Spring.

This blog hasn't been worked the way I had hoped when I created it.  The posts have been sporadic at best, and continuously spotty and sub-par for me.  I'm sorry about that.  Over the next few months, I'll try to work more on turning this into something more than it already is, something important to me (and maybe you, too?).  I'd like to start talking about actual issues and what I observe when I venture out of my bedroom.  Stay tuned.  The ball is dropping.

Channel 217

I was born under the light shining from the TV tuned to Channel 217. It was a common practice, for parents wished to enrich their kids from birth and show them the worth of such a channel. From then on, that’s all I knew at home. Everyday and night when we were all together, we’d watch Channel 217. We’d talk about channel 217 with our friends and voice our condescending views toward the other, lesser quality channels. I was taught to only watch the best, which was Channel 217, and to explore it further. You see, Channel 217 split from a much older channel, 18. Ever since, it’d been a commanding force in the world, though not just through entertainment. It was your life. Channel 217 always had the best shows. I was told this from the very beginning and it had been reinforced throughout the years. However, when I was about 11, I decided to check out a different channel, you know, because I was curious as to what others were like outside of the condemnations of locals. I found them to be extremely foreign, though the other things broadcasting provoked my thoughts. I should probably do some explaining. TV’s are central in our society, almost each house is equipped with one; they have many, many channels on them. The three most popular are 217, 138, and 274; after that, there are a handful of other large channels, and then hundreds of small ones. Barely anyone watches the small ones, and around here, those viewers are called “radicals” and usually cursed at for having different interests. I never understood why people hated them so much. They’d even go so far as to claim that Channel 217 should be the only channel to exist, and that all others should have to watch it. If not, they should be stripped of any electrical privileges. Again, I never understood why. A few years after I first experimented with other channels, I begin to question the greatness of 217. On the channel, they’d lobby for the condemning of others, they’d support intolerance, they’d lie about people who felt differently about issues, they put forth ideas of fundamentalism, and they wished for viewers to swear their alliance to the channel. In return, they promised a happy, entertainment filled life, full of “purity” and joyous experiences, on their terms. The universal appeal for such a channel didn’t make much sense to me, though I continued with it as I knew no other way. I could find nothing special about that channel, in fact, it was no different than the others channels I’d checked, they were all the same. Around this time, I decided to do a little research on Channel 217. As I read, I came to know about the many dealings of the company that ran it, Divine Works. As it turns out, they had been involved in lynchings. Yes, lynchings. Lynchings of other channel owners and reporters. They’d gotten channels removed because they disagreed with their message. They spread hate towards other channels and the people involved with the others. They lobbied successfully for laws that prevented certain channels from being broadcasted and certain ideas available to the public. I was appalled. I couldn’t stomach this. Everything I’d been raised to love, I now loathed. As I discovered, other channels had committed similar atrocities, but none near the magnitude of those done by Channel 217. My world was shaken, but I began to realize something: I can think differently now. I no longer had to abide by the beliefs and opinions pushed by Channel 217, I could be my own person. In the past, the channel had made me feel guilty about things that I felt and did, but I never saw another reason as to why they were wrong. It made me feel inadequate, but no more. It was over. I was no longer going to watch Channel 217, or any channel, for that matter. I began delving into books, a long forgotten practice. I learned more and more that I never would’ve learned from Channel 217, and I felt great. When I first told my parents I didn’t want to watch Channel 217 with them, they were shocked, they asked why, why? I answered by detailing what I’d learned about the dealings of the Channel and that I felt much better when not being surrounded by its propaganda. They couldn’t comprehend what they were hearing. They denied what I’d read, saying it was all lies and that I shouldn’t be learning such things. They told me that they’d do whatever they could to keep me watching it. One day, when I came home from school, I found that they’d installed a TV in my room. Channel 217 was on the screen. I was shocked, I’d never thought that they would go this far. I turned it off. When they got home, they asked me what I’d thought of their gift. I responded with a “it’s alright,” for I didn’t want to upset them, they’d gotten me a gift and thought they were doing a favor for their boy. They said that they wanted me to watch Channel 217 on my own, to gain a different perspective of it outside of watching it together. They told me that I was to spend the rest of the night watching it. I did, and consequently came to the conclusion that the channel was just as insane as before. I told them what I’d thought, and it sent them reeling. Surprisingly, they asked me to show them the sites where I viewed the information that aided me in turning against the sacred channel. I showed them and they were astonished to find that it was from an unbiased encyclopedic site. They didn’t talk for a while, so I went to bed. The next few days were interesting. My parents went straight to the computer when they got home from work. They spent hours each day reading up on Channel 217. They still watched it each night, but seemed withdrawn from it when they did, constantly thinking. Finally, one night, they didn’t watch it. I was in amazement, and I went to ask them why. They told me that after all they’d read on the channel, they were questioning whether it was a good thing or not. It was an unexpected realization, knowing that they’d been raised on Channel 217 all of their lives, spoon-fed the propaganda. They went back to watching the next night, but kept reading, and would skip a night every now and then. Watching became less frequent for them, and we talked more about the channel and familial aspects of life, like it should be. Eventually, it came to a point where they were only watching the channel maybe once or twice a week. I was overjoyed. A few weeks later, they called me into the living room, saying that wanted to discuss something with me. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, since the only other time they’d called me in to discuss something serious, it’d been a death in the family. My mother spurted out “You were right. Channel 217 isn’t for us. We did a lot of research and finally came to the conclusion that it is complete hogwash.” I couldn’t contain my happiness. My parents were free from the stranglehold of Channel 217. They began to smile, and we had a group hug right there, together. We promised together to rid ourselves of the monster. Weeks later, the day had come. We walked outside into the backyard, where the TV from my room, the one from the living room, and the one my parents kept in their bedroom were sitting in the grass. We had our weapons ready, baseball bats, and we were ready to annihilate our chains of the past. I took the first strike, and my parents joined me, throwing haymakers with our bats, destroying the things that we once valued most. When we were done, we sat down together in the kitchen, and began talking together, the first conversation without TV’s being around. We pondered the future and what’d it’d be like being completely without the Channel affecting us. We were nervous, but as a family we were ready. That day, we began a new chapter in our lives: one of open minds, freedom, and acceptance.

imbroglio by way of galvanization

scissor me with what your good arm couldn't do
over-compensate my brothers for that "deed"
they'll spend it well
on pasts of contempt and futures of oblivion
we'll own a tuesday night and a saturday evening
meshing them together through a time fold and winding, winding
set off the magistrate, we'll leave a picnic treat

the world & i

insolence is worthwhile if you're up for trans-earth purgatory
pores emptying fragments of a future unfounded
platter dripping on a screen door
this is an interruption of gratitude
it's a showcase of squalor and waste
fighting the undercurrent that it subliminally summoned
and left to rot on the shores of pestilence

////////////////////////////
4d

first reflection

I’ve never written an album review before.  I’ve never had a passion for it.

However, laying here in my bed at 1 AM, Thanksgiving/Black Friday, it occurs to me that I should.

Currently, I’m listening to one of my favorite screamo records, Tracing by innards.

It’s a killer of an album.  It bounces from left to right, never stopping in its attack on the senses and giving you one of the happiest sing-along feelings you’ve ever had.  All stops are pulled out, all edges looked over, swept neatly, and touched.  Pyschotic guitar ramblings run rampant as the noodling consumes you and takes you into a trance like state.  It finishes out your day for you, packs your bags, and sends you on a journey through life.  The intricacies are astounding; the cymbals pound like the sound of class breaking, reminiscent of a Big Black record, except not at all.  It doesn’t fit the screamo “cliché” sound; while the lyrics seem personal, they’re not gloomy or, dare I say, sappy.  They’re immense and impressive, reaching new heights from song to song.  If shoegaze influences weren’t already obvious, a track title like “S.Gze” (my favorite song on this release) gives it away.  I see days spent listening to MBV, Slowdive, Drop Nineteens?  I see days of Fort Worth traffic spent listening to a mixture of screamo/shoegaze to help you through the day, to uplift you.  All those emotions are churned out on this record, though not in a self-loathing manner similar to I Hate Myself, Saetia, and the other usual screamo/emo bands.  The emotions are churned out, altered, hung up to dry, and then slaughtered in a Texas studio.  They’re torn to shreds just to be revealed again in a new way to the listener.  Tracing is off-the-wall, crazy material, consumed by emotions.  I recommend it to anyone and everyone, screamo fan or not.

That’s enough for tonight.  That felt good; tonight is the first time I’ve passionately written on my own in months.  I miss the feeling.  Maybe I’ll get around to doing more of these “reviews”.  I hate that word.  Let’s call them “reflections”.  That’s suitable, afterall, that’s what they are, aren’t they?  The word is much more personal than “review”.  “Review” sounds like something you have to do.  Too concrete, such a cold, boring word.  That’s the beauty of writing on your own.  You can choose what to do, there’s no boundaries.  I made it a goal to not use any “bad words” in this review, namely to demonstrate that I can do so and still write well.  Sometimes, I feel as if they taint an artist’s work; they make it seem like it took less effort than it actually did; in a way, it seems half-hearted.  I’m sure there’s passion in those words, but right now, I’m not finding any.  That’s not to say I never will, as life is full of exploration and progress.  I’m beginning to take every chance that I have at self-improvement and act on it, to better myself as an individual, and more so, to influence those around me, and those younger.  Maybe it’ll do some good.  I’m learning about self-worth, and my self esteem has risen slightly, I think.  That’s what I’ve observed over the past few weeks.  Anxiety is less tedious.  Being comfortable is not an ultimate goal, though.  Change is.  Change must be.

To end this reflection, I’d like to say that I enjoy screamo the most when it’s filled with diversity, whether that be via lyrical exploration, (reacting with protest towards) creativity, non-screamo genre influences, and even geography.  All of that counts for me.  Also, I’d like to express gratitude towards innards for helping me overcome the writing block that’s been on me for quite a while now.  Maybe I’ll get back to writing cryptic poems, maybe I’ll venture to short stories, I don’t know.  Only time will tell.  In conclusion, tell your friends that you love them, set an example for all, and change.  It’s required for all.

Bye bye.