Unnamed Psychological Thriller.

Hey, it's summer. Not any normal summer. Oh, no. First summer of my life where I'm actually busy. Summer classes are eating up my spare time nicely, preventing me from going crazy, but not taking up too much time that I can't enjoy my spare time. I'm writing a lot, currently working on three whole stories. One of them is going to be a psychological thriller about a horror writer (in the vein [or is it vain? (in the sense of a pun)] of Stephen King but less creepy and more likable) who is arrested for the murder of one of the characters he kills off in one of his books. I won't spoil the ending for you, but it's pretty predictable anyway. I feel like it's been done before, probably has. I'll look into it. Vaguely reminds me of "House on the Lake" or whatever that Johnny Depp movie was. I don't like the idea of straying away from predictability for the sake of being unpredictable. Life is pretty predictable at times, and if art imitates life then stories should be predictable every now and then. I find that the most powerful stories are the ones where you see the ending coming the entire time. Like Hemingway's Up In Michigan. Such a sad story. It's so real, and you see the ending coming from a mile away. It's so life-like, and the writing is so simplistic and raw (just like all of Hemingway's stuff, of course) and it plays in perfectly with the effect of the ending.

Chinese is interesting. I need to do homework now, but I will probably just end up watching Craig Ferguson. That is all. Good evening.

EDIT: I would like to further reinforce my belief that life is very predictable almost all of the time. It is often very disappointing. 

Perspective distortion.

I'm cleaning my camera which I haven't used in nearly a year and has been sitting on the top shelf of my desk here at home gathering dust since the last time I cleaned it. It's not digital because I have a soul. It's film, SLR. Canon EOS Rebel 2000 to be exact. I don't remember when I got it, but I remember it was a Christmas present back when I did photography. Back in High School, when everyone was totally into photography. But I didn't take pictures of my dog, or a flower, or an old chair in my back yard, because I have a soul. I took photography classes in high school. There were 3 levels of photography classes: I, II, and III (in roman numerals, not arabic numerals). I took all three. They put us all in one class room with one teacher. In Photo II and III we could pretty much do whatever the hell we wanted. Sometimes the teacher would ask us to help the Photo I kids in the dark room. In Photo II the class was taught by a teacher who primarily taught ceramics and sculpture. I guess the school figured art was art. She asked me to teach the class when she got in over her head. My favorite picture I took was of the belly of the Cape Fear bridge. I was apparently trespassing (I guess that's what all those signs meant) on the grounds of an electrical substation and I got hassled by some cops. They threatened to take my camera, I laughed. They changed their tactics, "Son, you could've been electrocuted." I pointed out that I was wearing rubber-soled shoes. They told me to get lost. I did. In 2003 or 2004, not long after I got my camera, my mom and I went to visit my grandmother in the hospital. She was having chemotherapy. Mom encouraged me to go walk around the hospital and "play with [my] camera." I walked around the parking deck and took a few shots of the main building from some sort of back street that only employees of the hospital used--or something. It wasn't long before I was surrounded by hospital cops (one step above mall cops) asking for my ID and why I was taking pictures of the hospital. I explained that I didn't have any ID, because I was like 14, and that I was taking pictures because I was bored. They called in backup. I guess I looked like a terrorist in my Orange County Choppers t-shirt. I explained that my grandma was having chemotherapy and my mom was with her. All 4 of them escorted me to my grandma's room in the cancer ward. They checked my mom's ID (can you believe the nerve?) and told her not to develop the pictures I took without a release form from the hospital (a ridiculous bastardization of photography laws).

I won a mountain bike.

Falling. A famous misanthrope. Objective. Subjective. This is an insignificant part of your life. I wish I could ~care. A twitching eyelid. A sore back. Finish painting, remove the tape. It cracks. Leave it. (Today is the day.) Ebb and flow.

By the lake:
"Do you think I use you?"
"A little bit."

At her door:
"Don't do anything stupid."
"It's about to happen."
"Goodbye."
"Bye."

The bathroom smells like smoke. 

A twitching eyelid.
A sore back.

Zzzzz.

I would like to sleep now.

Couldn't sleep last night. Dozed off for maybe 2-3 hours. Now I'm being kept awake by heartburn. Damnit Sylvio, why must your pastas be so delicious?

Blarg.

Actually.

I need a primer. Not like the primer on the walls of my apartment, like a primer for a pump.

I've learned quite a few valuable life lessons this year, but here is the most important one I've learned: People love being pandered to. I've reached this conclusion by re-reading the comments on my stories from this semester. I swear, like 90% of them were "I don't like this," or "I do like this, give me more of it."  Man, I don't care what you do or don't like. People don't like to be challenged, or made to think in ways that is contrary to their modus operandi. But that's what I do. I don't know why I take it upon myself to try to force people out of their intellectual comfort zone. But I do. Whenever I can. Usually I get flack for it, but sometimes... sometimes it turns out completely worth it. Those times are when somebody shines a light on my own rational shortcomings. I need that, I don't get it often enough. I want to grow as a person and a thinker and an artist. I don't want to stagnate, I need a challenge. It doesn't matter what I do or don't like. It doesn't matter what you do or don't like. Get over it.

What a disappointment this semester has been. In the future when I reflect on my college days, I will look back on this semester and think, "Hmm, that kind of sucked."

Okay, I'm primed. Time to write. 

Construction.

Sorry folks no blog today. Gotta be productive and whatnot. Instead, here's a couple pictures of a pretty boat that I want to steal. Pirate style.

Soft City Condescension.

I don't know how to describe last night. Normally I would attempt to do so, flipping through a thesaurus, juggling words and metaphors in my head, but I'm simply at a loss.

I missed my cousin's soccer game because of last night. 

I moved in to my apartment today. Well, I didn't "move in" but I got my keys and the apartment is now officially my apartment. I rearranged the furniture a bit.

I made a mix tape the other day. It's quite good. It's so good I'm going to burn myself a copy and listen to it while driving home today. I'm going home to pick up some stuff for the apartment. Spare dishes and sheets and whatnot we've had in the attic for a long time.

Still don't know how to describe last night.