured this is all part of the process because He believes in karma too. Which, of course, is where karma was invented.
After The Controller invented the new earth, He instilled karma into every living thing. This was the best he could do because after all, how can one thing keep watch on everyone at every time everywhere? Exactly, He can’t, so he did the next best thing and made a system where if you did something well, you were rewarded, and vice versa.
After karma was created, he then pressed the up button to make the sky, the down button to make the ocean, and the left and right keys to make wind. He pressed the A button and a man appeared, then He pressed the B button and a women appeared. Lastly, He put in his secret code and a mutt animal appeared which could reduplicate itself into a variety of other animals. After all of this, The Controller was satisfied and went into a deep hibernation until the fateful day when the code is figured out.
Creative Process
8/25/09
Creation Myth
It started with a start button. It was shaped like a NES controller only it was more aptly titled back then as the EES, earth entertainment system. The Controller came from another controller that came from another controller and so on. It was made this way so everyone knew where he or she came from without question. An infinite amount controllers.
The Controller was also self-programmed so He could press the button upon his own request. Which is to say, in our human lifetime, the start button has only been pressed once. Before that it is unclear since The Controller decides on His own when he wishes to press the button. This is also to say that we are at His mercy and everything could evaporate and start over within minutes, just like when NES would randomly shut off and we would have to start over from the beginning.
However, it’s not as fickle as it may seem. The Controller set up some game rules for his creation to follow by promising to spare their lives in return. The Controller unfortunately hid these rules in a cheat, which no one has yet to figure out. Upon figuring out this answer, we can only assume that we will have either figured out something extraordinary or made Him incredibly mad thus resulting in Him pressing the start button. So in a certain aspect, it is exactly as fickle as it seems but we can rest assured this is all part of the process because He believes in karma too. Which, of course, is where karma was invented.
After The Controller invented the new earth, He instilled karma into every living thing. This was the best he could do because after all, how can one thing keep watch on everyone at every time everywhere? Exactly, He can’t, so he did the next best thing and made a system where if you did something well, you were rewarded, and vice versa.
After karma was created, he then pressed the up button to make the sky, the down button to make the ocean, and the left and right keys to make wind. He pressed the A button and a man appeared, then He pressed the B button and a women appeared. Lastly, He put in his secret code and a mutt animal appeared which could reduplicate itself into a variety of other animals. After all of this, The Controller was satisfied and went into a deep hibernation until the fateful day when the code is figured out.
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Busride They'll Never Forget.
“Happy birthday Sam,” she said with a radiant smile. She brought out the cake, thirteen candles burning brightly on top of Donatello’s head. She remembered my favorite turtle.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sam, happy birthday to you.”
I’ve never been a fan of the birthday song but when she sang it for me I swear it was the best song I’ve ever heard.
“Make a wish!”
I wished for her to be with me forever. And for my taste to come back.
Freddie Feldmen was a big kid. Not Double Cheese pounder big but more like the single cheese single patty size. Regardless, he still outweighed the whole school by a good twenty pounds, easily. He had this hunger. This mad hunger that I’ve never seen from any one till this day. Ketchup, mustards and peanut butter sandwiches. Two a day for as long as I knew him.
“What did you wish for?” she said.
“Well.. I can’t tell you now can I? It’d break the wish.”
“Fine… why are you acting so distant Sam?
“You didn’t hear what happened?”
We grew to know Freddie for this sandwich. Anyone that knew Freddie knew him for that disgusting sandwich. Every day at lunch he would sit down, at his own table, open up his brown paper sack and bring out the most foul smelling, more rotten than freshly squashed road kill, worse than a thousand dead bodies, this was the most vile, putrid, death-infused smell I’ve ever smelt. And that was just the start. After that cyanide burned it’s way into his digestion, his body did the only thing it could do. We knew when it was coming too. He’d slightly tilt to his left, just enough for the toxic gas to silently evaporate into those few unfortunate kids sitting across from him who didn’t know who Freddie was just yet.
It was a Tuesday. I had brought myself a turkey club with fat free mayo, harvest cheddar sun chips and I purchased a low fat milk from the cafeteria. It was the first day of school and wasn’t informed as of yet who Freddie was.
First to go was my nostrils. The sewer swamp smell flared my nose into two giant elephant years. Then the sting. My eyes shot back into my head like recoil from a shotgun to escape smell. And then, the taste. Salty, like the sea, except more fish piss and decaying whales. And like Freddie’s natural bowel movements, I could only give in to my bodies demand to heave up my fully finished lunch. The vomit had my turkey laced in the red speckles of harvest cheddar, all floating in this hot mess of my low fat milk.
I later found out that this was a somewhat weekly occurrence, where unsuspecting victims would fall sour to Freddie’s unrelenting gas. People would laugh, calling him reek freak and Freddie McFartster and, he knew this was going on but, I now had this sympathy for the guy that only came with the stench of experience.
“Do you know who Freddie is?” I asked.
“Oh my god. Is that… why you’re acting like this?” she replied.
“Yes,” I said lowering my head.
“I’m so sorry. “ She put her hand over her mouth. “I know what you mean. This just happened to me too!”
“It was a Wednesday. We were going on a field trip with Mrs. McGillis and Mr. Thompson’s science classes to the Space Center. We left around nine. We were suppose to take two separate buses but Mr. Thompson had rearranged for us to all fit into one as he felt it was his environment responsibility to do this. I sat up front with Sarah. It was about twenty minutes into the drive when I heard this splatter come from the back of the bus. Someone had thrown up. Some kids were trying to hold her hair back but that’s when it really started to happen. I heard more splashes, followed by more and more, I could actually see it moving it’s way towards me like an enormous wave. And then it hit me. It’s exactly as you described it. It took only a second before all of my morning eggs and sausage breakfast spewed itself all onto Sarah’s lap.
She jumped up and proceeded to return to the favor to the unlucky sap sitting in the next seat over, Mr. Thompson. It was this uncontrollable chain reaction! Boyfriends were barfing on girlfriends. Teachers were regurgitating on students. We tried to pull down the windows but they were absolutely stuck. It must have looked like a horror movie from everyone watching outside. Kids were clawing at the windows, puckering their lips out at the windows crevices to get even the tiniest glimpse of air. The aisles ran green with milky blood and half digested breakfasts of cinnamon toast crunch; it really is “the taste you can see” with the tiny sugar sparkles shimmering in the upchucked upchuck.
“Oh my god, I heard that story! You were on that bus?”
“YES. It was exactly as horrid as you described it. I can never wear those shoes again, not after what they’ve stepped in. It was the underbelly of the underworld of the underness. That’s the only way to describe it.”
“I’m so sorry. Got to admit though, he got his point across well don’t you think?”
“What could you possibly be talking about Sam, he nearly gave Mrs. McGillis post traumatic stress disorder.”
“Well, this is what Bobby B. told me.”
After they arrived at the Space Center, prior to hitting one stop sign, running two stop lights and driving over three curbs, one of which was said to have “yelped”, the entire bus evacuated in seconds. Meanwhile, Freddie Feldmen is just sitting in the back of the bus, smiling this sadistic look of content, arms crossed and feet raised up on the seat in front of him.
Turns out he had planned everything. Before the class trip that day, he ate FIVE onion, ketchup and peanut butter sandwiches with extra onions, piled up high. Then after that, he ate two raw eggs, some week old buttermilk and to top it off, a can of extra spicy baked beans. He only had one thing on his mind, revenge. Word has it that when everyone scrambled off the bus, Freddie coolly got up and walked down the aisle, eyeing over the multi-colored stained seats, filled with whirls and swirls of all colors; Jazzberry Jam pink, Cornflower blue, Macaroni and Cheese yellow, Inch Worm green. This was a work of art.
Remember those windows you couldn’t get down? Turns out Freddie came into school really early that day and used industrial superglue to keep them stuck like that. Genius. Meanwhile, kids were dying on the Space Center parking lot. Some were crying, other were laying on the ground, fetal position, holding their stomachs, moaning in pain while the few kids who could walk now tried to help them out by smearing off the vomit or telling them “it’ll be alright.” Freddie just smiled. He knew it wasn’t going to be alright. As he stood in his bright yellow rain boots, he started to walk into the apocalyptic aftermath, eying over all the kids that made him feel so lonely and hated, his smile only grew more and more until he couldn’t hold it anymore and gave into his bodies demands one last time; he laughed. He walked into the Space Center after his body count (17) for surely one of the most enjoyable field trips he would ever take. Can you imagine that?
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sam, happy birthday to you.”
I’ve never been a fan of the birthday song but when she sang it for me I swear it was the best song I’ve ever heard.
“Make a wish!”
I wished for her to be with me forever. And for my taste to come back.
Freddie Feldmen was a big kid. Not Double Cheese pounder big but more like the single cheese single patty size. Regardless, he still outweighed the whole school by a good twenty pounds, easily. He had this hunger. This mad hunger that I’ve never seen from any one till this day. Ketchup, mustards and peanut butter sandwiches. Two a day for as long as I knew him.
“What did you wish for?” she said.
“Well.. I can’t tell you now can I? It’d break the wish.”
“Fine… why are you acting so distant Sam?
“You didn’t hear what happened?”
We grew to know Freddie for this sandwich. Anyone that knew Freddie knew him for that disgusting sandwich. Every day at lunch he would sit down, at his own table, open up his brown paper sack and bring out the most foul smelling, more rotten than freshly squashed road kill, worse than a thousand dead bodies, this was the most vile, putrid, death-infused smell I’ve ever smelt. And that was just the start. After that cyanide burned it’s way into his digestion, his body did the only thing it could do. We knew when it was coming too. He’d slightly tilt to his left, just enough for the toxic gas to silently evaporate into those few unfortunate kids sitting across from him who didn’t know who Freddie was just yet.
It was a Tuesday. I had brought myself a turkey club with fat free mayo, harvest cheddar sun chips and I purchased a low fat milk from the cafeteria. It was the first day of school and wasn’t informed as of yet who Freddie was.
First to go was my nostrils. The sewer swamp smell flared my nose into two giant elephant years. Then the sting. My eyes shot back into my head like recoil from a shotgun to escape smell. And then, the taste. Salty, like the sea, except more fish piss and decaying whales. And like Freddie’s natural bowel movements, I could only give in to my bodies demand to heave up my fully finished lunch. The vomit had my turkey laced in the red speckles of harvest cheddar, all floating in this hot mess of my low fat milk.
I later found out that this was a somewhat weekly occurrence, where unsuspecting victims would fall sour to Freddie’s unrelenting gas. People would laugh, calling him reek freak and Freddie McFartster and, he knew this was going on but, I now had this sympathy for the guy that only came with the stench of experience.
“Do you know who Freddie is?” I asked.
“Oh my god. Is that… why you’re acting like this?” she replied.
“Yes,” I said lowering my head.
“I’m so sorry. “ She put her hand over her mouth. “I know what you mean. This just happened to me too!”
“It was a Wednesday. We were going on a field trip with Mrs. McGillis and Mr. Thompson’s science classes to the Space Center. We left around nine. We were suppose to take two separate buses but Mr. Thompson had rearranged for us to all fit into one as he felt it was his environment responsibility to do this. I sat up front with Sarah. It was about twenty minutes into the drive when I heard this splatter come from the back of the bus. Someone had thrown up. Some kids were trying to hold her hair back but that’s when it really started to happen. I heard more splashes, followed by more and more, I could actually see it moving it’s way towards me like an enormous wave. And then it hit me. It’s exactly as you described it. It took only a second before all of my morning eggs and sausage breakfast spewed itself all onto Sarah’s lap.
She jumped up and proceeded to return to the favor to the unlucky sap sitting in the next seat over, Mr. Thompson. It was this uncontrollable chain reaction! Boyfriends were barfing on girlfriends. Teachers were regurgitating on students. We tried to pull down the windows but they were absolutely stuck. It must have looked like a horror movie from everyone watching outside. Kids were clawing at the windows, puckering their lips out at the windows crevices to get even the tiniest glimpse of air. The aisles ran green with milky blood and half digested breakfasts of cinnamon toast crunch; it really is “the taste you can see” with the tiny sugar sparkles shimmering in the upchucked upchuck.
“Oh my god, I heard that story! You were on that bus?”
“YES. It was exactly as horrid as you described it. I can never wear those shoes again, not after what they’ve stepped in. It was the underbelly of the underworld of the underness. That’s the only way to describe it.”
“I’m so sorry. Got to admit though, he got his point across well don’t you think?”
“What could you possibly be talking about Sam, he nearly gave Mrs. McGillis post traumatic stress disorder.”
“Well, this is what Bobby B. told me.”
After they arrived at the Space Center, prior to hitting one stop sign, running two stop lights and driving over three curbs, one of which was said to have “yelped”, the entire bus evacuated in seconds. Meanwhile, Freddie Feldmen is just sitting in the back of the bus, smiling this sadistic look of content, arms crossed and feet raised up on the seat in front of him.
Turns out he had planned everything. Before the class trip that day, he ate FIVE onion, ketchup and peanut butter sandwiches with extra onions, piled up high. Then after that, he ate two raw eggs, some week old buttermilk and to top it off, a can of extra spicy baked beans. He only had one thing on his mind, revenge. Word has it that when everyone scrambled off the bus, Freddie coolly got up and walked down the aisle, eyeing over the multi-colored stained seats, filled with whirls and swirls of all colors; Jazzberry Jam pink, Cornflower blue, Macaroni and Cheese yellow, Inch Worm green. This was a work of art.
Remember those windows you couldn’t get down? Turns out Freddie came into school really early that day and used industrial superglue to keep them stuck like that. Genius. Meanwhile, kids were dying on the Space Center parking lot. Some were crying, other were laying on the ground, fetal position, holding their stomachs, moaning in pain while the few kids who could walk now tried to help them out by smearing off the vomit or telling them “it’ll be alright.” Freddie just smiled. He knew it wasn’t going to be alright. As he stood in his bright yellow rain boots, he started to walk into the apocalyptic aftermath, eying over all the kids that made him feel so lonely and hated, his smile only grew more and more until he couldn’t hold it anymore and gave into his bodies demands one last time; he laughed. He walked into the Space Center after his body count (17) for surely one of the most enjoyable field trips he would ever take. Can you imagine that?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
beep beep beep!
Grant Wallace Creative Writing 3/25/09
BEEP BEEP BEEP. Click. Shy’s fingers clicked his alarm off seconds after it woke. Shy was already awake, anticipating his alarms alarm with an unsettling anxiety that left moist fingerprints on the “off” switch.
The day had come,
months in preparation, the daily half hour mediation sessions he started and the countless self help books on tape from such cassettes as “Are you really happy with who you are right now?” and the #1 best selling “No one likes you except your parents,” the highly acclaimed work of Patrick Bancroft as he talks you down to your lowest point hoping to give you that confidence to bring yourself back up to “the happiest you’ll ever be.” The tape now has to include a warming after several suicides were reported from people who couldn’t bring their selves back up.
Shy had achieved this happiness.
Shy dress himself in his favorite Worthington, dark blue two button jacket, complete with acetate lining and an inside chest pocket. He had coordinating light striped slacks with a hidden extender waistband that provides a 2" additional stretch on each side. They made him feel important. He enjoyed yawning because he could stretch out his arms and legs making his skin tingle as the expensive linen rubbed against his skin.
He thought of his mother as he looked at her picture standing on his nightstand. She was standing next to him when he was a child, holding his hand and smiling down on him. She told him he was the apple of her eye. He started to miss her less and less as each day grew on but he had more important things on his mind as of late. He decided right then that he would have to do this for his mother. He could not fail, otherwise he would feel like he had disappointed her.
It has to be today.
He made his way to the kitchen to get some dog food set out for Rex, a small doxen whose only resemblance to tyrannosaurus rex was how one of his upper teeth curled over his front gums, and even that was a stretch. Rex wouldn’t be awake for another hour or so as Shy poured him the food into his metallic bowl, but not before taking a quick glare into the shiny bowl, using the reflection to make sure his hair was still parted just right. He then quietly tiptoed through the living room as to not wake up Rex and closed the door in the way a lover might when getting up in the morning, turning the handle as gently as possible, adjusting the door’s speed to hide the creeks when possible. This thought brought a smile to his face.
He pulled his car into his normal parking spot, row E on the tenth floor of the Midway Parking Garage. He parked here every day since he found out she too parked on this floor, always wishfully hoping he could casually bump into her on their way into the office. He had lines preplanned such as “Hey, I’ve seen you around before. Are you friends with Maurie?” He had befriended her earlier in the year with the sole intention of using her for this exact scenario. He had a back up too, in the likely chance his memory failed and his words escaped him, as he would inevitably turn into the equivalent of a bag of freeze-dried onions. He was all too familiar with this feeling.
“Excuse me, I have a slightly weird question to ask but do you know who works in room 209 on the second floor?” To which she would respond, “Oh yeah, that’s my friend Maurie, what do you need to know?” which he would respond with, “Oh, thank you. I just had a few questions to ask her this morning but when I went to her office yesterday, her name plate was missing from door, well, I thought I saw you hang around her before so I wanted to ask.”
The night before, he had stayed approximately 10 minutes late just so he could take it down in the off chance a) he did meet her in the morning and b)credibility incase she decided to check to see if this was true. After a month of doing this, Maurie had to have her name plate remade for her four times.
BEEP BEEP BEEP. Click. Shy’s fingers clicked his alarm off seconds after it woke. Shy was already awake, anticipating his alarms alarm with an unsettling anxiety that left moist fingerprints on the “off” switch.
The day had come,
months in preparation, the daily half hour mediation sessions he started and the countless self help books on tape from such cassettes as “Are you really happy with who you are right now?” and the #1 best selling “No one likes you except your parents,” the highly acclaimed work of Patrick Bancroft as he talks you down to your lowest point hoping to give you that confidence to bring yourself back up to “the happiest you’ll ever be.” The tape now has to include a warming after several suicides were reported from people who couldn’t bring their selves back up.
Shy had achieved this happiness.
Shy dress himself in his favorite Worthington, dark blue two button jacket, complete with acetate lining and an inside chest pocket. He had coordinating light striped slacks with a hidden extender waistband that provides a 2" additional stretch on each side. They made him feel important. He enjoyed yawning because he could stretch out his arms and legs making his skin tingle as the expensive linen rubbed against his skin.
He thought of his mother as he looked at her picture standing on his nightstand. She was standing next to him when he was a child, holding his hand and smiling down on him. She told him he was the apple of her eye. He started to miss her less and less as each day grew on but he had more important things on his mind as of late. He decided right then that he would have to do this for his mother. He could not fail, otherwise he would feel like he had disappointed her.
It has to be today.
He made his way to the kitchen to get some dog food set out for Rex, a small doxen whose only resemblance to tyrannosaurus rex was how one of his upper teeth curled over his front gums, and even that was a stretch. Rex wouldn’t be awake for another hour or so as Shy poured him the food into his metallic bowl, but not before taking a quick glare into the shiny bowl, using the reflection to make sure his hair was still parted just right. He then quietly tiptoed through the living room as to not wake up Rex and closed the door in the way a lover might when getting up in the morning, turning the handle as gently as possible, adjusting the door’s speed to hide the creeks when possible. This thought brought a smile to his face.
He pulled his car into his normal parking spot, row E on the tenth floor of the Midway Parking Garage. He parked here every day since he found out she too parked on this floor, always wishfully hoping he could casually bump into her on their way into the office. He had lines preplanned such as “Hey, I’ve seen you around before. Are you friends with Maurie?” He had befriended her earlier in the year with the sole intention of using her for this exact scenario. He had a back up too, in the likely chance his memory failed and his words escaped him, as he would inevitably turn into the equivalent of a bag of freeze-dried onions. He was all too familiar with this feeling.
“Excuse me, I have a slightly weird question to ask but do you know who works in room 209 on the second floor?” To which she would respond, “Oh yeah, that’s my friend Maurie, what do you need to know?” which he would respond with, “Oh, thank you. I just had a few questions to ask her this morning but when I went to her office yesterday, her name plate was missing from door, well, I thought I saw you hang around her before so I wanted to ask.”
The night before, he had stayed approximately 10 minutes late just so he could take it down in the off chance a) he did meet her in the morning and b)credibility incase she decided to check to see if this was true. After a month of doing this, Maurie had to have her name plate remade for her four times.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Here's my poem from last week. I borrowed a lottt of it from my community service convicts. i mean.. friends. We were suppose to write a poem from the perspective of someone else so, of course I chose to do this.
“I just caught the biggest damn turtle that I’d ever seen!”
This was my story I’d like to share with the guys.
“Catch it, cook it. Make that sonofabitch into turtle stew.”
Chew, spit, huck. Repeat.
These were my Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays,
I drive around the accused for the Carroll County Community Service Program
“When you’re 18 you carry a .22 in one hand and a pabst in the other and shoot whatever the fuck you want.”
That was Jim’s favorite story to tell.
They would all start the same but always end with
“Back in ’67, you couldn’t tell me shit!”
Then there was Matt.
Four hundred hours service, five years probation and three thousand in fines.
He’s the reason Carrollton sounds unpoetic
But the best ones were told by Jerry.
Stories like “I’d fix my ’69 with three wrenches. God damn I was good!” and the insatiable “Take 20 years off of me and I’d be all over that,” were always welcomed.
And there was always Sammy,
he was there every day but we were all too scared to ask why
“One more damn day and I’m through with this civil shit,” he would say.
You’d be surprised how many different ways there is to say that.
“I just caught the biggest damn turtle that I’d ever seen!”
This was my story I’d like to share with the guys.
“Catch it, cook it. Make that sonofabitch into turtle stew.”
Chew, spit, huck. Repeat.
These were my Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays,
I drive around the accused for the Carroll County Community Service Program
“When you’re 18 you carry a .22 in one hand and a pabst in the other and shoot whatever the fuck you want.”
That was Jim’s favorite story to tell.
They would all start the same but always end with
“Back in ’67, you couldn’t tell me shit!”
Then there was Matt.
Four hundred hours service, five years probation and three thousand in fines.
He’s the reason Carrollton sounds unpoetic
But the best ones were told by Jerry.
Stories like “I’d fix my ’69 with three wrenches. God damn I was good!” and the insatiable “Take 20 years off of me and I’d be all over that,” were always welcomed.
And there was always Sammy,
he was there every day but we were all too scared to ask why
“One more damn day and I’m through with this civil shit,” he would say.
You’d be surprised how many different ways there is to say that.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
just one of those days.
How to start. I'll start at the beginning. I was walking to class today, happy, listening to appleseed cast. really good music, so good in fact that I took a full breath of air which i haven't done in far too long and then remembered i liked to watch people. so it started! i started to wish kaleigh was around so we could watch together, she got me into people watching. then viola, she appears. strange? yeah, but this is only the first. later today i realize i'll probably have to apologize to hilary for pressuring her to talk to me. it's demasculating and embarrassing. and right before i do that she says she like to talk to me. viola!
i also liked this morning's cow story. we were suppose to write this poem in 'line breaks' to see how the poem can differ from person to person. i could care less about this so i draw the poem in the shape of a cow and it just so happens today was the one day i get called on. i draw it on the board and get called out on daydreaming. at least i thought it was funny..
i also liked this morning's cow story. we were suppose to write this poem in 'line breaks' to see how the poem can differ from person to person. i could care less about this so i draw the poem in the shape of a cow and it just so happens today was the one day i get called on. i draw it on the board and get called out on daydreaming. at least i thought it was funny..
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
lucid dream number two!
it finally happened. FINALLY. i've been waiting i think.. a full two months? and then out of absolutely no where, i got it. absolutely crazy, i have to write it down.
okay okay okay. so i was listening to lullatone, their first album which is strictly made for babies. so i was in the dream and it was SO boring. i was walking around sears or something, doing absolutely nothing. i kept telling myself, why are you walking around like this? you should go to sleep so you can have a real dream. i was with some friends and they ditched me because my dream was too boring too. then this happened..
I walked outside looking for something to do and I said to myself 'you know, you can make something happen grant'. nothing happened. so i said 'you can make something happen'. this dude started walking towards me in a red shirt and then that something happened. i don't know what exactly but then it happened again, only this time it was so intense. everything became so vivid, so beautiful.
I was on this street, in the back part of some apartments. it felt like something off the cosby show. my vision just went insane, everything blurred that exact moment that 'something happened' and i opened my eyes (in my dream) to see.. exactly what i saw my last lucid dream. everything was so colorful and alive! i was too amazed and i woke immediately after. nonetheless, that 1 second was easily the best i've felt all day.
so i just talked with colin. not only did he have a really crazy dream as well but we went to sleep and woke up at the exact same time too. he had this lady in his dream that asked him "what does this even mean?"
okay okay okay. so i was listening to lullatone, their first album which is strictly made for babies. so i was in the dream and it was SO boring. i was walking around sears or something, doing absolutely nothing. i kept telling myself, why are you walking around like this? you should go to sleep so you can have a real dream. i was with some friends and they ditched me because my dream was too boring too. then this happened..
I walked outside looking for something to do and I said to myself 'you know, you can make something happen grant'. nothing happened. so i said 'you can make something happen'. this dude started walking towards me in a red shirt and then that something happened. i don't know what exactly but then it happened again, only this time it was so intense. everything became so vivid, so beautiful.
I was on this street, in the back part of some apartments. it felt like something off the cosby show. my vision just went insane, everything blurred that exact moment that 'something happened' and i opened my eyes (in my dream) to see.. exactly what i saw my last lucid dream. everything was so colorful and alive! i was too amazed and i woke immediately after. nonetheless, that 1 second was easily the best i've felt all day.
so i just talked with colin. not only did he have a really crazy dream as well but we went to sleep and woke up at the exact same time too. he had this lady in his dream that asked him "what does this even mean?"
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Story.
In class today we had to read journals. I came late and it made some kind of fuss but i can deal. later when it came time for read to read mine, i had it formatted completely different. i turned a blind date into a secretive spy story. after i finished reading it, i looked up with a smile and everyone had blank stares. including the teacher who added in 'that wasn't was you were suppose to do'. so, enjoy!
Tonight was the night. It was planned but not disclosed. I was convinced it was going to be a simple night but no, I was mistaken.
We met under false pretense. I was undercover as Smith, James Smith. A normal name by any other, but that’s only the start. I also dressed differently as to only show her half of whom I really was. IF she didn’t like me for the clothes than I could know for sure that this wasn’t working out.
She came dress in all white. With a pretty, delicate hat, made from the feathers of a, surely rare, peacock with a white tip, atop a ghost white dressing gown and milk white heels to match. She was stunning.
But there we were. I held the door for her and she walked in like she owned the place. Oh the nerve of her. We sat down. “What do you want.” I asked, serious but polite. “What would you suggest?” she replied back with sincere question mark attached to the end.
What would I suggest? I pondered. I didn’t know, I didn’t care. I wanted to order and get to business. The food was just a distraction for our mouths as it was merely my alarm clock going off letting me know “The meeting will now being.”
We sat. I stared. How could I not? She was gorgeous I tell you. Why else would I have acted so stubbornly earlier? She looked back, with a bright smile and perfect teeth. She looked like she had earlier, when we walked in here. She had the look of “I own you”. The nerve! The nerve!
I came to. I realized to calm down or else someone would get hurt. I settled in. I overreacted I told myself. I thanked myself even, gave my back a pat and asked her to show me the parcel. She reached to her side and brought up a tiny purple box. Reminded me of a box one would put a wedding ring in. Inside was the key and I was convinced. The food, the intoxicating silence and overwhelming thoughts were all for this one key. I had what I came for and I could leave. I left and she smiled again. That big beautiful smile.
Tonight was the night. It was planned but not disclosed. I was convinced it was going to be a simple night but no, I was mistaken.
We met under false pretense. I was undercover as Smith, James Smith. A normal name by any other, but that’s only the start. I also dressed differently as to only show her half of whom I really was. IF she didn’t like me for the clothes than I could know for sure that this wasn’t working out.
She came dress in all white. With a pretty, delicate hat, made from the feathers of a, surely rare, peacock with a white tip, atop a ghost white dressing gown and milk white heels to match. She was stunning.
But there we were. I held the door for her and she walked in like she owned the place. Oh the nerve of her. We sat down. “What do you want.” I asked, serious but polite. “What would you suggest?” she replied back with sincere question mark attached to the end.
What would I suggest? I pondered. I didn’t know, I didn’t care. I wanted to order and get to business. The food was just a distraction for our mouths as it was merely my alarm clock going off letting me know “The meeting will now being.”
We sat. I stared. How could I not? She was gorgeous I tell you. Why else would I have acted so stubbornly earlier? She looked back, with a bright smile and perfect teeth. She looked like she had earlier, when we walked in here. She had the look of “I own you”. The nerve! The nerve!
I came to. I realized to calm down or else someone would get hurt. I settled in. I overreacted I told myself. I thanked myself even, gave my back a pat and asked her to show me the parcel. She reached to her side and brought up a tiny purple box. Reminded me of a box one would put a wedding ring in. Inside was the key and I was convinced. The food, the intoxicating silence and overwhelming thoughts were all for this one key. I had what I came for and I could leave. I left and she smiled again. That big beautiful smile.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
new poem.
The subject was given to us by our teacher where we have to pick some memorable past object of ours and write about it dealing with family. I liked mine.
Good Grief Charlie Brown,
When did you get so old?
Stuck in your newly bought snow globe
You’re older than you think
My mother picked you out
Because you reminded her of me
And our time spent watching you
Make popcorn dinners or picking that one special tree
You and I are more similar than you think
Snoopy knows what I’m talking about
To have that one person care for you so much
And know they’ll always be there for you
Through thick and thin, snowstorm or no snowstorm
And if you ever feel trapped or alone
I’ll give you a good shake and you’ll see life isn’t so bad after all
Because that’s what she does for me.
Good Grief Charlie Brown,
When did you get so old?
Stuck in your newly bought snow globe
You’re older than you think
My mother picked you out
Because you reminded her of me
And our time spent watching you
Make popcorn dinners or picking that one special tree
You and I are more similar than you think
Snoopy knows what I’m talking about
To have that one person care for you so much
And know they’ll always be there for you
Through thick and thin, snowstorm or no snowstorm
And if you ever feel trapped or alone
I’ll give you a good shake and you’ll see life isn’t so bad after all
Because that’s what she does for me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
lfe is like a sudoku.
This is a stretch but see if it works.
Yesterday I signed up for my newspaper practicum class. It's not even a class but I get three easy credits. In order to sign up for this class, I had to talk with the teacher and he had to help me out a bunch, including adding me late and overriding the time conflict. Metaphorically I feel like I just succeeded in doing all the single solutions of a sudoku, that is using all the starter numbers (1-9) and simply cross referencing them in chronological order (my first step in solving sudokus).
My teacher than gave me some papers to turn into the editor of the newspaper because I felt like I should help, and said I would be glad to. I just solved all the threes! Satisfaction ensues.
Then my counselor who was helping me get in another class signs me up last minute and says, Oh! that class is happening right now, go go! I say yes'm! and rush off but I choose not to go. It was already 20 minutes into the class and I don't like arriving late so I told a white lie. So right now I'm stumped on the the rest of the numbers. It's getting really hard to break and I'm at that inevitable 'where the heck is the next one' phase i go through.
So I go to the editor, give him the papers and then it happens. He causually asks me if I want the job. The most amazing job in the world just because I did what I wasn't suppose to do (go to class). At that exact moment I find just one number to fill in and it turns into the dominio effect and I finish with flying colors. Rad yeah?
Yesterday I signed up for my newspaper practicum class. It's not even a class but I get three easy credits. In order to sign up for this class, I had to talk with the teacher and he had to help me out a bunch, including adding me late and overriding the time conflict. Metaphorically I feel like I just succeeded in doing all the single solutions of a sudoku, that is using all the starter numbers (1-9) and simply cross referencing them in chronological order (my first step in solving sudokus).
My teacher than gave me some papers to turn into the editor of the newspaper because I felt like I should help, and said I would be glad to. I just solved all the threes! Satisfaction ensues.
Then my counselor who was helping me get in another class signs me up last minute and says, Oh! that class is happening right now, go go! I say yes'm! and rush off but I choose not to go. It was already 20 minutes into the class and I don't like arriving late so I told a white lie. So right now I'm stumped on the the rest of the numbers. It's getting really hard to break and I'm at that inevitable 'where the heck is the next one' phase i go through.
So I go to the editor, give him the papers and then it happens. He causually asks me if I want the job. The most amazing job in the world just because I did what I wasn't suppose to do (go to class). At that exact moment I find just one number to fill in and it turns into the dominio effect and I finish with flying colors. Rad yeah?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
sorry.
Even though today was great, something stood out that really hasn't left me since early this morning.
I'm in class, half asleep, and the teacher is talking about.. something. Creative writing probably, because that's the class. Well, she asks us to write a poem about something we don't know. Sure sure, that's fine. She says, start it off with 'I don't know'. Yeah yeah, let's get this down with.
So she walks over to the girl next to me and says 'I don't know if you heard me but we're suppose to write a poem right now about something you don't know'.
I laugh. I laugh to myself but it is indeed a laugh. Why? Because she started off with 'I don't know' and I thought that was funny because well, come on, you just said that. I chose to steal that line of hers for my own.
I wrote down the sentence and then realized that the teacher then came back with a piece of paper for the girl next to me. It had a bunch of instructions on it. I quickly realized that she was deaf. I sunk deep into my chair.
So here it is, my poem.
I don't know if you can hear me
I'm sorry for laughing, it wasn't personal
I just didn't know
Accidents happen, for instance
I just backed into a lamp post yesterday
You see, I didn't mean to
It was one of those poor cosmic timings that only God knows why they exist
I wanted to say sorry but I,
don't know if you even heard me laugh
But it's better to be safe than sorry
And that's what I am, very sorry.
I'm in class, half asleep, and the teacher is talking about.. something. Creative writing probably, because that's the class. Well, she asks us to write a poem about something we don't know. Sure sure, that's fine. She says, start it off with 'I don't know'. Yeah yeah, let's get this down with.
So she walks over to the girl next to me and says 'I don't know if you heard me but we're suppose to write a poem right now about something you don't know'.
I laugh. I laugh to myself but it is indeed a laugh. Why? Because she started off with 'I don't know' and I thought that was funny because well, come on, you just said that. I chose to steal that line of hers for my own.
I wrote down the sentence and then realized that the teacher then came back with a piece of paper for the girl next to me. It had a bunch of instructions on it. I quickly realized that she was deaf. I sunk deep into my chair.
So here it is, my poem.
I don't know if you can hear me
I'm sorry for laughing, it wasn't personal
I just didn't know
Accidents happen, for instance
I just backed into a lamp post yesterday
You see, I didn't mean to
It was one of those poor cosmic timings that only God knows why they exist
I wanted to say sorry but I,
don't know if you even heard me laugh
But it's better to be safe than sorry
And that's what I am, very sorry.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
too funny.
Here's the story. Halloween came around last year and I dressed up as MaryCatherine. I had a bat earring in one year, a pearl necklace on and the lady jacket to boot. Needless to say, I was looking more feminine than usual. I went into Sammys, Carrollton's hot spot for gas stations, to pick up something to drink. Sammy was taking pictures that night so I of course accepted. Flash forward 3 months and I find out this girl has been eying my picture that he put up, among the hundreds already there. Sammy says she wants it so I say sure, that's too funny to not say yes. Another month goes by and I see the picture has been removed, leaving a crumbled spot in it's place where the other pictures had to be taped irreguralty together to replace mine. I chuckle. Then a few days ago I come in and there's a note for me. It reads.
"Dear really cute boy. I think you are beautiful. [picture of a heart] Abigale. Please leave your number with Sammy."
So then I really have a laugh and after a brief conversation with tez and colin, we decide facebook is the best approach. Maybe this is a shallow but realistically there are Quasimodo's out there and the number idea proved to be a bit risky. So I went on facebook and violia, she's there and we're talking. Weirder things have happened..
"Dear really cute boy. I think you are beautiful. [picture of a heart] Abigale. Please leave your number with Sammy."
So then I really have a laugh and after a brief conversation with tez and colin, we decide facebook is the best approach. Maybe this is a shallow but realistically there are Quasimodo's out there and the number idea proved to be a bit risky. So I went on facebook and violia, she's there and we're talking. Weirder things have happened..
Post Rock: A Look Into Music Without Lyrics
March 13th, 2008. Explosions in the Sky are set to perform at the Variety Playhouse for an unprecedented two shows, one in the afternoon and another in the evening. The Austin, Texas natives are no stranger to the Atlanta area, as they have been playing here for roughly five years now, presenting their unique instrumental music to larger and larger crowds every time. The evening show has sold out early on in pre-sale but the band has added on another show showing a true sign of love for their fans. Atlanta's two show mayhem is a closing to the bands nearly three month long tour as the group have already moved on to Europe for their next two month tour.
The band emerge onstage shortly after opening act Robert Lowe entranced the audience with his single, half-hour long song consisting of self-made bird chirps playing over ambient guitar loops and his unique aborigine-like singing style. Guitarist Munaf Rayani shares with the crowd that the group is very exhausted from the prior months of shows but they will do their best to entertain us. Later that evening, and one grueling hour long set later, Manaf is down on his hands and knees, grasping the remnants of a once-intact tambourine that has been pulverized into an indistinguishable circle of tiny bent metal cymbals and cracked wood. The guitarist’s passion for the group's music is undeniable leaving an impression on me so profound that I have still yet been able to resolve its answer. What would have happened if they were not tired?
Each week The West Georgian paper comes out and as if on queue, a good many of you keep coming back and picking it up. Thank you. It wasn't till last Sunday that I realized my movie reviews just weren’t.. enough. And although I'm very enthused to be writing these reviews for you, I want my words to have more impact, more significance, more life. My review of the March 13th show is a paint-by-numbers example of a traditional movie review of mine turned-concert-review. The expression "a picture is worth a thousand words" is only so true. It's as to say a song without lyrics can never be fully understood. It's an enigma. A thousands words is merely a hundredth of what I could write to explain this. Pure irony. And to think, this my second time seeing them too.
Explosions in the Sky started in '99 when the post rock genre was just getting underway. European groups like Mogwai and Sigur Ros had already been in the game for a good few years prior, and Canadians Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Do Make Say Think were well on their way as well, leaving the states with just one band (respectively). Even to this day, Explosions can be credited with starting this genre of the instrumental rock music that has come to be. To clarify, bands like Rush and The Allman Brothers Band already proved that instrumentation was around, followed up by more independently-centered bands like Tortoise and The Appleseed Cast, and then finally brought on to a fully new kind of instrumentalization by way of Explosions in the Sky. Explosions redeveloped the minimalism genre, utilizing every instrument (guitar, bass, drums) to coincide perfectly with one another at whatever volume. Their epic six to ten minute songs can only be described as ethereal, using repetition and crescendos in a whole new manner, making everything sound organic and beautiful at the same time.
Explosions are truly the best at what they do, from the members to the production of the albums, it can never be taken for granted. A single song may have three different time signatures or ten different pedal effects (for one guitar). Bassist Michael James opts out on the bass in select songs adding on a third guitarist to the quadruplet. Despite the overwhelming amount, each guitar has it's own distinct sound and purpose, providing a different timbre for each song. As to be expected, the immensity can only be fully experienced via live show. The magnitude of this holy guitar trinity is only fully implemented in Explosions loudest songs, going one step louder each time you think it can't happen anymore. Different from rock's normal distortion and reverb, Explosions manage to develop it into the most cathartic style of music they make. It’s funny to think that they can achieve such grandeur with the most traditional instruments out there. Guitar, bass and drums; the basic three.
But I digress. Despite being the most influential in the contemporary states, there is a plethora of other bands waiting for their turn to get some press as well. Fellow Texans This Will Destroy You has been around for a few years, having released two albums in the exact vain of Explosions. Massachusetts's Caspian have been around since '03 with two albums under the belt, choosing to shorten the lengthy songs into a much more concise and compacted instrumentals. California’s Tristeza (pronounced Triz-Tea-Za) have been in the hull longer than Explosions but with far less success. Despite the setbacks, the group remains together after ten years, mixing different genres of electronica and ambience, keeping the traditional four-member crew. James LaValle left in 2003 to pursue a more electronically influenced outlet with The Album Leaf, which has since then garnered much more notoriety.
I had the great pleasure of seeing Philly's Saxon Shore perform last year, a five member instrumental band that has been playing strong since 2001. Japan's Mono is label-mates with Explosions (Temporary Residence), becoming almost a carbon copy of the group, utilizing long songs with plenty of ambience and crescendos. A post-metal genre has also started to sprout up with bands like Chicago's Pelican and Russian Circles who have mixed the beauty and sincerity of ambience with a harder feel. Europe's 65daysofstatic and God Is An Astronaut offer their own type of style, adding on to the never-ending list of weird band names in a painstakingly unknown genre.
Yet when all is said and I done, I always can come back to one band to make me feel alive again. Explosions in the Sky's third full length, The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place, will forever stay a favorite of mine. The beauty behind this is that nothing can be said or done that could ever take this away. It's the most reliable possession I own. There's just something about the juxtaposition between tranquility and power that can't be found in anything else. The pure unadulterated sound of music without lyrics makes me appreciate the finer qualities of life that much more. And it’s funny to think that even after hundreds of listens, witnessing certain tracks live first hand, I found new things in their music that I have never heard prior. I feel like I'm coming off too subjective so, as my closing statement, if nothing else, I at least want you to find that something in your lives that means this much to you. Have a great summer.
The band emerge onstage shortly after opening act Robert Lowe entranced the audience with his single, half-hour long song consisting of self-made bird chirps playing over ambient guitar loops and his unique aborigine-like singing style. Guitarist Munaf Rayani shares with the crowd that the group is very exhausted from the prior months of shows but they will do their best to entertain us. Later that evening, and one grueling hour long set later, Manaf is down on his hands and knees, grasping the remnants of a once-intact tambourine that has been pulverized into an indistinguishable circle of tiny bent metal cymbals and cracked wood. The guitarist’s passion for the group's music is undeniable leaving an impression on me so profound that I have still yet been able to resolve its answer. What would have happened if they were not tired?
Each week The West Georgian paper comes out and as if on queue, a good many of you keep coming back and picking it up. Thank you. It wasn't till last Sunday that I realized my movie reviews just weren’t.. enough. And although I'm very enthused to be writing these reviews for you, I want my words to have more impact, more significance, more life. My review of the March 13th show is a paint-by-numbers example of a traditional movie review of mine turned-concert-review. The expression "a picture is worth a thousand words" is only so true. It's as to say a song without lyrics can never be fully understood. It's an enigma. A thousands words is merely a hundredth of what I could write to explain this. Pure irony. And to think, this my second time seeing them too.
Explosions in the Sky started in '99 when the post rock genre was just getting underway. European groups like Mogwai and Sigur Ros had already been in the game for a good few years prior, and Canadians Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Do Make Say Think were well on their way as well, leaving the states with just one band (respectively). Even to this day, Explosions can be credited with starting this genre of the instrumental rock music that has come to be. To clarify, bands like Rush and The Allman Brothers Band already proved that instrumentation was around, followed up by more independently-centered bands like Tortoise and The Appleseed Cast, and then finally brought on to a fully new kind of instrumentalization by way of Explosions in the Sky. Explosions redeveloped the minimalism genre, utilizing every instrument (guitar, bass, drums) to coincide perfectly with one another at whatever volume. Their epic six to ten minute songs can only be described as ethereal, using repetition and crescendos in a whole new manner, making everything sound organic and beautiful at the same time.
Explosions are truly the best at what they do, from the members to the production of the albums, it can never be taken for granted. A single song may have three different time signatures or ten different pedal effects (for one guitar). Bassist Michael James opts out on the bass in select songs adding on a third guitarist to the quadruplet. Despite the overwhelming amount, each guitar has it's own distinct sound and purpose, providing a different timbre for each song. As to be expected, the immensity can only be fully experienced via live show. The magnitude of this holy guitar trinity is only fully implemented in Explosions loudest songs, going one step louder each time you think it can't happen anymore. Different from rock's normal distortion and reverb, Explosions manage to develop it into the most cathartic style of music they make. It’s funny to think that they can achieve such grandeur with the most traditional instruments out there. Guitar, bass and drums; the basic three.
But I digress. Despite being the most influential in the contemporary states, there is a plethora of other bands waiting for their turn to get some press as well. Fellow Texans This Will Destroy You has been around for a few years, having released two albums in the exact vain of Explosions. Massachusetts's Caspian have been around since '03 with two albums under the belt, choosing to shorten the lengthy songs into a much more concise and compacted instrumentals. California’s Tristeza (pronounced Triz-Tea-Za) have been in the hull longer than Explosions but with far less success. Despite the setbacks, the group remains together after ten years, mixing different genres of electronica and ambience, keeping the traditional four-member crew. James LaValle left in 2003 to pursue a more electronically influenced outlet with The Album Leaf, which has since then garnered much more notoriety.
I had the great pleasure of seeing Philly's Saxon Shore perform last year, a five member instrumental band that has been playing strong since 2001. Japan's Mono is label-mates with Explosions (Temporary Residence), becoming almost a carbon copy of the group, utilizing long songs with plenty of ambience and crescendos. A post-metal genre has also started to sprout up with bands like Chicago's Pelican and Russian Circles who have mixed the beauty and sincerity of ambience with a harder feel. Europe's 65daysofstatic and God Is An Astronaut offer their own type of style, adding on to the never-ending list of weird band names in a painstakingly unknown genre.
Yet when all is said and I done, I always can come back to one band to make me feel alive again. Explosions in the Sky's third full length, The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place, will forever stay a favorite of mine. The beauty behind this is that nothing can be said or done that could ever take this away. It's the most reliable possession I own. There's just something about the juxtaposition between tranquility and power that can't be found in anything else. The pure unadulterated sound of music without lyrics makes me appreciate the finer qualities of life that much more. And it’s funny to think that even after hundreds of listens, witnessing certain tracks live first hand, I found new things in their music that I have never heard prior. I feel like I'm coming off too subjective so, as my closing statement, if nothing else, I at least want you to find that something in your lives that means this much to you. Have a great summer.
Global Warming: Fact or Fiction
Global Warming exists. Whether you think it is due to natural or human-based reasoning, it is a fact that our earth is getting warmer. I will attempt to make this article as unbiased as possible but to deny that the blunt evidence that the Earth hasn’t increased in temperature would be blasphemy.
Since the Industrial Revolution, the average temperature on earth has risen .8 degrees fahrenheit (the earth is actually suppose to be going through it’s normal cooling cycle right now). Most of this warming has happened in the last few decades, which isn’t a surprise at all considering how different life is compared to back then.
To prevent being wrongfully quoted on something, I will openly admit that everything I am about to say has come from my own sources that are of course, subject to criticism. Almost everything revolving around the ideas of human-made global warming has a rebuttal but I could care less about that.
There’s always going to be that one person who has credibility and can convince people to believe what they believe. And with a hugely political concept like massive climate change, there is obvious speculation about. And this is where I interject.
Regardless of how it’s happening, change is in order. Not to prove the skeptics wrong but for our own satisfaction and well-being. Take everything I have to say with a grain of salt but realize my main purpose of this article is to convince you to help yourself by helping our environment.
Dr. James Mayer, a Geosciences professor on campus, also acknowledges that the earth is indeed warming. “My personal opinion, based on reading the findings of climate scientists, is that we are probably justified in concluding that the warming observed over the last several decades is at least partially human-induced. But this is by no means a certainty.”
Dr. Mayer also comments on probably of irreversibility. “For significantly reducing greenhouse gas emissions will require immediate economic sacrifices for the sake of uncertain results far in the future. Based on my knowledge of world events, such large-scale sacrifice for the common good seems unlikely.”
Unfortunately, I completely agree with Dr. Mayer as I believe a massively significant disaster is going to be our fatal call to arms.
Like I said earlier, the purpose of this is to simply make you more aware of whats happening in our world. If you see a connection to global warming, fantastic. If not, then you’re completely missing the point of me writing this.
From an exert in Time Magazine, “One especially sobering study from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology found that hurricane wind speeds have increased about 50% in the past 50 years.” With the warming waters, not only are hurricanes an issue but many other factors as well.
Melting ice bergs are posing an enormous threat to low lying areas. To bring this reality more to home, imagine this if you will. Florida’s coasts are almost at sea level, so even if the ocean just rose a few feet, millions of people would be put out of their homes, thus being out of jobs, leaving crime and theft to ensue (flashback to Katrina).
Melting icebergs are also directly linked to increased polar bear death (many swim out to see in search of food but can never find a place to rest later on). Maybe this isn’t considered important to a lot of you but I happen to like polar bears.
I will put this in perspective. A year ago, there were over five thousand species alive that are not alive today, and the same for the year prior.
Warming oceans have also killed off many coral reefs which, in recent years, have found to be incredibly useful for medical purposes including prolonging the life of AIDS victims, acting as a highly powerful pain killer and much more potential that has yet to be discovered. It also turns out I happen to like Nemo.
In 2003, a heat wave in Europe killed an estimated 35,000 people. Deaths have dramatically risen in South America due to mosquitoes migrating north (due to warmer weather), directly responsible for malaria outbreaks, specifically loggers whose deforestation areas make for great larvae homes (it should also be noted that the silt from deforestation centers travel down rivers and into the oceans which then blocks any light from reaching the coral reefs thus killing them).
As I noted earlier, droughts and heat waves will continue to increase, which means Africa will give a whole new meaning to third world country. War could then ensue as resources would become limited and judging by our current war situation, even with unlimited fossil fuels right now, we’re having enough problems as it is.
Americanprogress.org issued a report titled ‘The Top 100 Effects of Global Warming’ which gives a realistically gruesome look at the specifics of how devastating some of these effects could be. Eradication of wine, koala bears, lobsters, and french fries are just a few of the lesser effects that made the list with various credible citations for each. Abundances of poison ivy, jellyfish, and heart attacks are the plus factors here.
Here’s my favorite statistic of them all. Due to the heating of permafrost (namely Alaska, Canada, Siberia), methane from dead plant matter (a very flammable gas) is being released (as well as methane gas bubbles from the ocean floors), and if enough of these gases become concentrated in a particular area, a single lightening strike could make an atomic explosion.
However even with this Armageddon ridden theory, I honestly don’t believe humans can ever become extinct. The last ice age wiped out 95% of all species, except humans. It’s a scary thought but in the event massive genocide did occur, the decrease of humans would then start to make our Earth more sustainable for life again.
Obviously, a lot of these ideas are all predictions but the fact that these are even brought up scares me to death. It’s not even us that will experience any of these horrendous encounters as our kin and their children will face the brunt of this if left unchanged.
Dr. Mayer comments, “Reducing our reliance on fossil fuels, for example, could provide immediate environmental and economic advantages while reducing greenhouse gas emissions.”
Rightfully so, and to refrain from any hypocrisy, I ride my bike as much as possible with this thought in mind. Doing simple things such as turning my thermostat off, keeping my tires properly inflated and eating less meat all make me feel like I’m being a better person (it’s literally that easy). There’s hundreds of small things that you can do that will without-a-doubt have a huge effect on the future (global warming aside).
Ask yourself what’s it going to hurt if you don’t? Exactly. Google is your friend, please brief up on what you can do to help even if you don’t agree that global warming exists.
Grant Wallace
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