My "Novel" Continues...

Sorry I have neglected my blog for the past couple months.  My last days in Japan were a bit rough, and the transition from East to West was...interesting...

This would be chapter 2, part 2.  I wrote this back when I was still in Japan, so my mentality may have changed since then.  I think I will be surprised at what I read in it, as if it's the first time for me.  Oh, and the next sections will be shorter.

Vol. 1, Ch. 2, part ii

  At this point I know I'll never give up.  Still, I'm frustrated.  Angry.  I'm tired of conflict.  In fact, I don't even want to talk about conflict for a while.  You must be bored of it anyhow.  It does get boring.

  So, there I was.  Well, I really don't know where.  It was what one would expect from a wealthy, powerful organization utilizing fear tactics to reach it goals.  I sat in a medium sized room, with cold white walls and a grim charcoal border.  The ceiling had four rows of slightly stronger than standard fluorescent tubes, making the lighting in the room a mild irritant. (Yet, like a mosquito bitten sunburn, the vexations built on each other) The steel table painted black was accompanied by six foldable steel chairs, with a deep navy cushion.  My reaction to the"negotiation" was somewhere between a frown and callous disdain.  Or maybe those two fit together.  It was more like an interrogation room.

  The "negotiators" were stiff and shallow.  Not happy not sad, not anything.  They didn't have to be anything.  If the negotiators had any emotions, they were hidden behind their pathetic, wrinkled faces. Pathetic.


  Now, I'm letting my present attitude influence my perception of the past. It's a problem I have. This room was well hidden enough to make any conception of weather impossible; though, in that situation it was irrelevant to begin with. Why hide what they were doing? Any uprising from the public would be ineffective and temporary.  I suppose it was difficult to completely change the way they did things and the way they thought.

Stop.  No that's wrong.

  I feel like I just...I really...really want to look at something, but nothing in here satisfies me.  I can't find a single piece of stimulus that I'm able to focus on.  I'm going to do something in here.  I will.  It's like my fingernails are scraping over the top of the insignificant metal table, yet it's not enough.  It won't ruin it.  It won't make it end.

  Nothing happens.  I didn't do anything.  I sat.  Nothing.

Children

I'm taking a break from the novel I've been posting.  I'm still writing it, but I just want to post something else right now.

Last week was my last week of classes.  I mostly just played whatever was the favorite game for the class and took pictures.  In one class, there is a 7 or 8 year old boy who is always causing trouble.  Throwing things on the ground, hitting kids, getting up and walking around, and other disruptive outbursts.  Apparently, he has family problems and lets it out at school.  It's kind of sad for me because there is nothing I can do to help.  He seems to like me well enough, but he knows I don't really know what he is going through.

Well, on this last day with the class, we were playing this game where the kids are all running around.  Chaos.  He was being pretty good, but he wasn't really playing.  Something was wrong.  There is another kid who has a similar situation, and he was acting up.  The Teacher was attending to him.  Then something happened and the first boy I was talking about got upset and kept writing "shi ne" in Japanese on the chalkboard.  That means die.  It seemed serious.  The other teacher was busy with the other kid and I didn't know what to do.  I just walked over to him while still conducting the 5-4-3-2-1 countdown for the game.  I kept patting his head and shoulders and back which is about all I can do to show the children affection here.  I kept saying "daijoubu, daijoubu," which basically means it's ok, it's ok.  I kind of gave him a half hug arm around the shoulder and after about a minute he calmed down and started playing the game and having fun and didn't do anything bad the rest of the class.

I'm having trouble trying to think of how to explain the feeling, but it was good.  This kind of serenity.  I was so happy and satisfied.  After that, he had a hard time trying to pretend not to be excited to see me.  He asked me to sign all his stuff, it was adorable.  I will never experience anything like this time I spent in Japan in my life again.  My school and schedule were nothing like any other teachers I've talked to.

Today is my last day at Goshogaoka Elementary school.  I'm sad.

Vol. I Chap. 2

Here is my comment from the previous post, a fitting introduction:
"Now that my grasp for attention has been successfully secured I can move on to writing more, without the insecurity that plagues my writing. Just kidding, I'll definitely keep on with my insecure writing. Things take a little turn for the worse in chapter 2, but it should return to the narrative in my next post. I'll do my best to keep it interesting, but sometimes I trail off, like in real life. I seem to be giving myself a lot of freedom in this project anyways. Keep reading. There should be about a third of a chapter a week, more or less."

Ch. 2

  I'm tired of being on the defense. The truth is, I don't really have any skills. People just always told me I was doing good. I didn't even know what I was doing. How could it have been good?

  So, I feel about as low as I could at the moment.  Part of me wants to embrace this new environment and great opportunity, while another part of me thinks it's inhuman to let go of everything I knew and everyone I loved.  Now, I have a problem adults shouldn't have.  Children can't always tell the difference between reality and fiction.  It's like when I was a kid, about four or five years old.  I was watching T.V. and some movie was on and some parade was going on in the movie.  Suddenly, there was a murder scene.  Some lady was suffocated with a plastic bag and dumped out of the parade float onto the street.  People screamed.  I turned away, but it was too late.  That was the first time I had ever seen that kind of violence.  I felt an uneasy nausea and a tightening in my chest.  What was that?  I didn't know then.

  After that, I went to play with my toys.  The stifling feeling lingered.  I did the only thing I could.  I imitated the scene with my animal toys.  Typically, the one in trouble would be saved.  That was all I knew.  I think I had tried to save her, but I couldn't.  She died right in front of me.  Again.  I held them in my hands and she died.  I let it happen.  That was the first time one of my toys died.  It still hurts when I think about it.  I can't remember if I cried or not, though.

  That scene was so real to me, though I knew that television wasn't real.  Yet, the confusion was on the outside, with the world.  I suppose that's what makes this an adult problem.  Children don't question the reality of what they think and feel.  Is that really what I've been struggling with?  A distorted loss of innocence.  I don't even remember what I was writing to you about anymore.  Well, now I do.

  Right, I'm going to let you in a little.  I won't tell you the whole truth, just a little.  If you're intuitive you may figure it out.  That's enough clues for now.  I don't really have any special skill.  I don't "understand" things.  I don't know anything special.  I'm just a depressed guy who keeps abandoning people and things.  That's what I was supposed to tell you.

Vol I. Ch.1 part iii

I changed the title of my blog.  It seems to suit me better.  Also, I got tired of answering the question, no one cared anyways, and it's irrelevant now.  Though, the thought still lingers.  Regardless, I hope the symbolism in the new title is self evident.  There is no need to comment on it.  If you really want to, then by all means I will not hinder your expression.  Just really think about why you want to say what you do because I did and it stopped me from trying to explain it.

Well, that was excruciating and cryptic.  I will try to refrain from such diversionary writing in the future.
So here is the somber conclusion to chapter 1 of my novel, which I fear has not generated much interest.  I have both enjoyed and bemoaned writing it so far.  However unlikely it was for me to choose this project to see through, I'm glad I've at least taken it this far.  I suppose these posts are too long for the passing reader, yet I hoped some may read out of obligation and become interested in the character.  Hmm, that's got me thinking.  Anyways, here you are:

  The deadline for applications had ended. I never filled one out. You already know that. Still, I wanted to say it. At first, they thought everyone could come. The powers that be called on volunteers, asking for people to work for their own spot. They felt that the masses would be weeded out, and the strong would earn their place in their new society.

  Things really changed after the incident with Charles Dewey, an American of European descent. He was the face of the L.E.A.N. organization, officially titled the Liaison for the Evacuation of Allied Nations. Essentially, any nation that had a resource to contribute to the construction of a new society was able to join the Allied Nations. It was an investors club for world leaders. Charles Dewey was their charming mouthpiece. At 37 Years old, with a strong jaw, prominent brow, and perfect chest to waist ratio, including broad shoulders, Dewey brought the sense of strength needed for people to believe in the organization and themselves. In reality, he wasn't particularly strong, and he didn't have any real skills in engineering or construction or physics or anything really necessary to build those ships. All he was ever good at was talking and creating excuses. Excuses people gave in to. He knew how to get around things, how to get people on his side. People liked him. Dewey managed to be accepted by every kind of person.

  Still he was out there every day helping with the work.  Motivating others.  Maybe if he hadn't have been late that one day.  Maybe if it was some other day, but it wasn't.  It was that day, he was tired, he overslept.  The accident at the hydrogen testing laboratory probably would've happened if he was there anyways, but he had finally run out of excuses.  He wasn't a bad person, like I said, everyone liked him, even I did most of the time.  He received some bad press from the incident, but people were understanding and ready to forgive the "world hero."  Dewey really believed in all the political ideals he spread for LEAN.  He couldn't stop himself from feeling responsible for the accident.  It seems he wasn't quite as positive in private.  Sometimes you think of something so great but you don't write it down, and then later you get so sad when you can't even remember what it was about.  I don't think Dewey ever wrote anything down.  Just like in our world, political ideals weren't satisfying.

  Two weeks later, Charles Dewey killed himself.

  Obviously, the work went on, but people lost hope.  A wave of suicides swept over the world like...I'm just not in the mood to write anything interesting.  Charles Dewey is dead and in some ways I miss him, but who has the time and energy to miss people anymore.  Besides, if he hadn't of died I wouldn't be here.

  That's what makes me worry; I should have had the desire within myself to save my own life.  It took all that to get me here.  Two months later I was collected.

  Well this is all I can do for now.  I wonder what you think I'm trying to do, where you think I'm going with this.  Anyways, I'll send you more when inspiration strikes.

Vol. I Chap.1 Continued

In Japan, when I buy clothes, I'm a medium.



Now, here is a continuation of the science fiction mess I had started a few posts ago. Take it as it is. Though there are some less interesting parts, I think overall it may be worth something:

I hadn't realized that there were others in the vehicle, or I just hadn't cared until that point. Suddenly, I was ashamed that I urinated on myself but the shame dissipated quickly. I replied, "What gives you the right to decide that?"

He rebutted, "You're alive aren't you? You must be aware that the suicide rate has risen to 51.465%." A statistician possibly.

I wasn't in a conversational frame of mind.

I became frustrated but without focus. Although I hadn't thought of my situation from that viewpoint, and it was a valid point, I still felt weak. That frustrated me. However, my fellow captive was not to blame; I had no object of my frustration, just frustration itself. Maddening. I tried to think of a reply, some sort of explanation or excuse to justify my self-deprecation, but there was none; I knew there was none. So I said nothing. I felt weak.

Silence,

except for the noise of the transport, which modern technology beyond my understanding has rendered to mere white noise. I preferred the silence over conversing under fear and panic; I hate saying things I don't really mean. Unfortunately I was then able to focus on other things. My black cotton pants were soaked in urine, and the smell quickly became an irritant. The uncertainty of where we were going and how long our isolated confinement would last was aggravating. Struggling to gain control of my thoughts, I was able to slip in and out of consciousness. I never did learn how long we were in there, or where on Earth we ended up.

Yet, I knew what was happening. We were being collected, the Earth's most precious resources. They had been talking about it for months in the media, years in private. I felt like crying, so I did. I was weak. They didn't even know why I was part of their collection, I just was.

Re: The Moment Jars

To answer my own question first, I thought it would make me into the man I wanted to be.

Now to address Devon's questions on her provocative post. This a continuation from my comment, which went something like this (I had planned on copying and pasting it but it didn't work out):

Cherish? This is a two part. I was a little boy in Disney World with my mom and some friends. We wanted to go on one last ride, Mr. Toads Wild Ride (which doesn't exist anymore), before the fireworks, which were about to start. We thought we could make it. My mom knew we wouldn't, though she didn't try to stop us. When we went on the ride she acted like it was the best ride ever; she was very funny. In that moment she made it the best ride ever. When we came out and looked up, we saw that the fireworks had just finished. I didn't care though, and although I was only a small child, I realized how much my mom wanted me to be happy and how much she loved me. Though I didn't fully realize depth of this at the time.

A few years later, I still remembered that moment. And then, just sitting at home, I was able to understand more fully just how much my mom really loved me. Suddenly, a flood of moments filled my mind and I began crying uncontrollably, for my own personal psychological reasons. Then, of course, my mom found me and asked what was wrong, I couldn't explain myself to well, but mostly I felt guilty, and her loving concern made it all the more worse. I still think about these two moments.

I Wanted to be More Structured

"...and thus leaves me free of catatonic vice..."





I've never really been able to hold a schedule for more than two weeks. There are a few reasons for that. What's yours?

Initially I Viewed It as a Test

I think each title will be an answer to the question my blog perpetually asks.

Unfortunately, this entry's title has little meaning for the content therein. I recently saw the movie 2012. It was OK. However, I felt I could produce a much more interesting and provocative storyline than the writers for the movie were limited to, due to the need to make the movie accessible to the average movie goer.

My plan was to create a three part series spanning over three forms of media. First, a literary work based on the Apocalyptic theme, including the plans for survival and the destruction of society. Second, a graphic novel depicting the initial post-apocalyptic struggles and the reconstruction of society. Last, I wanted to record an album that drew on both themes. Although I am excited about this idea, I am also reluctant to commit to it. I don't know if I can stay motivated enough to see it through, or if I will have to time to work on it.


In any case, here is what I wrote as an initial test of my ability to see the idea through. I wrote it just a couple days afterward.

It was dark. Early morning probably. They were strong. Something my assets at the time could do very little about. In that moment I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be strong too. They forced me, because I was valuable to them, or more accurately, they thought I was valuable to them. However, using the very skills they wanted from me, I knew I wasn't.

I understand things, thinking men's things, in a different way. I hope to overcome my tendency toward the abstract when writing, but unfortunately my experiences have led me to develop "trust issues," as this state of mind is often called among casual acquaintances, which I hope we can be. If not now, then in time. Please, just don't judge me too soon; it makes me depressed. For someone who has "trust issues," I sure do like to talk about myself. No matter how much I write, I always seem to slip back into the same patterns. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. Please share your opinion with me later. I'm much more apt at conversing on the subject of thoughts and feelings than I am at describing concrete things. So, that's that. I've always wanted to be involved in psychology, and it's my own elusive psychological make up that interests me the most. (An example would be that right after writing the previous sentence, I wondered whether writing it was an explanation or an excuse.)

The essence of it is that I'm lonely. Powerfully lonely. That I understand, I just don't understand why. I've strayed far from the narrative, but writing these things is important to me, although I wish it weren't. Dark, blinded, slightly bound, and traveling. I hate their strength.

"Shut up, you fool. You are strong."

I'd been talking out loud.

I'm still not sure about this, but I would love to see a creative idea through to the end for once. Even if it isn't all that great.