The Bottle

Some things in life,
Are too good to ignore,
No matter how much you get,
You always want more,
Your heart overflows,
With emotions so true,
You no longer know,
What you're to do.

So you bottle it up,
Keep it stored deep inside,
Afraid to confess,
It's safer to hide,
Nothing to blemish,
If nothing is seen,
That way it stays perfect,
Forever pristine.

It wants to escape,
And make itself known,
You wish you had stopped it,
Before it had grown,
But now it's too late,
You're fully consumed,
Too big to contain,
Perpetually doomed.

Each day it grows stronger,
It's taking its toll,
You're starting to realize,
You have no control,
You can't pump the brakes,
It's going full-throttle,
If only you knew,
How to open the bottle.

Video of the Week: Hey Jupiter

Well, it's been awhile, but I've returned to the wonderful world of blogging. We're going to keep it simple today with what will hopefully be an ongoing feature. One of my favorite things to do is watch music videos on YouTube, so I figured, why not share? Now, in the past I've done so through analysis, but that's not really what this is about. This is just me sharing certain videos that I find to be remarkable in one way or another.

First up is "Hey Jupiter" as performed by Tori Amos on VH1 Storytellers. If true beauty has a sound, this song captures it. As an added bonus, the first time I showed it to my two-year-old son, he applauded at the end; the first and only time he's done that for a music video. Perfect song. Perfect performance. I love Tori Amos. Enjoy!

(For some reason its not allowing me to post the actual video here, but the link will take you right to it.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FK_qRHoEkJU

Woodland Meadows: Chapter 2

This is the first draft of the second chapter of my current project. Chapter 1 can be found here. As always, commentary is welcome.

Chapter 2

            Life was difficult for me immediately upon returning home.  I received no hero’s welcome.  I used to see stories on the news about these grand homecomings that soldiers would receive once their service was up, and I guess I had convinced myself that there was going to be a whole crowd of people cheering my return as I walked off of the plane and into the airport.  Nobody was there, not for me, at least.  Mother was already gone by this point and Father certainly had no interest in seeing me.  I don’t really have any other family.  Mother was an only child and her parents died before I was born.  Father has a younger brother, but they don’t have anything to do with each other.  His parents are also gone.  I met them when I was young, but I barely remember it.  The only thing that stuck with me was that Grandpa looked like a much older version of Father and smelled of musty linens. 

I should have considered my lack of any discernible attachment to home on the flight back to Cransfield, I guess.  I didn’t, though, so the lonely walk to retrieve my belongings from baggage was more than a little disheartening.  I got the occasional smile and nod from passersby, but barely anything beyond the way strangers typically treat one another.  I certainly didn’t feel that any of it was in acknowledgement of the sacrifice I had made for all of them.  I put my life on the line for these people, but that was of little concern to them.  It was beyond my control, so I tried not to let it get to me. 

Once my unobserved walk through the terminal was complete, I made my way outside to get a taxi to my new apartment.  My sergeant had a connection and got me setup with a place to live, as well as a job to help me get acclimated to civilian life once again.  I was to work in a warehouse at a local office supply company called Better Business Solutions.  The way Sergeant Taylor described it I would spend my days loading and unloading shipments.  I wasn’t overly excited about it, but I needed a job, so I didn’t hesitate when he presented the offer.  Sergeant Taylor’s a good man.  I hope he’s well.

I had a week before I started so that I could get myself situated.  My apartment was fully-furnished, but I needed to set up my utilities and such.  Those tasks proved a little more difficult than I had anticipated, mainly because I had never had to worry with such things before.  I lived with my parents up until Mother passed, and once she did, I immediately enlisted.  I couldn’t bear to live with Father by myself.  I likely would have killed him.  Honestly, I probably would have been doing us both a favor.  He’s a miserable human being with nary a single redeeming quality.  And he knows it. 

He managed to get himself on disability years ago after an accident at work that permanently damaged his spinal cord, so he hasn’t had to work since.  His back is mostly better now, but he can’t be on his feet for very long.  That’s why he started getting those disability payments.  The doctors said he was unable to perform his tasks any longer and an advisory board agreed.  That part is actually true, because he did construction, so the accident really did prevent him from being able to work.  The part that nobody ever found out about is that he was drunk when the accident happened.  I’m not sure how he was able to keep it a secret, but I guess alcoholics learn how to disguise their disease.  Father had perfected that art, but now that he doesn’t have a job to show up to, he doesn’t bother hiding his drunken buffoonery anymore.  He stumbles around the house in tattered sweatpants and disgusting little t-shirts covered in liquor stains, sweat, and vomit.  Mother used to do his wash, so I’m guessing he hasn’t worn a clean shirt in at least three years.  What a disgusting specimen.  I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.  Our last meeting before I ended up here in this hospital was not very pleasant, but we’ll get to that later.

The cab ride was quiet, but the driver did ask the occasional question about my tour.  He said he had wanted to serve when he was a young man, but was unable to due to severe asthma.  I found that amusing since he must have smoked at least three cigarettes during the 30 minutes or so we spent together.  I hate cigarettes.  Father smokes.

When we pulled up to the complex the chain-smoking old fool helped me to unload my bags and then extended his hand: “Thank you for your service, young man,” he said.  My hero’s welcome.  It’s better than nothing, I suppose.

I had to climb three flights of stairs to reach my new home because the elevator was out of service, but once I reached my destination, I was pleasantly surprised by the accommodations.  It was a quaint little one bedroom unit, but I had no cause for more than that, so it suited me well.  I had a crimson couch and love seat that both proved to be quite comfortable.  The television was bigger than anything I had ever had before, probably at least 24 inches.  It was very nice, but not much of a concern, because I’ve always found television to be rather useless.  I’ve known many people who found it to be a good conduit for creativity, but the reverse was always true for me.  

Books have always been my inspiration.  A good book isn’t watered down by gratuitous sex and violence like most of the garbage on television.  That’s why I generally don’t even bother.  I occasionally watch the evening news, though.  I like to keep up to date with what’s happening around town, even if it’s mostly negative.  The viewers must be drawn to such things.  They’re much more interested in the savages murdering each other for dope than they are in a hero like myself.  That’s why no one was waiting for me at the airport.  Perhaps I should have killed without cause instead of doing so for their protection.  Then Action 4 News would have sent a camera crew and a bimbo with dyed blonde hair to get an interview.  “Why did you do it, Cameron?” she would have asked.  “I don’t know,” I would have replied (People are much more interested if there’s not a reason.)  “Can you believe it?” the viewers would ask each other.  “He didn’t even have a motive.  He kills just for fun.  I hope he burns in Hell!”  That’s what they’d say to each other.  I could have been the star of their nightly bloodlust theater.  Oh well.

Besides the living room, I also had a kitchen with more than enough room to prepare meals for one, and a bedroom with a queen size bed, a wooden dresser, and a small desk in the corner.  I was drawn to the desk instantly, because it seemed a good place to read and write in my journal (with a pen, not with these silly crayons).  It sat next to a window overlooking downtown Cransfield, which certainly does not possess the world’s most impressive skyline, but I still find it to be beautiful in its own way.  After all, I spent my whole life here until I began my tour.  For better or worse, this dumpy little town is a part of who I am. 

    So, this cozy little abode became my home.  I thought it would be just what I needed.  No distractions, and most importantly, no Father.  It really was nice of Sergeant Taylor to help get me this place.  He said it was the least he could do considering I had saved his life.  I never would have asked for anything in return.  I saved his life because he was a good man and he needed my help.  I was glad to do it.  Nevertheless, it was a remarkably kind gesture on his part.  I hope he’s well.

The Immortal

As I struggle along the pavement, knowing that my time is running out, I can't help but ponder the nature of my existence. My purpose in life has been a simple one: survive as long as possible and further the cause for future generations. You see, we've been around for millions of years. In fact, we've been around about as long as any living creature. The reason, quite simply, is that we understand our purpose. We don't seek grand achievements, fame, or fortune. These are the trivial accomplishments the silly humans spend their entire lives chasing. They want to be known. They want to be important. Not us. We only seek longevity, not for ourselves, but for our species. We know our jobs and we do them well.

Personally, I've managed to have hundreds of children throughout my life. Many of them did not survive, but enough of them did to continue our proud tradition. The humans wish to eradicate us, but they'll never succeed. We'll be here long after they're gone. Not only are we more well-suited to adverse conditions that they cannot survive, but we also have a much greater understanding of what we have to achieve to keep the species alive. Did you know that there are humans who never have children? They're perfectly capable, they simply choose not to. Isn't that absurd? If you ask me, it's rather selfish. They live for themselves, with no regard for the future of the human race. Their genes vanish into the dirt without ever having been passed along. We don't have that concern. If we fail to procreate, it's not due to a lack of effort. The humans will never understand this. As such, they'll never achieve the immortality that we have. They'll be gone soon. We won't miss them.

This is what I think about as the pain courses through my body and I twitch uncontrollably onto my back. It was the humans. It had to be. They like to give us horrible foods that turn our insides into mush; a slow and painful death. They wish to eradicate us, but they never will. They may have gotten me, but I left hundreds in my place. And all of them will do the same... or die trying. Noble we are, part of a greater cause. The humans do not understand.

As I continue to struggle, fighting through the pain, losing complete control of my faculties, I see a rather oafish looking fellow approaching. He doesn't notice me at first, but when he does, he kneels beside me. This is a rare occurrence, indeed. Most humans would have kept walking, and that's only if they didn't smash me beneath their armored feet first. Not this one. He's watching me. The empathy in his eyes is sickening. It's an emotion I've never known. That's why we'll survive. We don't burden ourselves with such nonsense. From what I can tell, varying emotions are what prevent these imbeciles from doing their jobs. Not us. We do our jobs. Always.

He reaches out and turns me back onto my feet. Silly fool! I'm going to end up on my back again whether he likes it or not. Doesn't he realize that this is the end for me? Does he think that he can save me? He should have thought of that before his brothers turned my insides into mush. It doesn't much matter now, I suppose. He'll be gone soon. They all will. We'll still be here. We won't miss them.

2012 NFL Draft: Big Board I

Well, now that the Senior Bowl is complete, it feels like the draft process is fully underway. As such, it seems like a good time to bust out the old Big Board. Now, last season I geared my list more towards the Broncos' needs, but I'm going to try and avoid that this year, especially since Denver is in a much better position to go BPA (best player available). This is my Top 50 with three months to go (stay tuned for updates):

1. Andrew Luck, QB, Stanford
2. Trent Richardson, RB, Alabama
3. Robert Griffin III, QB, Baylor
4. Morris Claiborne, CB, LSU
5. Justin Blackmon, WR, Oklahoma State
6. Matt Kalil, OT, USC
7. Riley Reiff, OT, Iowa
8. David DeCastro, OG, Stanford
9. Quinton Coples, DE, North Carolina
10. Courtney Upshaw, OLB, Alabama
11. Luke Kuechley, ILB, Boston College
12. Dre Kirkpatrick, CB, Alabama
13. Mark Barron, SS, Alabama
14. Jonathan Martin, OT, Stanford
15. Melvin Ingram, DE, South Carolina
16. Devon Still, DT, Penn State
17. Michael Brockers, DT, LSU
18. Michael Floyd, WR, Notre Dame
19. Andre Branch, DE, Clemson
20. Ryan Tannehill, QB, Texas A&M
21. Kendall Wright, WR, Baylor
22. Alfonzo Dennard, CB, Nebraska
23. Janoris Jenkins, CB, North Alabama
24. Lamar Miller, RB, Miami
25. Dwayne Allen, TE, Clemson
26. Nick Perry, DE, USC
27. Cordy Glenn, OG, Georgia
28. Alshon Jeffery, WR, South Carolina
29. Fletcher Cox, DT, Mississippi State
30. Peter Konz, C, Wisconsin
31. Jerel Worthy, DT, Michigan State
32. Dontari Poe, DT, Memphis
33. Vontaze Burfict, ILB, Arizona State
34. Coby Fleener, TE, Stanford
35. Donta Hightower, ILB, Alabama
36. Brandon Thompson, DT, Clemson
37. David Wilson, RB, Virginia Tech
38. Zach Brown, OLB, North Carolina
39. Mike Adams, OT, Ohio State
40. Whitney Mercilus, DE, Illinois
41. Kelechi Osemele, OG, Iowa State
42. Stephon Gilmore, CB, South Carolina
43. Lavonte David, OLB, Nebraska
44. Mohamed Sanu, WR, Rutgers
45. Brandon Washington, OG, Miami
46. Jared Crick, DE, Nebraska
47. Zebrie Sanders, OT, Florida State
48. Orson Charles, TE, Georgia
49. Brandon Boykin, CB, Georgia
50. Chase Minnifield, CB, Virginia

Break It Down: Push It

This is an idea that I've been kicking around for awhile. Basically, I want to take a music video that I particularly enjoy, and then give my thoughts on it. Now, don't think of this as a series that's going to give you some sort of grand insight into any of the selected videos. I'm going to do my best to avoid too much analytical thought, as I would much rather you draw your own conclusions than be influenced by mine. That doesn't mean that I plan on avoiding the issue of symbolism and deeper meaning altogether, I'm just going to try to keep it at a minimum.

So, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get right to it. Our first video is for the song "Push It" by Garbage. I've been a fan of the song (and the band) since way back in high school. I used to listen to Version 2.0 over and over again in my room while I would work out ("Work Out Guy" doesn't live here anymore, by the way.)

It's a fantastic album overall, but "Push It" was always the song that stood out the most for me. I absolutely love the bridge: "This is the noise that keeps me awake. My head explodes and my body aches." And now I've heard the song so many times over the last few days that it quite literally is the noise that keeps me awake. And that's a trade-off that I'm more than willing to make.

Yet, somehow, in spite of my love for the song, I managed to miss out on the music video for all of these years. Honestly, I only stumbled upon it the other night because I had just watched the video for "Only Happy When It Rains" (Follow the link for a better sense of just how engaging a performer Shirley Manson is.) I'm very glad that I did.

"Push It" just might be the strangest thing that I've ever seen, yet it's still remarkably beautiful at the same time. It was directed by an Italian named Andrea Giacobbe, and the European influence on the cinematography is pretty evident. I'd say that it comes across more like a bizarre short film set to music than it does a music video. Maybe you should just see for yourself, because the rest of this won't make a damn bit of sense if you don't:

Weird and wild stuff. Holy shit. Where do we even begin? Let's get some basics out of the way first. Typically, it bothers me when the lead singer of a band gets all of the focus while the rest of the band toils in obscurity, but in this case, it works. To be honest, I view Shirley Manson as more of a lead actress in this video than I do a lead singer. None of the material would have quite the same impact without her serving as the vehicle to make the madness go. She's excellent; a perfect blend of evil, psychosis, and sex appeal. 

And on the rare occasions when the rest of the band does appear, it's done in such a slick way that it makes up for their collective absence in the rest of the video. I love the way they appear out of nowhere behind Manson during the bridge between the first two verses and the chorus. It kind of comes across like they (along with Manson) were the masterminds behind the demises of both Scribble Man (Wasn't he also in that crappy A-ha video from the 80s?) and Light Bulb Man. 

The second reveal is particularly good, because the original shot is of only Manson, but as it quickly jerks to the side, the rest of the band is magically there, while Manson appears stationary the entire time. Even the angle at which she's facing the camera never appears to change, despite the move. It gives the appearance that the background is what moved, as opposed to the actual shot. Very clever camera work/editing.

The other appearances by the band are also very compelling visually. Each shot is a simple pan of the members mouthing the chorus, interspersed with cutaways of various insane images. The thing that I enjoy the most is that Manson is both the first and last member in the lineup, and as each shot closes she touches the camera lens to transition to the next shot. 

One of the more interesting aspects of the video is that each of three main events (Scribble Man, Light Bulb Man, Evil Hooded Shirley) are shown completely in black and white. The lead-ins with the arrivals of the masked nuns, the child-zombie assassins, and Shirley with her "children," however, contrast with varying muted colors and tones. In fact, my favorite shot in the video is from the second story when the zombie children hand Shirley the briefcase. The kids, along with everything outside, are in color, while Shirley, and everything inside, are black and white. Very nicely done.

Of course, the main thing that jumps out in "Push It" is how utterly crazy the whole thing is. It would be easy to just take it at face value and say that it's nothing but a bunch of bizarre sequences and images randomly strewn together, but that would not be accurate. So, what does it all mean? Obviously, everyone's interpretation is subjective, so this is simply one man's opinion. 

We begin with the masked nuns and Scribble Man. It's established very quickly that he has some form of relationship with Shirley. The nature of that relationship is not important, but it is important to note that she is someone that he should be able to trust. Yet, as I've already mentioned, once the nuns are in the grocery store and in pursuit of Scribble Man, she steps aside and joins the rest of the band, as if she's ceding control of him to them. I love the panning shot across the aisles because it gives a sense of impending doom. No matter which aisle you look down, they're there. It gives the feeling that they can't be escaped. So, why are they after Scribble Man? It seems to me that this is an example of religion preying on someone who lacks an identity.

Next up are the terrifying child-zombie assassins and Light Bulb Man. Once again, it's established that there should be a level of trust between Shirley and her companion; yet, once again, she steps aside and turns on her partner. I can't say for certain what I think the children represent, but it is important to note that one of them has a dollar sign on his forehead (I can't make out the other symbols.) From there it seems pretty obvious what's happening. They're there to oppress new ideas, new ways of thinking. Notice how they don't harm Light Bulb Man. They capture him. They place a black bag over his "head" (his thoughts) and then take him through what appears to be some sort of brainwashing ceremony during the chorus. The clocks on the wall make me think that they're showing the importance of maintaining a schedule: their schedule.

From there we see a sequence of shots demonstrating childhood (playing catch, riding a bike, birthday party, etc.). And what's the one thing that stands out about being a kid? Innocence. When you're a kid, you're blind to corruption and oppression. And whenever you do encounter trouble at that age, there's usually someone bigger, stronger, and older to deal with it for you. "Don't worry, baby. We'll be all right."

Then we get our final, and probably most important, piece of the puzzle. Shirley leaves her "children" for a showdown with evil. It's fitting that one of the coolest shots in the video (The Matrix meets The Blair Witch Project) coincides with one of the coolest parts of the song. The shot rotates around Evil Hooded Shirley seemingly submitting to Regular Shirley. My first impression was that she had conquered evil, but upon further review, I feel more like she's being empowered by it. This makes a little more sense when you consider the series of bizarre shots that follow. 

Most of what we're seeing could be considered contradictions. Children riding their parents like horses (that's actually an accurate description of parenthood), two Asian men bowing (showing respect) and then suddenly fighting (no karate?), a contortionist in a military uniform (the military is strict, rigid), and a child on a table surrounded by a SWAT team (childlike-innocence vs. violence and power) are all examples of two extremes coming together. This is especially important to note once it's revealed at the end of the video that Shirley was the one wearing the hood at the cemetery. It's also important to consider that the strange Cirque du Soleil aliens we see throughout are conjoined at the head: two personalities sharing one mind.

The other shot in the sequence is of that of a nude woman emerging from a glass container full of water. As she begins to walk she seems lost and confused. She seems unsure of herself, almost as if she's seeing everything for the first time. If that's not a metaphor for birth, then I don't know what is. This is in contrast to the cemetery and is also strengthened with a shot of the twins holding a baby near the close.

Of course, we close things out with Shirley Manson's Keyser Soze moment: the removal of the hood. Her conflict was internal all along. Having realized this, she seems very confident and self-assured as she "flees the scene" with Scribble Man, Light Bulb Man, and the briefcase from the zombies. She also reminds me that, despite the fact that she's roughly 13 years older now than she was when this was filmed, I still want to have her babies. 

So, there you go. As strange as it all seems, it still comes together very nicely. Love the band, love the song, love the video... what about you?

On Hold

This was the original idea for my next novel.  I feel like it has potential, but it's going to have to wait.  I just thought I'd share what I had before I got completely bogged down by writer's block.  This one will happen eventually, but Cameron Adams has moved to the front of the line for the time being.

Chapter 1

            Drew Chapman was anxiously waiting, gripping the handle of his beat up old suitcase as he paced the sidewalk outside of the airport terminal.  He’d been looking forward to this weekend.  No thoughts of the everyday turmoil of his dwindling existence: just him and the guys. 

It had been a long time since they’d all been together; too long, in fact.  The raucous hangouts with his old college buddies were a distant memory.  He didn’t know what was in store for this particular weekend, but he hoped that it would at least be a reminder of the way things once were, long before life had caught up with him and punched him in the throat.  Things hadn’t been going well of late, so this was a good opportunity to put his troubles aside, at least for a day or two.  Drew thought it might make him feel young again, and that’s something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.  Truthfully, he worried that it would ultimately just make him feel older than he already did: a reminder of a past so far gone that he could barely even see it anymore.

Drew pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time and make sure that he hadn’t missed any calls.  The image of his son in his little league uniform brought a smile to his face, but the familiar sight of not having any messages brought forth that little bit of emptiness that he’d grown so accustomed to.  He thought about calling Jeff to make sure that he was on his way to get him.  He didn’t like standing around.  Patience was a virtue that he had never seemed able to acquire.  He was beginning to scroll through his contacts, but before he got to Jeff’s name, he saw his old buddy pulling up in a broken down Ford that sputtered ever so slightly and screeched to a grinding halt before him.  It wasn’t the same car that Jeff drove in college, but by the looks of it, it might as well have been.  For once, Drew felt pretty good about the uninspiring little sedan that he’d been driving for the last few years.