░░▒▒▒▓▓▓▒▒▒░░ (masstreble) wrote,

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What was that from? (Nothing, I just said it right now.) Oh. It sounded like a refference.

BANG! CRASH! The figure in black hurls through the darkened office windows, glass and office supplies hurtling upwards as he rolls to a crunching stop. All is still, a screech of an automobile's tires chewing into asphault is heard outside. Suddenly, the figure bursts upward, glides over a desk, and presses itself flat against a wall.

It's so bloody dark up here. Compounding the problem is a lack of decent illumination. Is decent overhead halogen too much to ask for? If so, full spectrum is right out, assumably. Right now, I've got this one dim atmospheric fixture in the corner which shields more the light away from the viewer. No filtering, no, it's pointing at the damn ceiling. I've put some tinfoil angled so it directs some of the light back into the room, but it looks terrible, and isn't effective as I hoped it would be. Curses, even my screen is a significant source of illumination in here. When it goes off the whole room--

The unreality of the technological world has unexpected effects on the modern mind. Nihilism and destructive sentiments are prevelent, modern democratic politics is haunted by hopelessness, and young adults contribute to discussion in all mediums with what can only be called thoughtlessness. Any page on the online video-uploading site YouTube is chased by a meaningless comment stream, which runs rank with the insepid spewings of idiotic teenagers and rude adults. The human spirit is being somehow being smothered by the human mind. It is for this reason that I resign from my post. This whole project, although certainly fruitful, is now stagnating, to use a more polite term than my colleagues.

I've grown tired of alternating between hopefulness and despondancy. Strange how the world looks when you think your future hinges on what ammounts to a bunch of office clerks. Loan or no loan? Funding or no funding? Do I go home with my tail between my legs and regroup or will my original plan suffice? Damn college, damn you and your uncertainty. Even if I finish up here, which, realistically, isn't that much of an accomplishment, I still have the harder challenge of starting a career, and I'm tired of making grand assumptions about the California Institute of Art. To be completely honest, I want to make films. Yes, films. Isn't that silly? I want to make strange films out of all kinds of mediums, using 'live action', animation and whatever else I can get my hands on. There. That's the truth. That's what I want to do with my life. That's the real reason I've been wanting to go down there. Isn't that clichè? Some idealistic kid going to California to make movies. Let's go through the rest of the plot, shall we? He gets there and his spirit carries him through some rough times, but eventually grim reality sets in and he has to make an escape, ending with him either dead in some way, or contentedly working at a record store or something. Basically, a modern re-telling Candide. Alternatively, he eventually triumphs, and gets the girl, and--

Sosiel the lizardfolk ranger squints at something in the distance, to the rest of the party's foward left flank. The others seemed distracted by the halfling bard's explanation of the lunar cycles, so didn't notice the approaching shadow from the woods. The reptilian ranger rushed in front of his allies, raising his claw to the approaching cloud of prismatically colored wings or dark ruby, glittering gold, irridescent green, and royal blue. The cloud of butterflies silently enveloped the adventurers' senses, filling their faces with awe. Sosiel heard the human wizard grunt and a metalic "ping!" and turned, but couldn't see anything through the cloud of winged insects. "Get down!" he said as he reached into the tan--

If I actually did half the things I said I was going to, I think I'd do even more. About five people are asking me to start a webcomic, everyone seems interested in the ideas for paintings and other stuff I come up with, but yet I never do much of it, or only start. Perhaps it's just an attention issue that's part of the motivation problem. Anyhow, finishing something doesn't seem to give me much satisfation, because I always think I can do it better the next time. Those, in and of itself, aren't negative qualities in... I feel pretentious typing this. Can I go home?

"You're going to counnt backwards from ten. I might start at any time--ten. Nine. Eight. Sev--"

If the world does end in December, 2012, at least it ends on a cool number. Seriously, though, what's the advantage of a ruined world, especially an empty one? It's as if the universe believes that there should be more, and perhaps that's what sentient life is doing, filling the universe, which is mostly empty space, with as much stuff as possible. When it gets full, that's the apocolypse, because in order to leave, we have to grasp for the door, and all the stuff bursts out with us into some new, larger void. We make thoughts, fears, shoes, baseball cards, pornographic magazines, people, small genetically created plants, filth, love and other weird concepts, jackets that glow zebra-striped under ultraviolet light, ultraviolet lightbulbs, books about digital cameras, slave collars. Tax resturns. Old televisions. Montly Crüe. acertaindoebear. The point is I don't find solace in promises of annhilation, only more questions, and supposedly a reasons to generate really weird lists.

"Hey, Come on!" Ragged Robin said. The three female Invisibles' haste was broken by the masked King Mob's interjection from behind, "Just a second. I saw something back there... I just have to check. He pressed himself to the aluminum grating (how absurd, it could easily be the same product a friendly neighbor would buy to fence their backyard), and surveyed the white chamber below. "Christ! The porcelain train." He was right, Ragged Robin could see the reflective cars halfway in-and-out the row of tunnels. "What is that?" King Mob stared through his visor at a cage surrounded by several fully suited human figurs, and in the car-sized cubic cage was a writhing, undifinable silver mass. One of the techicians seemed to notice King Mob, and they all slowly turned to look at him through their black flaceplates. "What have they got down there?" King Mob's hand raised slowly, as if he could somehow touch the squirming mercury being. Ragged Robin interjected, "--

Hey, we better get moving. I've got dinner to cook! At least I can do that much comptently without going into weird introspective dramatics, right? Sometimes, I don't know why you guys put up with me. :]
Tags: boring, rl, weird

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