Forgot About The Way Things Go

Life is full of phases. If you go well with a particular phase its easy to forget that things will eventually change.

If you’re not happy with the current phase, you learn to take it head on and you Do eventually get over it.

Then you forget that new phases come along, maybe one you dislike more than the one you just successfully got over.

And it all goes in circles.

 

I’ve gotten used to a shitty two hour commute every morning, to classes I shouldn’t need to retake, and living like a bum whose only nourishment is dehydrating alcoholic drinks, bad coffee and the luxurious easymac or cupnoodle item.

I learned to accept this phase, and it has gotten to be pretty normal and Alright – because the house I returned to every day was full of Good People. 

Today the Last Russian left, and tomorrow my Brother leaves.

It will only be I and the Indian from Detroit, starting tomorrow, in this empty house. For three, long, weeks.

It feels horribly melancholic and fills me with a sense of dread I thought I had already gone over Last Time Around.

Oh life. Its such a clever beast, reminding me of its unpredictable ways of mental manipulation.

And the beauty of it, of course, is that I do it all myself. In my mind. 

Its so fucking ridiculous.
But then again, as I just wrote, these are phases.

I hope this new one brings some sense of Alright my way

The Future Seems to be Waving Hello

Its been quite a while since I posted the last entry in this blog which details random events in my life I deem worthy enough to write about online. Many of the previous posts mark moments of my past two semesters in Manhattan College, many of which were quite negative or pessimistic. My goal for the past year, basically, has been to get out of this place, and into a college such as Pace University. They offer a Film and Screen Studies degree. Something which my school does not. They way I see it, Agent Smith is reading my file, and telling me that “one of these lives has a future. And one of them does not.” How right he is. I think.

 

Anyway, the point is, I have been accepted into Pace, I believe. I say ‘I believe’ since the letter they sent me was so surprisingly strange and unexpected, that I’m still not 100 percent sure. If I read that piece of paper correctly, and, this is not a very hard thing to do, then what they are claiming is that I AM accepted, and that they want to give ME 9,000 dollars toward tuition. I feel like an overnight celebrity or something, because Yes I kind of worked for this, but its TOO much and unexpected. Oh well. I guess my karma is good, and I Do deserve this. Thank you, Universe.

This past weekend was quite dreadful, I must say. I mean, friends were plentiful, and the amenities available through them and by them made sitting on a couch pretty adventurous. However, this has been done before, and way too often. I arrived at my brother’s cottage on Friday, at the onset of the evening. I proceeded to get drunk with determined efficiency I rarely put into action for anything else. All of a sudden, it was Sunday afternoon, and I had to go back to Manhattan College, to reality, without music (my ipod broke), or silly weekend happiness.

 

It is now monday morning, and I have already taken a test. My bed looks sexy and alluring, and I want to go jump its bones and sleep with it. But I cant. Its like Roots of Art is my mistress, and I must attend to her before I could even throw in a quickie with my bed. I guess I spent all this time writing, instead of napping.

Fucking Alcohol in Fucking College and Fucking America

So I was about to go to bed, and catch some strongly needed sleep. After receiving a text message from my college telling me there’s no classes tomorrow, due to an impending snowstorm – I was immediately more awake, and ready to drink a beer and stay up. My friend and I went to the corner store and picked up some fourties. On the way back into our building, the guard asked us to open our bags. This never ever happens. We looked at each other, and said, no, thanks, and walked back outside. We decided to try another entrance, but before we got there, of course, a car packed with security guard city 17 combine fuckheads was waiting, and wrote us up.

Ive been written up before, and it didnt seem to have any serious consequences. I mean, you get it written into your college history, I believe, but everything gets expunged once that particular semester has run its course. The thing Im sweating is my trasnferring to Pace University. I Need to go there, and get out of this fucking school in the depressing Bronx, which doesnt offer me much, nevermind a fucking film class I could sign up for. It really shouldnt fucking matter, this little write up for beer, and shouldnt affect my chances to get Pace’s loving acceptance letter. If it does, horrible anger will turn me to the dark side, and I will strike somebody down and fucking punch myself in the face.

I am being way too serious about this currently. It just pissed me off. Why cant I drink a fourtie of beer? Im 20 years old. Ive been drinking beer with my parent’s consent for maybe four years, seven without their approval. Who gives a shit? Its a normal activity that most humans partake in. 

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE PROBLEM

A Little Drunk Rant

It is actually 2:37 in the morning. I didnt plan for it to be 2:37. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, nevermind, it really doesnt matter. I’ve  had quite a bit to drink, and typing is crazy hard.

Hello. Tuesday, right? We went out. Haircut before that.  Walking to ’supercuts’ before that, there was a pile of vomit, just about a meter outside the local ‘dollar store deluxe’. I stepped in it, Of Course. It was horrible. There were others, witnesses, some of them yelling at my soiled show and/or foot, others laughing to their friends, making the embarrassment all the more annoying. 

peace, peace, peace.

Monday, Monday

As I tried to fall asleep last night without having a panic attack due to my sudden worrying of having a test in my Science class early this morning, I fell into a deep and heavy sleep, the likes of which I haven’t felt in a very long time. Of course, this had to be somehow negatively inflicted by having one of the darkes most fucked up dreams I’d ever had. So I wake up, an hour early, can’t fall back asleep, and prepared for class.

I got there, the room was empty. Am I in the right place? I went up a floor and down a floor, and realized that yes, I was in the right place to begin with. Nobody was there. And all I wanted to do was ask the teacher if I had missed a test or something. Fortunately, there was somebody there, a girl, who I could ask. She told me not to worry.

Don’t worry. I always worry. I’m a worrier. I worry constantly. My heartrate is probably twice what it should be, way too early in my life. The worries creep into my subconscious and infect my soul and entire inner self. It pours out of me in negative ways and forms of addictive behaviour and depression. I have yet to define who I am.

So now I’m sitting here. In my room. Listening to Yann Tiersen, Sigur Ros, and Simon & Garfunkel. It is these arists that truly capture my neurotic and overemotional psychological states. They really get to it this early in the morning.

You know, if people actually knew me more over here, they might understand more. Its probably my fault for not telling them anything about me. People just wait for their turn to speak, in the end, and I just nod and keep silent. What’s the point.

If you haven’t yet, I recommend “Elegy at Dunkirk” by Dario Marianelli off the Atonement soundtrack. Glorious.

Quentin Tarantino will Prove Himself Once Again

I have read Inglourious Basterds. In short, it is glorious.

From the very beginning there is a serious tone of tension and drama that pretty much encompasses the entire piece. Of course, the hilarious trademark QT dialogue is in place, and there are some funny things and gruesomely comedic things that take place, but all in all, when looking back on it – I reflect on a serious and intense film. When people describe this film as Tarantino’s War Movie, its easy to lose track and think of it in a Saving Private Ryan sort of way, when really you should be thinking of old European war films, relationships during the war, and even the grittiness and comedic aspects of old Spaghetti Westerns. It is, in its essence, a people movie, chock full of glorious dialogue and events.

I really can’t describe how much I love the script, and why, right now. It just isn’t the moment. I seriously recommend reading it. You can download it right here, to your right, in that little ‘box’ widget. On the other hand, not spoiling this film for yourself is a pretty intelligent decision.

Wednesday Should Feel Like an Inglourious Basterd

Hello world. What. Up.

I am currently trying not to shit my pants because my three suitemates have been using the bathroom right after one another, not giving me time to slip in. Dinner was…filling.

So today is Wednesday and its usually easily the shittiest day of the week, five classes starting at 8 am, no rest at all. However, for some reason, I feel quite energized and enthusiastic right now. Its 18:13 o’clock and I’ve already worked out, done my work, and am commencing chillage right now. I’m fairly confident that my newly gained freshness, or positive outlook on mundane realities, comes from the fact that I exercise every day now. Its quite rewarding. And believe me, when I say, that if you want to work out, and need the perfect music to do so – Download (or Purchase) the Mother Fucking Fight Club Soundtrack by The Dust Brothers.

It is easily the greatest album of All Time. Yes. I said that. With confidence.

Anyway. After weeks of giving up on finding the new Tarantino script, I finally tried again, after a phone call with my friend Pedro sparked the topics’ rebirth. After 3 seconds, literally, I found it. Its already up here, on my box widget, to the right, for you to download. (over here —->.)

I’m still not sure whether I will actually rip into it quite yet. I really want to experience a film of his without any foreknowledge whatsoever, seeing as I haven’t done that since Jackie Brown, really. Whoa..    Anyway, I’ll probably spoil the fuck out of it for myself within 48 hours.

Okay, enough bullshit, I’m going to the bathroom.

Strange Days. Well, Not Really

Times are finally ‘normal’, which feels sort of odd and weird to me, because for the past couple of months I’ve been busy as shit doing college work, internship stuff, and dealing with family things (paying tuition – which isn’t paid yet, three months late now, but its all good). So for me to be sitting here right now, no real work to do – feels strange. Don’t get me wrong, its amazing.

It’s tuesday, and I don’t really have anything real to say, except for a couple of quick little bulletpoints. For those of you reading this – if there is anyone actually reading this – who play videogames, use twitter, or any of that stuff, let me put some of my info up here.

Twitter: http://twitter.com/marcomc2

Xbox Gamercard: marco mc

1uP Page: http://www.1up.com/do/my1Up?publicUserId=5952079

That’s pretty much it. This post is useless. I’m going to work out now, go to French class, and take a shower. Peace in the middle east, chicken grease, and Karma Police.

Take From Our Souls the Strain and Stress

WARNING: This is one of those rants I wrote whilst sick, in bed, and would normally delete a couple of days after writing, after noticing how embarrassing and emotional it is. But I wont. Not this time. Instead, I’m simply offering this warning. SECOND WARNING: I’m a pretty emotional guy. A hint of advice: don’t read this.

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When you’re sick and lose the energy to do the simplest tasks you normally do on a regular basis, you have a stronger feeling of emotions. You feel more. All of a sudden, none of these little things matter. These ridiculous quibbles you argue over and stress yourselves with, they all fall apart and crumble in the face of this refreshed mentality which should accompany you always, not just then. Family means everything, friends far away at home seem like the world to you, and they are. You love and long for peace and happiness more than you ever have. At least so it seems at this hour, when the sky is gray and you feel your body dying, but your mind and heart are more alive than ever before. Maybe I am being a little too overdramatic. Its all in the sickness.

I never saw Atonement until now. I’ve been in bed with no energy to do anything, let alone get up to take a shower. This is no time to write about film, but I must write about one particular moment in that film. The beach scene. If you’ve seen Atonement, you know what I am referring to. Not only is it all done in one shot, but everything falls into place perfectly, hitting all of those emotional receptors at the right moment, even more so when you’re sick and sad anyway. Not only is it a precious moment in film history in regards to camera work, but the music as well. The fucking music.

There is a song during this scene, called Whittier Hymn, that a group of soldiers sing in an old abandoned carousel, facing the sun, on this beach, waiting to go home. All of this is wrapped by a song off the soundtrack called Elegy at Dunkirk. There is a very strong sense of restlessness in the main character’s situation, and everything around him, the madness of it all, is almost completely silenced by the peaceful aura of this music. This scene made me almost cry in my bed, alone and tired. A single teardrop. Like that Native American guy. In those old commercials. You know what I’m talking about. With the garbage, and…? No? Whatever.

Anyway. Being sick also makes you way too emotional for healthy people to understand. This probably seems like a very emotional and self absorbed rant that doesn’t really make any sense or say anything at all, besides my seemingly overblown enthusiasm for film and music. But I don’t want anything from you. I don’t even believe anybody is reading this. I am listening to Elegy at Dunkirk, and it is beautiful. And I can’t wait to feel these emotions reach their peak in real life, some day. Because it is almost too overwhelming as it is.

“Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of thy peace. The beauty of thy peace.”

The Old Wise Man Who Isn’t There

I love this man. That is all I have the mental energy to write at this moment.

I just watched a bunch of other videos from FOX, in which people yell a lot, and I want to kill myself after.

Watch Ron school these guys. Also, notice how nobody is yelling. Weird, right? What’s going on?