Haunting Memories

I assumed doing a little mind-dump here just before bed would have cleared me for a blessed dream-free slumber, but it caused quite the opposite. As such, I'm in a bit of a state this morning, attempting to understand the first memorable dream I've had in quite some time.

It revolved around fire, which throughout the course of an afternoon was very slowly consuming an entirely unique house (not based on any I know). The dual nature of this symbol, combined with its mystical and psychological implications, would make for a fascinating study if it was on someone else. I'm too busy trying to determine the importance of each moment in this dream, and what events fit particular meanings. My main guide almost gives too much information; not giving simple answers, but opening more to interpretation.

It has eventually boiled down to a handful of main ways to view the overall meaning. Like Donnie Darko, one explanation carries a bit more support than the others, though their consideration is not a waste. As a complex individual, it is worth noting that

my dream's various interpretations

could all be relevant representations

of my current feelings and situations

I am usually content to ignore this repository of my mental strata’s core samples, updating whenever enough cognitive threads pile up in a language resembling English. They have accumulated rather slowly since the last post date, so the details ahead could be labeled ‘condensed soup.’

Speaking of labels, my most recent is also the most pertinent: ‘boyfriend.’ Lest I present events à la Memento, let us go back to roughly where we left off.

Unemployment (guard weekends notwithstanding) grants ample time for introspection, including more reminders that my quiet, easygoing nature and lack of emotional outbursts can be off-putting and unintentionally exudes arrogance. As such, I’m gradually attempting to be less perfect, more human more open without diminishing my strive for perfection. I have been listening to more progressive rock and other transcendental genres, refocusing motivation towards necessary tasks, and dividing my personal attention better (after realizing that multiplying it is effectively impossible).

I have found myself to be busier since unfortunate circumstances led to my termination at JCP. Staying afloat financially continues to challenge, but I can see light at the end. The Guard has been generous with extra provisional days. Doors have been opened by drumming for belly dancers, though it may be premature to hope for more than meager supplemental cash. Another potential income vector is web coding, as I’m currently giving a local business a free site overhaul. It will serve as bait to lure gold-bearing fish, like those found in RPGs. There is also the traditional job hunt, which hardly bears mention.

Amber and I hosted a successful Halloween party, where several guests took a copy of the night’s playlist, and she took several guests for all they were worth.

There have been a multitude of disappointments, mis-schedules, and other conflicts that keep life frustratingly interesting. However, nothing is truly without balance. A bright red phoenix has risen from the future ruins, bringing light and warmth to everything nearby. Others usually seek to capture its energy for vile, parasitic intent, not realizing the best enjoyment comes from soaring together.

This had a unique tone among post-apocalyptic movies: forward-looking, instead of constantly dwelling on contextually framing by the past. At times, it was almost too quickly paced; dramatic proclamations lacked enough characterization to bear much weight. CG effects were more realistic (like Wall-E) than stylized (like the second half of Wall-E). In defiance of the cinematography style popularized by Peter Jackson, there were few broad, sweeping shots bursting with detail. Focus was typically tight, befitting the small characters, and wide views were always stationary, carrying much depth of field.

9’s refreshing approach to the genre was balanced by its patchwork familiarity. For instance, the overall imagery of a devastated world patrolled by homicidal red-eyed machines who are hunting a plucky band of survivors was reminiscent of The Matrix. The seesaw of whimsical curiosity and daring escapes brought to mind Harry Potter. More subtle or fleeting elements were felt from The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Lord Of The Rings, and even Toy Story, albeit more nightmarish.

Overall, 9 achieves the holy grail of family films (true all-ages appeal, the domain of Pixar), although just barely. At the very least, it’s worth seeing once. At best, it’s worth buying. Don’t skip it.

Overheard afterwards in the theater:

“It’s a great post-apocalyptic movie for kids.”

It’s reasonably accurate to say our culture’s current desire of more personal empowerment is expressed by the growing popularity of vampire entertainment.

In the same vein, the steady increase in post-apocalyptic survival films expresses our subconscious desire to shed the stress of modern civilization’s rat race, and return to simpler times, where personal success is measured by staying alive. That’s why we see fewer of the old feel-good movies with clichéd romance and happy endings. The abstract accomplishments of our paper-pushing and cog-in-the-machine occupations are no longer enough, so the old dream of what success means has broken its spell. A way around this existential dilemma is to do tangible work.

The other problem is choice. Just as we can be overwhelmed by the entire aisle of cereal, there are so many possible career paths and opportunities, it can be paralyzing to the point where no one knows what the hell to do with their lives. I’m not saying we should adopt the communist system of one cereal and assigned careers, but choice, like everything else, is healthier in moderation.

 

There are lots of things I don't understand, far too many to list right now, but there's one thing I really don't get. Why don't we all fall to the floor in tears every minute of the day? We all know we're going to die at some point, and nobody will ever truly love us, but everyone just carries on walking around like nothing's wrong. Maybe everyone feels like me and they don't want to be the first to do it. It'll probably to take some brave hero, a real wreck of a human being, to be the first to publically declare this whole system of living insane. I know it won't be me, but I really wish it was, because I don't think I can take it much longer.

from Batteries Feel Included

Machismo, bravado, catchphrase-laden monosyllabic speech... all underscored by the feeling that nothing is real. Yes, pro wrestlers actually throw each other around, but it's just an act based on what other people want to see. Events occur, like pep rallies, getting shoved aside, and everyone hitting on the new girl because she doesn't know who will decrease her social status, but those things don't really matter. They only seem to at the time because high school is a partially closed society.

My thoughts occasionally drift to the idea of going back to that time with what I know now, and really calling out all the bullshit that occurs. Amber informs me it's because I'm so bitter about high school. Burning resentment aside, an upcoming film explores this idea.

My hereditary paranoia is now fully operational, as enough presumed friends have avoided contact by claims of extreme illness to arouse my suspicion. Perhaps it is a sign of my faltering grasp on a social life, or unrest within the ranks of my inner social circle. There is a third possibility, one that has been with me since first cognition: that I am mentally flawed in some way that is impolite to inform me of. This hypothesis gains more traction with each person I meet whose behavior, strictly speaking, I cannot rationalize whatsoever.

That said, I currently sit at an impasse. Attempt to quell the trend of social decline, thereby risking further alienation, or simply accept it and coast down the hill until I roll no further.


All this may sound completely crazy, which highlights my gradually dwindling sanity. Ironically, this in turn makes me appear more "normal" to the general population, inasmuch as irrational, emotion-driven behavior is a large portion of that norm (partly evidenced by how unsettled others are with my usual interaction habits).

.

I was in a better place for some time, unburdened by your weight. However, I was not content with blissful ignorance. Reclamation or closure became a necessity.

In dreaming, I sought you out, and ended up rejecting both of you all over again. Clearly, there was no point in resuming my stress just to benefit your tiny social circle.

It is liberating, being done with you.

You know that old parable of the husband who sold his pocketwatch to buy his wife a hairbrush, but she cut off and sold her hair to buy him a watch chain?

It's an accurate parallel to the 2008 holiday frenzy. Hell, you can even immortalize its brutal murder with the shirt!

We're all going broke making sure to get "something for everyone," because they're sure as hell doing the same for us, and we wouldn't want to look cheap by, y'know, making something. If Grandma can't knit me a Wii, she can just stay home this year (never mind that few people still play them three months later). Amber was going to give cookie making kits; mason jars containing the ingredients and instructions. That was blown away by worry of not being generous enough, so as it stands, no one on our list is getting less than $80. To be fair, it's all in anticipation of their actual needs and wants, rather than generic gift cards.

The underlying problem is that it's become so expected of everyone to join in excess. Taking a stand against holiday consumerism will, again, make you look like a cheap bastard, and could even be construed as a war on Christmas.

You don't want to be lumped in with those Godless liberals who refrain from celebrating Christmas, do you? Don't believe the lies about it being a manufactured corporate holiday, pushed by Coca-Cola (creator of Santa) and Hallmark and Disney, or that December 25th isn't even close to Jesus' actual birth date, or that Christmas is closer to pagan than Christian traditions. If we don't defend Christmas, pretty soon all stores will be spewing the generic "happy holidays" message, dirty for'ners will openly celebrate their heathen religions, and Matt Lauer will perform abortions live on The Today Show!

Naturally, I'm paraphrasing.

The truth of the matter is, there is no war on Christmas. At least, not any more. Companies have pretty much extinguished the last remaining embers of true spirit and fellowship. I even bore witness to the final spark of hope dying two years ago.

Based on trends...

...of my new voracious search for friends, stemming from bitter time spent in public school,
...of wanting to help everyone, to the precipice of being taken advantage of,
...that have recently skewed towards sharing what I have with those around me, consequences be damned,

...it is quite likely I will die like my great-grandmother; flat broke, in the boarding house I rent to family and strangers in a bad neighborhood, with two dollars pinned to my clean underwear. At least I won't be lonely. She was very well respected for her kind heart and generosity, though it was present to a fault.

The odd thing is that, at the same time, I'm still a fiercely independent individual who doesn't care what anyone thinks of me. That's all part of my natural state, occupying both extremes of every personality trait (which creates a wavy kind of balance). Sometimes it's a bit tiring, though.

Sometimes I'd like to just start over. Cut through all the bullshit of younger years, whereas now I can only look back and think of what I should've said. That could be part of my teaching desire; a way to face some demons, and maybe teach kids to use more critical consideration.

Not that I care what they think...

JCPenney has an unhealthy obsession with 80s love songs. Seriously. Every day, The Look of Love, Captain of Her Heart, Owner of a Lonely Heart, and far more than I can remember, every damn day. The only thing keeping Rick Astley off the corporate mixtape is that it would leave less room for their other passion, whiny folk-rock. I'm looking at you, John Mayer (No Such Thing), U2 (A Man and a Woman), and Third... wait, Third Eye Blind sings Never Let You Go? Really? It sounds nothing like their first album, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Maybe they need to be on crystal meth again to get their sound back. Fuck new Third Eye Blind and their backup kazoo players.

At least JCP avoids the ultimate irony: They don't play Big Yellow Taxi, the Joni Mitchell song about paving paradise to put up a parking lot. One wonders how much money she's made from selling it to every retail and grocery store in the country.

---

There is a brand for every age demographic. Teens get Arizona and South Pole, prime-of-life women get Worthington and 5th Ave, etc. However, the second most popular brand for our elderly customers (after Alfred Dunner) is Sag Harbor.

Sag Harbor.

Naturally, I took the liberty of crafting a few equally tasteless brand names.

• Bald Bay
• Droopy Dock
• Polident Lake

---

The American Living brand is bullshit, and Ralph Lauren knows it.

First of all, whereas every other vendor is fine with having their products on JCPenney shelves and hanging bars, American Living supplies their own fixtures. It's the height of pretentiousness for products that look like they were made fifty years ago, and in some cases weren't properly mothballed.

Secondly, its old-fashioned style screams nostalgia for a clean, wholesome generation that never existed. Anyone wearing this longs for a 'simpler time,' before we had things like modern medicine and sexual consent.

Finally, it's made in China. So is everything else, but few brands have such a disconnect from perceived reality. There is little doubt that American Living is popular with bandwagon patriots whose SUVs sport magnetic ribbons.

There was a time when I didn't think I'd be alive this long.

It was during high school, when I assumed that staying in the area meant I would inevitably be shot, Easy Rider-style. Being an individual isn't highly prized in some places.

I'm good enough at thinking on my feet, but don't have much in the way of long-term plans. Even the big events I throw myself into making are impromptu at every step.

Huh . . . I kind of forgot where I was going with this.