Fresco

Franscico, or Fresco, of Atlas Shrugged (last entry I forgot the "ed") is without a doubt the best-worst character ever. I won't reveal too much about him because I know someone who follows me will soon read it (omg isn't that awesome?). All I can say my favorite part is when he slaps a girl and when he says, "I still want to sleep with you, but I'm just not happy enough to do it." I know that is sketch, but in context it has great meaning. *sigh* He is amazing. I think he alone kills Max from The Book Theif, which has been considered my favorite book for two years. Could Atlas Shrugged take its place? I am beginning to wonder....

And that's all?

The Most Romantic Man Is Not Romantic at All

The title merely speaks of Atlas Shrugg's charatcer Franscico. He's the dream, but he is awefully a terrble person by default. He has been pegged as the enemy too much. He says the worst thing a man can be is to be a man without a purpose. After that, I realized I didn't know what my purpose was, just that I wanted to write and be read. Maybe that is my purpose.

Right before I read those pages of interesting dialogue on what a despicable man was, I wrote as follows:

The Missing Frame
The portrate of my life
was old the day
the paint dried.
There is no image
of a face;
there is a missing frame.

An aspect is gone,
tainted mostly from day one.
No oils or pastels
can permeate
what they did not create.
There is a missing frame.

What one thought at first glance
is changed by the intoxicate.
All love is killed,
no emotion drawn forth.
It's just a picture.
There is no missing frame.

The poem's title and chorus is based loosely on the song "The Missing Frame" by AFI. The thing about the art simply refers to a most amazing portrat I saw today that reflected me in more than one way. I wonder how conceited I had to be to think I looked like a great peice of art?

And that's all?

Perhaps I will upload an image, sometime.

Randism

I am feeling quite disappointed. I can't bare not having followers of "Poetry:Sound." I might just delete it, and whenever I want to post a poem, I'll post it on here. *sigh* I'm so busy I'm not busy. Writer's Block is my enemy yet it never leaves me like a friend.

I began to realize I am in love with Alice Liddell again.

I also found out who has been talking through my mouth. I may make a new blog just to talk about the one topic of "Randism." But if I did, I would have to talk about relgion and politics (which I am very good at). I just don't think I can. But I'll sum up "Randism." Randism is the opposite of communism, in a sense. It really isn't a government style. It is the belief in "objectiveism." Every man's conscious is his essence and every man has his own choice and duty to himself. It is the opposite of egoism, still. It is individualism. The owner of the title is Ayn Rand, who I've talked about before. Only a couple days ago did I watch a movie about her. She changed me like AFI and Billy Collins and The Book Thief did. She holds the essence of what my soul may look like. The problem is, she is dead. Another problem.

She already changed some of the world and now the world is too advanced for me to change. I might have cried when I thought that had I not been in the presence of people.

About "The Interview" in the last blog. I am interviewing a real person. I feel terribly awful about it, actually. I feel as though the Block is asking the questions for me, when I should already know the answer. The next interview is tomorrow, none the less. It really depends what time "he" arrives, though. It hasn't been planned. I'm just going to walk up and say something to instigate is corrupt thinking. He keeps asking for my URL. Do you think I should give it to him?

Look up Ayn Rand.

And that's all?

Why People Change (Interview One)

The male with the absent gaze gives me a look of ache. I don’t try to convey my sentiment because there is none. I nod. “Your question?”

“Why do people change?” he says slowly with the ache on his face shifting to the pounding heart in his chest. I suppose the “people” who have changed are two very important girls. One, his girlfriend. The girl who he fights constantly. The second, his intellectual and sarcastic ex-best friend who can’t even spare him a passing glance because it is apparent she hates to be messed with.

“Aren’t you the one who told me no one changes, but your thoughts about yourself do?”

“Yes, but I don’t actually think that miserably. You do.”

“Get back to you. Now ‘why do people change’ was it? The answer is probably not that simple. They change to adapt. They change because they’re bored. Heck, they even change just because the crowd says to.” I smile then. Everything I say is being absorbed by the sponge with the placid, worried face. He is someone I hardly admire, but he is someone who can at some points have an interesting thought. His love for two girls, however, impresses me. What does not impress me is his love to lie to both. Even if he does not realize his love, he does embrace it a little too often.

So why do people really change? I don’t know. I think it depends on the person and their thoughts and mind’s makeup. Such a broad question is somewhat a reverse cynic’s way to find more meaning in everything. For example, this person, or specifically the guy asking the interviewer questions, finds something to link him to every poem to the insignificant leaf on the ground. He thinks he is thoughtful; I (ironically) think he is getting on my last nerve. I depart from the “interview” without even thinking about what he said, odd for me, yet it stays on my mind all day. And every time I see him I play the role of the person who was supposed to affected by it. Am I? I’d like to say not the least. Yet I play this role. Am I a hypocrite? Maybe. But as this hypocrite I proudly say, “I’m thinking about the things that pertain to the world. I’m not applying everything to me selfishly and hording two girls’ hearts.” My next interview with this monstrosity (yet remember I do sometimes fancy a chat) is unknown, but he will be feeding many thoughts he didn’t mean to feed and will never gain the credit for.

And that’s all?

A Dark Life

What one considers "dark" and "mysterious" is a matter of opinion. The cliche' yet always correct conotation is VAMPIRES! But seriously. They can have so many other things linked together. Like, for example, let's say a blogger is dark and mysterious, but seems good. Ironic? A little. This goes back to a Lewis Carroll quote I mentioned. Only now I have worded it to, "All dark people aren't good." True or false? Undoubtly false.

I realized something today as I listened to Magistra mumbled Latin at me and the sweaty crowd of juveniles. People love to read about other people's lives. It's an escape. And it is the beginning of what I call fiction. But wait. You aren't reading about my life here. You're reading something designed to make you think and to make you entertained. So A) why am I boring, B) why do I keep writing? It's the human nature. Everyone wants to be known by someone. Even if that person/those people don't know their real name. Thus, we have found the purpose of this blog.

I am looking to get more followers. *shudders* God, that just sounds so creepy! Followers...eh. Anyway, I'll advertise "you" if you advertise "me."

=P A quote: "This sentence I'm reading is terrific." -The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.

And that's all?

Lightbulbs and Hearts

The VMAs (Video Music Awards) really suck tonight. I just turned it off. Now I sit staring at Chopped on Food Network. I hate the people on it, but I like food. Anyway, VMAs used to be amazing. Punk and Rock used to be existant on them. Now it is just perverse socialist talk. Wouldn't the communists be proud.

On other news, I've been working hard to finish my second "book." What that really is is a small notebook I fit poetry and many short stories in. The first one was called "Madness at Break" and has not been published. The sequel, which I am working on currently, has no title so far, but I think I'll figure something out soon enough. I'm already on Part Three.

Lightbulbs. Yes, that is what we are going to talk about. I think the lightbulb is one of the most revolutionary inventions, while one of the most inevitable and possibly an over-rated one. It gives us light, can make us go blind, can give us cancer, but...it helps us read. So an invention that helps make more inventions is going to be called a train-reaction invention in my book. It's almost a filler. I also wonder how people thought that having an invention suddenly pop in their heads makes them have a lightbulb above their heads. I mean, what? Why would a light bulb go over my head? And why do I say something from "my heart" when I think with my head? I get very mixed up by this. If I say, "I love you from the bottom of my brain," people will go "WTF?" and I'll have committed faux pas. (AKA social blunder). Think about everything.

And that's all?

What would I have on my headstone? 'Cause obviously I won't be there to say, "Put ___ on it, kay guys?" So I guess the question is a little stupid. Still, I suppose it depends on how I died. Tell you the truth, I would just want "Raziel-Red" and Vade Mecum. As for at the actual funeral, I wouldn't mind my family/friends/random people to play Silver and Cold by AFI. Have you seen the video for it? I suggest you look it up. It is pure...I'm not sure. But there is something morally wrong with it, and this mesmerises me.

Now we get to SLEEP. What is it exactly? No one knows what happens while they are asleep, what they look like (unless you like, film yourself =P), or what goes on around them. During the average human life, you will swallow around seven spiders while you sleep. Still, I never dream, though I used to. Something tender about dreams makes them leave my head the moment I fall into my coma. One of the most interesting and...well, beautiful, dreams I have heard about was from a friend. He said he was at school, the sky was overcast, he was standing under the tree by one of the benches. He said I was sitting and not looking at him. But my mouth was moving and I was smiling. I looked at him and laughed and then the wind blew my hair and suddenly I wasn't there. He said he then woke up. While I am usually skeptical about what people actually dream, his story seemed liable. We talked about it for around an hour before I started to read him some usual poetry. (We used to do that a lot, but now we...never talk). If I say the dream is beautiful I feel conceited. Yet, you must believe me when I say that in my own mind's picture, it sounded wonderful and very beautiful.

BTW, I've forgotten almost everything about "not mentioning my life." I think I need to mention some of it, to a degree. I still won't give names. But maybe you'll get a closer look of who I am. My thoughts are made to be shared. Oh, and the friend I mentioned above is the one I mentioned before. You know, the bipolar one?

And that's all?

No, Seriously. The Cookie Jar Is Full...

Nobody takes me seriously anymore. Hell, do I even take myself seriously? That's not important. If you want to destroy a place completely, set the janitors' closet on fire, a certain author once said. Well, let's just say I started with the cafeteria. And it is still burning.

Revenge. Synonyms: requital, counterplay, retaliation, malevolence, and my personal favorite, vindictiveness. The definition is different for all of us, but I always wonder why it is the first thing to pop in my head when I have a conflict. Example: I see a peice of paper that has vulgar words on it. I tear the paper up. Oh, you thought I meant human revenge? While that is fun to plot, acting out on it is somewhat foolish. Still, a many great books were written about revenge.

Also about communism. I am rereading Anthem by Ayn Rand; it is once again entertaining me. Though really short (will be finished by tomorrow but the homework with it will not be), it is one of those things that makes me think. You've probally guessed I love to think about things beyond the point of recognition. The whole book gets me completely irritated and captivated. A world of pure conformity is like walking up to me and saying, "Take off the scarf." (I wear a scarf every day...). It is something humans don't do and it is something I personally won't let happen. Not that I am totally against communism. I enjoy studying it very much. Here's the hipocrite part: I'd never want to live it. Or perhaps that is the sadistic part? All the same, communism affects everyone and we should keep it in Russia with Russian Roulette.

And that's all?

Sugar! With Questions (Oh, they'll never fit in the cookie jar).

The world is a complicated place. At first, when we're children, we think it truly revolves around ourselves. Still, how do we know it doesn't? We can't prove someone else's consciousness. I was just thinking about that. Were you?

I was flipping through an unnamed book when guess what caught my eye? One of my favorite poet and author's quote. Lewis Carroll said: "Babies are illogical. Nobody is despised who can manage a crocodile. Illogical persons are despised." Now this made me think. First off, all of these are false except for perhaps the first. Carroll knew that. His nonsense makes people think. "Illogical persons are despised..." not everyone despises babies, do they? *looks away*

Just as I predicted what, two posts ago? My hunger has ceased and all I can focus on is the painful schoolwork and narratives. My writing has really hit a standstill. If I may ask, someone suggest a word they really like and I'll write something off that word. You cannot ask me to write something off "twisted," "caustic," or "apathy." I do enough already. Tee hee.

And that's all?

Not Good Enough For the Truth in Cliche'

So I bought a CD. >.< Escape the Fate's Dying Is Your Latest Fashion. While not what I expected, I am thrilled by the screaming, growling, and lyrics! Plus, a great bass part. I also came across that Used CD (Artwork) and like it too, though I didn't buy it. (Borrowed it due to the obscene cover).

The more I look at the world, the more I realize it is in love. They say spring is the season for it...no. Fall is. After all, everyone is back into school with their new infatuations. It is the season of dating and my epic lonliness. Whoever "they" are, they are very wrong about what the season of love is. Valentine's Day? Not only a cliche', but a sad way for people to break up. My cynic is coming through. But loneliness is a vice to many. It is an emotion that helps make humans...humans.

Seriously though. Buy an Escape the Fate CD.

September Through Autumn

The best season, the worst season. Opinions, yes? That's sorta the point. I'm just going to talk prosaic today. More or less: the weather. The season.

Fall has been called the season of change. It brings up thoughts of school and harvests and leaves. Not really for me. It's my favorite time of the year (not that I even enjoy the year), which is a bit ironic. Going to school means drama. And I hate drama. More or less, I still like the weather. My favorite month of the year is Sept-tober. It goes from September 22 to October 27. My own creation, yes, but the best creation I can offer. September 22 is Emilie Autumn's birthday as well as the first day of Autumn. A natural time to start. October 27 is right before Halloween and is my birthday. A natural place to end. But it is more of the time between these two dates that draws my attention. The weather literally changes right in front of you and the ground is skittered with leaves and gold-dry grass. The wind blows a little harder and your face gets all chapped. You wear jeans and sweaters and want to go outside for no reason...you don't get sunburned, either. I usually stop eating in fall, too. I don't know why, but everytime I look out the window of my desk I think, "I don't want to eat today." The aura of the grey sky and landscape is enough to fill my void of a stomach. (Thus the picture of "Gluttony" is a play on irony). Fall is a time when my writing either exhilarates or becomes nothing. This year? I think I'm going to have a lack-luster writing phase. Already the only thing going through my head is my poem "Despondency" and another called "Torturing Butterflies." I used to not have such a poor confidence.

Perhaps, like fall, we all think we've changed when all we've done is made a new word for who we are. A friend said that to me on the phone last night. He's bipolar.

New Perspective

The title should get everyone interested. Because of a resent quiz result I don't even care about, I am writing this. What can I say? Well, I have reasoned that if you have a penname you have a split-alter-ego that does the writing. I find this funny, yet not that funny. "Hello?" "What?"

As it were, I finally found Panic! at the Disco's new single, "New Perspective"'s video. The song already has become some what of a theme to me. I think it's good the band is still putting out songs even though they "broke up." Always and forever, my favorite song by them will be "There's a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey. You Just Haven't Figured It Out Yet." However, I didn't write a short story on their first album. But I did on their second.

The Used seem to have a new CD out. Why didn't anyone tell me? I mean, I heard about it today and was like, "Oh? They have a new CD?" It's like they decided not to tell anyone. (Or am I just out of it as usual??)

A manga I started not to long ago, The Gentlemen's Alliance, has started to interest me again. Though I find the plot somewhat cliche', I am sorta enjoying it. I like how their is only like one or two straight characters. Took me awhile to figure that out, actually. What does piss me off in the series however, is when the postman turns out to be Maori!! (If the name is wrong, I haven't ever paid much attention to random Shojo reads' names). I was more than a little ticked.

I nearly broke my arm!!! *looks the other way* But I'm actually not too injured. See, I ran into a door...

Sounds like something I would do when I'm writing and walking, eh? It's okay. You can laugh because I did, too.

Crash Love

Eh, Crash Love comes out September 29th, and seeing as AFI is my favorite band as well as my most common used form of anit-writer's block, you could say I'm having a panic attack.

Not that that is important.

What shall we discuss today? Let's see, I got my first comment, thought followers remain dead. I guess I'll talk about myself. (I know this is a contridiction, but that is basically what I think good writers do).

Fave color: Red! Duh. Obviously people could guess that.
Fave food: potatoe and leek soup.
Real name: like hell! What is the point of a penname if you tell everyone your true identity?

I think Readers know a lot more about me now.

So earlier today I published a short story and my "editor" and "illustrator" had a cow. She hates it when I do spontanious things online. (Note: this is not such a thing because she doesn't know about it). The story is called December's Wonderland Part Three (the earlier parts are already published) and is really short. It just involves some teacups and a mad Mad Hatter. If you think I am rambling, I am.

So I'm gonna mention my favorite mangas! *spazzes* Of course, Godchild, Fairy Cube, Angel Sanctuary, or anything by my favorite artist: Kaori Yuki. She is pure genius on page, no matter how religious her writing can get.

Speaking of religion, that's a tender topic most people either talk too much about or not enough about. I'm just not gonna mention it. I wrote a new poem called "Puzzled? So Is She" the other day and I am going to post it on my other blog. I suggest you read it. (Realizes is advertising and that the entire post is lame). Um...till next time??

Opinions on Certain Writing Ideas

First off, why does everyone seem to be obsessed with writing about vampires? At this point, I've already lost a ton of readers. (IF I have any at all). So let me say quickly, I love vampires and books with vampires. But there just seems to be a lot of flow about them lately. So my attention has been grabbed by the monster fiction right under vampires--eh, ZOMBIES.

The mouths should be flying open now as you think, "Zombies? Stupid!" Well, let me indulge you. Zombies are a bit of a dork-fest thing, but I've been reading quite a few lately. It all started with Generation Dead by Daniel Waters two thousand months ago. The sequel has come out, and though it is on my desk, I have yet to read it due to other callings such as The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks. Though not everyone's cup o' tea, it is very good. I am currently reading the sequel, World War Z, which kicks the first book's living dead ass. I'd also like to add that while standard comics are great, I suggest these zombie mangas: Zombie Loan, Zombie Powder (which doesn't have to do with zombies much), and Hellsing (deals with ghouls...). Zombie L. is really good, but quite violent and contains some erotic things.

Second opinion: what is up with the "perfect guy" rolls? Can't girls remain single throughout a novel? Nope. It is not what teenagers want. "We" want love, scandal, drama! I think it is quite annoying, unless we are talking about something like Mizuzaki's Whisper of the Heart or Howl's Moving Castle (both are animes). Those have what real romance should be: sweet, kind, and most of all, complicated. They make you feel good. But once again, teens don't seem to want that.

Third opinion: why is there never any actual fight scenes in books anymore? (Need I say more, Breaking Dawn?)

I hope you consider your tastes. Mine are: romance keeping you on your toes but not falling over, action every three or two chaps, a plot that gets thicker with "drama" every chapter, words that read like poetry but not boring. I ask for too much. But if you want a book like this, read The Book Thief (though the action isn't very physical, just mental).

*bows* till next time?

Vade Mecum

Simple.

"There is nothing more dreamy than the life of a writer who has early exhausted himself." -M. E. Lewes.


Who? I actually do not know who that is. An author, a certain essay implied. Lol. I should stop reading other people's papers. But it did strike a tone with me. I am young, so am I doomed to exhaust my writing?


HELL NO. Today is a fitting day to write this, I think. The weather is beautiful, AFI is playing, and I'm content. (Today that is).

Now I am questioned, "Who are you?" Just call me Red. I am a poet and hope to change all of the literary world. I may be young, but I do not care. The world is going to be what I make it, and the world I know is in a notebook.

For good measure I'll say one of the best poems ever:
Vade Mecum by Billy Collins
I want the scissors to be sharp
and the table to be perfectly level
when you cut me out of my life
and paste me in that book you always carry.

And that, Reader, is not only me "speaking" (you can cut me out of my life and remember me; ex.), but it is also me the one who is cutting up a poet's life. (I always carry a notebook; I put pictures and many a thing in it; ex.).

Enjoy.
-RED