Spilled Musings - The unfinished memoirs of a Sojourner, Part IV.

Radio Silence, for my mission in life needs a mask, a cover, a feeling of obscurity. As with a solider gathering information in on a reconnaissance assignment, I am personally fascinated by the doings of others. I know that it is stereotypical to say that my name is not important, but it truly is not – it is merely a label bestowed upon me by my mortal guardians, a tag by which to distinguish the inhabitants of this diverse planet. It is not always as successful as some would wish as well, there are so many Anthony Johnson’s and Peter Green’s in this world to prove this uniqueness to be but a fable.

Which brings me to my second observation – Why is it that in the labels assigned to new arrivals there are so many –sons and color surnamed titles? The race of humanity is oddly consistent in this aspect. We, the rulers of this realm, have an internal conflict between reason and emotion; occasionally experiences and connotation form the deciding undercurrents to snap judgments made every moment. People on a global scale are equally self-sufficient, motivated, and dependent.

I was at one point challenged as to my racial identity as part of a learning exercise performed during an academic event. As the nationalities were voiced “Caucasian, Asian, African, Hispanic, Italian, etc.” I stood firm, raising a few eyebrows among fellow participants. When queried as to my identity, I replied simply that I am a human, they laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject. My answer was too simple and considered a little arrogant. So it might have been, and I may have been trying to press a point – Humans are so quick to diagnose, categorize and label their surroundings as a coping mechanism.

When we are spawned into this world in the form of infants, we are pure need, and are unashamed of our appetites and weaknesses. During the periods in our young waking lives when all needs are met, we learn to take in our surroundings and react accordingly. The novelty and wonder of this environment expands our open minds, overwhelming our senses and thought. Through years of training and conditioning, we learn to focus – to block out the minor details in favor of the general idea. To dwell on analyzing every facet would distract us from making a timely decision, and if there is anything upon this earth that humans serve uniformly, it is time.

From the moment we comprehend a moment, philosophic, scientific, and religious conundrums are made manifest and real. We are mortal, physical beings. How did we get here? What role do I have to play in this cosmic scheme? What do I need to learn from experience rather than accepting by faith?

Many more questions abound, but it is the last question that intrigues me for now. From a scientific mindset, we are to be skeptical of any ultimate truth or law of the Universe. There are measurements to make, experiments to conduct, and averages to calculate. Once the work has panned out to a statistically significant result, the event’s conclusions will serve as data for future testing. There is no end, as there can be no certainty of a beginning. We have to arise from an initial state, but that would be to assume that there existed intelligence before us. The farther back the idea of existence pre-me travels, the less of a feeling of long-lasting notability.

From a philosophic standpoint, the questions are encouraged and built upon an inquisitive desire to learn. For at its core, philosophy is an exciting field – the quest to know how we know what we know. And the general synopsis of our learning is: The more we learn, the more we learn that we need to learn more. Theories are tossed as leaves in a storm, but one in which the individual thoughts collide and form new shapes from the old for a moment in time. For no two humans have the same set of experiences, or even impressions of the same event. The emotional side of the human state is emphasized by sensitive souls, while the colder and logical minds state that humanity is primarily reasonable and rational. A third, fringe group calls the polar ends both faulty and declares mankind to be a lucky chance of fate, we are no more than the current top of the ecological food chain – we are but developed beasts through the concept of civilization. Millions more derivations and alterations are to be found – seeded in the matchless and unique minds of the human race throughout space and time.

Occasionally, a few humans happen to cross paths and find that their destination and mindset are compatible and become travelling companions. This is the basis for religion, or shared thought. Men have a need for a purpose in life; most express that desire through the form of worship. The only real possession that humanity owns is ourselves and our time slot of existence. Worship is simply time used to pursue a thought, idea, vision, or concept. Farmers desire to work the land and reap its bounty, sailors long to tame the sea, warriors long to gain through their physical strength and power. Whatever it is that we humans do, it defines us as a person and shapes our future decision making progress.

I nearly forgot this part!

It is now a tradition.

Need Inspiration...

Somethings in a Sequence

I have not been idle during my absence, just distracted.

Girl at sea, by Maureen Johnson.

This is a young adult book about broken people and how their jagged edges tear new wounds in those they love. (A summary for many books in this age group.) Clio is the daughter of an artist and a dreamer, who parted ways after the fallout of fame and fortune. It all started with a board game she created on a rainy vacation. Clio and her father were on the same brainwaves these days and the game took shape, culminating in a mainstream release that had a lot of success. Then her father signed an agent, who took off with all the rights and money. Clio's family fell apart and she lived with her mother in Philadelphia. Out of the blue, Clio's father announces that he is going to be in Italy for the summer and would like to have Clio join him. He bought a yacht and is spending the sunny days out on the water.

Clio is reluctant to leave - she had established a niche in Philly, and privately holds her father and his enthusiastic "Jump first, think later" attitude for losing their family's stability along with the savings. What her father neglected to mention was that aside for him and his business partner and family friend, Martin, he was bringing his new girlfriend. Julia is a research scientist and single mother to Elsa, a gorgeous Swede-English young lady, who sweetly and perkily warms up to Clio as a friend. Also, there is Aidan, Julia's assistant, who is privy to the real reason behind why Clio's dad is taking this trip. Clio catches on that there is something odd in the fact that this trip required so much computer gadgetry and yet no wi-fi available for her to communicate with anyone off-ship. (Coincidentally, that would make a great title for a post-apocalyptic novel, "The End of the World and no Wi-Fi..."). Clio is disgruntled with her father's position to call her from her American home and put her aboard a ship in the middle of nowhere. She determines to pry out the truth and what she discovers is a long lost tale of an 19th century girl and the ruins of Pompeii...

Summer Moonshine, P.G. Wodehouse.

An actual review of a Wodehouse book? Did I not say that to do so is to risk exposing the intricacies of the plot? I will endeavor to do so to the best of my ability. It all takes place in an English Manor, in which a tight-belted Sir Buckstone Abbott is forced to rent out his country estate in order to survive. His Manor is no ordinary country house, the original was burnt down mid last century and remodeled by his late ancestor during a fit of amateur architecture. Unfortunately, the styling of the exterior is a shade of salmon pink that is straining to the eyes.

Teddy is a lodger on the estate, and he has a problem - the love of his life received a mysterious package in the mail and refuses to tell him the contents. She happens to be the secretary of Sir Abbott, a straight-laced working girl who speaks with an oxford affection in her tone. The subsequent rift between her and Teddy causes her to file a suit against the foppish American for breach of contract in their engagement. She hires the brother-in-law of Mr. Abbott, who serves such notices in court. One of Abbott's guests is familiar with this man and his tenacity to his job. This Mr. Bulpitt brags that only one man escaped his pursuit for serving notices and that was for reasons of the old man dying.
Mr. Abbott's daughter, Jane, is an enterprising young woman. Teddy's brother, Joe Vanringham, falls hard for her during a chance visit in London. Where Teddy is soft and pudgy in thought and in action, his brother is lean and sharp as a whip. Joe got the boot out of the house shortly after reaching the age of responsibility. Joe has made it big by writing a play based loosely upon his own experiences with his mother. Teddy and Joe's mother is a social butterfly with razor sharp wings, known for her manner of marrying and divorcing multiple times, reaping the titles and wealth from her unfortunate victims. Her latest target is Adrian Peake, a detestable hanger-on of humanity, with a vulnerable appearance that brings out the nurturing instinct in all women. Teddy and Joe both hate him abstractly for who he is. Even worse, young Adrian is two-timing with the lovely Jane Abbott.
The book's climax deals with the arrival of the former Mrs. Vanringham, now through marriage known as the Princess Dwornitzchek, who intends to purchase the salmon pink estate of the Abbott's possession.
Will Teddy be outmaneuvered and served by Mr. Bulpitt?
Will Adrian Peake be exposed as a fraud or weasel his way out to his advantage?
Will that ugly Salmon Pink bricked house be sold through the chaos and complications of love, fear, and miscommunication?

Did not finish this, Why?
Life flows by like a river.
Will it ever catch me?

The longer I stall
The lesser I write at all
Streak beginning fail.

We shall see in time
Hope to carry on the blog
See you when I do.

Half of a hundred.

What have I accomplished over my break?
I intended to do so much, but my resolve was weakened by desire and Fate.

I read "Meet Mr. Mulliner" by P.G. Wodehouse an was entertained by the Englishman's list of interesting family and relations. Such as the Stuttering Nephew who had an unfortunate day of trying to overcome his shyness by talking to three of the wrong strangers. And the brother who was a master chemist, and designer of "Buck-U-Uppo," a formula that would invigorate an elephant to challenge Indian tigers on hunts. Another nephew consumes this potion and is revitalized with courage and vigor after a long existence as a timid curate. This formula completely changes the trajectory of his life, granting him a backbone, a wife, and a living.
Very enjoyable, very funny, and an absolutely engaging and fast paced collection of short anecdotes. I am reading another Wodehouse right now.

The Fall, Chuck Hogan and Guillermo del Toro.
This is the second book of the Strain trilogy. I finished it at a rather adequate pace. It delves into the origin of Setrikan's hate and mission for killing the fallen angels that are the vampire race. The six Ancients are revealed and take their third faction into clearing up the infestation of the Master's reckless feeding. Palmer, the Master's human contact is dying slowly and wants to be turned into an immortal bloodsucker as a final means of survival - his personal vice in life is to prolong his existence, and science is failing him. The book of the vampire's history is up for auction, but it carries a legendary and mysterious history of "accidents" for those who possess the contents. Overall, a decent apocalypse series for those interested in supra-natural means of world decay and destruction.

She and Him, Vol. Two.
What shall I say about this perennial part of my blog's outlook? It is lovely and unique in its folksy, laid back feel. "In the Sun" is a favorite of mine with its cheerful sense of playfulness in the game of gaining attention of a love interest. "Gonna get along without you now" is a cute-cut of realizing the reality of a false friend, well written and arranged farewell tune and parting shot.
"If you can't sleep" is a soothing lullaby that comforts my mind and calms my spirit, it soars and swoops through my mind in a lovely pattern.

Finally, a parting thought in short verse. It amuses me and challenges my mind to conjure them up on the wing. I have not the observation and intuitiveness to know when it is tiring to my audience...

Woke up this morning to discover my break was gone.
Back to school and its responsibilities - What have I done?
I LoL'ed a lot over the week, spent time with friends, and slept in late.
However, Saturday had woken my heart, feeling the pull of guilt innate.
"Forsooth!" I pondered, "I have a speech. I must revise, I should outreach!"
I wrote and thought and thought and wrote, my topic trivial, but 'tis trivia that I know.
I keep in my mind facts obscure, why they stick to my memory is left unsure.
My first class dealt with concepts to compute - ASCII code, Inputs, OS's to boot.
My second class was speechified, I had to concentrate, and I feel confident and fine.
(Though my presentation was rough at points, my transitions and purpose lent me good points).
My third class concerned Mode, Median, and Mean. Twas all finite math, and baby steps into problems quite keen. For while the class was deceptively smooth, I know the applications will flip my brain quickly to move.
I left for the day, my first reentry complete. I walked to my bus stop listened to my iPod touch's tones so sweet. However, my battery died before I embarked, on my journey hope, silence accompanied my reading of Wodehouse's art.
I received a haircut, for my mane was growing long. My bangs were quite stubborn, and was wavy and wrong. Snip, Snip, Snip, that problem is gone, my maintenance is simplified as the strands fall anon.
I proceed to my job - organizing my carts, of books and CD's to be shelved and re-caught. Libraries are truly Franklin's greatest idea, this Daylight Savings Time is his worst I fear.
I enjoy the power to explore and learn more, from Bios to Fiction, it all is adored.
I saw a young lady who made eye contact and waved. I didn't recall making her acquaintance, so I nodded as my mind struggled to be saved. Was I really to know her: a face to recall? I had no clues, so I continued shelving the YA wall. My closing duties completed, I locked up and left.
Home is so welcoming, my family never of entertainment bereft. For whether it be youngest asking us to pretend to laugh, or viewing the results of the March Tournament of (Wrath?).
My family is loving, my friends likable to know.
I hope that this description fits you, my reader, to agree with "just so."

Haikus tradition
Why five-seven-five framework?
Ah! Pray for Japan...

Creating A Scene - The Improv Everywhere story

Charlie Todd was just another aspiring actor in NY City. Todd's aspirations took on a different trajectory one night when he received a friend in his apartment. "Hi Ben Folds!"
Todd decided that as a gag, he and his buddy should put their acting chops to the test by posing as Mr. Folds and a dedicated fan in a bar. Ten minutes after they enter separately, Todd's buddy approaches him at the bar and calls him "out" as the pop pianist. Amazingly, it succeeds and the two become the toast of the bar. From such humble beginnings was Improv Everywhere spawned.

Their Youtube channel has recieved millions of views for their "Food Court Musical" (People stand and add verses with no seeming connection between performers' lives), "Frozen Grand Central" (Agents are planted in the infamously busy terminal and pause in position for three and a half minutes, drawing the attention and curiosity of the daily commuters), and the awkward "No Pants Subway Ride" held annually (It is what it sounds...).

This book, "Creating a Scene" is an insider's view of the work that goes into these "victimless" pranks, and first person accounts, views, tips, and suggestions for how to pull them off on as smaller level in your community. My favorite one to read about was "the Moebius," a mission that revolved around a group of 7 "agents" performing the same series of actions for an hour of 5 minute loops. By the third iteration, people began to notice the pattern. The video quality for the prank (found on Youtube) was spotty, grainy, and sounded mostly of murmurs. Still the person carrying the boombox blaring "Shiny Happy People" was pretty funny!

Good book, though odd. These NY pranksters have greater plans for the entertainment and bemusement of Big Apple natives and tourists for years to come - It is New York! A crazy country all to itself. From "McDonald's Bathroom Attendant" handing out mints and cologne to cheap eatery visitors to "Dead Author Meet and Greet" with a fake Anton Chekhov at Barnes & Noble.

Gamed inspiration.

I have wings of hope upon which to fly.
Not all poetry must needs to make readers cry.
I am but one in a sea of these people,
yet I stand firm on my platform- determined not to be shown feeble.
I have failed in the past, made my mistakes-
crawled from the depths of real passion and faked.
I am not disillusioned, but I will not despair.
I have a Savior, as John C. Cooper declared.
My Lord gives me purpose, a song which to sing.
Whether whispered or shouted, his Name to be praised.
I am destined for more than this frail world of pain,
with pockets of beauty, of hope, of new days.
I am a child, matured through His love.
I will strive to be faithful, to raise others above.
Whether I be trampled, stripped, or defamed.
I rest on His mercy, guided by His grace.
I may falter, I may fail, but never remain defeated,
for my destination was bought through His nails.
Through His suffering, I have received clothes of white-
through his crimson blood, my soul has gained flight.


That is what comes of staying up late, posting threads to an iTouch game forum wall of desperate poetry. The bulk of what was considered poetry was "Woe is me, profound sorrow, and pain."
Poetry can be beautiful, can be lovely, can be inspirational. Mine is not particularly exemplery, but I have my moments.

Commitment, or is it?

I talk too much at times. But I need some discipline in my life, thus I will post something that comes to mind every other day for a week. This shall be fun and challenging. The pictures on my page don't change for a reason - they rest in limbo as they suit the character of my page. I really have been listening to She & Him:Vol. 2 and love its sound immensely. As for Hood? It was a birthday present a couple of years ago. I read it voraciously upon its arrival. Alas, the sequels in the trilogy were long in coming, and by then I lost the thread. The same phenomenon has occured with del Toro's The Strain Trilogy - I am reading the Fall on my breaks @ my library job. Ironically, my revival of its undead contents is succeeding. (I think, at least. I still don't necessarily recall just who Gus is!).

Also, I am rediscovering albums from my childhood. While driving my Avalon, I listen to MP3's of Phillips, Craig, and Dean's early 90's work, and the ever relevant Michael Card. My new favorite Card classic is called Why?, but perennially dear to me are God's Own Fool and Final Word. I am also attempting to read Kaleb Nation's Bran Hambric: Farfield Curse book in my free moments. I finished John Green's zombie apocalypse novella Zombicorns, which he insisted was not his best work.

Premise of Zombicorns? A strain of corn causes its consumers to fall in love with the plant. The "Z'ed up" devotees dedicate their lives to the protection and propagation of the corn. They will eat anything but the sacred corn, which the "Z'ed up" plant willy-nilly in the ruins of Chicago. The protagonist is a girl named Mia whose family was overcome by the corn's mind control. She had to "complete" her parents with an AR-15 to avoid eating the corn and subsequently becoming the plant's slave. Mia lives with her dog, Mr. President, in an underground bunker. She survives on canned tuna and bottles of wine. The plot thickens when she meets a fellow survivor who wields dual M-16's in a mission to kill as many of the Z's as possible.

The novella is not very long - 60 pages at most, but for a John Green follower, it satiates a fix for a little while. Thankfully, there is very little swearing, as there are very few characters for which to swear in the tale.

More forthcoming soon.
Good night, Good Fortune, Godspeed.
Journeys have purpose.

An Overdue Poem (two reviews)

Oh, how I love being up late!
It has been consistent for a while (if I must be straight)
It is the power of the Mountain Dew, I have slurped it as a slushie and ice-laden brew
But, 'tis my readers who should be the tone of my verse - I am an amateur writer (and my voice is not terse).
My readers are patient, as my keyboard flings couplets true.
I am not a William Shakespeare, but I have gifted this to you.
I hope you enjoy, my words and my thoughts.
Although I have been sporadic at best, I wish I were not.
The longer I stall, the less I will write.
(I never quite finished the Carol Burnett entry that night!)
I read P.G. Wodehouse's "Code of the Woosters."
My review would be insufficient and Jeeves needs no booster.
I find myself saying "Yes, Sir," as a symptom of that character's style.
Though explaining the book's humor would take a good while -
Wodehouse's laughs are intricate in scope, linking to other stories he wrote.
The situations are invariably over the top, Bertie digs his own graves, then blindly flops.
Jeeves rescues his Master, though I can't figure why -
The butler is so brilliant, "What ties him to Bertie's side?"
The stakes are so high, Bertie Wooster is always on the brink of disaster.
Jeeves always comes through with a last minute plaster.
Augustus Fink-Nottle is my favorite part, a newty nerd who is feckless and has a good heart.
Madeline is a dreamer, all up in the clouds. She spouts poetry (which creeps Wooster out).
Former Regional Justice, Mr. Bassett suspects that Wooster is a criminal
(among other defects). Aunt Agatha is sharp, with her hunting horn yell.
But is now relegated to writing a ladies paper, which sells rather well.
Uncle Tom is paranoid and craves silver of old.
Bertie adores them, if only for Anatole.
That cook is an artist, beyond all compare.
To eat at Anatole's table is a delight akin to heavenly stairs.
When exiled from Agatha's estate and the food served there,
Bertie is flummoxed, and feels like a man without air.
Enough about Wodehouse! Though I hope you enjoyed this.
My readers, so dear, to have your attention is pure bliss!
I am reading the bio to Alison Arngrim. She played Nellie, the Little House villain...
Her childhood was maimed by distracted Mom and Dad.
Her older brother abused her, in a manner quite sad.
That brother was a teen idol, a heartthrob of 15 minutes in the sun.
But also a druggie, a sadist, who brooded like a melancholy hun.
Alison got her break in the Little House on the Prairie run.
She befriended Melissa Gilbert, or "Laura." "Mary" on set was the diva-ous one.
The book is told very tongue-in-cheek, "Nellie" gave Alison a role in life to defend.
Her character taught Alison how to stand strong, her brother no longer could deal her wrong.
The show itself was a story behind the scenes - heaviest dresses when the sun came down in molten beams. When winter arrived on set, however, the costumes were not designed for the weather! To shoot ahead of time, Michael Landon would plan - seasons in advance.
(He was a hardworking man.)
The makeup and hairstylists were rulers of backstage - no fighting or frowns allowed in the territory, or glares of rage.
Alison befriended these workers and was awed - these were the best in the business, their workmanship without flaws. Some did Marilyn Monroe's makeup and Bette Davis' hair!
Alison's famous curls cost a pretty dime - the most expensive hairpiece in TV at the time.
(With the faux hair came excruciating pain, each time Alison moved, the pins dug into her natural mane).
That is all that I've read, all that I gleaned.
Hopefully, my readers, my next post has better sheen.

One last piece of verse
As it is my tradition
Hope you enjoyed this!