You Looked Better With The Lights Off

I may seem repetitive, but I have recently found that I draw the same conclusions from different circumstances. This may mean that i have the correct conclusions, it also may mean that I’ve become biased.

People adhere themselves to a set amount of rules to guide their lives. It doesn’t matter which aspect I’m talking about, because it’s all the same. We are used to choosing things based on what is best for us, and not always on what we actually want. We place conditions on most things, afraid to take chances and let our own chances take us where we want to go. Of course, free will is an illusion, nevertheless…I don’t know what my point is anymore.

Even those of us who hate social rules and bindings are forced to follow guidelines that seem to have no purpose. We cannot speak openly because, as “A few good men” put it, people can’t handle the truth. We make ourselves swallow our words and let out only those ideas which we know people will be able to process normally. We shut up in the face of adversity, even if we know we may win, because we know full-comprehension is a difficult science to master, even if all it needs is for us to observe more cautiously. We are ashamed of our way of thinking because it’s not anyone else’s, and that makes us different. We know “different” means “bad”.

This is mostly why we desire companionship. This is why we feel the unending downwards push of our loneliness at night. We desire so desperately to cross lines with someone with similar thoughts, that we cannot think of much else at all. This is also why we hold hands so intensely. When we hold hands, out lines intersect completely for long spaces of time. If we let go, we know not where our lines will take us or our significant companion. Frankly, it’s all we can do to hold on and refuse to let go.

Nevertheless, we can conclude correctly that the main reason we desire companionship is because we lack it. We lack something we want, and it makes us vicious. It makes us desperate and envious. It makes a certain dark spot in our souls grow bigger and it frequently drives us temporarily insane. I tend to repeat myself, but that’s just because I believe it to be true. I may tire and bore you with my incessant stream of constant repetition and mindless blabber, but when I find someone who is not tired and bored and actually gives an insignificant damn about any of the stuff I write or say, then i will be complete. Only then will I stop. Only then will I look upon you rule-following, control freaks and smile, because I have full comprehension. I understand each of you completely, even the ones that i don’t want to understand. You don’t have to talk to me, or look at me, or smile at me if you don’t want to, because I don’t want that. I don’t want you. I am sick of asking for your attention and getting empty words back. I am tired of writing my honest feelings and watching you swat it away. I will not waste my breath on you.

This is the part were I wave good-bye.

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Being Information On The Writing Process.

Often I start a new project filled with emotion and positivism. I have the idea, now it’s time to put it on paper (or monitor) and see it grow. Only once have I completed something that I feel comfortable with in just one day, and I still changed most of it afterwards.Several times, it takes me two or three days to really make something that makes me proud. Most ideas, I never finish.The bottom line is: It takes a tremendous amount of effort, to make something that looks effortless.

Most of the time, I’ll write something based on something I’m feeling or on an idea I just had or on something that happened to me. It will take me one paragraph to get the idea across, usually four lines. After that I usually sit down and write it. It takes me an hour to decide the first line. The first line is, I think, the most meaningful thing you can give to your audience. I very much believe in words, so I try to start my screenplays with words (written or spoken). If your first line is weak, you can pretty much say goodbye to your audience, but if your first line is strong like wasabi, you may expect a breezy stroll down literature-ville. The first line also helps to keep you motivated, and focused on what you want to communicate. Think of it as an hour well spent.

Sometimes I write the last line first. This gives me something to strive for. For example, I may not really be sure how I want to start but I know I want the last line to be “I’m moving on”. Automatically, I get a general feeling of what you want my story to be about. It must be something about growth or liberation in which my main character (human, animal, myself) has something that ties him and in the end he breaks free from it. Now I have something to build up to.

As unsure as I may be after writing either the first or last lines, I now have to figure out the rest. It’s easier, at least for me, to imagine the ending first and then everything else. In my opinion the ending is the strongest part of my story. There is two ways I can go with the ending: I can go with a closed ending, in which I wrap up the main story-line and lave very few things to the imagination, or I can go with a very open ending with very few answers to the questions I propose in the introduction and development. I have written both of them, and I like them equally.

This is where I let the story “Talk to me”. You know, something like “Believing in yourself” or “Feeling the vibes”. Between the first line and the last one there’s a lot of things that need to happen if you want your story to be even remotely interesting. This is where i usually get lost. Even If I have a vague idea of what I want to happen in my story, getting it across and in a natural sounding way is probably the most challenging thing I have ever done besides maneuvering my zeppelin through the fire-ridden skies of WWII. Difficult stuff indeed.

Anyway, once I’ve gotten everything out it helps to go and get other’s opinion. Not everyone will agree to read my stuff and, of the few who actually do, only a small fraction will give me usable feedback and only a smaller portion still will actually care about what I have just written, but it never hurts to ask. In fact, the opinions and words of encouragement from that small group of people really makes a difference when I’m lying in bed, filled with self-doubt and self-loathing believing I may never write something worth reading or worth watching. It helps me get better ideas, and it helps me be a better writer.

Finally,if you’re still reading this and would like to take some of it as advice for writing, I should point out the tremendous value of practice. Give yourself a challenge and write something a day for a month. Always carry a small notebook to write ideas. The best ideas usually come in the middle of the night or when you’re walking alone. If you can stand the sound of your own voice you can also use a voice recorder to keep your ideas in check. The important thing is to not let any ideas get away. Even if you have ideas that are no good for full stories, later on you can mix those little ideas together and create great works of literature that will attract the opposite gender and make you an unstoppable machine of writing great stuff.

I guess today’s entry is more of an insight to how I like to work. I don’t know if you care, or if you come here expecting something else, but that’s what I wanted to try today.

The Rainbow Connection

Yes, I haven’t written anything in a while.

Sometimes, as I’ve written before, we lose ourselves on hopelessness and despair. I have definitely lost myself very often through my years of being alive. I have lost myself to the point where I’m lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, wondering what in heaven’s name I’m doing there. Looking at pictures that evoke powerful memories and spending long hours lost in nostalgia and revivals of long lost moments gives me some feeling of belonging. It gives me something to remember, but not something to strive for.

We are used to allocating ourselves inside our generation. The internet generation, the MTV generation, the nintendo generation. Our generation does this and that. Our generation is used to fast relationships. Our generation is based on this and that.

I am my generation. I am not someone else, and especially not some random million people. I am a thousand people on my own. My generation likes prose and poetry. My generation writes. My generation likes funny movies and mystery. My generation cries openly at Ratatoiulle and The Muppets and that part in the land before time when Littlefoot’s mother dies. My generation likes to play music when they’re alone. My generation is brilliant and we’re ready to let the world know. My generation gets rejected by girls because it lacks something we are unaware of.

I’ve started to feel better about myself. I know I am destined for great things. My generation is destined for great things. Before, I have tried to convince people that I’m worth a shot. I’ve longed for someone who accepts me completely as i am. Now, I have to say, even though I accept the decision of those who have rejected me, I have to say that they’re making a huge mistake. You are making a huge mistake because I will surpass everything around me, and I’ll be really noisy about it. People will be paid to brag about the things I will accomplish, and you will watch my movies from your couch and remember that, at one time, I told you I really liked you and wanted you to give me a chance.

I am me, and no one else. I am prepared to take chances and prove to everyone that I’m not what they see, but something else entirely. I am ignorant, and wise. I don’t know how to use a semicolon correctly. I am weird in many ways. I listen to strange music. I write strange things. I like the way fresh-cut grass smells. I like apples and cigarettes and pumpkin pie and kissing in the rain. I watch people attentively to figure out their personalities.

I am me. I am Nikolas Murdock. I am David Thurston. I am my pseudonyms and my personalities. And one day, I’ll be every one of you.

Remember me.

Not Creepy At All

I wonder if by making prolonged eye contact with you I can make you like me. I can’t tell you that I love you, because I don’t, but I do like you in a completely safe, non-stalkerish way. Well, maybe a little stalkerish, but only because I am trying to make you like me by making prolonged eye contact.

I am quite certain that observing people from a distance gets you nowhere. However, I refuse to accept the fact that…wait…there are some girls singing really loudly near where I am. It really distracts me. Ok, it looks like they’re done. Nope. They’re not. They can’t seem to get one part of the song right. Come on girls, you can do it. Close but no cigar. Let’s try that again then. There you go. Almost done. See, was that really so hard?

So now I can get back to my monologue. Damn, I lost all will to write about making prolonged eye contact with you. Anyway I guess my point is when you catch me looking at you during class or out with friends or lurking from behind a small bush, it’s not because I’m creepy or anything. I’m just expressing my uncontrollable attraction to you in a socially acceptable way. The least thing you can do is smile, really.

Winning Opening Lines for Novels

I have something against people telling me what to do,but only ever since February 18 of 2011.

There is nothing in this world I hate more than Kimchi.

When he lifted his eyes he saw himself reflected on Pamela Martinez’s sunglasses, and for the first time in a long while, smiled.

For a moment, there was no sound; then he heard the gunshots.

Thomas had never seen anything like it, nor would he ever see anything like it in the future, for he died ten seconds later.

The tea was as bitter as the mood in the room, and the biscuits were no better.

His hallucinations could only be getting stronger for, instead of his room, Michael now found himself in the park where he had gotten his first kiss.

The white powder descending from the sky resembled snow, only it wasn’t snow, but ashes.

My first, second, third and fourth choice schools rejected me, and so I ended up attending Demon Swamp High.

If it wasn’t for her smile, I would not have gotten through.

Your Eyes, They Shine Like My Shoes.

Eyes can tell you a lot about a person. I don’t mean literally, since it’s not proven that eyes have acquired the ability of speech, but in the way that you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their eyes. Of course, if eyes suddenly started talking, they would probably need a long time before being able to construct a proper sentence in a set language. Plus, eyes are not even independent living beings, they depend on the human’s circulatory system, so having a mind of its own would leave eyes in a very uncomfortable symbiotic relationship. But I digress.

I came to this realization when I realized gay and effeminate people move their eyes in a very specific way that lets people from miles away know they are effeminate and gay. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay. I just noticed. Not that I’m gay and spend most of my time looking at gay people, I assure you that’s not the case. I just noticed. Please stop judging me.

Anyway, if you walk into a store and one of the female clerks starts eyeing you intensely, it may be because of various things.

  1. She is hopelessly in love with you. She has been waiting for you her entire life, and now that she’s found you, there is nothing stopping her from marrying the hell out of you and being happy for the rest of her life. You can try to convince her otherwise, but she knows it’s true love and she would roundhouse kick a entire army of ninja midgets just to kiss you. This it what her mother was talking about when she said she would fall in love with the perfect man.
  2. She hates what you’re wearing.
  3. Fuck that. She loves you. You better man up and tell her you love her too because damn she looks hot like a magma covered forest in flames. This is no time to be a pussy boy who cries home to his mother. This is the time to prove wrong all those bullies from elementary school who said no one would ever like you. This is the time to march up to her and rip off her shirt in the middle of the store.

Indeed, you can tell a lot about someone by just looking at his/her eyes. You can also tell a lot about animals by looking at their eyes. For example, my dog, Chelsea, has very kind eyes. They are filled with wishful thinking and an unmitigated taste for adventure. On the other hand, the eyes of the black mamba seem to be filled with an uncontrollable desire to kill every cell in your body and leave you an ugly poisoned mess of insides and rotten skin. Chelsea wants to go out and play for a while, maybe take a walk on the park, to be fed properly and nothing else. The black mamba wants to have its fangs inside you, any way it can. Chelsea enjoys lying on the grass and chasing little bugs around the garden. The black mamba enjoys death and world domination.

It’s true, you can tell a lot about someone just by looking at their eyes for a prolonged period of time, but you could also assume wrong things. This is why looking at people’s eyes takes a lot of practice. It’s also true that, in some cases, you can assume nothing by looking at someone’s eyes. Some eyes are not a window to the soul, but rather an Iron door over a password-protected vault behind a secret tree in a secret forest of identical secret trees filled with various species of wolves and vicious bears who want nothing but to eat your still beating heart marinated in a delicious spinach sauce, behind a locked door guarded very attentively by a Black Mamba. If it seems that way, please don’t assume anything unless you are the bravest person in the world, and I really doubt that you are the bravest person in the world because then you would be Ernest Hemingway, and Mr. Hemingway is dead.

Cold Mornings

My fingers are frozen. I chose not to enter my first class because I’m such a rebel.  I’m sitting in a bench outside of the architecture building and it’s like minus a hundred degrees out here. HOWEVER, the sun is slowly coming out and that feels like a thousand little rainbows giving me a Japanese massage.

I guess being outside gives me a general feeling of well-being. That’s partly why I hate being inside. The problem is that, in this city, being outside means waking up in an arctic no-man’s-land. The temperatures are so low, I am wearing like three sweaters, five shirts, three scarves and I’m STILL cold. But it’s slowly getting better. Oh, there’s the sun again. No thanks little rainbows, I’m ok now. No, seriously, I’m ok now. You can stop giving me Japanese massages. Thanks.

I’m with a friend, we’re chillin’. Quite literally at times since the sun seems to have taken personal offense to me rejecting him. The cold, however, loves me no matter what I do or say. As a matter of fact I’ve been cursing at the cold for the last hour and a half and it has not been discouraged. I guess I was pretty rude with the sun, it was just trying to help and I sent him away.

Even though I had been pressuring myself to keep writing, I find that the looming presence of exams pretty much takes all the excitement and creativity out of me, and leaves me like a dried leaf on a hot autumn afternoon. So, since I don’t want to force anything, I’ll just write when I feel inspired. Like now. I’m not writing anymore, because of lack of inspiration. No more writing for me today.