This was once pretty. I just wanted a fucking calendar. Now I can't change SHIT.

Self-concious.

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:43:15 GMT

Today, I found out my right foot is a size bigger than my left foot--and it's also one size shorter than it needs to be for a store to do the "same shoe, different size" thing (i.e. getting two different-sized pairs of the same shoe, and taking one shoe from each to fit my feet). Later in the day, I became aware of my weight, and how I look, and how I act.

At the very base of it all, though, I don't care. I am who I am. So, my feet are two different sizes; it makes shopping that much more fun. So, I'm a little overweight--so is most of America. So, I am not happy with how I look; at least others like it. So, I talk and rave and rant like a madman... well, I can't really find an upside to that.

I'm also just tall enough for it to be annoying, my hair is always frustrating to deal with (especially my facial hair, which isn't f*cking changing colors), and I don't like folks I don't know staring at my butt (ever wonder why I wanted the trenchcoat in the first place? Now you know). My nose is constantly either getting stuffed up, running, being itchy, or flaking (sunburn's a bitch). Don't even get me started on my 'druff--all I'm gonna say is that it's a fucking horrible socially debilitating thing.

But, I don't care. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. Because this shit shouldn't bother me, so I don't let it. I try not to let it. I go so far as to delude myself every now and then--adopting a stance of ignorance on one's image does wonders. Really, though? You know what I'd like? True wholesale bodily shamelessness. The ability to let all that go, because it doesn't mean a thing. I believe apathy would also help.

I know I talk too much. I talk a lot. I get nervous, I talk. I say the darndest things. Most times, my shit won't make sense--and when it does, it's not funny, or in any way helpful. At least, to anyone else--it's fairly helpful to me, and more often than not very funny... to me. I'm still on the "retarded puppy" thing; it's cute, until you know that it's really just messed up to be laughing at it, then you start getting frustrated with it, and then after getting used to it, you regret being frustrated and start being kind to it. Except, hardly anybody ever makes it past the "getting frustrated" part with me--that gets me sad.

Do I *like* being difficult? No. Why the hell would I choose to act this way? Who CHOOSES to say stupid shit for seemingly no reason that is only funny to themselves?

Jesus... who would intentionally be mad at someone who can't help certain things? That's like yelling at a kid who wets his bed at night--he can't help it, and yelling won't make him feel any better, or solve the problem. Probably even exacerbates it, even.

Like I said, I don't choose to say stupid shit. It just *happens*, and most of the time I don't catch myself before the words come out.

I don't think in words--I think in pictures and emotions. So, when someone says something to me that's particularly meaningful, I would try to say something, and it turns out that I should have thought it through before speaking it--because what I said was taken the wrong way(more often than not). However, if I took the time to think before speaking, and actually put my feelings to words, it would take a bit--and the moment would either be ruined, or long gone.

I have done that before, and so I know what I'm talking about. I am so goddamn slow when it comes to getting across the point of whatever it is I'm talking about. There were a few times when something meaningful was said, and I paused to try to put my words into the best possible formation to get my point across and be understood... but then it would be too long, and some other conversation would be underway, and I'd just bust up in there with the sentence, and then it'd be like, "Naw, man, you're too late." or it's not funny, or SOMEthing. Verbal timing, I don't have.

Occasionally, I'll do something, and it's just so fucking stupid that the person I'm with will say "You did that on accident, right?" and I'll have to play along, because I did it on PURPOSE--but I don't want to seem too stupid in front of them. I've always done THAT shit too--stupid shit on purpose. It's usually for dumb reasons, too; afterwards I'll be wondering why the hell I was thinking that. It's usually mostly because I didn't remember doing something before that would've prevented me from doing said stupid act in the first place.

There does not exist Perfection, for it is myth. There are some who are close--but the tradeoffs aren't usually worth it. There is always SOMETHING wrong. ALWAYS. Why is that? Because we're all different, and we each have our own perspective of what is different, of what is Good, Bad, Perfect, Ugly, Smart, Stupid... the list goes on. The fact that fashions change every now and then is because a bunch of people decide to like a certain thing, and the rest of society is ok with it. For instance: Thank god beehive hairdos aren't in style; they're ugly. But, that's just my opinion--most folks would find them incredibly attractive if they were. Since they're not actually in style, though, and even though I hate them, there are probably still folks out there who adore that style. You don't see women wearing them, though.

People are fucking retarded and most aren't that really accepting of anything different, and that makes me sad--because we/they'll always have one foot stuck in the past. Sure it's safe, it's the "known" and all... but, seriously, let it go. Stop being selfish, and let the past be just that. Let the "good old days" be just that, and embrace today, and tomorrow. Pretty soon, today and tomorrow will be looked back on as "the good old days", and eventually, we'll be telling tales of that to kids, and possibly grandkids, or great-grandkids. And THEY will have "good old days" of their own.

I'm going to die old, alone, and sitting on a rocking chair on the front porch of my house with a shotgun in my lap, and a cooncat sitting by my side. It's not my mantra, it's not a self-fulfilling prophecy, it's the fucking truth. I can see this shit clear as a sunny day, clear as crystal, clear as water. There is nothing so good that happens to me that I can't screw it up.

I feel like shit, and I'm kinda tired. I miss my friends, and I miss not worrying about myself. Everyone's getting sick (not surprising, considering the season) and I've got homework I don't want to do, and I've got to go into work tomorrow.

Is it really a surprise to any of you why I want to go to Antarctica? There's new people (who don't know how crazy I am yet), there's a new area (I have an excuse for getting lost), there's a new job (I've had the same one for going on 5 years now), I like the cold weather (there's a veritable lack of snow in California), there's very few people down there (and I'm willing to bet you have to be a certain kind of intelligence to survive down there), and, above ANYTHING else... I can be left alone down there. True, I'll miss my friends, I'll miss my cons and Faires, I'll miss my loved ones, and I will miss hanging out with them... but recently, I've just been chillin' alone, more and more, and have been getting used to that. I didn't WANT to get used to that, but that's what life is, these days.

You know what sucks? There are people out there who would be willing to spend time with me on a daily basis, who aren't able to. However, those who ARE able to spend time with me on a daily basis, don't do so because (get this): they're either too busy for me, too tired, or out somewhere doing something that I could have been involved in/with. There is always SOME excuse.

When I want to hang out with someone, I make time for them. I let them know, and I make damn sure they know how much it means to me that I hang out with them. If someone wants to hang out with me (that is here, locally), I try to accommodate--regardless of how tired I am, regardless of how busy I am, and regardless of what I would be doing later/earlier that evening. Why? Because I place value on my time with them.

There are maybe two or three local friends of whom I would excuse from getting ragged on like this, on account of they don't know any better; they're still awesome people in their own right, just, "a little bit special" like me, that's all. Of course, there are a few who don't count because of particular physical injuries on their part; they can't help being in pain or being prone to stuff. I'm cool with seeing them when they can allow me, because that's how that works.

Other than that... no excuse. Anywhere within a three-hour pub.trans. radius, no excuse, because *I* can go to *them* if need be. Or meet them somewhere.

"Why don't YOU call them, Marcus? Why don't YOU ask THEM to go do something?" Because whenever I do, it always seems that they're busy (there are folks I know who are busier than them that STILL make time to be with me), or they don't answer their phone at all, or they're too tired to hang out. "But Marcus, surely you've been too ti--" Let me stop you right there and say this: There is no such thing, for me, as being "too tired" to hang out with someone during the day. And additionally, I will ALWAYS answer my phone, excepting that I am not in the bathroom, that my battery is not dead, that I am not on an airplane or in a theater, that I am not talking to someone else (on the phone), or that I am not currently with someone in a particularly compromising situation (like, say, playing a two-player video game, or in the middle of restaurant... or even in the middle of anything remotely physical. Yeah, I went there). So if I don't answer my phone, assume that I'm in the bathroom, call fifteen minutes later, and if I'm still not answering, assume plane or theater. Call an hour later, and if I'm still not answering, I'm probably in the middle of a compromising situation.

Or I forgot my phone upstairs while typing on the computer, or my battery died. Point is, I will almost never ignore a call on purpose.

Stomach is complaining at me (there's another thing I hate about myself--my digestive issues). That must mean it's fairly late. I'mma give bed a try.

You've been warned.

-M

I figured I might get in a rare post.

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 02:43:00 GMT

I don't post all that often.

As anyone knows, the reason I don't post is because my life is boring as shit, simply put.

When it isn't, however, I try to update. This weekend, for example: Halloween weekend. But first, let's begin with Thursday.

Thursday morning, I woke up earlier than planned. I wanted breakfast--or at least something to drink, so I head on down to the local liquor store and nab myself a chocolate milk and then headed around the corner for the local donut shop for a bagel & cream cheese. Then I thought, hey, I'm in the area, so I might as well just tell work myself. Perhaps you may be wondering what I am referring to--I'm getting to that.

I walk in, and tell them that I cannot come in that day. I sign out, and leave. Skipping a bit ahead (most of the next bit was just transportation), I am in San Francisco with a good friend of mine. I believe we (read: I) defined our friendship as "affectionate friends". It does certainly fit, and I have my particular reasons for it. I won't explain them here, but to anyone who wants to know can certainly ask (in an e-mail).

We commence wandering around the Civic Center area, looking at stuff. Then, we kinda get off on a quest for Chinatown... and get sidetracked by a giant mall. It was a very fancy place, with a fucking AWESOME hand dryer in the bathroom. Very state-of-the-art. There was a Borders right below a Century Theaters, and a very beautiful dome area, where you can sit and relax on fake leather couches.

There were fancy stores, and I *believe* 6 or 8 levels of just clothes, shoes, and/or makeup. There was a lower-lower floor, consisting of nothing but food--it was WONDERFUL. I loved it. And they even had my favorite chocolate there (I still haven't eaten the one I purchased--it's a rare delicacy for me, what can I say?)

So after a few hours worth of wandering and ooh-ing and aah-ing, we decided enough is enough, and tried to head to Chinatown again. And failed. We found ourselves looking at the Metreon (the sadly movie-theater infested one) and decide what the hell, let's go see a movie--because that's what we intended on doing in the first place. We see "The Invention of Lying"--a very touching, hilarious, and sad movie. I mean, if it had an action sequence in there, it would have been The Best Movie Of All Time--but that's just one man's opinion. *shrug*

We see the movie, make our exit--and decide to find our Chinatown. Long ways off, it was, and a very difficult uphill walk. We were sorta sweaty and slightly smelly at the end of it (lucky for me, I don't smell as bad when I remember to put on scented oil and deodorant on beforehand). And by "end of it" I mean "finally on the right road to the Chinatown archway". We're heading down, and we hear all sorts of delightful music--she gets sidetracked, and I oblige. We see someplace handing out menus, and we stop in and eat there. We both got "rice bowls" (which didn't include a bowl, but rather a chunk of rice in an upside-down bowl-shape, as if they turned over a bowl of rice onto a plate). She got the BBQ pork and I got the chicken and pork--the former of which included bones.

Everyone I know hopefully knows that I don't sit well with bones in my meat. AT ALL. So I salvage the situation as best I can, suck it up, and pick at the chicken. Suffice to say, with the exception of the chicken, it was a pretty decent restaurant. VERY shitty bathroom (not literally shitty--just, the state it was in was ranging from "deteriorating" to "wow, this was a bathroom?"), but again, it was rather decent.

We make our way down the street again, back on the path, and we're kinda pressed for time--I want her to make her bus on time. We're effectively speed-window-shopping, stopping only occasionally for things that REALLY catch our eye. I wanted to make it to the Chinatown archway before the day ended...

...and by gum, we made it. About this time, I get a call from K. She wanted company, and I essentially said I would have obliged, were I not presently engaged. I asked if I could call back, but I should have asked how late I could've called. In any case, I couldn't call the next day, as she' be at a wedding rehearsal, and I couldn't call on the weekend, as I'd be in Tahoe/Reno. D'aww. Sad pandas. Anyway.

There was one picture taken in commemoration, and we were off to get her to her stop. We semi-cuddled a bit, exchanged "gifts", and then separated our ways. Thursday end.

And now the rest of the weekend...

Friday, I wildly run around the house, packing things for the trip I had scheduled a month in advance. My own fault of not packing, but then again, that's how I do. I managed to get everything done, but that's 'cause I'm awesome. Myself, Ann, and Casey head on out to Tahoe--and for a good chunk of this journey, I suddenly get REALLY sick. Like, headaches, tiredness, nausea, and an upset stomach. I don't say anything about this, because I didn't (and I still don't) know what caused it.

They offer a couple of medicinal things, to which I refuse--it might seem like I am an idiot when it comes to those things, but I absolutely refuse to pander to my body's illnesses like some sort of pampered child throwing a fit. It's my way of telling my inner workings to "deal with it"--and "deal with it" is just what it did.

Tahoe was reached, we sign in, watch movies, play games, pass out. There was one particular movie we were watching before we "passed out"... "Blood of the Vampire". In it was a sort of tarded guy who had quite the penchant for stabbery--we said of him "His name is Stabby McTard, but we call him "Carl." Ah! Don't stab that man, Carl!" Seriously, the man had a hard-on for stabbing EVERYTHING. And he couldn't talk, which made it worse--we assumed the stabbing was a means of communication. Anyway. Friday end.

Next day arrives, the other two go out for a walk, I stay in and veg--because I rarely get a chance to veg in front of the TV. Aaaaand because the sun was out, but I didn't mention this fact because I didn't want to seem... I dunno... weird. Weirder than I already am. The sun is hot, and I generally don't like moving around in the heat. *shrug*

They come back, and then go out to the casino. I stay in. They call me up for dinner, I comply. We eat, it was fun. The statement "You look like a hippo when you yawn, Casey" was said. After dinner, they go back to gambling, I decide to trace their steps down to the waterfront. It was sunset during the walk, and by the time I arrived, the sun was already over the hills. I give a couple calls, I wish a couple people were there with me, I move on. I walk back to the inn we were staying at, and pack up to go to Reno.

We get to Reno, sign in, and the other two go off to get money from someplace. I stay in, and set up my costume (which was BADASS, btw). They come back, we all get our Fancy on, and head out. We wander around, eventually they stop to gamble. I wander more, and talk occasionally, but mostly take shitty blurry pictures of interesting or shitty halloween costumes. There was one I wish I got... some guy went dressed as a fireman, but there was a "firehose" coming out of his crotch. Shitty halloween costume idea #1, that night.

Pictures taken, compliments gotten, and at one point I had a butt shoved in front of me (it belonged to a rather fairly attractive woman) to which I shoulda spanked. Quite frankly, though, the idea of doing so at the time sounded fairly ridiculous to me, considering the party she was with and the two others with me. Aaaanyway.

After meanderings and gamblings and sweating buckets (it was a lot of layers of clothing in a crowded and well-lit but still stressful area), we wind our way back to the room, and relax in sleeping clothes while watching TV. Saturday end.

We wake up, pack up everything, and head out. More gambling ensues, and sometime around 3 or 4 we decide to head back. But first! We stop at the wonderful sandwich place from last year--Gandolfo's. I ordered a Knuckle Sandwich (Pastrami with three different cheeses, mushrooms, and olives with a few different sauces/toppings/condiments), but I subbed Turkey for Pastrami. My good goddamn, it was delicious. I do believe I am ordering that next time, maybe bigger if possible. Then we made our way back home, occasionally taking pictures of the wonderful countryside and sunset.

I get home, settle in and unpack, then I get online. Maybe an hour or so in, I hear some disappointing and hurtful news from someone I cared (sic) for deeply (of whom obviously didn't feel the same way). I try relating this to another, and I get a wall of defense, to which I felt I had to defend myself against. In short: I get really deeply upset with two people of whom I love, neither of whom seem to reciprocate my particular definition of such.

Crappy ending to an otherwise awesome day. Sunday end.

Today... I wake up, head to work. I come back. Ta-daa. Now you remember why I don't update regularly.

-M

Grah.

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 09:15:54 GMT

Shoulda made one on me birthday, but meh. This'll have to do--I've been so scatterbrained as of late, it's driving me nutsoid.

Because I remember things like this, I am going to make a comprehensive list of who said "Happy Birthday"--leaving out direct relatives, because THEY all remember my birthday:

Cousin Lauren
Diana
Katya
Melissa L.
Cousin Sarah
Matthew P.
JonJon
Mike C.
Myles F.
Joey
Sarah Helen C.
Dee C. (<3)
Shay C.
Paigge G.
Carla T.
Susan H.
Suzanne B.
Katie (Lara) L.
Kayla F.
Alisa J.
Laura A.
Athena M.
Jennie G.
BESTIE (she knows who she is)
Emily B.
Rach C.
Michelle O.
Neal H.
Nestor
Tim M.
Faire Mom
Matana S.
Katy R.
Heather S.
Genyana
Hilary & Derek
Sonya J.
Pearl
Leilei
Kira M.
Anna W.
Joanne W.
Jackie H.
Godmother
Brooksie
Mrs. Larson
Ashley H.
Susan L.
Brittany J.
Alexa C.
Amy L.

52 folks. Counting family, that's 9 more... to a total of 61 people. Add in two more folks that sent private messages, that's 63--plus one additional on a few texts, and 6 extra who are unique in their own special way. Total number of folks: 70.

I am kinda mad about a few folks who forgot my birthday--reasons ranging from, "I wouldn't ever forget their birthday, so why did they forget mine?", to "if I can find enough time to celebrate their birthday, couldn't they at least spare a minute or two to send a quick message to me?", even to "I spent a lot of time and money on their birthday--where are they on mine?"

I'm just going to give generics to those who forgot--but to those who remembered, I am going to do what I can to get across the message that I care about them.

It's 2:14AM and I'm talking with Dee (South African fake lover of mine--long story, but an amusing one). I reeeeaaaaallllly oughta go to bed. So! First step will be to end this trainwreck here. Toodle-oo!

-M

Ideally suited for a future unknown.

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 00:31:50 GMT

I was never one for tension. Or suspense. True to myself, I've even always taken strides longer than the previous, because I cannot get to where I'm going fast enough. More tension, they say, builds to a better climactic whatever. Same with suspense--only it adds to whatever mood it was played. Bah. I'd get right up in there and resolve that shit (if it were a mystery or something). Go all-out with the fangs bared--no sense in lying in wait with a heart attack coming around the corner.

True, though, tension and suspense do have their moments. As tools, they can help, or hinder.

Bah. Oh, and btw? All that hype for "Where The Wild Things Are"? It got received with only 1 and 1/2 stars outta five. I've been saying for months, since the trailer first came out, that it was gonna be a pretty bad movie--to be seen if you like indie things or loved the original book. I loved the original book--but from what I see, it looks like it's not anything like the book at all. Of course, how do you fit a 3-minute story into an hour and forty minutes?

Currently, I've been sitting here for a majority of today. Methinks I should perhaps wind my way towards either the Great Mall, or downtown Mountain View--if only just to find an excuse to put on clothes, get away from the house, and immerse myself in society for a bit.

Yeah. I think I'll do that. I'll write more later; ciao.

-M

I'm nearly 22.

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 01:04:20 GMT

Give it about 6 days, and bam, 22.

I haven't updated in a while. As you know (and more n' likely don't care) nothing ever really happens in my life that's worth noting.

Only, this past weekend I went to the Renaissance Faire (took loads of pictures that are up on Facebook) and was reunited with old friends. Finally bought a cloak, a pair of stretchy trou, and a small bottle of "Apple Pie"-scented oil.

Aside from that... my week goes as follows:

Sunday evenings: I go do coffee with Ann.
Monday (from 8 to 9): Heroes @ Jesse's.
Tuesday: Video gaming/hanging out with Ben (John, to some).
Wednesday: Graphic Arts class.
Thursday: Volleyball.
Friday: empty.
Every other Saturday: Game night--otherwise, nothing planned.

My schedule is simple. I keep to it. Can anyone else boast the same? I think not.

It's all "I HAVE THE SAME SCHEDULE LIKE THAT UNLESS" bla bla bla some different shit happens bla bla bla. No. My schedule? Immutable for now. I work weekdays until 5. That's all anyone needs to know for any other time of anything. The fact that I have school, or that I watch Heroes, or that I chillax with a friend I haven't hung with in a while, are all just icing on the cake that is my nigh-immutable schedule. Everything changes, true. But does it have to be all shifty and nebulous so that even YOU can't remember what the fuck is up? Gah.

I'm tired. Volleyball took a bit outta me yesterday--I was REALLY having a good time of it. My serves have gotten OFF the HOOK lately. Been awesome.

The rest of today is just unwanted lounge time. Same goes for tomorrow, and Sunday evening, and Friday the 23rd. Get me to do something with you, plz. Otherwise I'm just gonna get all "nobody cares" and curl up in my room.

Naptime, I think. Ciao, folks.

Hey sweet song.

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 08:07:26 GMT

Long time, no sing.

But this time around, I've a bit to report. Not that anybody reads this; I guess it's more of a release. Going back to "privacy", or "obsolescence", rather. Everyone's either on Twitter or Facebook, and if it's not communicated there, then it's sent via SMS texting or regular instant messaging. Or video chat, or phone call.

Nobody gots time for a little ol' LJ readin'. Of course, I'll see a few pop up, and those are usually from the more dedicated users of LJ; myself, I'm a dedicated reader, as nothing interesting happens in my day.

Except recently.

Recently, I've... well, I suppose I can be frank about it here, now. I'm sorta seeing someone, but not really. It's monogamous, but not really in the "girlfriend/boyfriend" sense. And even then, I'm not even really "seeing" them; it's a new level of relationship. There's acquaintance, there's friend, there's best friend, there's friend-with-benefits (booty call), and then there's girlfriend/boyfriend, fiance, wife/husband. Right now, we're somewhere between FWB and girlfriend/boyfriend--like I said, a whole new level. Shit's complicated, son. *nods*

I got a jaywalking ticket... and it's gonna cost me around $174 to deal with it, regardless of whether I post the bail or try to beat it. So what else is new? Cops are dicks, what can I say. They were ok before, but getting that was the last straw. Fucking jaywalking ticket. -.-

Started classes--Graphic Arts (101, basically) and volleyball (again). I've noticed a trend in that folks tend to ask me what my major is. I tell them the truth, and they're either really interested in me after that or they're just really good liars.

I'm kinda-sorta depressed--but that's only a recent development. My happiness and depression usually centers on how much worry I have about my finances--whether I have enough or not. And right now, I do not have enough: I need to see an optometrist, a podiatrist, I need to get a checkup, need to pay off the aforementioned ticket, and a new phone. Oh yeah, by the way, did I mention that my nearly 5-year-old phone is falling apart, and that Cingular is no longer doing the "buy 100 minutes get 10 free" deal for prepaids? I need a new phone plan, too.

And I don't have enough money to do all that AND move out, AND feed myself the entire time, AND hang out with friends (because hanging out with friends does use up the monies). I... want to sit in a corner and cry. I hate dealing with money. I hate it when I have to cut time with friends, I hate it when I can't "try something new" (when it comes to food), and I hate it when there are unanticipated free radicals--variables in this equation I don't know about and still have to spend money on.

On one hand, my life is great--there's someone I'm sorta seeing, I have all these friends, I'm going to college, and I have a job. I have a place to live, a computer to sit at and watch things on, and various other technology. I am able to read and write legibly. And thus far, I am disease-free.

On the other hand, I wish I were comatose in deep-space in a coffin-like shuttle, hurtling towards a wormhole on a volunteer-only mission from NASA to gather information upon awakening and sending it back to Earth. No joke there--I really do wish I was helping to explore the vastness that is the universe around us.

Instead, I'm stuck going blind, being single, having to cut down on seeing my friends, school tuition went up, my hours at work were cut, I'm moving next month (or November--either way, that's anxiety aplenty right there), my computer is in desperate need of an external hard drive and is getting slower and slower (but that just may only be Firefox), I need a car to get my driver's license (but I need my driver's license to get a car), I need to get a California ID... and my stomach keeps hurting.

I really really really don't like money. As much happiness as it could buy, it can't actually do that. It just makes me more stressed.

Then, I think: oh, hey, I don't ACTUALLY have to depend on money. I could just sell everything, tell everyone to "fuck off", and go work in Antarctica, or go live in Australia, or somewhere in Europe. I could MOVE; I could uproot and start someplace else where I can start all over again. That'd be nice. Hah... anyone I tell my plan about living in Antarctica to starts laughing at me and asks me why I'd want to go there. The second remark is usually something about the temperature, and how they could never stand to go down there.

Yep. Precisely why *I* want to, sir. Because nobody wants to. We all have this illusion that we're important, that somehow we are the most important thing in all of reality. We have shows and movies and cartoons and books and all other sorts of media saying and portraying JUST that. But, we don't know for sure. We're that kid in the corner of a blank room, talking to ourselves. We don't even know if there's anyone else in this room, since, y'know, we're facing a goddamn corner. Anyone left alone long enough will start to go crazy. Humanity has been left alone for... lessee... about a few million years. We're still practically monkeys.

Did you know, our early human ancestors worshiped plants, animals, and other natural occurrences? They thought it was magic, or sorcery, or angry/benevolent spirits. Toddlers, after they learn the emotion called "fear", have their own version of belief system. Their "blankie" might protect them from harm from the "monster" in the closet, or that Mommy would chase away all the bad guys and they'll be safe. They don't know that there is no monster in their closet, or that mommy isn't bulletproof. Do you see a correlation?

Now, hold on tight to your pants here folks, this 'un's gonna get tricky: Now. Think about how long the Earth has been around, versus how long the rest of the universe has been around. Then, think about how long the dinosaurs were around. Finally, I would like you to please take into consideration just how long WE, as intelligent self-conscious beings, have been around. Get all that? If you thought this over correctly, there should be a brick-shaped lump of poo somewhere outside the vicinity of your butthole.

If you thought "Man, he's not making any sense", then you can just stop reading right here. I'm going to advise you to go find some alcohol, take a few shots/swigs, then re-read all of this. If you don't drink alcohol, then... well, you can fuck off, because if this isn't making any sense to you and you don't drink, then go away. You're not needed here.

If you thought "Gee, toddler superstition and the entirety of humanity seem mighty similar", you're on the right track. I invite you to take it one step further: how does a child grow up, if there is no adult figure telling it what Is, what Isn't, what's Right, and what's Wrong? How to do This, how to do That, why you shouldn't do That Thing, but should be doing This instead?

How does it grow up, indeed.

That's all for now. Muninn out.

-M

I dunno, but I'm gonna do SOMEthing.

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 00:55:26 GMT

I'm more than likely gonna go see 9. I mean, why not, right? I'm gonna see it after class, gonna try to catch the 9:50. Which means leaving sometime around 9, 9:30ish.

I also figured I'd post, because what the heck, why not? The next time this'll happen in in roughly 100 years, and I (probably) won't be alive to post anything. So! 09-09-09. We had another in our lifetime, you know; 01-01-01.

Here's to hoping I'm around for the next hundred chronologically-sequenced dates; *raises glass, takes a swig*.

Peace, love, and prosperity, y'all.

-M

Harder and harder to remember...

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 18:58:35 GMT

A plane is involved. There's a mistake somewheres, and somehow I end up on Mars, trying to get to Paris. There's... a food court involved, a waiting line, a bunch of friendly people, some food... eventually, an EMP goes off--a nuclear device, but we're in a secure facility, so we only get hit with the pulse instead of the blast. There's panic. I remember at some point during this dream that I could have just waited, instead of heading to where I wanted to be; I'm flying to meet someone.

I forget precisely what the first dream was about; I just know I woke up sometime and closed my window, then went back to sleep. The second dream... again, the beginning is fuzzy, but I remember being with Crysta for the most part (on that note, if you're reading this C.K., I'll tell you precisely what went down in this part of the dream, don't worry, it's a very good part). Then she had to leave (she got called away), and I went downstairs to... a sort of field with a bunch of picnic tables and surrounded by forestry.

Some folks were talking about the Tudors, and the time period was apparently a mix between Edwardian and Renaissance, due to the clothing and what was being discussed. I was at a table of a bunch of people talking, and I forget what about, when I interrupted with the fact that there was spider webbing above the table on the other side.

They all remarked how they hated or were afraid of spiders, and I went to look at the web (because as much as I hate spiders, I don't hate the webs, as long as they're not in my way or in my house. So I'm looking at it, when I notice it forms a sort of arrow, pointing somewheres.

I decide to follow, and went through a sort of very narrow alleyway/crack between two buildings (the "two buildings" were only there to provide an alleyway; they faded about a meter or two out). I ended up looking around for what it might've been pointing at, and I see this sort of spiral rock with swords embedded in it. Please note that I just went from a forested background to a very wintery one, snow everywhere--it's not snowing, however. I figure I must be looking for the Legendary Sword, the sword that could cut through anything. While looking for it, I notice that there are children are looking for it too. It's ok, though, because what everyone seems to be digging through is a pile of wooden swords, in the middle of the spiral rock--nobody is touching the metal ones on the outside. I pick one up; it's a wooden falchion. I test it out, and split some nearby debris (a chair, I believe). It splits in half. I get a little excited, because hey, this could be it, right? I turn, and try to cut a rock with it. It just bounces off. I try again, it bounces off.

I look around, there is one little dedicated kid and some fancily-dressed teen. A prophecy hits me (more of a "requirement prophecy", like "only the true king can pull the sword from the stone" or "only one of the royal family can turn the ruby back"). It's "Only those with the red royal eyes is able to discern which is the True Sword." This fancily-dressed teen tosses aside a sword and says "this might be worth checking out"; before she turns away, I notice her eyes burning like two hot coals. She tosses on a cloak and leaves. I mentally thank her, take a look at my falchion (the blade of which was reversed, now) and toss it away, very quickly snatching up the tossed sword before the dedicated kid does (which he really seemed to be puzzled about). I say I'm going to go test it, and head off towards the ice canyon, in the distance.

Three quarters of the way there, I notice I'm being followed by some elf or another; basically, some guy who doesn't look to be "good". He tosses a fireball at me, I turn, and slice the motherfucker out of the air. He tosses another few, and a couple hatch into owls, which I handily slice in two. One owl escapes, but quickly disintegrates after the elf releases the spell. He comes up to me, and asks how I'll survive the canyon. I tell him how, the explanation of which involves an innocent comment about my sword. He says I'm gonna need more than that, and to report to "that corner" for training (he points to a secluded section of land with a couple rock walls).

I go, and my sword automatically appears on the wall. The elf explains that he teaches basic defense, and that his helpers (twin green elf women) are going to be helping me train as well. I ask whether they'll be taking me on all at once, or one at a time. One of the twins dances out with her sword, and the fighting begins. All I'm gonna say here is, to sum up, there's a lot of fighting, and eventually it become "fighting a crowd", and I make friends with a few people, one of which is some large dude (tall and fat) who is blonde, wears glasses, and wears a blue Hawaiian shirt with a white shirt on under it. He gets a parody sketch of himself from a friend of his after one battle (parody sketch==the kind of "funny drawings" people usually do at fairs or Great America or some such).

That's all. I wake up.

-M

Odd dreamin'.

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 18:16:43 GMT

Somewhere amidst the twists and curls, a movie takes place: that movie is my dream, which occurs sometime 'round the midnight hour (I suspect).

If there was a beginning, it's fuzzy. I recall being underground, and trying to fit in with a bunch of cannibals so I don't get killed; so I can be taken to the dungeons instead. I am chained with a line of them, after having eaten a bit of human, and we are taken down.

I forget how precisely we manage a breakout, but we do. There are ladders and twists and turns; I just follow the leader, because they know the way out (or seem to). After what seems like floors and floors, we make it to the top (btw, I manage to break my shackles with an axe found on the floor just before the main floor). We run, hooting and hollering, to the "Front Door". The main guards in the place are only looking at me--I tell them I've earned it because I saved the "warden" (I assumed that's who he was, I forget his proper name) from being eaten, and thus deserve a pardon. Which they give me by overlooking the fact that I'm escaping.

After we all make it out the front door, I find that most are in a long row boat (that's precisely what it is; it had 4 others on oars) with two more places left (one for oars and one for rudder). There's a guy next to me, and I urge him to go on ahead (I didn't want to row). I take a quick look around for any supplies, find none, then head off to the boat. I get in, they start rowing us over to a stream/river (It's too narrow for a river but too fast and deep for a stream). We plunge in, and start to head on down the river/stream, and then I spot a cooler. I race after it, grab it, then head back to the boat just as it's going over the edge of the mini-waterfall.

As we're falling, I take a quick peek: I grabbed a cooler full of AirHeads. Yeah. The taffy candy.

We land, and then we keep rowing...

The end of this is a mite fuzzy, if there is an ending to this. I just know waking up. That's all.

-M

Non compos mentis.

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 09:41:27 GMT

Welcome. This here entry you won't particularly like, because I get angry and depressed.

(You have been warned.)

All that glitters is not gold. None of you get that. The phrase has been used, albeit in different shapes and forms, for CENTURIES. And yet nobody gets it.

Fucking butterfly effect... but you can only see so far. You can only effect a little bit, the near-present, the soon-to-be. Past that, you need calculations that are beyond you... unless you truly sat down and thought... but by then, the chance would be missed.

I keep getting these urges to sing in latin... I'm so very good at it.

Do you remember the ending of the Goonies? Where they all sat there on the beach, watching the fucking boat sail away? Which one of you thought "What the hell, why are they all sitting there, why isn't any one of them calling the coast guard, or finding a boat themselves? And for that matter, couldn't one of them, or any of them, have hidden some gold or change in their underwear? They couldn't all have been wearing boxers..."? I do, every goddamn time I watch it. I mean, it's a fun movie, other than those two points. There are others, but they're easier to look over.

Let down yet again, on many fronts. It's now 1:05AM, I'm still awake. I've been on and off the computer all day, watched Dragonball: Evolution, played some DS, had a bite here and there, washed some dishes. Relatively quiet day. Lonely, too. Always lonely...

I think my soul just got a tad darker. I mean, not in a "goth" or "emo" way, I mean John Wayne Gacy and Charles Manson. THAT kind of dark. The mind goes to strange places when left alone for days on end, with naught but virtual stimulation and a computer as the only access to the outside world.

I don't really feel loved. Yeah, that's right, I said it. Words mean nothing to me. Even in music, I hardly listen to what's being sung, and more to the tune, the sound of the thing. Like me. Nobody listens, they just know I'm here. Poor moon. It's there, but not appreciated. It's actually vital that it's where it is, doing what it does, but it's hardly ever spoken of, or offered a thanks. If ever there were a reason I like staying up, or looking out at night, it's because of the moon.

Anyway. I don't feel loved because more often than not, it's ME who has to go out of the way to schedule something, it's ME who has to think of something to do, it's ME who gets yelled at when I complain about this bullshit. And people wonder why I'm the way I am? It's because of them. "Then, Marcus, perhaps these are not the people you ought to be hanging out with?" Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm just pandering to plenty of shallow relationships with other human beings. Why would I do that, though? Perhaps it is because nobody else would like me, and I just took what I got. Perhaps how I go about making friends is the only way I know how to make friends.

Human beings can't REALLY be as needy or as busy as I think they are. I'm not as hard to figure out as I think I am--this "love" I believe I'm missing might just be hidden in various acts I'm not seeing or connecting, right? Right? I'm definitely cynical... a lot more jaded, definitely leaning more towards "pessimistic" than "optimistic". So, if I see something that isn't "spelled out for" me, I'll tend to assume it's because "that's what they wanted, and I'm just partaking of it because I'm a leech."

Yep. Definitely depressed...

Why do I have to hunt down people to do things with? It's like I'm permanently stuck on the bleachers, or in the dugout, called up only when nobody else is available. And trust me on this one, that's happened multiple times. I don't believe I've ever gotten a "Well, Marcus, I have nothing to do today, but I *wanted* to do something, and the first person I could think of was you!" That's sad.

And to think of why I'd want to go to Antarctica... the reasons practically throw themselves at me.

Another thing is, those times I'm busy doing something *I* scheduled? That day, EVERYONE calls me to want to do something. I'm sure that's just luck, but recently, I've come to find out that it happens to lots of folk. Now, see, if they had talked to me beforehand about what times I'm free, I might've had that day open for them--or re-scheduled. I say, if you're going to call on a day you think everyone else is going to call, or that you think the person you're calling is actually busy, you can't expect to hear them accept your offer.

Words are pretty. But you can lie with words. Actions, while you can lie with them as well, are harder to lie with. Rarely does a person want to go out of their way to do something physically for someone they don't want to go out of their way FOR--it's too much effort, and they don't get anything out of it. But, for the person truly doing something for them, what they get is "Brownie points" or "Kudos" or their "Good side", or whatever--basically, to see the object of their efforts be pleased. For me, I'm better pleased when someone calls me to tell me to go do something with them--double points (I'm impressed more if) they end up dragging me to whatever it was (only if they know I'm not actually doing anything else). It takes skill, patience, and dedication to do that, and if they're willing to exert that, then I am indeed impressed (y'all could use a lesson or two from my mom--but lately, I think she's lost her touch-or the will to do so).

Caution: I would not expect someone to do something for me that I would not do for them, though. That means, if you would do something for me that you know I would not do for you, I would not... no, I would insist that you do not do this. I would feel terribly guilty afterward, after you've invested that much energy and time into whatever it was, and there was no way I could pay you back for such kindness. Believe me when I say "kindness" is a two-way street with me. It is, and will always be, a "scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" kind of a deal. You do not always expect kindness in one direction; everyone wants something from their investment. If, say, you're friends with someone, and they're constantly showering you with gifts and opportunities and trips and such, but you didn't have the time nor money to pay them back, how would you feel? On the flip side of that coin, if you had a friend of whom you shared meals with (but got the tab for), of whom you introduced to people (your other friends), and of whom you always went on vacations with (of which the tickets were billed to your address)? It sucks to be either of those people, right?

If you agreed to that last statement, you, sir or madam, are not a truly selfless person. A kindness is only a fraction of selflessness--it is none of the above (the "giving" part, anyway).

That's why I always try to find costless/cheap outings. There should be no money involved in a friendship--and what it fucking is, is that everyone seems to like those more. It's like the toy duck, or the blankie, or the stuffed teddy bear from your childhood--they're better than the modern crap because they have character, they're not based on "bells and whistles". Orson Welles knew this. He knows... knew precisely what I'm talking about here (God rest his soul).

Think about it: in one way or another, the relationship you have with any of your friends. Think of your best friend. On how many occasions did you buy something for them? Eat someplace? Go somewhere? See something (be it on stage, or on a screen, or in a zoo/aquarium)? How many times did you let them stay over at your house--or at the very least, have dinner there? If they add up to "more times than I have with any other friend", then take this into consideration: would things have been different if you were the one doing all the giving? Or perhaps, if you were the one doing the receiving?

Monetarily, the one you put more money and effort into is your "best friend"--it has little to do with how well the person knows you (btw, Ann, if you're reading this, I'm a horrible best friend--just thought you should know). But then... now we lead into what truly makes a "best friend", don't we?

Personally... the "best friend" is a person of whom you know the quirks of, and love them regardless. You offer the shoulder when they're in pain, a joke or something when they're bored. They're the first person you think of, when calling people to do something with (unless you're taken, of course--then the bestie is 2nd, but ONLY to the S.O.). They "give it to you straight", but know you enough to put it lightly, make it easier to swallow. I mean, y'don't shove the medicine down their throat--it's harder to swallow that way. You do it with sugar, if you want it to stick, AND if you want to avoid an argument. On that same note, you should hardly ever get into an argument with the "best friend"--because "best friends" want to avoid that. Again, with the sugar thing. You don't have to fuckin' DROWN the truth in sugar, just sprinkle it a bit.

If the medicine is still to hard to swallow, the "best friend" eases it down. When you find out your girlfriend just dumped you, the "best friend" isn't going to tell you that she was right to do so, and there are two reasons why they won't: #1, because anything they say, they should have said BEFORE you two splitto, and #2, because that's just too soon to say ANYTHING ill about someone who they're supposed to be "best friends" with. Saying "he was right to break up with you, you ARE too fat for him" or "I told you she was gonna cheat on you, no woman goes for a mug like yours" right after the breakup is seriously damaging.

Y'know, the fun thing about cell phones is that we're supposed to be accessed instantly. No more calling the house phone and getting ignored; now we can call the CELL phone and be ignored! No, that's ok, your close relative is dying, but you don't need to pick up. What? It's my friend calling now? Ugh, I'm not available right now, I'm too busy watching TV/walking around someplace/playing a video game/reading a book/ (insert excuse here). Oh look, it's them; I don't know WHY they have my number, but I'm gonna ignore them just because I hate them right now. And so on. It's disgusting, it really is.

And commitment doesn't mean what it meant before. When a guy told you he was gonna do something, he damn well did it. If they said they were gonna be somewhere? Sure enough, more or less on time, he was there. Nowadays, we have lackadaisical commitments. It's enough to give guys like me an uneasy sense of those who chooses to call "friend".

Speaking of which, when it comes to "Friends" on Facebook? Technically, I have probably less two hundred of the roughly four hundred there. And half of THOSE I rarely talk to.... and smaller still are those of whom I see (or CAN see, but I don't) on a semi-regular basis. I think, though, 20 or so account for being "Family", which don't really count as "Friend".

Right. It's 2:30AM. I'm done feeling sorry for myself, and now I'm done being awake. I can feel sorry for myself tomorrow. Hurray. -.-

Please, if you have anything to say, go fuck yourself, then come back to me. If you're still upset, rinse and repeat as necessary. Write when you can type something that won't incite me any further. Have you noticed that I do not take too kindly to those who badmouth what they shouldn't have to read in the first place, but do anyway? Douche.

It's like ignoring the big "DANGER" sign and walking straight into a minefield. I'm just going to delete comments that aren't helpful, cheerful, or are insulting, malicious, or spiteful. Because, as it's been said, either you're helping, or you're in my way.

Goodnight.

-M

Not much.

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 04:34:30 GMT

Once again, the "Adventures of Marcus" amounts to naught more than "saw a movie", "played a video game", "slept", and "went online. As I've been doing, for the past week.

Weekend before this past weekend was WAY better. Saturday and Sunday was pretty much mostly spent with Ann; Saturday night was devoted to a fancy dinner and other things of fanciness (I believe Futurama was involved at some point). Sunday was spent helping move copious amounts of boxes and bags from an attic with an entry point about as wide diagonally as my hips. I could barely fit in there.

Ok, so, that was only the beginning of the hell that was staying in that attic. She'll probably read this and downplay it, or regard me as some kind of wuss or wot, but seriously? It really WAS fucking hot in there. I mean, I didn't... no, have NEVER sweat that kind of sweat, nor as MUCH sweat as I did in that hour I was up there. I wouldn't have been much surprised if I went all bloopily like Senator Kelly did at the end of his life (at least, in the movie, anyway; kudos if you knew what I meant without Googling the answer). And the dust... oh god, the dust. I got out, and I almost couldn't breathe normal air. I mean, I was breathing fine and wot in the attic-area, just, afterwards, I just couldn't breathe, and started choke/gasping. A fairly unpleasant experience, that attic. *shrug*

Anyway, that was it.

Monica is back, in 4 days. Well, technically, Friday, so, that's three days, since this day is almost up. Hm. Three WHOLE days, and two PARTS of a day, 'cause there's part of Friday in the morning she won't be there, and part of today has already gone by, so I can't say ALL of today as one day. It's only a part of a day left now, you see. So, three whole days and two parts of a day. Ta-daa!

And I know she doesn't read this... either that, or she won't have time to, one or the other. In any case, you know how normal (in society's eyes) boyfriends bring a bag of flowers, box of chocolates, and stuffed teddy bears? I'm not normal (in society's eyes). Instead, you have me bringing a stuffed Domo-kun, a box of Lucky Charms, and a bag of Taco Bell. Yeah. Ain't it special.

Ok, no, seriously, I'm done. Like tickles, there is only one way out, and it's either stopping, or death, which results in stopping, but it's less funny.

Toodles.

-M

This idea.

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 01:35:07 GMT

There's a cardboard tube movement going on out there. I forget what, but contestants battle each other using cardboard tubes, and whoever's tube breaks first is the loser. That sounds like fun.

Today, it is Saturday. It is quiet, and not much is going on (as is usual when it's quiet). Thus far, I've gone online no less than four times, played Smash for an hour or two, played Super Mario Bros. for an hour or so, watched The Addams Family Values, and ate a bowl of cereal while reading the funnies.

Life sucks, yo.

I was tempted to go see a movie, but it's not quite worth it right now. I mean, the movies that are out right now... I'm not willing to walk aaaall the way to the theaters, watch the thing, then walk alll the way back. Not worth it. I just... don't feel like exercising. Life's become pretty dull, right now.

HOWEVER. This upcoming Thursday night/Friday morning is G.I. Joe night--the night where Marcus goes to see G.I. Joe, obviously, but will also be staying up overnight due to the want to see a particular someone as she arrives back from Korea. Plan is thus: I get tickets, see movie around midnight, or however latest I can get/want to get. I have to make sure to get coffee beforehand, it's gonna be a looong time before I go to bed again. Then, depending on what's next, I wander on home, which will undoubtedly be made more fun by going it alone. I get home, take a cold shower (better for staying awake, you see). Wait it out for the next four hours by playing some vidya games, or HOPEFULLY watching a movie or TV show. Then, around 6:20, I make my way to the station, hop it, and wind my way to the SF airport around 8, where I'll wait for an hour for her to arrive.

After that... I have no idea what's gonna happen. I might skip work, I might go into work that day. Remember, it IS a Friday still, and it's *way* before I would normally go in. As long as I arrive back before 12-1 in the afternoon, I'm still fine for some work. That seems to be the more likely chance, as the whole situation is gonna be awkward as FUCK... which gets that way when parents are involved. Yeah, I dunno how that's gonna slide, but y'all know me, I keep this CLASSY.

Maybe I go for a walk for the sheer hell of it. Maybe not. I'm still "eh" about it.

As for anything else... well, I'm getting tired of typing, my eyes are shutting, I might just take a nap. Toodles for now.

-M

Dream another dream of me....

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 18:00:42 GMT

So, to begin... well, not in the beginning, but close enough. I went camping with someone, who turned into Rhiannon eventually. I moved the campfire-to-be (the stones in the circle, the dry wood, etc) to a different area, closer to where we were going to be camping.

Then things got fuzzy, an' things got weird, and next thing I knew, I was in the "loft" section of a log cabin house (like, if it were two stories, and those stories were connected with a ladder, and the second story was really just a place to go to bed). Somehow, Rhiannon got pissed at me for not doing something that, logically, I shouldn't have had to do in the first place (something about getting or fixing something behind a TV for the kids we took in/were camping with--they were not our own, btw).

Things get hazy here, and all I remember is hearing a voice telling me to escape through a mini-window, and as I jumped through, the house collapsed behind me in a tidal wave. Apparently, Rhiannon was an angry water-witch. I started to run away from the scene, and after a bit, I heard a mental "wait!" I stopped, and looked around, and saw a kid (different from before, folks). He beckoned, I followed, and was lead right back to where it all started--but on sortuvan island-ish thing, like a sandbar, but with loads of trees and bushes. The kid stops, and points at a serene pool of water. Oh shit, I think. She could still scry me. I look up, sensing SOMEthing, and I see an old, haggardly-looking woman (your stereotypical contemporary "witch", who some of you would say looks like "the cat lady"). She grins, pulls a bottle out from under her shawl, and starts pouring it in the water. The water turns from blue, to green, to black, to brown, to blue again, and I get this mental note that the next time she tries to scry for me, something VERY terrible will happen to her.

Things get fuzzy in the memory department again, and next I know, I'm trying to follow the witch. It's a maze, I gather, but it looks as if someone made the maze out of the business district, with tight corners, and dead ends and wot. There is no ceiling; there are bridges that connect the confused buildings, or else there is just sky. I am trying to follow her...

...fuzziness is encountered in the memory bank, and I am standing with a couple of other guys, surrounded by a horde of people (male and female). It looks like they're trying to judge us, whether we came there for a reason or not. There is a railing, and me and one of the guys I came with (a huge muscular black dude) are on one side, and on the other is this scrawny-lookin' fellow who looks like he might rob you soon as talk to you (there is a bit of a drop, so it'd be a tad hard for this guy to get to us). They ask the muscular dude if they can have his extra soul, and at first the black guy tries to deny it, then with a surge of defiance, he says "FINE" and reaches into his chest, and pulls out the stretched image of some OTHER guy (it's wispy, and you can tell it's a soul). The crowd gasps, the guy who asked for the soul tells Black Dude that he can keep it, he just wanted to see it. I think, Well, shit, if all they wanted was to see a soul, then here... and I reach into myself, and pull out my own soul--but before I do, I give instructions to the arm to hold it out for a few seconds, then to put it back in. Simple instructions for a simple bodypart. And so, I do this, and the crowd once again gasps in amazement. I hear something about "he shouldn't have been able to have done that!"

And so, the focus turns to scrawny. He starts getting worried, and looking around, as the crowd grows closer and closer. He's backing up, until... he does this weird quarter-turning spinning and jumps, running along the wall, then grabbing the rail and hoisting himself over.

*edit*I had to get to work. Sorry for the interruption. Anyway...

After scrawny hoists himself and lands, they accept him. Apparently, he wasn't supposed to be able to do that--that's the impression I got from the crowd, anyway. We were "in".

Fuzziness... I am sliding down a hole, looks like it was made for dwarf miners, and I end up on a street. Fuzziness again, and it seems I'm riding some sort of bicycle, only it's not really a bike. I'm pedaling, pedaling real fast, and I continue until I fly off a dock. I land in water, unscathed by the bottom. I kind float there, and look towards the dock. There are a bunch of folks there (not the crowd or horde of people as before), and one of 'em woops. Y'know, like "WOOO!". Apparently, out of that entire pond/lake, I land in the one spot deep enough to not cause injury.

I'm back in the hole again, sliding, and this time, I find myself in some sort of shack. But it's a fancy shack (meaning, it looks like it was recently built, shoddily built, and with good wood, and bigger than it looks). I turn 'round a corner, and there are three rooms:
____________
[ 1 | 2 | 3 ]
[---------]

The broken line is a wall that we walk around to get to the other rooms, whereas the solid dividers are connected to the backwall. Anyway. The muscular dude (and the rest of the folks like him) are in room #1, I am in room #2, and scrawny is in room #3. In #2, there are fancy Victorian chairs and wot, like if the Slytherin common house wasn't decorated with a green and silver theme, and instead used original Victorian colors (stuff like this: http://www.germes-online.com/direct/dbimage/50269381/Victorian_Living_Room_Set.jpg and yes, Morpheus' chair was there too: http://www.starstore.com/acatalog/morpheus_2L.jpg ).

Anyway, it was explained why I was there, and the others. It's because each of these groups posses abilities: Group 1 possesses Body alteration abilities, Group 2 possesses Fate/Luck abilities, and Group 3 possesses a "Steal" or "Boost" ability. The third was explained that they could use their ability to enhance themselves or others, but not physically: like, stealing Luck away from someone else, or Charm/Charisma. It's a limited time, I think. Or not. It's kinda hazy.

I get a sense of "self-importance" from my group. And time stops, and my dream zooms out for a moment, and asks me to choose between having 1 or 2 as my partner (rather, the muscular dude or the scrawny guy). And I choose scrawny guy, thinking his ability to enhance my ability would have a pleasing effect in shitfucked situations. Time unfreezes, I zoom back in, and I am explained that as part of group #2, we are the most powerful. I guess it kinda makes sense, as to why 1 and 3 are on the outside, being the first line of defense should anyone try to break into the shack.

As it was, I got pieces here and there of fragments of memories from the group, about how they were able to twinge the threads of fate and luck in their favor, or against their opponents. I also get a memory of my test... which, I postulated, took place in my mind. How odd. So, I really wasn't riding a bike, but a psy-bike.

I also got a sense that I was able to materialize the psy-bike, in the same sense Psylocke is able to materialize her psi-knives. Mine is white, though, while hers is red. I can't materialize a car--lightweight vehicles only (scooter, bike--pretty much anything that isn't powered by a motor).

That's all, folks. That's all I can remember. And considering it's been two hours since I woke up, that ain't bad.

Peace out, folks.

-M

Quick dream (it's all I can remember, anyway)

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 19:25:32 GMT

I remember being scared of dreaming something, 'cause around 3-4-ish in the morning I woke up and forced myself back to sleep while trying to not remember that dream. The following dream ended up with a certain ex-girlfriend who was pregnant, of whom I was currently dating (in the dream). She called me up and said it was time, so I jumped into a van, which almost looked like an SUV that my grandparents own, and sped off to none other than... Wal-Mart. I guess I had to get a couple things, 'cause next thing I know, I'm standing at the register. The cashier scans my items, and I pull out my card, and she (a dumpy middle-aged woman) yells at me for thinking to use my CARD in a CASH-ONLY lane. Silly me.

So, I looked at the price. It's $10.02. So, I look in my wallet, and pull out a wad of bills, the topmost of which was a $10. I'm apologizing profusely, and I hand her the ten. She says something akin to "Uh-uh, the Princess needs another coin.", whereupon I hand her a dollar. Transaction done, I rush outside and forget where I parked the car.

I walk around, trying to find the car in the dead of night, clicking the Lock/Unlock button on my keychain. I find SOMEBODY's car, and someone gets into it. I begin getting angry, when I realize that my key was just activating someone else's car. Confrontation: avoided. I eventually find my car, put the groceries in, and speed off down the highway...which was unusually dark and empty.

Oh yeah, dark. I forget to turn my headlights on, and I... guess I do so, because they go on, then flick to "low-light setting". How odd. But anyway, I keep going, worried the baby'll come out before I get there, and somehow I find the highway has ended, and has turned into some sort of trail for cars that crosses a river/stream. So, I forge across that, before giving up and saying "fuck this, I'mma turn around". And I do; I get back across the river, and am about to go the right way on the highway (presumably) when I wake up.

Welcome to the Dreamtime Theatre.

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 19:44:45 GMT

In today's episode, Marcus is chased by a highly intelligent T-Rex... but this one doesn't look like the one from Ice Age 3, but instead looks like the one from Jurassic Park. Apparently, I'm not much of a challenge, so he grabs me, and stomps through some brush into what seems like an ordinary store. But, as I look around, I figure it's a future-store: a future-GUN-store, to be exact. So, first off, the light are out. So, I wander on over, and pick something up, when I hear a noise.

I grab some sort of flashlight thing, and shine it in the direction of the noise. Turns out, it's a laser, and makes a hole in the wall. A guy (later known as alien futuristic dude #1) comes out of the dark on my right side, and says not to shine THAT one; his stance says what I'm holding is dangerous, as he's holding up his hands and looks VERY fucking scared of what I chose to hold. Another guy, looking like the guy on my right (later known as alien futuristic dude #2), edges out from whatever he was hiding behind. I ask them if they're from the future, and they say that they are, and that they got there because of the dinosaur too.

I go out the "front" of the store to what looks like a city block. People come creepin' out from the nooks and crannies, starin' at me like I'm some sort of super-survivor. I ask if they all were there because of the dinosaur too, and they reply that they were. Then, I guess I somehow rile them up, because the next thing I know is that I'm asking them to form up in four lines: Those who don't want to fight or contribute to the fighting, those who want to contribute but who don't want to fight, those who want to fight but have no powers, and those who want to fight AND have powers.

I go over to the line with powers, and interview the first two folks in line: a very muscular black dude and a woman who is indescribable (I forgot what she looks like). I ask the guy what his powers are, and he says "Super Strength". Well duh... ok, anyway, I ask the woman what her powers were, and she replies that she could fly. Awesome.

At this point, I look over at the other lines; the two futuristic alien-lookin' dudes are talking with the guys in the "want to fight but have no powers" line. I think they're explaining what each weapon they're handing out does.
*****
THIS, my friends, could also make for an excellent plot. Change the bad guy around, involve a sort of means of dimensional collection point, and voila. The bad guy's PURPOSE would be that he wants to die, but has yet to find the hero good enough do so, and is just roaming around the multiverse, looking for someone to best him, and finally destroy him. The hero gets involved after the bad guy says he's too weak, and then dumps him in his multiverse dimensional "trash can"--because he can't be bothered to run into the same person twice, as it's less effective than keeping all the runts/failures in one place.

I'll re-post to Facebook.

Anyway. What do you guys think?

-M

I'm the new irritable Marcus.

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 23:57:13 GMT

Either I'm getting annoyed about small things, or I'm getting justifiably angry about things that really do matter. Either way, I've been more irritable as of late, and I attribute it to people just plain not thinking.

It's either because of something they've said without thinking that either wasn't too terribly bright or so very obvious, or something they've done to gum up the works of the previously established routine--as opposed to gumming up the works to make it run faster, or more efficiently.

I've tolerated it for a long time, I have. I've been tolerant of many folks doing many dumb things. I've laughed at them, sometimes to their face. I've had my fair share of things--but the thing is, I back down and admit when I'm wrong--after it's been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. If someone says "I don't know" and then proceeds to fiddle with things AFTER I've told them that I have more experience with whatever object they're fiddling with... I get angry. Like, I want to punch them in the face, and yank that away from them, citing their lack of intelligence (or common sense--which, nowadays, isn't so very common) that they shouldn't be allowed anywhere near said object until they've been taught.

If there is a goal that is being attempted to be achieved, and this person is part of my group, I will get annoyed. This is "gumming up the works". If, say, we were not attempting to achieve anything, and we were just fiddling around on the object for no other reason than to fiddle with it, then I'm calm--I mean, they're learning about how to use it, and we're not trying to achieve anything significant.

If something goes WRONG, at any point in time, if someone does not attempt to LEARN how it went wrong, my eye starts twitching, and I have to restrain myself from grabbing a random object and chucking it at their monkey-brain. WE. ARE. HUMAN. No, fuck that--we're supposed to be intelligent creatures! CHIMPS can figure out where something went wrong--and can correct themselves to avoid it in the future! Yet, I see people out there, EVERY DAY, making mistakes and not bothering to learn from them. If it can go wrong once, it WILL go wrong again--and they'll freak out about it again the SECOND goddamn time around.

Bonus kvetch: if, in the events of learning from your mistake, you find out that you may not always be around to fix that mistake in the future, YOU SHOULD TEACH IT TO SOMEONE ELSE. Or at least leave instructions lying around as to how to fix said particular issue. We did not come all the way in history to FORGET HOW TO USE A WRITING IMPLEMENT. I've had to, on MORE THAN ONE OCCASION, have to ask a... particular... coworker as to how he solved a particular problem--because after mentioning I have a problem, he would just go over, and without a word, fiddle with a few things, then go back. Does anyone see a problem there? EVEN THE FUCKING PLUMBERS will tell you what went wrong--"A yo-yo was flushed down the toilet, and so I had to turn off the water, remove the pipe and physically remove the obstruction." Or something to that degree--but you get what I mean. I have to prod the answer out of him--out of many others who refuse to tell me just what the hell went wrong, and how to fix it.

When it comes to the world of saying things, some people easily forget that we are not walking Personal Digital Assistants (PalmPilots, whatever). We do not store information about everything--and even if we do, we do not remember all of it. For me? I am worse so. I do not remember specific things that, while they may be important to you, they are not AS important to me, and are thus not constantly on the mind. Don't get upset and self-righteous every time I forget/forgot something you consider important--just gently remind me. That's how arguments are avoided, kids! Let me assure you that I am NO less of a caring person than I once was before--just a little more (ok, a LOT more) critical of your mistakes and assumptions.

I get bitched out for SO many things, and I've gotten bitched out for so many things, and I've taken SO much shit from everyone for doing one thing or another, and I've taken it gracefully--I haven't shown so much as a hint of anger (trust me: NONE of you, save only two people in my life--of whom do not read this--have EVER seen me angry).

But I'm so very tired of hiding it. I hate it. I can't express how angry I am with some of you, because you'll just make fun of me, or cite it on something else, or guilt-trip me into thinking that you're "so totally undeserving" of it, and/or in turn get angry yourselves, or even start attacking WHY I'm angry in the first place--trying to make it seem little, that I'm getting angry over something that, to you, is trivial.

I feel like I've been walked on, for SO many years. Taken advantage of.

I think the worst of all the reasons I can't get angry is the "you'll get angry yourself" reason. I got angry over something YOU did, and now YOU'RE getting angry at me? What the hell kind of bullshit is THAT?

Nobody ever sees it from my perspective--and those that claim to are outright lying. If they were, they couldn't get angry at me, or belittle the situation, or guilt-trip me. I am angry about a PROBLEM and the REACTION to said problem; if you take steps to FIX said problem, Marcus ceases to be angry. For instance:

CAUSE: You do/say [x].
PROBLEM: Marcus is angry about [x].
SOLUTION: Rectify, or help fix [x].

So very simple, and yet, it almost never happens.

I more often than not do the same, and will CONTINUE doing the same. I love my friends and family, I do, but they're all just children. I am no different--difference is, I acknowledge and embrace my faults. I hunt them down and make them better--or at least, I make an effort to DO something about them, and at the VERY least, I put names to the demons. Some folks are like "OH, woe is me, I'm afflicted by [x], I can't help myself." Oh please. Call the pity machine. Of COURSE you can do something about it, you're just playing victim--so shut the fuck up and HELP YOURSELF. Unless, of course, you WANT to be afflicted by [x].

Oho, I know certain people will see bits of this and think "oh, he's talking about me!" No. No I am most certainly not specifically talking about you--I happen to have more friends than JUST you, y'know. No; this entire post is basically a summation of everyone I've ever gotten to know. Most... well, ok, ALL of these things are in reference to MULTIPLE INDIVIDUALS. That's right, you read that correctly. You're not alone in your dumb/victimization/anger of self-righteousness against Marcus.

Humanity is dumb. And quite frankly, I would LOVE to be immortal--to outlast these idiots would be a laugh worthy of having.

/rant

Oh, one more thing: I'm gonna kill the comments section on this post--because we all know SOMEONE is gonna bitch.

Moar Boar and his List of Wishes.

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 07:03:30 GMT

Misc:

[#]Terabyte External Hard drive (something kinda like this: http://www.newegg.com/Product/Product.aspx?Item=N82E16822204083)
A MiniMag Maglite-brand flashlight
16X DVD burner (LG preferably)
Toolset
AiXiZ Laser Housing (650nm 12mm x 30mm) http://www.mfgcn.com/

Gift Cards:

Best Buy/Fry's/EBGames (or any other electronics store I can get DVDs or video games, 'cause they're awesome)
Target (for the lulz--and the gigantor bags of Peanut M&Ms)
iTunes (sometimes I download the movies there)
Borders (only if $25 and over--can't get a decent Marcus-grade book for less, really)

Book(s):

"Why Sh*t Happens: The Science of a Really Bad Day" by Peter J. Bentley
"The Books of the Glittering Stone (The Chronicles of the Black Company)" by Glen Cook (Not yet released)
"The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Holidays"/"Dating and Sex"/"Parenting" by Joshua Piven, et al
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" (the complete set if you can find it--where all the stories are in one giant book) by Douglas Adams

Toy(s):

Nerf N-Strike Raider Rapid Fire CS 35 Blaster (YES YES YES)
LEGO stuff (Technic, Generic, Pirate; a particular Robin Hood one)
--on the Lego topic, I could use a shitton of a variety of bricks for building a coffee table. It will be epic, there will be pictures--eventually.

Game(s):

Chrono Trigger (DS)
Disgaea (DS)
Fable II (Xbox360)
R-Type and/or R-Type II (Gameboy)

DVD(s):

Simpsons (anything Season 7 and onwards)
South Park (Season 7 onwards)
Boondock Saints
Star Wars (boxed set)
Caddyshack
Tropic Thunder
Reefer Madness
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (fucking HILARIOUS)
300 (hurf durf)
Iron Man
Rush Hour (box set, if any)
Die Hard (box set, if all)
30 Rock DVD set/any season(s)
Real Genius (1985 version)
Steamboy
Star Trek (when it comes out on DVD)
Red Dwarf DVD set
Flying Circus DVD set

Food(s):

Chocolate (any kind, really)
Lasagna (homemade)
Holland Mints (if you don't know, Google them--look at the pictures)
Japanese cracker peanuts (http://www.nutsonline.com/nuts/peanuts/japanese.html)
A gift basket of crackers, cheese, and sausage (not breakfast sausage, though; that shit's disgusting)

The wishlist aside, as this is a JOURNAL, I am fine. Nothing's wrong, nothing's going on, it's all smooth sailing. Though I am a bit worried about moving out (I always breathe harder whenever large monetary transactions are involved). It's like blindfolding the new guy and making him "jump" off of a "ledge" that may or may not actually BE a ledge. He doesn't know what he's getting into until it happens, and when it's at that point, it's happened so fast that he can't really back out of it.

Suddenly, Antarctica is lookin' mighty fine, folks. Just thank Monica I'm still here.

Marcus-->out.

-M

Gravity generator?

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 07:28:54 GMT

Iron ball (completely iron) inside a shell of copper with a thick water coating, all encased in a clear plastic (or rubber?) ball, with a holes drilled at the "north pole" and the "south pole"--MAKE SURE THEY'RE ON THE EXACT OPPOSITE SIDE. Slight deviance could produce disastrous results. So, a cut-section of the entire sphere would be essentially an filled iron circle encircled by a water "moat", encircled by the copper, encircled by the plastic/rubber "crust". Get a giant battery, or just a powerful electric source. Make sure you know which end is positive and negative (doesn't really matter); and then somehow attach each end to their respective ends (through the holes you made in the plastic/rubber shell) to the copper sphere.

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS SHOULD BE DONE IN A VACUUM. As Iron is heavier than Water, the Iron Ball will definitely sink if done anywhere there is already gravity.

I don't know what would happen at this point. But, I expect humming--what that noise is, would be the iron ball in the middle would be spinning. It should thus create a stronger gravitational pull. The amount of gravitational pull will be directly proportionate to how big it is and how much current you're supplying it.

Also note: this still doesn't help me figure out an alternative energy so--WE'LL USE SOLAR PANELING. Since this should be done in space, we'll have more access to the sun's power--and thus, more energy to be translated to electricity, to be used in creating gravity.

I would love it if any of you could poke holes in this.

A plot! Finally... some idea.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:30:16 GMT

Ok, so, working on roughly three hours of sleep due to talking to 2AM Special, with naught but a bagel, a Red Bull, and a Green Tea to accompany... I found myself puttering around work, and then puttering around the internet, where I found techno-ish songs. I listened to various songs of various genres for a while, then went to a flash file I have that's so very bouncy... and I can't help but bounce along to it. Anyway.

I was doing... something, and then it hit me. Multiple Universes. Something someone said a while back in a philosophical argument of belief was that they believed that everything that was ever done, is occurring, and will BE occurring, has already happened a thousand times over. And then another thought collided and mashed with that one: what if one of those universes collided or "windowed" into ours? Or better yet, if there was a team consisting of [main character], each a separate entity from their own dimension/parallel universe? Ooooh.... and it has all sorts of "perspective"-evoking thoughts. It's not quite futuristic, and it's not overly done--rather, it seems a mishmash of varying genres, as each... erm... person? Each version of the main character is from a different universe--with a COMPLETELY different perspective on life.

The whole "universe/dimension hopping" thing is a tad... "Time Bandit"-ish, but with less historical accuracy. Or maybe a bit "Dr. Who". I suppose, if you combined "Dr. Who" with "Time Bandits" and something where the main character encounters different versions of hisself/herself (that might embody different aspects of his/her person--that's usually how that goes), then you'd have yourself a movie.

Eh? Eh? Tell me what you think, guys.

I'm an odd one.

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 08:18:34 GMT

So, today, I woke up laugh. Er... Friday morning, that is. A dream I had, it was set in some very urban neighborhood (like San Francisco meets New York)... but the most memorable part is the part that woke me up is what I'll be telling(I mean, I remember bits and pieces, but not enough to form a comprehensive story). It's in sort of a high-end store (or rather, in the front of it), and we (i.e. me, my "sister", some guy who was my "brother", a couple of other people, and our "dad" who was "performing" a "distraction" from something that was going on inside the store. But the thing was, he had to faint. And apparently, he did this by what seems to be forcing an aneurysm, or popping a blood vessel in the brain. Um.... he was "straining" to faint. And he strained a little, relaxed a little, and then the "brother" said something like "If it helps ya any, I started wearing sister's pants" which, from the idea I got from when he said it, sounded like they were magical disguise pants. The father replies that it kinda helps, as his face grows a bit redder from the strain.

Then he poots a little bit, and tries not to laugh. The "brother" says to "work through it, c'mon, breathe" and he poots a little more. I'm not laughing at any of this; apparently, we really need him to faint.

Then I poot. Loudly.

And I start laughing, and that is how I end up starting my day.
*~*~*
On a completely different subject, I am relentless when it comes to doing something I want to do. Complain about it along the meanwhile, I will, but daggummit, when I set about to doing something, I damn well finish it. If it's something I WANT to do, I'll complete it to the best of my abilities, come hell or high water (like practically jogging up the side of the Masada--given my health, I shouldn't have been able to keep up with the pre-fireman and the experienced hiker/our tourguide, but I fuckin' DID). If it's something I don't want to do, I just make sure I finish it--regardless of quality.

That being said... regardless of whatever shape I'm in, physically, nothing would stop me. Given, I figure my spirit being that of the character Searchlight from "Stone Fox" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stone_Fox). Y'know. The dog. She keeps running and running and then her heart bursts, 10 ft. from the finish line. Aaaaanyway... it's more, even when I know it's not good and that I should stop, as far as continuing to move goes, I will continue anyway if there is a purpose.

My purpose at the bottom of the Masada was twofold: keep up with the other two, and make it to the top with them without resting. And I did. I may have had to lie around for a bit, panting and drinking my water, but daggummit, I did it. When I was hiking without water at Castle Rock with Melody, I fuckin' kept going. I complained, sure, but the fact of the matter was that my legs still moved. At the Grand Canyon, when I got turned around, and then eventually set on the right path again... my legs just about kicked the bucket, and I had to stop ever few feet so that I wouldn't fall down... but I kept going (and made it to the top).

I am not in the best of shape. But. I am tenacious. I am a fighter, when I believe there is a cause worthy of putting myself behind it.

It'd be nice if I knew the purpose to my life. If I knew precisely when and how I'd die... that'd give me something to work towards. "This is when you'll be born, and this is when you'll die. You have all the time in between to choose the coloring of the string your life is gonna take." I'd be like "Cool" and start doing fun things, and planning-for-the-future things.

But as it is, nobody's gonna tell me. Nobody, and nothing, regardless of how much I'd hope and pray and wish for such a fact to be whispered into my ear. I have to live in fear that every day, if I were to start something important, would I live long enough to see it to completion? THAT... that is what I am afraid of. To start something, and then be the only person to care about it enough to continue it... only to have it stop when my life is no more, and for there to be no one to bring it to completion. Or, say, what if this importance was based solely on my being alive? What if I was en route someplace I wanted to experience, but never got to until then? If I died, I will never have experienced it. In some religions, I would come back as a ghost, with an unfulfilled obligation to myself.

Neh... my computer is melting my lap, it's 1:17AM, and I'm hot enough as it is. And bored. Sleep sounds so much better right now... I'm going. G'night, guys.

-M

So there I was, playing with Legos.

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 08:35:22 GMT

When it struck me: it's about 11 at night, and I haven't done the trash yet.

So, I wrap up the little craft I was working on (it's a spaceship--didn't really have the pieces for much else, as the rest of them are still sitting in places in Connecticut) and then I proceed to go through the process that is emptying the trash bins and recycle bits (sic) throughout the house.

When all is said and done, I make myself a bowl of cereal (Rice Krispies) and sit the fuck down in front of my computer, and check my Regulars (Yahoo!, Gmail, Livejournal Friends, and Facebook--in that order, precisely).

Nothing.

I turn on Adium (of which logs into my AIM, Yahoo!Messenger, and MSN messenger), and still, nothing.

Skype? Nothing.

I quit out of Skype, notice my Yahoo!Msgr account is having issues, and futz around with that, trying to get it to work. Anyone else having issues with theirs?

Anyway... my main point being, I spent an entire day inside. It seems my Sundays are usually like that. It's nice to have alone time, I know... but, the thing it, it's not exactly "alone" time. There are others in the house--which makes it hard for me to do anything I really want to just relax and let loose and DO.

It's like how I get angry. I build up, and build up... but since there's no real place I can let loose, it just sits there. I get out HOW I feel, and eventually the situation would get de-fucked, but I'd have all that pent-up anger. Hmmm.... No, you probably don't understand that, either.

Alright, look. From the numbers 1 through 10, 10 being completely alone and being able to do whatever the fuck it was I felt like doing around the house, imagine living at a constant 7--but NEEDING a 10. And you can just SEE it, too--it's RIGHT within your grasp. But, y'can't. Tantalizing, I believe is the word. And it's just so goddamn maddening. Bah. Go read The Pit and the Pendulum if you still don't understand.

*~*~*

Been trying to come up with ideas for a plot. I know it's gonna be animated, so it can't be anything serious-like. Fantasy or Adventure plotline only--'cause you can't do a proper "horror" genre with an animated movie. I mean, imagine (if you will) Exorcist--THE ANIMATION. Or maybe an animated Jason? Or Michael Myers? Or even Freddy?

Excuse me while I laugh at the very notion.

Anyway. Fantasy or Adventure. In the "Adventure" vein, Post-Apocalyptic seems to be good--but remember, that's already been done (WALL-E), and will eventually be done some more (9--the movie).

If we stick to the Hero's Quest formula... well, that's nothing new. In fact, it's been done SO. MANY. GODDAMN. TIMES. So, why not mix it up a bit, "Memento" style? Ah, but here's the catch: Tarantino's already got that covered. But, you say, he hasn't done anything in animation! My answer: true. So, it could be a possibility for HOW the story progresses--we still don't have anything concrete to put in that formula.

Hmm... I vote "no" on a purely romantic thing, as well. Let me just say, animation + purely romantic notions for said animation == BAD MOVIE. Sure, you can introduce romance in the script and play with that, and whatnot--always good for advancing a plot. But I don't want the genre of the film to be romance.

And while I'm on genres... while a movie/play falls into two categories (either tragedy or comedy), the animation I intend on making... should be left open for a sequel. What I mean is, I have an idea for how it'd start (and technically, end). It should start/end with our main character in a situation that would make them look back at how it all began (like the beginning/ending to Conker's Bad Fur Day, or one part of the flash animation to the song "Bad Idea" by Lemon Demon, or the other bunch of movies that ended where it began).

I also feel that the telling of the story should impart wisdom upon the viewer--but nothing we haven't seen mainly thus far (especially the whole "friends/family are important/awesome" deal; that's been played to oblivion). Well, not only has it been played to oblivion--but, we don't want to use it because that's the obvious "money maker"--a "feel-good" tactic Hollywood loves to employ. We also don't want to use "the grass is greener" (blatant rip-off to the Conker). The reason is because we want to aim at something ORIGINAL--none of this "remake" crap, or "story-to-book" shit, or "rip-off" stuff.

"There is always other possibilities than meets the eye for every situation. Look at problems in different lights and views. Are you really sure your next step will hit ground, or will it hit nothing but air, losing your precious balance?" I for SURE want this to be in the movie, whether it's narrated, or spoken by a character. In fact, from this, I can safely say that I want this movie to endorse creativity and originality. Still no plot--but at least I've added a bit more powder to the keg.

Hmmm... Steampunk? Futuristic? No, and no. Well, MAYBE on the steampunk bit; I haven't seen a lot of movies that employ that. In fact, I can safely say I only remember one movie employing steampunk: Wild Wild West. Then again, there was "Steamboy" and "The Rocketeer", but I haven't seen either. I'd actually very much like a futuristic steam-punk--but if we take a look at 9... yeah, well, it looks like that's already done. Besides, we can't very well do futuristic steampunk with humans when there's 9 already done... it'll just look like more ripping. We can't have that.

It seems like there is another choice: do we use inanimate objects/animals as the main characters, or do we use humans as the main characters? If we use inanimate objects/animals, that might be easier--ESPECIALLY if they were alien/foreign/futuristic. I only say "easier" because with alien/foreign/futuristic pieces, we can make up how they look, instead of needing to get them "just right" (hair, teeth, particular metallic shine) or figure out how the mouth would work on that particular species/object. And, with alien/foreign/futuristic, you can also make up other aliens/foreign pieces/futuristic pieces to solve holes in the plot, or help whatever character advance their ambitions (like the Use-All tool "Sonic Screwdriver" from the Dr. Who series--who happens to be a futuristic foreign alien. Go figure, eh?).

tl;dr: Questions you need to ask yourself (so far):

Is it a Tragedy or Comedy?
Is the main character gonna be human, animal (includes alien), or inanimate (includes foreign)?
Do other movies have this plot/moral?

Things it shouldn't be, unless you have a really good plotline (so far):

-Romance
-Horror
-Post-Apocalyptic

That's it for now.

I'm so friggin' tired now... My logical process has been worked, my creative process has been worked, and my imagination's been worked. It's a shame I haven't done anything beneficial for my body, though... nobody wants to walk/hike with me. Ah, well.

Also: If you feel you must complain and say "Marcus, you should have called me, we could have [done this physical activity]", please go fuck yourself. Chances are, the last time I tried calling you up and doing something with you, you were busy doing something else--or you never bother calling me when you're free anyway.

Also also: A very special "fuck you" to those who are free during the weekday, after 5, who don't call. I get home, EVERY WEEKDAY, at 5:20PM--almost precisely on the dot. FIVE. TWENTY. PM. The reason I don't call you? Because who among you can say what I just said, and not have it change? For all I know, you could be working. Or perhaps out with a friend/family member/out-of-town friend or family member. I, however, am home. Every day. At five-twenty PM (plus or minus a few minutes).

So don't you go trying to slough off my bitchings: they're LEGIT, motherfucker.

While I'm pissed and ranting, let me say: to those who don't talk much with me, and then talk with me after a long period of time and then proceed to wonder aloud "oh man, we should talk more. I wonder why I didn't in the first place?" are complete morons. You wonder why? Because it's your own damn fault. Of Yahoo!, Gmail, Livejournal, AIM, MSN Messenger, Yahoo! Messenger, MySpace, Facebook, and Skype.... not to mention my goddamn PHONE... it's your own goddamn fault you couldn't send me something, or pick up the phone and dial me. Why I don't send YOU something? It's more likely because I know you're going to be busy, that you can't stop and think for ONE GODDAMN SECOND that the world doesn't revolve around your schedule, that if you want something, YOU gotta make it happen--or at least be open to it happening.

If you schedule properly, or make an effort to pick up your goddamn phone instead of just ignoring it, then maybe I wouldn't be typing this. But, it's because of those of you who, for some reason, decide to over-schedule things and would thus be unable to make time for others, or simply forget that you have a commitment to be somewhere with someone, or just set your phone to "silent" or turn it off completely.

Mind you, you're a fucking dumbass, but I love you, and you're still a friend. I mean, if I started ignoring everyone I've ever found committing an error of (un)common sense, I wouldn't have friends. If I went around treating everyone as inferiors, on the other hand, nobody would like me (I have a sneaking suspicion that nobody does, anyway).

Yes, I do make mistakes and errors. In errors of word, I apologize, and in errors of action, I make up as best as I can. However. I'd like to say that, in the world of making commitments and keeping to them, I have a nigh-perfect record (nothing's perfect, folks). I'd like to say, that of all the folks I know, I have the highest rating.

Speaking of "all the folks I know"... I don't like this new popular usage of the word "creepy". "He's a creep". "What a creeper". Etc.; not cool. Makes me feel old and lecherous when used on myself; and when it's not, it just makes me feel left behind in the times (just old). What's funny is, to those that know me, I am not at all "creepy"; I'm just an occasional uncomfortability to be sat through, like watching an "accidental sex scene" (i.e. a sex scene occurring in a movie in which you previously did not know it would be in) with your parents.

These days, nobody takes the time to get past the "Quasimodo" exterior. Yes, sure, they get across the whole "unpleasant" vibe--but that shouldn't stop you from putting a smile on their face (not in the "Heath Ledger's Joker"-way, mind you). And in the process, you might come to like them. Oh, who am I kidding. Those that read this already know, and those that need to read this, won't.

You know what I do? I look at their friends and family members, and how they view the person. If they like the person in general, I'll give it time. If not, then "toodle-oo, muthafucka." It's not "stalking", it's "information gathering". Ah! There's another word that's being twisted: "stalker" or "stalking". What I do is, again, not "stalking", it's "information gathering." "Stalking", however, is the obsession of the subject. From two separate dictionaries:
1) verb (trans.)--harass or persecute (someone) with unwanted and obsessive attention
(taken from Oxford American Dictionaries--from the "Dictionary" widget on Macs)
And
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=stalker
(the Urban Dictionary, while not be the most reliable of sources for definitions, actually hit the nail on the head with this one).

There are so many goddamn things that you neophytes are ruining... I swear to god, sometimes I think Idiocracy is a credible future-reality, with all the shit I see happening today.

I am a very angry person. To those who seek pleasure in pointing out my smaller errors: go fuck yourselves. Truly, you self-righteous pricks are exceptional at douchebaggery. I mean, pointing out errors for the sake of the other person is one thing; that's called "constructive criticism". But to take pleasure in finding error in others.... that's just sick (and not in the contemporary definition). When I point shit out, I don't do it for pleasure, to make myself feel better. I don't even lie to myself when I say that: I truly do mean for it to be constructive.

Oh! Hey! There's something else: there are certain items and decisions I find that I have to defend--which, really, shouldn't need defending in the first place. It usually boils down to the moral or ethical question of what is Right and Wrong, and if I find myself having to explain why I chose to do what is Right.... apparently, someone needs a swift kick to the brainmeats, or perhaps an electrical jolt to re-start their thinking organ. Argh...

...alright, alright.... my stomach is complaining that it's time to go to bed and is now asking why I'm not there already. Damn stomachaches...

This angry man is out.

Peace.

Another dream.

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 18:10:18 GMT

I don't remember the beginning, this is hours after I got to writing it down...

...there was a treaty between two worlds, ours of a technical wonder sort, and theirs of fantastical beasts and personal magic sort (think Vulcan). I met up with a personal guard on their base under the earth, which also happened to be under the water under the earth. I flew down on a hoverbike. She and I, I allowed her to meld with me, and she left a bit of her conscious behind in her body to operate basic functions. She rode around on my bike, exclaimed how wonderful it was to be a human and to do human things, and then we tried to escape, but there were guard worms that came out of their own tunnels like a trapdoor spider, and we had to backtrack and loop out to various places to avoid it

we were on the surface, in a sort of field--we kinda "exploded into the sunlight" from the underground. The bike landed, and I found a pair of golden shoes (the kind the king of Trolls owns in the 10th Kingdom). I pick them up, and put them on us, upon which we continue down a road at a good speed. At this point her emotions leak towards me, and I feel this sense of elation--which, when she separates us to avoid being mixed up, I still have. I love her, I feel, and she loves me. It's a good feeling.

I put on the shoes, and I think we need height, so I clap the shoes together (like feet-clapping, you know?) and we "teleport" 10 feet straight up. We go lower and lower to the ground after a bit. And I don't use the shoes anymore. We find an orangutan, drunken and smiling on the side of the road in some tall grass on a small hillock. We just kinda look at him a bit, and he at us, until we continue, upon which he gets up and drunkenly stumbles after us, drooling the entire time like a madman.

We get to a fork in the road, and on the right side of the right side of that fork, sits another orangutan, but he's more... bard-ish. He's playing a flute, and he sees the company. He, too, decides to follow. We proceed down the left fork.

That's when the alarms go off, and I wake up.

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 03:48:25 GMT

I walk in, find a note in a siblings room, a poem of some kind. I am horrified and baffled, it is dark, "mom" is not around, I do not know where the sibling is or what happened. Lightening lights up the room for a few seconds; it is raining

we're on a couch watching video games being played by [X], when she starts to get frustrated, so I join in, we play a bit, before loud cawing (similar to that of macaws in the morning) erupts through the window

I go to the window, close it--we're living in our own apartment at the end of an alley between a brick building and ours (cement?) the walkway below is not a walkway, it is a canal of water (like those in Venice)

there was a large raven perched on a little brick bridge--it's nest was that of twigs and metal. It cawed more, eyed me a bit, flew down to the window--it's nest was empty

I turn to face [X], and ask her if she saw an egg in the nest, if she took it. She says she didn't quite take it, as it dropped in her egg drop soup (this is where [X] starts resembling [Y]). I asked her to be serious, asked if she took out the egg. she says she did, took care of it after a while, but then it began to be a pain to take care of, but I SEE that she killed it, but only from the shadows--she ties a string around it's neck and stuffs it in a bag--she writes a note, and that's when it starts raining which explains the beginning.

Oh God. Why.

Why.

I believe I've found what I want in my future house.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 21:16:40 GMT

http://hiddenpassageway.com/

Oh, the strain.

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 22:33:06 GMT

Over the past few days, I've learned a few things:

-Lemonade gives me headaches.
-Limeade, pineapple juice, and oranges do not.
-Halitosis is a terrible, terrible thing (to those that have it: I feel SO SORRY).
-Leaning in a chair, either forward or backward, is comfortable for me.
-Which means that things like movie theater seats and sitting up straight in cars for a long while give me an upset stomach.
-I have a scary subconscious. To ye who will be around me during my eventual acid trip: I'M SO SORRY.
-Cats are generally misinterpreted when seen in a dream. It was a gray one I dreamt of, and it was my pet. I found it in French Africa, and we wandered the countryside, exploring and looking for a way to escape. I scratched it's belly while it lay on a table, and it purred. HOW THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN BAD LUCK?! Fucking Germans and their "black cat==bad luck" superstitious witchery nonsense.
-The Hangover? Fucking awesome.
-There's a 99 Ranch near the Nob Hill now. <3 PORKBUNS (BBQ or otherwise).
-My job is a back-up for my work: in other words, I am Plan Omega for when all other warehouse staff is out. Otherwise, it's just doing the shipping labels, and picking up the (general) slack.
-While I don't have an exoskeleton like certain shellfish and animals, and while I am not covered in thick fur, I DO shed. That being said, I've noticed an uptick of dead skin sightings on my body. The cause: SHEDDING SEASON.

Hm. That's it, for now. Toodleoo.