My usual mental process goes like this. I think in conversations.
1: I’m awake.

2: Of course, now rub the crap out of your eyes.

1: Okay. (commences to do so) I really don’t want to get out of bed. (groans)

2: You really should. You have class.

1: Fuck class, I’m tired. (rolls over)

2: You know, if you keep on missing class, it’s going to adversely affect your grade. Then your GPA will go down, and you’ll be disappointed. Aren’t I right?

1: Shove it.

2: But I’m right!

1: I didn’t say that. I don’t care about my GPA.

3: Yes you doooo.1: Go away.

2: She’s got a point. 3, I mean.

1: Both of you, go away.

4: Fuck it, man, fuck it all. Fuck society and what they tell you!

1: Hurrah!

2 and 3: YOU, OUT.

4: Fuck you, dumb bitches. Let the girl sleep.

5: And the more she sleeps, and the more she misses class, the worse she will feel. Pretty easy concept.

2: Thank you, 5.

3: And don’t you want to be smarter and know more?! Knowledge is power! You won’t succeed if you don’t go through with college!

4: That’s what society wants. (brooding)

1: SHUT UP SELF. (groans)

5: It makes sense logically. You know your emotional process: you don’t go to class, and you feel bad for doing so. Then, you worry about what you’ve missed, but because you’re self-destructive, you avoid finding out what you need. You reach an even more ignorant state, and get angry at yourself. To punish yourself for such insipid behavior, you don’t go to class. And the cycle begins again.

2: She’s right!

3: Indeed!

4: Man, I wish I was an insect. No emotions, no feelings, just duty…

7: We could join the military.

5: You have no say here. You’re a criminal.

7: No I’m not. I’ve just been neglected due to the fact that she doesn’t want to admit to the fact that she wants a relationship with “romance” involved.

2: You want her to do bad things.

7: …Sex isn’t bad.

3: But it inhibits learning!

7: She doesn’t know anything about sex.

5: Sex causes emotional attachment, and isn’t good for her right now.

4: It only causes emotional attachment because she’s been brain-washed to believe that sex is more than two sacks of flesh grinding against each other.

7: Uh, I’d say it’s better than that…man, you’re angry, 4.

4: Fuck you.6: ‘Kay! (smiles)

5: Quiet, both of you.

2: She’s been ignoring us. Get up!

3: Please? I really want to learn some more Chinese characters. And then we can go to Japanese class and learn more kanji, and then we can discuss really cool stuff in Philosophy! Oh my God! (excited)

4: I only like Nietzsche.

7: That’s because he’s an angry atheist. Grr! But really, let’s do something to relieve the stress. A smoke? Maybe some self-injury? How about too much alcohol?

5: (sighs) No. That’s not good for her, and she’ll feel guilty about it.

1: (makes gurgle noises)4: She’s going back to sleep. That’s what you get for babbling on about standards and what she “should” do.

7: 4, you can totally alleviate your frustration by having anonymous sex.

2: You really are bad, aren’t you? She needs to get to class! Get up! Go forth and conquer!

3: And leeeearn!

4: Oh, fuck this.

7: I think she wants a blunt.

5: She does not. You and 4 go have fun.

7: I have permission? Oh whee!

2: …That was a bad idea.

5: Well, I can’t be perfect.

2: Of course you can. That’s your goal, right? To be perfect in every way, or at least in almost every way?

5: That makes sense, but it will never happen.

3: But it could! She just needs to leeearn!

5: Unless 4 and 6 decide to depart, she never will.

1: (gurgles and groans) I hate my emotions.

5: I know, aren’t they troublesome?

1: You guys are too. “Oh, I have to learn. Oh, I have to grow up. Your anxiety doesn’t have to control you, you’re self-destructive, blah blah blah.”

5: But that’s what it’s doing, and you’re only hurting yourself!

2: And that’s what makes you feel awful!

3: And stops you from completing your goals!

1: That’s not it, guys. This is the formula: 1 plus 2 plus 3 plus 4 plus 5 plus 7 equals 22. I am 22.

22 is my lucky number, but 6 is the missing facet. I’m still searching for her.

Comic to accompany post soon.

Tonight, I attended the play “Our Town.” I assumed it was going to be a light-hearted musical about two people falling in love in small town. Oh, how wrong I was. Instead, the third act ended on quite the depressing point: the young woman died in childbirth, and is speaking with the other souls who sit at their tombstones. The whole play is actually about relishing every minute of living; we are just ignorant and blind souls who take life for granted, and when it ends, all we are left are ever-fading memories. I didn’t expect this, and I left the theatre with a heavy heart.

It was bitterly cold out, and the wind was blowing. If it weren’t for that wind chill, I would’ve been fine, but the weather only heaped more sadness upon me. Also, I have a love/hate relationship with the night. Because of an astigmatism in my right eye, every lamp-post, street light and car blinker looks like a bursting star. Where I live, the sidewalks of downtown are lined with lamp-posts, so, when gazing down the street, the darkness was constantly invaded by exploding lights. They just shine too brightly, and give the world an eerie glow. It’s odd, because it’s not the darkness I’m afraid of at night, it’s the light. It’s how it shines and how it acts. It acknowledges the fact that is widely accepted as the better side, the thing that people want to stand other, the illuminating factor. Yet when you see through a strange eye and your imagination runs as actively as mine, the light looks like a monster, a bunch of too-bright monsters lining the street.Because of all the lights and the darker patches they create with their intensity, my shadows morph quickly. I am one person, I am four. I am tall as a skyscraper, I am no longer there. As I walked through the bitter cold, my hands in my hoodie pockets, my pants pockets stuffed with electronics and cards, I kept my shoulders hunched and let the cold air infiltrate my nose. For some reason, this keeps me awake, and seems to revitalize me so that I don’t feel any fatigue while walking. At first, I waited for the bus, and waited. A woman offered me a cigarette and I kindly refused. She coughed, the phlegm sounding thick as molasses, and I thought, “This is why.” I wasn’t sure if she was homeless or not, but I felt pity for her, all wrapped in blankets and make-shift scarves while waiting like me. After awhile, I gave up, and started my trek home. The world was pretty much silent, besides for the music booming through my earphones. There I am, pale and wide-eyed like a white cat caught in the headlights of a car, walking at a steady pace back towards home.

I could not stop turning around.

No one was following me. No one has ever followed me. I have never followed anyone, actually (unless directed). Yet the world at night, in a town I don’t know well, with its slinky alleyways and barren parking lots, with its groups of students laughing as they head to the nearest club or bar, with the lone woman smoking a cigarette and coughing up the remnants of her lungs as I stare blankly at the world around me. It was beautiful, but it was vicious. It was a juxtaposition; college students and the poor, elegant buildings of plantations and projects in the ghetto, the smell of expensive perfume and cheap cigarettes. Then, with all that light, and all that intense darkness, and the hills that slope and warp the landscape, everything was different. I was astounded, but I was afraid.

I had walked alone before, at night, in the dark, in highly populated places. My astigmatism has been with me since I was young; it bothers me while driving. Yet I felt very different, and very disconnected, as I made my way back home. My hands were constantly in my pockets and I sometimes straightened my back up so that I wasn’t so hunched. I kept on thinking I looked “sketchy,” but I could feel my facial muscles. My expression must of been one of tense fear and alertness. Look around the corner, and see that there’s nothing there. See a man by himself and he smiles congenially at you, but you glare at his shadow as it disappears from your peripheral vision. Keep on turning around and nearly tripping on your own feet, music ringing in your ears but not hindering thoughts of the supernatural and the unnatural.

That was me, lonely little college student. I only saw “Our Town” because I had to for a class. If I had known the content would’ve affected me so, I would’ve never gone near it. In the play, death was not an abstract idea or personified by a skeleton in a cloak; death was there, in my face, as the actors pretended to lift the coffin of the girl and settle it into the ground. I always think of death in a detached way, like something that is far off and will come in years, and something that I will be ready for. I will not die as a cripple. I will not die in agony, and if I must, it will be righteous agony. I will not die because of my own laziness. I’ve promised myself to die in a way that is glorious, not in flames but maybe as a beautiful image crystallized in ice. My expression, my last would be ever-present as museum-goers stare in awe. I dramatize and romanticize death, because that is the only way I handle it. “Our Town” gave death reality, and I disliked that.

I walk the line. I walk the line between reality and what is imagined. Sometimes I err on the side of the mind too much for my own good.

Let me preface this by saying that I am not an atheist, and that I’m not really bothered by anyone else’s beliefs unless they try to convert me. I am agnostic, for I am one who searches for proof. In my short life time, I have unfortunately found none at all; hence, I take everything from religious texts with a grain of salt. You could say I’m a cynical agnostic more than anything else.

I am taking an introductory course for Philosophy this semester, and although I enjoy the discussions concerning morality/ethics, religion, etc., I am utterly perturbed by the constant debates over the existence of God. My teacher’s assistant loves the philosophy of religion, and when we were reading Anselm (if God is understood in the conscious, then He exists in reality) and Paley (he established the theory of intelligent design), most of our debates ended up focusing on why humans were created and how God did so. I attempted to participate, but my knowledge of specifics in religion are hazy, so I sat back and listened. At one point, the pro-science physicist of the class went up to the board and wrote up a new theory about the Big Bang; basically nothing came together and created something in an infinitesimal amount of time. (That is what I understood of it, which is probably way off base.) My T.A. was flabbergasted at this development, for not only does it undermine almost all scientific modern theories, but it disproves the existence of God. Although I was astonished by my fellow student and T.A.’s vast knowledge of physics and space, I also know that science always one-ups itself and a new theory will appear soon. Oddly enough, the same applies for religion: a new theory of God’s existence will come up soon, and once again, there will be lengthy debates on the argument’s validity and sound-ness and premises.

I would not categorize arguments for or against God as idiocy; it shows that people are aware of their existences and still strive to figure out why they’re here. Yet when all of one’s time is spent wondering why God made us, and how God made us, or how particles or non-particles crashed together and created the universe, one is wasting life. Earth as a planet still yields new flora and fauna; the deepest parts of the ocean cannot be explored fully because of the limits of technology, but most likely there are life-forms beyond our wildest imaginations living down there, or at the highest peaks of mountains, or in killing cold or heat. It seems that because we have found all the land, we have stopped looking. We have stopped lifting up rocks, pushing back the long branches of trees, and gazing inside shells. I do not blame this on technology completely, nor do I think that all exploration has ceased, but this planet is beautiful and mysterious as is. When philosophers and even normal people with their own sets of beliefs debate whether God exists, they seem to forget about their immediate surroundings.

We have all suffered the death of a loved one. When the body expires, the person is no more. Hence, they do not exist. Do philosophers and those deeply entrenched in their ideas ever climb out of the abyss of thought and stare at the real world? I know that most humans can register emotions, and that with death comes grief, sadness, anger, and a multitude of other feelings; we also wonder where our loved ones go after they pass. Still, in all truth, what is the point? An interviewer speaks with a person about the afterlife, and the person sitting right next to them will have a different idea. Even if we are all the same race, even though we possess the same bodily functions and innards, every person is going to have a slightly tweaked vision of what death is like and what occurs after the body is exhausted. To me, it is useless to endlessly argue and ponder what created us and why. Every main point is going to have strings attached that will lead to in-fighting. Thus, no main points can truly be made. For example, look at Christianity. It has split into Catholicism and Protestantism, the latter of which has divided even more. The same has happened with science. Dedicating one’s life to the supernatural (which, in my definition, includes outer space, for some mechanisms of planets and other objects are not natural in relation to Earth and supersede it), philosopher or not, somewhat removes one from the current reality. Can one truly enjoy life when one is occupied by what happens after, or why/how it occurred in the first place?I see debate threads online, I hear arguments on television, I see bumper stickers in parking lots advocating what side the person is on. Being dedicated to beliefs is one thing; being absorbed by them is another. Humans will probably define themselves by their beliefs until certain questions are answered, but being prejudiced against another person because they think God may (or may not) exist is just silliness. We have so many division lines already: race, gender, sexuality, nationality, and specific religions themselves. What I cannot fathom is why people refuse to agree to disagree and move on with their lives. As of now, there are things that we do not know. Why should we waste life trying in vain to discover these things when 1) we have a beautiful world around us full of wonders just waiting to be explored and 2) once we die, our existences cease. Thinking and writing and enjoying debates at times is fine, but a life composed only of pondering is, to me, a life wasted. Through all this fighting we’ve subconsciously realized that these questions will not (and maybe cannot) be answered. A life chasing after them is a life of futility.

So, if you’re a theist or an atheist, I hope that something you’ve read here (or anywhere, I do not count my writing as revolutionary) has planted a seed of understanding in your mind. Live life and enjoy it; stop fighting and work out the kinks within individuals and society. We will evolve, and maybe the answers will be handed to us, but for now, we can make progress in other areas. Let God be. For all we know, maybe that’s His plan anyway?

Okay, I’ve deleted two posts in 20 minutes. Stop that, Dev.

Anyway, I didn’t feel like having “Danger Danger Young Woman” up any more because I looked like an ass, really. I was mortified after re-reading. Also, Fack, I know you meant well, but your comment was kind of hurtful. I take what you write seriously because I consider you a friend, and I hated that you were disappointed in me. My entry to replace that one was an angsty, immature response to you and others pointing out my naivete and I didn’t want to make an ass of myself again.So, I apologize for all the deleting and acting like a fool turkey.

Moving on, you know that novel I was talking about? Well, it never happened. I started to write the idea and as soon as I did, it died. It just went kaput. To be honest, I have no idea what to do about this issue and I’m thinking that short stories may just be my one and only forte. Then again, I could apply myself and write something (anything at this point), but I’ve tried that as well, and it was like my brain took every good idea and shot it out via my ears. Hell, I’m even stuck in a rut when it comes to fanfiction, and I was on a roll there for awhile.

I seriously think it’s the season. I’ve looked around at the other PPP sites, and only a few people are sticking to schedule. With others, life has gotten in the way and they just don’t have enough time. (Really, it’s only Fack who’s updated like crazy. I send rays of envy at you, damn Australian.) Hopefully I’ll have an epiphany for an amazing novel idea and I’ll be able to write. I’m actually contemplating participating in NaNoWriMo this year. Even if I don’t get to the word count, at least I would have to force myself to write. Have any of you dear readers done that? I’d like to know how it went.

Anyway, I’m off to hit my head repeatedly against a wall or desk. If you want to read something substantial, scroll down to “Tune In and Tap Out.” I’m actually sort of proud of that entry. No one’s commented on it, so I’m guessing that because of its length and lack of brevity, no one’s read it. If you have, great! I apologize for not posting anything similar in quite awhile. If you haven’t, go get your Deviation fix. I apologize, but that’s all I have. 

There have been numerous articles in such esteemed magazines as Time and Life discussing a newly-emerged problem: people in their teens and 20s losing their ability to hear early-on because of ear-buds and loud music. Of course, damaging one’s ear drums and causing irreparable problems is no laughing matter, and is definitely a serious one. Still, there is a bigger issue tied in with technology, and it mainly affects one’s view of the world. Let me explain.

MP3 players such as the iPod, light-weight laptops, and cell phones can be seen everywhere nowadays. As a college student, everywhere I look, at least three people are on a cell phone in a 10 feet radius; others are working on their computers (including myself). While walking to class, a large number of people put their earbuds in and listen to music along the way. Now, my campus is very hilly, and it does help to have a fast beat to speed-walk to, so listening to music or being engrossed in a cell phone conversation can be good. What I’ve noticed, though, is that a lot of young people do not pay any attention to the world around them.

My campus, along with its rolling hills and beautiful architecture, has an abundance of nature; huge trees with long branches and manicured green grass are on almost every road and sometimes take up large areas. The feel is one of a combination of antiquity, the days in which glittering skyscrapers were just things of imagination, and current lifestyles, with students learning and gaining new knowledge while in class. Yet, I don’t see anyone admiring what we have; everyone is too busy talking on their cells or listening to their favorite songs. Yes, with nature, there comes the nasty things, like roaches (I saw two in the same night, and I ran and screamed like a squeaky little girl), but what about the delicate vines creeping up walls, or the flowers blooming elegantly along the sidewalk, or a cardinal’s song ringing out? Everyone is so tuned into technology that the intricacies of earth are just passed without a second glance.

With new advances in science come the downsides. With handheld, or “personal,” technology, more and more people are forgetting what the outside looks like. When it comes to interacting with other people, one cannot hear what another’s saying if some music’s blasting. So, people begin making judgements based primarily on someone’s appearance. For example, I have my iTunes playing, and there is a girl sitting nearby me with her computer. I look up at her, and make an automatic assumption about her personality based on her looks: she’s blonde, and thin, with a tan. She’s wearing sports shorts and flip-flops and some kind of school spirit shirt from her high school. From information gathered from my own experiences, I automatically place her in the “jock/sorority girl” category. I can’t hear what she’s saying, and because she’s busy with her technology (as am I), I cannot go up to her and socialize. She probably sees me, with my huge earphones, Power Rangers shirt, and sneakers, as some geek madly typing away at something that wouldn’t pique her interest. For all I know, she could be into Norwegian death metal and enjoys practicing Wicca. For all she knows, I could be rushing right now and that I like to party until dawn.

Humans are judgmental creatures, and there’s no way around that. Opinions are judgements; people decide what they agree with by judging the criteria in front of them. Facts come forth from judgements made by other people who are qualified in a specific field (i.e. Newton and the law of gravity. Gravity is a fact, and Newton was qualified in science to figure out such a notion). Being “judgmental” does not have to possess such a stigma, for without opinions and facts, and without the ability to assess situations, humans would be ignorant and not considered “higher-level” creatures. We would not be human, essentially. Yet, we need most, if not all, of our senses to make clear judgements about people. We need to not only see them, but hear them and smell them, and sometimes touch them. We need to know their little ticks and mannerisms and know what they talk about, how they react to a poke or a tap on the shoulder. Information like that leads us to make deeper inferences about the other person. With technology inhibiting our ability to do so, we only get half of the picture. Then, when get around to congregating minus our mechanical devices, we express our assumptions. Because everyone else has been doing the same thing, we, for the most part, agree. Assumptions turn into opinions, which then become solid judgements solidified in our minds. Judgements can then be warped into stereotypes, as in my example above.

Personal technology is also a form of escapism. By tuning in and allowing the world around us to seep together and become one big blur, we are more liable to ignore important issues. As shown in my entry “The Big Green Elephant in the Room,” I am not one for environmental fanaticism. Still, if we cannot pay attention to our environment because we are immersed in technology, then it will fall apart. We will also continue to pollute it, for we can ignore what experts have to say about our actions. Human interaction is becoming more and more limited as young people spend more and more time on the computer and phone. Although I enjoy the Internet a lot, I like talking to my friends face to face, hearing them laugh, seeing them make hand gestures, giggling when I poke them in good fun. On the phone, we can get voice tones, but that’s about it. Body language is not there, so we cannot decide whether a person is telling the truth or not. On the Internet, it’s even more limited; emoticons and abbreviations can only reveal so much. Even the most blunt statement can actually be sarcastic. Yes, we must decide what the person means by who said person is and what he/she is saying, but sometimes sarcasm and other subtler forms of communication are lost in translation.

The movie Wall-E addresses this. The humans are portrayed as constantly tuned into their television sets and built-in communication devices; they never move from their advanced versions of Lazy-Boy chairs. They are unhealthy and don’t notice the stars and sky outside the ship. If technology continues to progress in the manner that face-to-face communication and the senses are continually inhibited or altered, then we may just end up like those people in Wall-E. The solution lies in showing people how the world can be stimulating and interesting minus MP3 players, cell phones, and laptops. How this can be brought about is hard to figure out, and probably differs from area to area. In closing, the message that the planet and its inhabitants are perfectly intriguing as is needs to be spread.

Note to readers: I will be updating weekly from now on, upon orders a request from R.T.If there is any change, I will let you know.  

There are a few reasons why I absolutely love the song “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by the Charlie Daniels Band.  My best friend introduced it to me while on a car ride to the mall one time; I had never heard it before then, but the lyrics and instrumental artistry really impressed me. I’m not a big fan of country music, but there’s something outstanding about the song that separates from what I think of as “country.” I do respect most musicians, and from what I’ve heard, many of the genre’s instrumentalists are extremely talented. Yet, I can’t stand the twang in the voices and strings. In this song, though, everything fits seamlessly together. My best friend knows all the words as well, and so every time I hear it, I imagine her singing it while we drive down the highway, and I remember my perplexed expression.

A few months later, Guitar Hero III was released. I thoroughly enjoy that game, although I’m not the best player in the world (I still haven’t beat the Hard setting yet). Still, another friend of mine told me that “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” was the boss’s song, and I was filled with glee. The game developers transferred the fiddle parts to the guitar very well, and defeating Lou (a.k.a. Lucifer) is quite fun and satisfying. When I did it for the first time on Medium, I definitely struck some rock star poses, then danced around the room like one of the Devil’s imps.

What I love most about this song, though, is how easily the imagery pops up in my mind. In my mind’s eye, I can see the Devil, either in a humanoid form or with his horns and goat’s feet, holding a fiddle and smirking as he challenges Johnny, a good ole’ country boy with a piece of hay in his mouth and a straw hat on his head, to a contest. The demons pop out of the ground, and one in sunglasses with a beer gut taps the drums ferociously. Every lyric corresponds to a picture; everything is supremely clear, even to those without rampant imaginations like my own (it goes a little crazy sometimes).

In modern music, I haven’t come across a lot of bands or songs that bring forth such a story into my mind. When I listen to music, I imagine music videos in my head, and sometimes they correspond with the song’s theme or some lyrics here or there. For example, M.I.A.’s Bird Flu generates views of poverty and war mixed in with trippy dance routines and splashes of techni-color. Chevelle’s Closure tells a story of a man overwhelmed by his need to possess a woman he loves, so he ends up raping her; the video I “created” for this implies the crime by focusing on the man’s obsession.  Upon hearing Coldplay’s Viva la Vida, I saw the fall of a great man through his own deeds. Still, with these songs and others, although they tell a story via a mixture of words and sounds, the interpretations vary widely; that is, one listener may find Bird Flu to center around M.I.A.’s rapping skills and usual subject matter, while others may have not understood the last line in Closure {“And I rape my love”). 

With “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” I believe that every listener will have the same, or at least very similar, images running through his or her head. There are no variables or subtleties that may alter one’s opinion. I find the song to be a unifier, a work of music that puts everyone on the same wavelength.

I am not at all trying to discredit modern music, or music that deviates from this type; I’m all for interpretation, themes, motifs and such. With the U.S. divided by so many different opinions and ideals, it’s nice to find just a piece of something, one little bit of art that everyone can see. I don’t think anyone would disagree that “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” is, indeed, about the Devil going to Georgia. 

It was a humid summer night in the Deviation household, and the blogger sat on her couch, craving ice cream. A few days earlier, she and her parents had gone out to the local supermarket and picked the best of the best in cakes: the beloved Carvel cake. Inscribed in dyed red icing was “Happy Birthday!”; delicate waves of blue frosting sprinkled with flat round candies and small strings of yellow and green edible decorations tempted her to devour the thing whole. Yet, she abstained, and waited until the trio arrived home. Then, with the vigor of deprived wolves, the family dug in, ignoring the stain of blue on their fingers and lips as they thoroughly enjoyed their cake slices.

The cake had remained there in the freezer, waiting to be eaten, and after a long day of trekking to the outside mall and shopping in near 100 degree weather, Deviation wanted a big slice of that ice cream cake. Humidity hated her and she loathed it with a deep, unrelenting passion. It sapped her energy and made her sluggish and disagreeable. She knew the cure to her heat-induced lethargy was some of that cake, and so, while narrowly avoiding her two psychotic cats in the process, she headed into the kitchen. Opening the freezer door, she removed the cake box with care and took a moment to stare at its lovely chocolate and vanilla form. Oh, those chocolate-cake-sprinkle-things! Their deliciousness boggled the mind. Cake box in hand, she went to the drawers and retrieved a plate. Then, she grabbed a knife and a spoon, and stopped next to the sink, putting her items down on the counter. The area was a bit cluttered; papers and other plates crowded the space. Still, she persevered, and cleared some of the items in order to cut the cake.  

With that, she dug in with the knife, slicing the frozen cake with some trouble. After a bit of a struggle, she freed the piece from its surroundings and, with the help of the spoon, transferred it to the plate. As she moved, the cake box shifted, and just when the slice plopped down, the plate slipped off the counter. It landed with a resounding thud onto her toe. She yelped in surprise and pain; the plate hit the floor and shattered into a few large pieces and some very pesky small ones. Blood came forth from the wound and immediately obscured its true size and depth. In a frenzy and shocked by the turn of events, she hobbled, yelling obscenities, from the sink to the nearby pantry closet. A sensation of fainting washed over her, but she knew the feeling, and dropped to the ground. 

The floor felt cold but her toe was burning hot. The blood was fresh and red, the color of a ripe tomato, and she dared not look at it for fear of actually falling unconscious. The T.V. blared in the background, and her cats, eager for something different to eat, flocked to the piece of cake, sniffing it with trepidation. She called out to her mother.

“Mom! I need some assistance!” Her voice peeked at the last word.

Grimacing, she laid back completely on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Bright lights brought green spots to her vision. She tried again.

“Mom! Help me!”Finally, her mother came out of her room

“What’s the matter?” asked Mama Deviation.  

She frowned, her hair falling in her face.

“The plate fell off the counter and onto my foot, and I’m bleeding.”

Mama Deviation paused for a moment, then she realized the severity of the situation. “Oh! I thought you were just kidding around or something. Let me get some ice, honey.” 

“Why would I be kidding around? And didn’t you hear the plate break?” Or my loud cursing and screaming? she thought, frowning again Mama Deviation shook her head as she returned, ice pack and towel in hand. She applied the package to Deviation’s foot, causing her to hiss in pain,

“You may need stitches for this. Let me see if I can get the swelling to go down.”

Deviation groaned at the thought of an ER visit. The last time she went, she waited for nine hours in a neck brace. She had fainted during the dissection of a mink, mostly due to heat and the smell of formaldehyde; the actual mink guts weren’t a problem. A few days later she couldn’t move her head from side to side, so she and her mother traveled to the hospital. It was a travesty; there were not enough doctors, and patients waited for hours on end just to be seen, let alone treated. After her injuries were concluded to be minor, she left vowing that she would never return.

Pain reigned for a long while, as she attempted to watch CSI, as she hobbled about some more to satiate her appetite. Her toe continued to bleed like a hemophilic child after tearing open his knee on the sidewalk; she felt silly and crippled, although it was not as bad as the crutches. (Nothing could top that.) Mama Deviation sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder in that comforting motherly way. The cats, once occupied by the cake (which Mama Deviation did clean up for her dear daughter), trotted over and tried to be nice. The boy kitten sat on her lap, warm as a furnace, while the girl eyed her without disdain, a rare treat these days. After two or so hours of therapeutic television, Deviation felt better, and tended to her toe on her own. It still bled, and bleeds at this very moment, but at least she did learn a lesson from this: Plates cannot be trusted, under any circumstances. They are out to get humans, period. 

—

As you may have noticed, I’m baaack! I know that my planned update day was the 28th, but time escaped me (as it usually does when I chase it with a roaring chainsaw). I will be leaving for college this upcoming Wednesday (or maybe Thursday, it depends on parental plans), so my updates will most likely be farther apart from now on. Although my schedule isn’t as jam-packed as I previously thought it would be, I do have to acclimate, and I’m working on some projects with R.T. and “solo” work for PPP (with artists, of course). My father generously purchased a Mac for my graduation/birthday, so to the Wife: I can now use BGJC without worrying about my computer going batshit insane! I can also use Wordpress much easier, so updates will be better. On that note, future posts will return to their slightly rambling longer, more thoughtful style. I would like to read your opinions and criticisms, so please comment. You do not have to, but discussion is enjoyable and it does wonders for everyone involved.

Do you remember this post? Well, to add to PPP’s writing repetoir, R.T. of The World Explodes! has commissioned me to write a novel. At first, he was thinking something along the lines of a fantasy series with multiple books, but I explained that such material is not my forte, hence leading to really shitty writing, to put it simply. The idea mentioned in the post has grown (albeit not fully), and after threats of death inquiries of why I hadn’t submitted any writing in a long time, I wrote up a synopsis of said idea for Mr. Barnham. The thing is long and heavy-handed, since it was done at four in the morning, so I won’t post it here. I will be typing up little snippets here and there, and I would definitely love for you guys and gals to give me any tips, constructive criticism, and the like. And yes, this is a badly-veiled attempt of me asking for comments, but this could turn into a full-fledged series one day; I need all the help I can get!

In other news, I will be taking a two-week hiatus of posting. For one, this whole week will be taken up by college orientation (oh six hour drive, how I love thee…) and then an anime convention (Metrocon, to be specific). I will be getting back from all this next week, and I will fall into bed and A) die or B) sleep that Monday into oblivion. Also, since I want to get the novel started, I’ll be focusing my attention on writing the outline for each chapter and churning out a rough draft. Lastly, there are those pesky college preparations along with the chores I’ve neglected to do around the house (the abyss, the abyss, my mother’s closet is an abyss!), so my days will be dedicated to them. So, the next update will most likely be on the 28th of July.

Ciao ’til then!

Warning: Disturbing content. Please read at your own discretion. 

As you have all noticed, I enjoy writing. Actually, I enjoy it a lot, and hope that one day it will take up a large part of whatever occupation I enter. In combination with that, I enjoy reading other people’s works and, if they ask, editing them. I try to give constructive criticism on the works I come across, but if I cannot (be it my mood, lack of sleep, or another variable), I, at the least, leave the author a short message stating that I liked the piece. If I didn’t like it, I usually don’t say anything, unless the person is open for concrit. I’m not very harsh of a critic because I find those who tear down a decent work to be pretty tasteless, unless the work is utterly, despicably horrible and just needs to be wiped off the face of the earth (which is rare, might I add). Even for my few years on Earth (which come up to less than a decade), I think I’m somewhat proficient in critiquing, and that I’m not a shabby writer. The lack of comments on my entries might point to another conclusion, but I digress. (Just kidding.)

 To continue, from time to time in this blog I will post entries pertaining to writing and writers, especially if I come across some work or aspect of a work that sticks in my mind and nags me to elaborate on it. I do not plan to discuss fanfiction as a whole, because 1) it’s been done a million times before, and I’m just non-conformist like that and 2) it can lead to somewhat heated discussions, and I’d prefer to not have a flame war going on in my comments section. Still, the topic of this entry (and later topics) may pertain to (and mention) fanfiction as well. Sometimes, I do find something so glaringly bad (or good) in fanfiction, as well as original works, so I feel I should spread it to the world via this blog. So, on to the topic: rape. Surprising, yes?

Actually, I would like to deal with rape and its effects, and how they are portrayed in fiction. In online jargon, the term “noncon” is used for any situation involving nonconsensual sex (as you most likely grasped); I’ll be peppering it in this post now and then for variety, but I wanted to clarify. Anyway, rape is a horrible violation of a person’s rights. It is a such a terrible act because it immediately snatches away the victim’s control of their body and their actions. For that period of time when the crime occurs, the attacked person is enslaved by the assailant; one loses privacy, personal space, and mental and physical ability when raped, for that control has been taken. Afterwards, the emotional scars are extremely severe and never fully heal.

I was taking all of that information into account when reading a friend’s story involving her main character in a dangerous situation. Said friend is into guro (gory pornography, in which there are usually many bloody injuries and/or a person being injured in various ways while having intercourse); she also likes BDSM. Now, this is her choice, and even though that type of thing isn’t my cup of tea, I find the ideas and mindsets behind them intriguing. For some reason, my friend was wary of me reading the story, since she thought it might scar my brain. Mind you, she’s younger than me by a few years and has not yet been informed that daily news programs and the Internet have desensitized me to a lot of things. So, because I was interested in her character and her writing style, I read the story. It was a rough draft, and needed some edits, but otherwise, stylistically, it was good.

What irked me was my friend’s utter disregard for the definition of rape. Her character, a female, ends up getting knocked out, and wakes up on a metal table tied up; the main male character procedes to torture her with sharp objects. It is made clear, through dialogue and description, that the female character is a “sub” who is in a dominant/submissive relationship with another man. The male character in this story is not her “dom,” and is doing these things without her consent. As the story continued, because the female character is a masochist, she begins to enjoy the pain inflicted, and the male character continues to mutilate her, and then has sex with her. The girl does enjoy the sex to some extent, since she is aroused by pain, but the scene changed from one of a rape to a hardcore BDSM (bondage discipline sadomasochism) plus gore sexual encounter. At first, the girl did fight; then, she gave into her “desires,” followed this man’s orders, and technically allowed him to have sex with her, even though it was against her true wishes.

I also read my friend’s boyfriend’s companion piece to the story, and he didn’t understand the defintion of rape either. His character, the afore-mentioned “dom,” saves her from her attacker, but he states that it “started out as a rape.” His character comforts hers but also chastizes her for enjoying the latter part.

This made me go, “Um, what?!”

To me, even if the character likes BDSM, the fact that another man is hurting her without her consent still makes it rape. This man was not her lover and forced her into that situation by knocking her out and then tying her to a laboratory table. What goes on between her and her partner is consensual, because the woman says it’s okay and that she would enjoy it and the man 1) knows her comfort levels and what she can take, 2) makes sure that it’s okay in the first place and 3) would enjoy it himself. The two care for each other, and what they do in their bedroom is their business. Yet, by the end of the story and within the companion piece, the characters seem to forget that what happened was not the woman’s doing. She did not want to have sex with the male antagonist. There are court cases which document that some raped woman did orgasm. This fact does not negate the rape because the man penetrated her without her permission; one can only fight physical urges for so long. I’m thinking that a woman who orgasmed during a rape might feel even worse because she “enjoyed” what the rapist did to her, even though it was only a physical reaction and not wanted by the mind.

This diluted defintion of rape is not an isolated incident. I am part of a Livejournal community that allows posters to rant about fanfiction. Many posts have been about younger writers’ use of rape as a plot device without any idea of how the character would be emotionally traumatized and physically injured by the act. Because of the many posts that pop up about this subject on a very large community, I’m a bit perturbed by the fact that, rape is not taken seriously by younger writers (mainly teens).

To conclude, if it’s noncon in the beginning, it’s noncon at the end. No exceptions. Your thoughts?

I remembered that in my first entry, one of the topics I wanted to discuss was the environmental movement. I’m thinking that most of you have been bombarded with advertisements and news reports on humankind’s impact on the environment and how, eventually, we’ll make the earth a very barren place if we don’t stop harming it.

Let me get one thing straight before I begin this “rant,” so to speak: ever since I was little, I’ve loved animals, and I’ve loved nature. I find the flora and fauna on this planet to be mesmerizing in numerous ways, whether it be the beauty of a butterfly wing or the grotesque features of an angler fish. Earth is a fascinating place that does need tender loving care; as a whole, we humans need to work together in order to preserve nature. Before we acquired knowledge, we horrendously hurt this planet. We can reverse this, though. It is entirely possible to keep the earth healthy and functioning, to save many endangered species, to have ecosystems thriving, and to find more economical and safer ways of harvesting energy. As we speak, scientists are conducting experiments to discover a way to reduce the amount of oil the world uses. There is one thing we must remember, though: We are part of the ecosystem. We contribute or detract from it, and it does the same to us. Environmentalism has been around a long time, since the late 19th/early 20th century, when Teddy Roosevelt was president (he established the national forest reserves). This idea is not new, but has been ignored for decades now, and has seemingly become a fun fad to endorse.

For example, I saw the movie “The Happening” a few weeks ago, and its main message was to treat the earth better. Although I agree with that message whole-heartedly, I was annoyed by the repeated hammering of that idea into my head. Yes, plants could “determine” us to be a threat, and try to eradicate us in order to survive; I totally got that. The continued implication did not cause me to ponder our relation to plants, but to want to step on the nearest dandelion. “You won’t mess with my brain, motherfucker!”

The movie, and what alleged modern ”experts” seem to forget, is that humans are more concered about themselves than the areas they inhabit. When we look back at history, even in the prehistoric ages, we see that humans work well in groups. These groups then form societies, which then create, as a whole, technological, cultural, economical, and political advances. The pessimists say that humans have not evolved much since early days, but, to use a contrite example, Neanderthals did not walk on the moon, did they? Their life spans were much shorter than ours; one of our finest achievements is developements in medical science. We can cure so many diseases that killed hundreds (and sometimes thousands) just decades before. Not only do we benefit ourselves, but with medicine, we help animals and plants as well; we know what harms them and what helps them, and can avoid the poisonous activities.

The vibe, so to speak, that I get from environmentalists (I suppose it’s better to say implication) is that the world would be better off without humans. Animals could roam freely and plants would grow over and eat up our offices and homes. They seem to forget that there were millions of years during which animals did rule the earth. Even then, by studying dinosaurs, we find that there was a hierarchy, a.k.a. the food chain. The Triceratops had to defend against Velasoraptors. When mammals entered the equation, the ancestors of rodents had to run away from the dinosaurs in order to not get trampled on or fed to hatchling dinos. Then, without explanation, the dinosaurs died or were wiped out, and mammals ascended up the food chain as they evolved. At the moment, humans are at the top right now; nature may conjure up a creature that could outstride us and cause our extinction. That is the normal course of things, according to scientific history. Environmentalists, at least those I’ve read about or encountered, don’t seem to comprehend that one day, humans will no longer exist. If technology keeps on growing at its current rate, we may end abandoning planet Earth all together in order to explore space further.

Environmentalism has an undertone of doom and gloom that really undermines its positive message. On the other side of the coin, its ideas can be utterly idealistic. The average American cannot afford a Prius nor energy-saving light bulbs. “Plastic” is the automatic answer at the grocery store for bags because the parent in line is more concered with paying for dinner than what happens if they don’t recycle or use paper. Many people must live in the here and now because that is their only option. Even for those who have some ability to make a change, there are other problems to consider: one person’s recycling is negated by a lack of recycling on another’s part. Some of those who could buy Hybrids instead purchase Escalades. Right now, what bothers the majority of people most is the cost of gas and oil, the economy, and the elections; for those living paycheck to paycheck, it’s whether they can pay rent for next month.

I may be a cynical yet naive blogger, but it seems to me that humans are inherently selfish. Once a tenant leaves his apartment, he no longer thinks about it and goes forth to enjoy his new one (or his new house). The environment that people live in is not the main concern; it’s what occurs in the environment that takes up all thought. People do not want to live somewhere that has a high murder rate; home owners’ associations violently oppose factory building near their developments; renters take their landlords to court if the heat is turned off. For people who do not have the time or money to care for their home, just having a roof to live under and the basic necessities is enough. Unfortunately, a large part of the American population fits into that category. They are not going to care about the panda or the overpopulation of deer or some rare plants’ existence if they are unhappy and unhealthy. As the creatures at the top of the food chain, there is a certain responsibility implicitly given to us to take care of the earth. We should not abuse it, but use what we can in specific quantities. We should not be greedy or stingy; everyone has to share. This is not reality, though. The U.S. consumes the most oil (98%). Some may cry for humanitarianism and aid for other countries, but then the apathetic or those lacking knowledge continue to waste. Selfishness (or those driven by pure need) negates selflessness (as in those with the ability to help others) and the indecisive continue to feed this cycle.

I am one of the indecisive, I’ll admit that. I vacilate between giving up on environmentalism all together or pitching in whole-heartedly. The problem’s root lies not in which people control which companies, or who’s rich or who’s poor and what their goals and desires are, but in the lack of communication among societal classes and an inherent inability to truly think of humans as a full unit, as a race. There are still too many division lines, whether they be religious, economic, political, or racial for people to come together and help the earth. For now, if we remain hierarchical, scientists and experts must provide various options for those of all status. In the future, maybe a catastrophic natural event will kick us into high gear.

Or maybe we’ll just get devoured by aliens. Who knows?