FInal paper

To begin this final project, I started with my interests. What is it that I like? What is popular yet holds personal meaning? I thought immediately of books. Reading is an enjoyable, comforting and wholly personal experience. The text within the covers is text available for you to interpret, the characters for you to imagine, the adventure for you to undergo.

So what do I do now that I've selected my desired subject? What aspect of reading could I possibly cover, all the while needing to show a process of progress? On an entirely personal level I've been evolving as a writer every day since my early years. Now, that to me shows progress. What better way to interpret my love of reading than with my own writings of the past?

I immediately went to my mom, scoured the house for all my past writings, and decided to put together an homage to myself, my own personal literature collected since the early years until now.

Now, several hours later, I sigh with mixed emotions, nostalgia dripping from every page, photograph, note, or memory. Ever since my childhood I seem to have been an imaginative child, always with writing of adventurous or perilous fiction. Some early stories being " Wishes with the Genie", "Soccer Troubles (with a sequel basketball troubles)", "The Big Race","Attacking ants", "The Sewer Adventure" and a couple of untitled works of adventure.

Perhaps the best way or maybe the only way to understand one's present is to go backward, self understanding being tied with one's life's experiences. I reflect on just how familiar everything feels although I'm reading the works of a boy twelve years ago that physically does not resemble this man. The brain works overtime, my eyes close, and suddenly everything goes back. I time travel to that moment, mentally the physical space expands and I am who I was. I am really not so different. I laugh as I see myself then and now. The switch in priorities aside, my character, or maybe that "inner child" people like to talk about lives strong. Just thinking I am the same corner-cutting dubious, gleeful boy spreads a smile wide on my face.

I peer at the clock, thirty one minutes until I submit my most modern work. The culmanation of all that has been, all that was written once, flowing into this paper. Ego is the ultimate project, every single act and choice a building to my character. It's funny how people state the "life is too short" because life is the longest thing one will ever do. You and only you are master of your domain, and only you have the remote to change yourself. My head is now thick with scraps of modest philosophical thought, tied in to endless mementos to my past.

I now think that this paper has little or nothing to do with...anything. It feels like a silly cop out, of course life is a project, unfortunately it is not tangible in any sort of growth sense except in my own brain, as I have obtained a sort of understanding of myself. As my third grade teacher put in my report card, "Occasionally Simon's work is compromised by speed, and needs frequent reminders to stay on task". But this to me is the point, and perhaps what I was most able to get from the class. It was not in any curriculum, but in your ability to have us think freely, to truly be ourselves.

A little introspection never hurt anyone I suppose, as I feel that life is the biggest and most blantant series of pimps, hacks and mods. And now this little boy, this teenager, and this college student has contributed yet another work to memory, and another modification to his life. Go in peace.

Yo Exzibit, Pimp my Hack Mod

Pimp- As a verb, it means to enhance or improve an ordinarily mundane object. Particularly with more color (like purple) and more texture or pattern (fluffy zebra print)
As a noun, a pimp is a manager of a series of women who sell themselves for cash. The cash is handed to the pimp in order to protect the hoes. Other exchanges would be sexual favors and drugs.

Hack- A word with several meanings, generally only with negative connotation. Whether professionally you are a hack, being a fake phony, washed up, useless, should retire. Or in a computer sense where frameworks are tampered with. There is generally a victim to hacking. However at times it can be used in an admirable way, like this video http://www.chooseurfun.com/beer-pouring-robot . This is quite a hack.

Mod - As far is improvements go it's a trendy way to say 'modification'. Like a hack; but different where instead of a victim there are only beneficiaries. It's a modification in that, it does not begin on original terms, but it positively alters or changes something already in existence. Like where Half Life was the original platform. They Hunger was a modification for that game. It adds new dimensions and new life to old things.

Wow! That's a Nice Product.

An old standby; the lightbulb.

My Cartoon with essay

Better late than never as my ol' grampy used to say. Depending on my time management skills I might re-post these looking a bit nicer.


Creating an original character, with its own personality, who is distinguishable, is the first major obstacle in cartoon drawing. There are many worm characters, so to fix this I used an 'unusual' pattern on his chest to show he was not generic, but rather an individual. As far as personality goes, I feel he reflects his creator more than being his own entity. From 'Jahova' as a curse word, to drinking black coffee and reading on a summer morning. Not to mention my fear of the Witnesses.

From panel to panel there is a certain passage of time. The first panel being picturesque, comforting and nice. Between these is an assumed accident. Chaos begins to ensue. Rage turns to fear by the third panel, where an unexpected surprise shows up. The overall feeling is changed as each box rolls by. Where happy but relatively boring turns to misfortune and cursing, the interest level rises. The climax is hit, the plot thickens. The surprise ending then hits *kapow*
The creepy, overly friendly men of the cloth interject. The mood swings and a more lighthearted tone is met. The mess becomes more or less irrelevant. Although many of actions take place in between, you freeze those that move the story along. Your imagination fills in the gaps that appear blank before panels. The invisible space is not so invisible, as it is colored with your mind.

The constancy of character varies, as i have only drawn him a few times. Lines were sloppy, as it was all done in a single draft. I used only a dark graphite where marker would appear better. Perspective and third dimensions lack any logical physical boundaries, and those damned curtains move in the invisible breeze as the window breathes in and out. It's consistent enough, but sloppy. Even if I were to rescan the photo's the drawings would not improve.

An assignment long long ago in a semester far away.

Heres the scan i was supposed to do like 2 months ago.

I drew it whilst bored in class

and about putting a KIC scan on here. nobody likes the KIC scanner.

Chessilosophy

Updated Slice Of Nature

One of my favorite cartoonies.

In this comic, Abe Lincoln and Young Martha Washington talk to a distraught Fredrick Douglas. Fredrick proceeds to explain he is having relationship problems. Martha advises Mr. Douglas discuss relationship goals with her. Abe finds this preposterous, and informs everyone that relationships are all about getting the most possible kisses. Turns out thats what Fredrick Douglas thought all along.




It's from a website called ThinkinLincoln.com

:)

(Oh and, Attendance!)

photoshopped

Just a slice of nature.

(sein) Feldman's 300

You look in your closet and find a musty old shoe box. This is the starting point for Joseph Cornell's "box with bird's nest and oak galls". Inside you put the precious treasure you found moments ago amidst the chilly breeze of late fall. An old birds nest from your backyard, now long abandoned. Too early to complete this work, you dash back outside, and nest to the tree you find three oak galls. Arranging them neatly above your nest, inside the bruised cardboard box, the piece is complete.

This work oozes a simple elegance. Nearly monochromatic, in a fine gold, it has a depth that seems infinite at times. Garnished with leaves and overpowered with simplicity it makes very few statements about itself. It makes me reminiscent of Henry David Thoreau's "Walking". You wish to send yourself to where that nest came from, and see its history. You want to immerse yourself within the box, smell the oak, feel the wind, taste the pollen. In a sense, become the very bird, laboring to make that nest. It's a little ecosystem in a box, a framed, three dimensional snapshot of the world that is becoming less and less.

As Thoreau said, "I would not have every man nor every part of a man cultivated, any more than I would have every acre of earth cultivated; part will be tillage, but the greater part will be meadow and forest, not only serving an immediate use, but preparing a mould against a distant future, by the annual decay of the vegetation which it supports".

This work speaks to me in the same terms. You see this slice of nature, now frozen as an eternal reminder to what is important. To look outside your own life, and deeper into the entire world. To not become just a member to society, but to nature as well.

Heartbreak

Fuck.

Ow.

I think I may vomit.

Why is it that we all take comfort in music when we feel like the dirty floor you tread upon?

Maybe there's some inexplicable window you go through, where you can get lost for awhile. Ascend from this meaningless corpse and be elsewhere.

Herbie Hancock is so soothing.

And the words of others, feeling as you do. Maybe that cuts the edge of loneliness. There may be nobody else around, but at least somebody else has felt as you do.

Outside of this personal moment with eyes closed, you know she is there. On your desk there are numerous relics that remind you of what transpired.

Behind your eyelids is nothing. And that very nothing. Is what pleases me most. Darkness and fusion jazz.

A smile spreads on my face.

That was unexpected.

My eyes open

I think I may vomit

Ow

Fuck

Signature signature.

His name was Nick, he was helpful. Here's some proof.

They may be just some "swirly things", but it was legit to me.

La Photo Originale (Now with Impossible Offspring!)

Doctor Pepper makes my stomach queasy

A) Lens flare with supernova

B) My stomach, post consumption.C) Cool Stuff. Too dark though.
D) Jello

Should I ekstasis or should I go?

(The Clash humor. Classic.)
Updated for optimal grade.

First entrance, a rudimentary flying machine almost pokes your eye. Now one wonders what the hell that thing is. Looking past this oblong figure, bright blues of a fabric patchwork glistens in your eye. Once more you turn to what you once thought might be able to fly. Heavy chain, and long leather belt give the mind no more clues than earlier. Walking away, the finer details of the room come into play, nothing of interest until, baffled; you stare at these works, mouth slightly agape.

Comprehension doesn't come easy as I look at this art. Each piece more mysterious than the pronunciation of the artists last name. Minimal use of color, and optimal use of shape and textures, he forms each piece. One can't help but picture a mad scientist creating machines with beating hearts pumping blood through ancient metals all for the purpose of a hot cup of chamomile tea on a lazy afternoon. Each contraption a twisting work of rusted metal, winding, aged tubing. Busy works of a mind gone mad. Meticulous placement and arrangement of once useless scraps. Organized chaos. Barbaric civility.

Snapping out of it, the blurred edges of your vision once again come clear, you remember where you are. Sweeping the area, shuffling steps and furrowed brows of other students all hard at work kick start your memory. You get busy making a sad attempt to imitate the brilliance of three dimensional insanity, with a ballpoint pen.

As expected you cannot sketch something so magnificent. It's like trying to find the right words to say in a beautiful, perfect moment. It just is. And his works just are. They breathe commotion and bleed chaos. You exit fulfilled but warped. Legs slightly jellied as you climb the final steps to the second floor. Reality comes once again into full force, completely concrete. You exhale.

Thine Golden First Entry

Here we have a blog.

And here we have a life sized Scrabble board.


As to not be removed from Blogger on my first go at it. I found this at the following address http://projects.ajc.com/gallery/view/living/homeandgarden/lawn-scrabble/

I'm not too good at Scrabble nor do I always enjoy it. I did however find this brilliant. Build a fire pit??? I think not.