The genius of this video is the teamwork that was involved in making it.

The story of a man, isolated. Torn between wanting to fit in, and having to stay true to himself. To find his love, to feel his completion, the young man must rely on the impossibility of time travel. Changing his course of action to avoid the pain that he shouldn't be who he is, our protagonist is confronted with questions. To what extent will I change my path? How much am I willing to sacrifice? When will I be free from this? Is love real, and if so, what makes it real?

Struggling to find answers to these very large and not at all innocuous cogitations, our hero begins...


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(I hope you see, how I see)

A little thought

         Make Believe

Illusion,
                                                       magic,
so interesting.
                                             the greats distract you

                                          the best make you believe

                                         and you can question them,
but they won't give in

                                       tell you what they're hiding,

because
                                          that would ruin the show.

..............................................................................................

       "boys only think with their penis" says she.
I do think so too. Being only a boy,
            that is true.
As in, if thats all you have to offer,
fine lips and a tight ass
         uh! well you can't have this tight ass,
         chauvinist pig,
         you probably have a small dick anyway
... I do,
well, slightly below average. But just slightly.

and now that I've told you how small my thinking tool is,
can you tell me a little about yours, or whats in it?
your ideas
or will I just not understand, being only a boy
would a Man understand?

but I guess I'll never be man enough,
to hear your thoughts,
on account of my tiny thinking tool.

Little dude dawg here

Rye

 walk                         around
                            and           see

rosy       children                  on a carousel

                        up and         down

are forever                 wiser            than me

Late for a Train, Stuck in the Sky

one day and you maybe

Train i did not get on,

distance is a soft sigh here

elegant Train, gorgeous machine

please stay, if you are one way

Aeroplanes are not for me

(alone, and high)

could i feel your motion through the countryside

please

and not another soft sigh

Reflection on my college experience, 1st semester

Assignment. How has college changed your life this first semester

My Friendliest Friends

Assignment: tell the story of a conflict you have had so far in college and how it was resolved

My Friendliest Friends

The lights went out in my dorm before I could turn around. My first reaction was to play Marco polo, but I resisted. Something was aloof, I mean aloft, and I desperately needed to look in a dictionary. I carefully set down my fear and 40 oz. malt beverage. I got up out of Chair and turned around slowly, 360 degrees. I was dizzy so I sat back down.                    

“Who’s there?” I called out.

“Nobody,”

“Oh, I could have sworn…” and with great difficulty I climbed into my bunk and fell asleep.

            Three hours later I awoke. I had been tricked! The cheek of the ruffian, going all Odysseus on me! I leapt out of my bed, anticipating the floor five feet earlier then it came.  “Damn, that floor is fast,” I cursed as I nursed. “At least I’m not in a hearse with a purse, that would be the worst.” I also said, just to make sure I still had mad rhyming competence. I crawled over to my alcohol so I could resume drinking by myself. I actually had pain to mask now, not just middle class angst, and I couldn’t be more excited. In my elation, I almost forgot the reason for my commotion. And then I heard the screaming. It was high in pitch and hard to locate. The urge to play Marco Polo welled up inside me again, but I beat it down. Ferociously.  The sound got louder, and louder, and then stopped for a few minutes, and then got louder again. In an attempt to calm myself, I began humming to block the noise. Humming though, was not loud enough, so I started screaming. Being the competitive spirit I am, I screamed as loud as I could, to assert my dominance.

“CLAY!” my roommate’s head shot out of the covers, “you are screaming at a very early hour and I do not find it favorable. This is a conflict that I wish to resolve. Why are you screaming?”

“Because I’M THE BEST!”

“I see. You are screaming to validate your belief that you are a superlative screamer, but Clay, you need to remember that true strength comes in a quiet confidence, and this screaming is really a defense mechanism. Maybe you need to examine your relationship with your father to see…”

“No, there’s something making noise. In here!”

“Oh!” My roommate got out of his bed and headed toward the fridge. He opened the door; “It’s probably the squirrel in the fridge.”

The noise was the squirrel in the fridge, but more questions had now been created.     “Max, why is there a squirrel in our fridge? I don’t think he wants to be there. Why would you put a harmless squirrel in a fridge”

“Well I didn’t put it there, Clay, you did.”

And it all came flooding back to me; the park, the squirrels, the man in a trench coat, the nuts. THE DESIRE. How faint the memory now seemed, confronted with pain I was causing my two best friends.

“I’m sorry for the screaming Max, and I’m sorry Squirrel. I just thought you might be hungry after that fight you put up.”

“I appreciate your apology and I forgive you. Please don’t scream like that again,” said Max

“I won’t,” I said, ”And I must thank you too Squirrel, you taught me how to fight, how not to love, and that sometimes I’m batshit crazy.”

“Oh, so, you listen to the rodent, ok, that’s cool,” said Nobody.

“Nobody is perturbed right now.”

Max fanned his gaze over the room.

“Yes, I think we are all fine. Are you alright?” he asked. I’m not sure what my face said but I felt like licorice jellybeans.

Max exhaled deeply, and then gave a small smile. He then bent close to Squirrel and laid down a limb in a gesture of fraternity. Squirrel’s tale did the squirrel tale thing.

“I have a thought,” announced Max, “we can let squirrel live in our little room, so long as you stop collecting dead animals. And doing hallucinogens. ”

My cactus found a swift exit via the window in celebration of our new roommate.

Media 1020, opening section 1

So, I watched the video about sound. Or I sort of did. To be honest, I fell asleep part way into it.   Sorry.  It was probably very fascinating though; I’d guess it said something about how important the nuances in a sound are. Like how subtleties are important and stuff. Like maybe the details contribute to the quality of a sound? Quality being the thing that makes something seem real and genuine? To put it in a frame, maybe the small sounds are like the little finger flick that a ballerina does when she completes a pirouette, the small little twisty that says, “Yes, I’ve put in enough time to call myself a ballerina, and I can take that moment at the end of a pirouette, because that’s mine, and that flick is for me.” It’s the small guys, the little dude-dawgs, that make something realistic. Or… more than realistic? Dramatic? Alluring? Dreamlike? That feeling where the memory of it is singed into your identity? Something like that, I don’t know, I didn’t watch the whole video.

            But I tried again! The second video I tried to watch was the one with the author, the jocose Peruvian lady who went to the winter Olympics in Turin to carry a flag. She had the time of her life in the Olympic stadium. She had a lot to say about how the ceremonies reflected on her mindset on life, specifically, why passion is important. Passion, or heart, as I take it, is important because it acts as a balance. Mrs. Allende uses the analogy of a downhill ski competition, where these amazing athletes, people who have sacrificed and slaved towards perfection, compete for a chance at gold. But think of the chance! Think of the luck involved! Say a patch of snow has a little more ice on it than was expected, think of the catastrophe that could occur. And also the margin that separates podium from piss-off is tiny. There are so many factors that play into the actual race: wind, humidity, equipment issues, a million other things. With all the probabilities and improbabilities, the race really does turn into anyone’s game. And the athlete’s know this. To counteract everything that could go wrong, they pour themselves into the sport. During the actual run, every second of their existence as an athlete is realized. It’s like Mohamed Ali said, “The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”  Olympians practice, condition, experiment with new techniques, experiment with new equipment, train more, sacrifice.  All Olympians do this or similar. So who wins the gold? Is it really just luck? Is it really just a spec of snow in the right place at the right time?

Yes.

But let me say a little something about luck. Luck isn’t chance. Luck isn’t random. Luck is the little thing that you can’t notice at the time, some seemingly trivial detail that, after a second look, made it all come together. Luck isn’t blind though. Luck is a circular ever-present force. Call it karma if you want, the name doesn’t matter. What matters is this; Luck sees the details of a person’s passion. Luck cares about the whys, looks at the hows, knows the whos, and then if it finds it all agreeable, inserts itself, the what, into the when and where. Luck is truth. It is. Just like the old Jewish quote that Mrs. Allende started her talk with…

“What is truer than truth?

Answer; The Story.”

Mini Sagas, college variety

MINI SAGAS
Write two fifty-word mini-sagas. The origins of the saga comes from Icelandic
prose dating back to the 12th century when locals would recount their warrior
battles. Today, a saga is referred to as a modern heroic narrative.

Your mini-saga should have 50 words. No more, no less. The stories must
have a beginning, middle and end. They must be interesting, and they may
not be autobiographical. Engage the reader.

Wretch in the hand by clay Hribar

Dave was a good guy. He tried to be nice, thoughtful, all that shit.

Shit, though, that’s how he felt now. He hadn’t meant to yell, call her a filthy whore.

Watching her cry was uncomfortable. He loved her, but she fucked stupid Kyle…

…I should go?

FUCK. I’m staying.

For the Boys! by clay Hribar

Her heels were high, her dress was tight, the air was frigid.

She said she did it to find a guy. So when the prince came, he would see how good she would look for him. Weather? Picayune. She partied all night with her girls.

Morning; she had pneumonia. Alone.

for funsies

No (time) To Explain 

She woke up in a cold Room.

Quickly!

She found a knife in her pocket, thankful it wasn’t a pen this time.

HURRY!

A deep breath.

Just one…

“Will you help me?”

Her little brother was in the Room.

The knife was gone now.

She sobbed in agony

                                                      “of course.”