Timewaster's Guide Archive

so this is the first chapter of a new project I'm working on, it's a stream of consciousness journal entry style piece meant to log my travels through the midwest, some feedback would be appreciated.
chapter one: cadmium yellow and dry lips.

It's four-thirty in the morning and I'm awake again, this isn't unusual, in fact it's necessary, it's a way of life for us smart-ass nocturnal psuedo-philosophical children of some imaginary second tier revolution, you know the one I'm talking about, the nineties, veritable transcendental mediocrity at it's finest. I've long been of the opinion that human life, by which I mean humanity, is always, and I can't stress that word enough, always better viewed at night. Daytime is all well and good, if you want to watch people pretend, the light of the sun is too judgemental, every word and action is as fake and forced as sixty percent of all orgasms on this blue little planet, no, to get to the core of people you need to do it in the dark.
Lets start from the beginning, seven in the morning, this is when I'd wake up if I wasn't already awake from the night before. I shower, shave, take my standard issue american morning meds, then throw on some jeans and my formal houndstooth slippers and mosey downstairs for some breakfast. The dinning hall is provocativley colored and styled to look like some sort of late nineties night club or coffee shop, but the illusion is incomplete and nobody is really fooled, it just smells too much like the midwest. Which reminds me, the midwest, hell of a place, eggs from cartons, biscuits and gravy, but not just any gravy, white gravy. Yes truly this is a wonderland to me, my childhood in california taught me nothing of these things, my nostalgic breakfast is one comprised of starbucks.
Eight in the morning, I go for a long walk because I don't have class until eleven, which I will no doubt sleep-walk through before selling the rest of my daylight hours away to the darkroom, this works for me, it prepares me for the real start of my day, seven at night, when I emerge from the chemical rich darkness into the sodium rich twilight of saint louis. I go for another walk, just to get a feel for the night, then I convene with others not entirely unlike myself, people who don't question my navy pinstripe blazer and round dark glasses as I wander through the darkness. It's now nearly one in the morning, we never do anything specific but there is a rudimentary pattern we follow as if led by instinct to an ancsestral watering hole, metaphorically speaking of course, in actuality it tends to be some slap dash steak and shake, maybe a waffle house, or some other flourescent yellowed diner. We sit on quaint fifties style stools, served by people in little paper hats and aprons. The sick cadmium yellow light flickers and shines on their skin, and on ours too, at this time of night all are equals, we become no different than the faux-soda jerks and the waitresses named marge, time will eventually turn us into them, or something else equally bizarre, so we sit. Dani will order eggs and waffles, Manda will try to convince herself she isn't hungry but eventually gives in and orders the same, while I sit quietly content with my burger, we discuss our exploits for the day and at some point either Manda or Dani will whisper something to the other, they will both shoot me a look, and I will on cue inquire as to the nature of said look just like i did the night before, and just like the night before they will both say nothing and laugh, and then life will continue on, just like the night before.

Well I recently had a very interesting revelation/conversation witha friend of mine, I think it's pretty neat so I have submitted it here, who knows you might be entertained or inspired or something, enjoy.

Ashley(A) (9:23:59 PM): yo just cookin stuff
Max(M) (9:24:12 PM): yay cooking! I just had a revelation and boy is it a doozy
A (10:00:34 PM): lol, what was it
M (10:00:49 PM): well it pertains to the nature of the soul, that kind of stuff doesn't bother you does it?
A(10:01:23 PM): no
M (10:01:28 PM): okay then here I go. first truth: The soul is more than the sum of it's parts. second truth: The soul can exist on it's own. third truth:the soul is not required to be alive. you have the spirit which is say someone's conscious, who they are how they think. you have their essence which is the most fundamental part of their being, that which determines the nature of their spirit.
A(10:04:48 PM): hmm
M (10:04:53 PM): then the anima, which is the driving force the thing that animates the spirit and anchors it to the essence but I think the better word for this is will, it pulls the componets out of darkness and forces them into being. but all this together creates someting that is more than itself. a sort of 2+2=5
A (10:06:36 PM): haha'
M (10:06:38 PM): that 5 is the soul. but something does not need to be alive to have a soul. a soul can be dormant, but it can also be destroyed, it cannot however be seperated from it's vessel. the soul of knife would be dormant and therefore based soley on it's essence rather than spirit. the essence of a knife is cutting, you cannot seperate that act from the knife
A (10:08:39 PM): yeah
M (10:08:48 PM): but breaking the knife would disable it from cutting, by doing that you have broken it's soul by tearing it's essence out, the same way you can break a persons soul by breaking their spirit, anima(will/ being alive)+spirit+essence=soul, spirit+essence also =soul
A (10:11:06 PM): yea, i see what youre saying
M (10:11:16 PM): however one cannot have a soul devoid of essence nor can one have a sould devoid of spirit, the spirit may be dormant or suppressed, but it mast have the capacity to exist. the body is a very large part of the soul. the psyche is the soul's way of interacting with the physical world. the body is heavily linked to the essence which in most ordianry cases is fulfilled and executed thru the body. no body no essence, ussually.the psyche communicates with the spirit. essence=physical(ussually) spirit=mental
A (10:15:09 PM): yea'
M (10:15:32 PM): the mind and body accomidate the essence and spirit while the heart(not physically) supplies the anima. damage one and the soul is damaged, but develope one and you further develope the soul. the physically world is most likely one of the lower levels of existence
A (10:16:41 PM): did you write all of this down>? XD haha
M (10:16:48 PM): as we speak
A (10:16:56 PM): cool
M (10:17:29 PM): when you develop in the womb for nine months your body is created to house the soul, you are given the various tools to deal with the physical world, however during birth creation of the soul is involuntary. but after birth development of the soul IS voluntary and if you do not develop it before you die your soul dies with the body, but and this is where my ideas become a little harder to believe.

another work I', thinking about putting in my portfolio, and it should be noted that this wea meant to be read as if someone is talking to you, kind of trying to point out something on the horizon. Also  it's about a person and not the ocean.

The East India Trading Co. By Max Raden

At precisely seven twenty-one this morning, while watching the ocean
There
No. Not there.
There, yes, right there.
Do you see it?
A sort of sleek bengal cat... no.
More like a sunny sunday thunderstorm that doesn't wear shoes
Perhaps followed by a wonderful night, playful and sagacious...
What? Are you sure you don't see it?... It's right there.
Mahogany skin and purple silk full of sea water, promising fair tides and good happenstance,
Just right for sailing in those turquoise seas and getting lost in the emerald crescent on the left.
You still don't see it? Well she does have double vision in that eye.
Wry smiles and serene laughter like a lotus blossoming in frozen fire.
touching the shore only for a second before retreating into the sky and crashing waves.
I'm telling you it's right there.
Eclectic, erratic, and erotic, like a once graceful serpent swimming through hard liquor.
Always at death's door and life's stoop, fearless, peerless, and tearless.
It's right there, that mahogany skin and purple silk full of sea water.

 So I was recently paid a  visit by a very good friend of mine who I hadn't seen in about three years. But good lord was I suprised when I saw Tasha http://www.filespace.org/FuzzyOne/tasha.jpg I mean... she was always very cute, but my jaw nearly became earthbound! Somebody please tell me I'm not insane.

whady want for christmass? tell the world! We probably can't do anything about... but tell us anyway!
I'll go first.
some pottasium nitrate
ammonium nitrate
bismuth
a complete set of pyrex labware
a new(working) bunsen burner
a new ps1 memory card
a not broken copy of chrono cross
and a new non-stick skillet

This topic has been moved to [link=http://www.timewastersguide.com/boards/yabb/YaBB.cgi?board=writing_group;action=display;num=1134068396;start=0]Writing Group[/link] by Christmas e.

well due to popular demand(by the people of santa barbara) I have begun work on what will no doubt be one of the most significant examinations of the human psyche ever. I was working on a strange comic strip one day, a comic strip in which the main character name of chad mcnarrator guy was a talking cheeseburger with legs, also he was in the jungle, then a strange petition was laid on the desk. It had to have been signed bay at least 400 people all of which seem vaugley familiar... but the point was that someone had started a petition to pass a motion to have me chronicle the strange little paths my mind takes. I think this is because when i say something that is considered to be retarded, ridicoulous or random, it is because they ony hear/see the beginning and the end of my thought process and not the mechanics of how I got from point A to point X...
so here it is, http://thenauticalcamel.blogspot.com/ it's worth a look if you want a cheap laugh or are merely curious to know why I associate houseflies with the economics of third world countries.

here be the first page,
tell me what you think, and if anyone is interested i can post a link to the rest of chapter one.
     UNDERWOOD

     I’ve never been very good at introductions, so I’ll get straight to it. My name is Seriph, I’m an angel of sight, it’s my job to see things and I’ve taken it upon myself to chronicle the events of the past two years.

                       CHAPTER ONE      
                             ZEDRICK
September, 23, 2012
     It was at least ten in the morning when Seem left his apartment. The sky, or rather lack of it didn’t show the time, he might as well have been walking the streets in the middle of the night. There was no sky in the deep stains, Underwood is like a forest and as is the tendency with such places the larger trees overshadow the smaller ones, until there are so many large trees that the small are plunged into perpetual darkness and occasional fluorescent light. The thing that disturbed seem the most about this city was the fact that all the artificial lighting and metal and concrete had an uncanny organic feeling to it, as if he were in the middle of a giant hollowed out tree.
As he walked to work he thought about why he hated his job at a music store named "In one ear and out the other". A job at a music store is all well and good for an eighteen year old, but Seem had a particular distaste for his boss. Bermuda was the name of the rotund Caribbean man who owned the music shop, Bermuda for some unknown reason is bothered by angel’s and druggies, both of which he is forced to interact with on a daily basis, he’s under a lot of stress.
After an hour or so of such thoughts Seem realized he had walked three blocks past his stop, this in turn caused him to be late for work, and that caused his angry boss to give him a very long and tedious lecture. From there on out is was smooth sailing all the way, so to speak.
The inside walls of the smokey music shop were lined with LPs, everywhere one looked they would see racks jammed full of CD’s and baskets haphazardly crammed with tape decks. It was about four o’ clock in the afternoon when a doorbell broke the monotony of Pink Floyd’s "welcome to the machine". A very interesting customer entered the store and approached Seem. This man was in fact a demon, which is not all that uncommon in Underwood. He was dressed in a navy blue pin-stripe suite and matching hat, along with shiny black shoes, white gloves and of course a red corsage in his right breast pocket. This demon would look more at home in a 50’s "gangster" movie than in the middle of a music store. He leaned over the counter and began to speak with Seem, who being caught off guard was a little unnerved, seeing as this demon had no face.
     "Hello, my name is Zedrick." Said the demon, "I know this sounds silly, but I’m looking for an angel named… Angel. You wouldn’t happen to know such a lady would you?" inquired Zedrick. Seem did of course know Angel, but he did not tell this to Zedrick; there was just something about that guy’s face he didn’t trust. The demon had been questioning Seem for almost fifteen minutes when Bermuda, the manager, began to get agitated, "Buy something or get out!" shouted the heavy set owner. Zedrick calmly left the store.