Inside you, I found this music box

I've fallen in love.

 

For once and finally, my heart has sunk into the depths of this nearly familiar feeling. Like an old friend that you've known for years and years, but just not that well. Until now of course. And I see what all the fuss was about.

 

To be perfectly frank, it's hard to believe it would happen this way. After all these years and hidden feelings and thoughts for distant figments of my imagination, here I am suddenly confronted with a tactile reality within arm's reach. Was the illusion I knew, real, and is this reality that I don't, false?

 

She entered my life with such ... the words feel empty when trying to describe any aspect of her being and presence. Instead of elation, I feel an unsurpassed awe at the deities that have bestowed this favor upon me - at christmas, of all times.

 

To touch her hand. Brush against her lips. Hold her hair in my hands. It's not a stereotypical dream smooth hairdo - the strands are coarse and short - nothing to run my fingers through. But in this frenzy of desire that is not drawn from lust, it matters not.

 

My sweet. My darling. My indulgence in a moment of fiction. I must forever dream in the face of that which may not be fulfilled.

 

Fear the illusion that may not be false.

Of the Beauty of the Beast

I saw King Kong yesterday. Completely blown away by it. Now before you judge me, take me not for some mindless movie watcher - connoisseur of Hollywood Austin Powers OTT shite. I would in fact think that most hollywood formula lovers wouldn't entirely love or appreciate the magnificence of this film - one that redefines the monster movie and gives us the epic without the scope of the easy go-to option - the trilogy.

But most of all, the vision of the film is extraordinary. Yes, I know I haven't seen Crash or any of the other unbelievably great films of the year - yet - but to me, Kong sits up there as one of the better films of the year with pride and grace.

And having said that, I move on.

I also saw Narnia this past weekend. And I really have little good to say about it other than there were some nice colors every now and again. That's about it. I didn't think much of it before I saw Kong and I think even less of it after. Arguably, it felt like LotR lite - for kids. Which, as a point has been made, most of the people who would have really read the books or be familiar with teh literature aren't going to be the rotten little kiddies - it would be the elder folk of this generation and of generations past - so to design the movie with this kind of childish sensibility is to go ahead and ignore the main audience in the first place. Kind of like a subtle kick to the nads if you ask me. As subtle as a nad-kicking can get.

I don't really exist, do I? A figment of my own imagination. Crafted by my own limited creativity, I live in this weird dream of patterns and nightmarish moments. It's an odd state to pass through. Nothing's entirely real - unless it's something that can hurt and then the pain becomes all too believable. Nothing good really transpires. It's all illusion. Every laugh and object of desire. It can't really be so, can it?

Till it comes around.

Uncommemorated

Be that a word or not, I really don't care - well ... I do. Yeah, that was a lie. I do care whether that was a word or not. Whether my grammar is correct or not. But I like to act like I don't - more so, in order to deflect or prevent any criticisms before they are levied against me and my words. A preventative measure, eh? Interesting - never actually looked at it that way. Apparently, I am so fearful ... or perhaps we all are to varying extents, of our words being whittled away to nothingness. To a greater point when all one has are the weak statements in one's head.

This blog was born on the 24th of November last year - when my curiosity for this whole blogging thing finally overcame my weak consciousness and I was sucked into the web of global obscurity all for that shot at being famous with at least one other person around. Well, more than one. But I'm keeping my goals "realistic" now. ;D

I wake and sleep. Rise and fall. Fall. Fall. And fall some more. It's a deep hole with no end in sight. There's plenty of light as I see time and space distort and the fall seems to slow down at times, the illusion of stopping crosses my consciousness - lulling me into a false sense of security before I realise that I've only increased the speed of the drop. Accelerated the journey to the bottom. WIth greater acceleration comes greater force and impact at the time of landing at the bottom. Tis it'll be ever longer before I can pick myself up and heal, if at all.

Ovaries. And Liver. Two words that are far too underused in everyday communication. The comic potential of Liver alone should make it a staple of normal conversation. And Ovaries - don't get me started on the complexity and glory of the word. Forgetting the association with body parts, these are great words - up there with Spleen as the unknown words. They're like Pariahs of the english language - they are there, but hardly ever used. A bit of a damn shame really. I mean to change that, for my part at least. I shall be a pioneer - a freedom fighter for words of great import that are treated no better than words like bauble (which is an awful word, when you really get down and think about it).

Aorta has potential for use, but it has no comical value. And therein lies its downfall for the time being. Perhaps after some time has passed, when a word need not have comic value to be used.

Till my eyes can remain open without shutting involuntarily due to a desire to sleep.

Not Now

Looks odd, doesn't it? Or perhaps that's just me. But it doesn't look like english - it doesn't quite look right or normal. Like for a second, it's something else - a foreign tongue, some cryptic code - Not Now. Perhaps it's the incorrect, though intentionally dramatic, use of the capital letters for both words. Who would know the answer - perhaps a semanticist ... if such a thing truly doth exist. Or just Freud. But then he'd say something entirely aside from the point - still being the genius that ... he was. Never mind - I've already treaded too far from ground that I can lay fragile claim to being familiar with.

Thoughts of late have centered around a couple of things. There's, of course, the usual questions of validity. Memories are an odd thing - no matter where you go or what goes on, they always come back to haunt you. Things you thought you forgot sort of prey on your mind. And you can't really escape or run away to find some respite. It's tough and it's shit. But that' s the way it falls sometimes. Like words running in my head of past relationships and my inabilities to keep them ... alive, as such. Stuff that kind of just etches a mark on your soul. Forgotten but never gone. Inconsequential any other day of the week but today.

Violence. "Condemned" on the Xbox 360. Now before anyone even thinks of misunderstanding anything about to be said - I think that this game truly rocks. It kicks new kinds of ass heretofore unkicked in gaming. Now, past that, this game is also really violent in a disturbing way. I'm not one to say that games are violent or that they inspire violence in any but those within whom violence already exists. However, ... I'll explain. In "Condemned," you play the role of some cop who's framed for murder by a Serial killer and have to walk through the levels beating up on drug addicts and other miscreants who otherwise want you dead. It's played from this cop's eyes and guns are at a premium, so your primary choice of defence, or offence if you look at it that way, are melee weapons like pipes, shovels, hammers - anything you can get your hands on.

Now this is where the game follows its own path. When you swing a weapon, the screen swings with you. Making you feel the strength behind the blow. When you connect with some little bastard's face, he cries out in pain and drowns out the dull thud of the connecting blow. Blow splatters from his face or gut down onto the ground or nearby objects. He may lunge at you to catch you off guard, but if you time it right, a quick kick to the shins will send him reeling, ready for a whack to the back of the head. What gets me - and the reason why I have stopped playing it - is that this violence is much too ... "real" and accessible. Not that I could hit someone on the head with a lead pipe. But where the oft-maligned Grand Theft Auto is cursed for being violent, it's almost comical - it's a dark fantasy lived out by the gamer. It's so detached from reality that the violence is along the lines of Tom and Jerry. Inconsequential and without realistic problems.

In "Condemned," though, it becomes all too real. With each swing of your weapon, the adrenaline rushes through your veins and soon you're whacking the corpse of your foe repeatedly to make sure he's dead. Or maybe this is just me and I'm beyond the point of stability. No - I'm not about to violently slaughter or harm anyone. That's just not my way. But subjecting myself to a reality where the violence is painfully realistic in its depiction, certainly can't help the mindscape as it reacts to the world around it.

While on the subject of gaming, let it be said that the "King Kong" game on the 360 is a fucking marvel. While the graphics might not be the next-gen revelation, the gameplay and design is just sublime. That's all.

I think that I shall depart this for the time being. I've been sleeping far too late ... of late. Treading that fine line between being late for work and being really late.

Late, eh?

Till a later date! AH HA!

Pardon the apology

British folk can be awfully polite sometimes - of course, this rule does not apply to Chavs and generally rude and vicious people as are to be found in every human race. But of the general british folk and mindset as we know it this day, it is fairly true.

A twisted version of this moment involves listening to Twisted Transistor by Korn. It rocks. In a way that only Korn does - something familiar and not.

I'm supposed to put myself on a christmas card ... mailing list. Well, the list of someone I know. Apparently, when I ... provide my mailing address, in time for the big pagan celebration, I will receive a card with a story of their past year. Apparently, it's the ... contemporary thing to do. FUCKING SHIT! Goddamn people - I mean, seriously, that is such pretentious middle-class shit. That's up there with the fucking "Baby on Board" signs as the stupidest shite I've heard out of a society that doesn't have enough to occupy its collective mind.

When I do get around to driving, I am going to sideswipe every Baby on Board car I see. Or at least make out like I'm going to. Give them a bit of a scare. Let them scream their lungs out in front of little Billy or Jane. Idiots.

I came down here to speak. Well, I was upstairs - it's nearly 1am, and I have to be at work bright and early tomorrow. But I said fuck it - didn't load up a game and am not going to either. Not necessarily worth the mention, but this is my show here, so if you don't like it ... file a complaint with the management.

There used to be a time when I wrote with such disturbing regularity and speed. Lately ... well, for a lot longer than just lately, that's been lost. Either it's the inspiration (or lack thereof) or the drive ... there's a lot that's left unsaid in these myriad tales.

Condemned is a game that I played some today. It struck me as a starkly visceral and violent experience. One takes the role of this detective who's been framed for two murders by this ... meticulous serial killer called the "Matchmaker" - so far the game has presented me with a good number of druggies or psychopaths, it's unexplained at this point, but what sets this experience apart is that it's a first-person perspective with primarily melee weapons, like metal pipes or 2x4 planks. So you go toe-to-toe with these sickos and instantly, this game becomes something else as you're swinging your weapon and the screen sways, blood spraying from their mouths and leaving a stain on the wall. And while you miss on the next swing, you watch in horror as your foe lunges to smash his weapon on your head and the screen shakes as blood covers your view temporarily. When you finally get that one hit in, you're occasionally left with an option to finish the enemy off in a small variety of ways that just makes you feel that rush of testosterone that inspires you to swing at the limp corpse on the ground - just to make sure the bastard is well and truly dead.

Now before you imagine that games are sick, know this - Shadow of the Colossus is beyond words. With grace that is lacking in every sphere of art today, you engage in a story that ... it makes you question things. And that's all I can say. You wonder and ponder. And it's what the game doesn't do that makes it amazing. The moments of reflection that it arouses in one's soul. Why am I doing this? Who are these creatures? Where are we? And what is to become of me if I accomplish this mammoth task?

I suppose I really should sleep now. Even my eyes and brain are beginning to betray me here.

Till another one bites the dust.