I’m actually going to live from now on.

My new goals, since Red told me "get busy living or get busy dying":

Fail Miserably at least once a week—set yourself up for failure. Be in control of your own failure and fail all the time. Ask girls you've never met to go on dates with you, talk to everyone you feel like talking to. Stop people if you have to. Be above whatever constraints hold you back from doing what you want.

Make things to give away for free. Give them away for free. They can be simple, but make sure they're not stupid. Give away all those stupid Butterfinger coupons you have. Not everyone will want one, but some people will.

Write your compliment cards, you forgetful bastard. A good compliment doesn't have to be not-awkward, but it totally can be that way. Make someone's day, even if you've got to lie to do it. Just make sure they can't tell that you're lying.

Throw a soundhacking party—watch a movie without the sound turned on, substituting your own foley artistry for whatever is happening onscreen. Cue up iPod soundtracks before the show and change the song with every scene. Record the whole thing digitally, and if it's worth it, sync it up when you're done.

Fast for a day or so. Going without food makes the mind sharp, creative. Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat it's a goddamn seminar. Not that you want to hit bottom, but you want to at least look down and see what there is. Don't get sick, just don't eat. Feel your mortality.

Carry around a little notepad for ideas. A small pocket-sized spiral would be good. Read the ideas at the end of the day. Perhaps have different pages for different types of ideas. Select the best ideas out of the book and compile a list. Type this list up and use it. If you have a great idea, you shouldn't lose it.

Honestly, you're 19. Wear whatever you want to. Dressing like people expect you will is boring. Sure, fitting into a role is fine when you know people, but why not get these strangers guessing? There's an Asian kid nearby that dresses crazy. I wonder about who he really is. Spray paint your old shoes.

Donate plasma at the clinic. You're always complaining about how you have no money. Even if you have to get up early to do it (your least favourite thing, I know), just go as often as you can. They pay $25 per visit. You've made $30 last for three months before. I'm pretty sure it's time to enjoy yourself.

Finish writing something. Being realistic, you don't have to write every night, but you should write at least 3 times a week. You're up late doing nothing all the time, and it's about time you convert all that monotonous browsing and trivia into actual productivity. Set word count goals and achieve them.

You have questions that you are slowly answering over time—how to survive a boring and broke college life, how to save yourself from social drowning, living fully—remember the answers to about those. They're invaluable and make for just the sort of thing you wish other people would give you. Share.

Complete and record at least one song. You have musical ability and lyrical potency. Why not force yourself to sit down and actually create something. Have something to show for whatever amount of life you've lived. Make it fun. Maybe even sing it for someone if you discover someone worthwhile.

Forgive your parents. They, like you, are simply acting upon what they believe. As easy as it would be to be bitter about the situation you're in, as easy as it would be to pin the blame on them, don't. It's a fact of life that there will be challenges and conflicts to overcome. It is petty to fault others without reason.

Sleep outside. The stars are wonderful here due to the lack of a nearby city or, hell, really big civilization of any ilk. A rooftop wouldn't be the worst place ever. You have an extra blanket and you could totally get away with it. Extra points for bringing a star map and doing some gazing. The universe is amazing.

Workout more. I won't quantify this, because you hate numbers and schedules, but you should be losing weight and gaining muscle. At least get some nice pectorals. Learn how to do windmills for breakdancing. Gain endurance and fitness over the next few months. Don't be a sedentary blob.

Get things done before they're actually due. Force yourself to complete schoolwork before the assignment has hit its deadline. Strive for perfection as far as actual completion of assignments goes. Don't settle for skipping classes or small tasks. Get everything done in a prompt, efficient fashion.

Find podcasts, blogs, forums and people to follow. Partake of their updates and knowledge. Don't pass up the opportunity to benefit from the vast information the internet has to offer. But make sure that you are not allowing trivia to dilute your learning. Learn a language, or at least something concentrated.

Get what you need. Cologne, better quality hygiene products, etc. Get the materials for your new bag and make it! Get things you need before you get things you want. Or at least prioritize things of benefit. A new can of Axe will last longer than another case of IBC cherry limeade sodas, though they are delish.

Listen to music all the time. You freaking love music and it makes no sense that you haven't listened to and discovered more. Think about people from whom you get a lot of your favourite music. They know so much about it just because they listen to it all the time. Download tons and shuffle through it all.

Do stupid little things. Scratch yourself—even if you don't have an itch, wherever you want to. It feels good. Cut your own hair. Read the newspaper. Find something free on Craigslist. Make out because you're young. Do backflips. Exist as much as you can at any given moment. Be caught up in living.

Lines mark where bullets hit people in a firefight. Shows complexity and prejudices of targeting.

Places I’ve Half Been

There are places I've half-been,

Dimly lit in the valleys of my memory,

As I see them from the vague hills of imagination.

Gray-green spanish moss hangs from the trees there,

Over shaded lanes that, at night, are filled with

The night sounds: mating frogs and crickets, croaking and chirping,

Their percussive syncopation piercing walls that stand

Where they have stood for lifetimes before me.

This was the only place they didn't burn during the war.

It's residents are conscripted, unwittingly, as its faithful curators

Until death. We sleep in bouts, casting off our sheets

Then pulling them back on when we get cold again.

There are places I've half-been,

Where paint peels from the windows of neglected storefronts

that have always housed the same products, leftovers from the fifties,

Switchblade combs, an excess of lace and incandescence.

All of the colors here are muted, understated hues,

Just a stroke beyond warm, monotonous sepia.

The street signs are proprietors of distant meanings,

Abercorn and Victory, things incomprehensible to a new strain.

In these places, the sun is setting on a hazy afternoon

Always. Someone gentle might offer a room in which

to spend a night that will take eons to fall and pass.

Yes, there are places I've half been,

In your heart and in your arms, in your favor,

In the future I saw, where we're inseparable

And free to live however we see fit.

These are places that exist in nostalgic reverie,

Storage for dreams, a fool's paradise.

These half-places are always just half-past

possibility, half-through and half-onward to fulfillment--

to places where I never have to sleep alone,

Where, of the two of us, each loves the other

Beyond what either of us imagined possible.

But these are places I've only half been.

Intro with evolution. Mortar burst=first bass hit gunshot ricochet=cymbal. Record scratches are helicopters?

Contrapuntal music, starkly contrasting what is shown.

Mickey mousing, adding lietmotifs to characters. Jazz progressions with improvisations. Styles/genres of music for each character.

Snowflake falls tracking shot into last second revelation of snow warfare. Explosions offer flurries that strong wind carries.

Lindsay

I foray, but she don't need me

Nothing but another one,

But also, another one.

And she wants to spend more one-on-one time,

That's a thing, right?

Well, at least, it would be if it weren't for Kyle

Or Derrick

Or boys who aren't me.

Not that she's much special—but maybe the fact

That I'm not floored by her, that I can stand to be in her presence

Without shrinking and burning away like a rose petal falling through

The blast of an atom bomb,

Maybe the fact that neither of us needs the other

Maybe that fact makes her invaluable.

Igor Stravinsky and Girls That Never Like Me Back

 In this, the modern age, nobody seems to quite understand the gravity connoted by a reference to fire-- when someone says that they "burn" for someone, when they note that the [pyrrhic] acid running through their muscles seems like a flame, it comes across as pretense. This is so because, over time, we as people distanced ourselves from the traditionally dangerous savior. We've traded in our bonfires for gas lamps and our gas lamps for incandescent light bulbs-- we've even replaced these with colder fixtures, fluorescents and LED banks. Fear has pushed them away from the genuine article. I don't want to fall into that trap, so understand that when I make a comparison to fire, I mean it to carry the full weight of a blaze. I want you to see the mystified autumn colors and I want the heat pulsing off of it to be unignorable. I want you to feel like stepping back a few feet. I want you to close your eyes to keep them from watering.

 
 

 With discomfort and awe conveyed, I'll get onto the subject on which those qualities are projected. I am, in many ways, a firebird (phoenix or what have you). I am not something mythic and glorious. I don't have stories or a ballet set to my name. However, my life consists of constant, perhaps cyclical, rebirths. Over and over again I have, midflight, begun to spiral down. Sometimes it is predictable, a matter of time, like the observation of a religious holiday or the onset of an exam. Sometimes it is unpredictable, a change in the winds that once held me aloft, a shift in perspective triggered by an unforeseen factor. I have fallen.

 
 

 The bottom is rarely a loud crash or explosion of sudden impact, but rather a settling into nothingness-- like feathers finding their way to the ground on their air-cushioned slow motion paths. And there I am now, after the strike, smoldering very, very lightly. It's not terrible, but it's certainly a little uncomfortable, like your only blanket being a little too thick on a stuffy night. It's not what I'm concerned with. The way I see it, this is the way it goes:

 
 

 I smolder, less a substance than a quality, on the ground-- I lie there with as much potential as is left from my previous iteration. I am an opportunistic set of ashes, awaiting the proper presence's entrance into my sphere of influence. It doesn't have to be a girl, it doesn't have to be a humongous prospect, it just has to be there and it has to interest me and pull me towards it just a little. Then, something happens. It's hard to put it past something, but that substance added to my potential, that form beyond my almost-self, ignites and erupts into a sudden and terrible blaze, and from the combination of the two my existentially impassioned, believing, ideal-driven persona is forged.

 
 

 I know it sounds lovely, but I fear it. Maybe I don't quite fear the process which engenders what I consider my truer self, but I am wary of the entire cycle in which the process is involved. I don't know what I really want (or I'm afraid of letting myself know because I'm scared of the act of attempting to catch it). Simply put, right now, my greatest apprehension in regards to my tomorrow is the fire. To build again upon the rubble of my tallest towers and place myself atop such a great height is a herculean task, one taking resilience and strength. Like handling the fire our ancestors once did, it involves things to be considered both wonderful and terrible. To get caught up once more is the only thing I desire, but at the same time, I can't stand still in the shadow of its possibility. And though I believe that everyone understands to some extent this phenomenon of rising once more, aching, in the morning, it seems like I'm the only one who is feeling it as thoroughly as I am. In the same way that modern man has forsaken his fire for safer emulations of its sought-after benefits, he has shielded himself from really playing out his life with his heart at stake. I am one of those who choose the mysterious antiquity of unrememberable recollection. So for me, I choose-- or perhaps have been chosen by fire, and truly, honestly, with no pretense or overstatement, from fire I come. Maybe acknowledging that forces me to accept the next step in all this: the growth into that shining creature I must be, being born once more. I await my catalyst. (I pray it will come soon).

Future Posts

    So I think I'm going to write an ongoing paper on the society of Utah—specifically Provo and BYU. Because there are a lot of different things at work. A) I've been able to get a lot more lip (aka I've been getting lip period) because everyone is sexually frustrated by the dorm/modesty rules. The similar effect evident on craigslist, except this time with over-the-top housewives. B) The self-righteousness vs. counter-self-righteousness in appearance/speech. C) How nobody swearing feels like a cloud hanging over social interactions. The words Fetch and Zoobie, the term NCMO and breaking in the levis.

    That's basically it for now, but I think it's worth commenting on.

an penetrate to this image.

The greatest artist has no conception which a single block of marble does not potentially contain within its mass, but only a hand obedient to the mind c

All povs of inertial frames are equal. The speed of light is equal for all people regardless of speed

Start out the day morning with a little bob marl oh seventy sixers dr dre

Goldenrod and the 4h stone

Jet, badlydb, rfest, all the girls walk by dressed up for eachother, dvorjak,

c m, deltron, lotus, brad sks, world.s caving in

Bnl, the more i see the less i know but there's one thing, guitar, rhcp, m osaku, jsrf, cpirate, weepies, elbow, 88, marley, bckstrt, sno p, aggro, arcti

cmbrsts?, b benassi, hypem zgst

Gstr, dft pnk, rykspp, bro ali, ray chrls, owl city, ween, dmb, rbf, 3eb, b dylan cvrs, tal b, 2 hrs trffc, rrriot, vwknd, k/leon, pinbk, utada, ben g, d

get lifted, apples in stereo, radiohead, coldplay, kooks, phoenix, cars, illinoise

Beach boys, blu and exile, doves, cake, 1990s, gorillaz, propellerheads, talking heads, sigur ros, van morrison, hood internet, beatles, jackson browne,

Get next to you, count basie, ben folds, editors, hives, kings of leon, george micheal,

bruise,
way down (way down earth),
on wellrock cobblestone click black shoes.

Get right outta littlehere,
get rid of that yesterlife,
join up in the new navy,
find a naive island wife.

Dance all the sunshine steps,
trip my tumble

"Can I at least make some money while I'm miserable?" ~Rob

d in the other, well, na. I guess there's just another quality to tack onto the list of thing that love transforms from chore to bliss. Sounds effin cool

orever. I think most wise people do. So what's the difference between one ritual and another? I guess there's the obvious answer: in one you make love an

na' the character Proteus states that inconstancy is man's greatest flaw. I'm always trying to complete myself by finding a person who can stay with me f

constraint. Nevertheless, i find myself seeking constancy in my dealings with my fellowman (ann wif da bitches). In shakespeare's 'two gentlemen of vero

time job, religiousness, a summer wake-up time-- all of them bastions of ritual. I despise these. I despise structure and schedules and any other sort of

Ritual is the husk of faith, the beginning of chaos. ~tao te ching My mother and father have started pushing me towards a number of things --a full-

Times They Are A-Changin!

This blog is officially going to be interspersed with shorthanded emotional insights. It's warrior-POET mothaflippppp!

That's all really. Enjoy my cellular gifts of perception.

I have a tendency to plan out how i'm going to feel before i go somewhere and it detaches me from real reaction.

Spy Tip 2: Lip Reading

This tip is a little tougher than our first one, but it's an invaluable skill and a really neat trick once you get it down. Lip reading can make you better at espionage and general sneakiness, plus it will also allow you to communicate better. It's another rare talent that has fallen out of style, but now I'm bringing it back!

The best way to start is with DVDs:

1. First watch movies on really low volume. See how low you can go before you can't understand every third word or so.
2. Then turn on the subtitles and turn off the sound. Try to watch the characters' mouths as often as possible while still getting most of the words they're saying.
3. Begin imagining the speakers talking as you read the subtitles and watch the movie.
4. The most important thing to learn is to "hear" the speakers in your head just by seeing their lips move.
5. Start practicing with your friends and a pair of earplugs when you get confident as a beginning lip reader. Ask your friends to repeat or rephrase themselves while speaking normally if you don't get what they're saying.
   
6. The key to mastering this skill is understanding context, facial gestures, and body language. Only about 35% of speech can be discerned from lip movements and everyone has small differences in their speech.

You're on your way to reading lips.
That's all for now!

Spy Tip 1: Amazing Pace

Knowing the length of your pace is uncommon nowadays, despite the fact that 100 years ago, most anyone would have a good guess as to the size. This seemingly obsolete talent is actually a skill among those that are the lifeblood of spies-- it has numerous applications (listed below) and can be pretty impressive if you're just looking for another trick to learn.
However, you can only use your pace if you measure how long it is:

1. Start out by measuring out 15 feet or 5 metres, depending on what country you're in.
2. Walk around casually, not thinking too much about your steps.
   
3. Start counting them without changing your gait (the way you walk).
4. When you're comfortable counting and walking, count the amount of steps it takes you to complete the distance you measured out in step one.
   
5. Repeat this a couple of times for accuracy.
   
6. Divide the distance by the amount of steps it took you to walk across-- this number is the length of your pace.

Using your pace, you can:

• Measure a room and create a floorplan-- pacing out from walls to other landmarks in a room (desks, computers, etc.) is useful for knowing a room at night. If you need help storing the pace data, one of my favourite tricks is to enter a text message into my phone using letters and numbers. i.e. DW8WC5 (Desk to wall, 8 paces. Wall to Cabinet, 5.) --you can convert them into feet or metres later.
• Create a map for stashed items where only you can find them-- unused fields are often good for burying things where people won't find them.
• Figure out how far you are from the nearest exit, plotting an escape route (more on escape routes later).
• You can impress people by randomly knowing distances.

That's pretty much it!

Spring, PKFR, and Music

So here's the first thing I'm writing on here besides my mission statement-- Spring. It's supposed to be here, but I can't tell. It's wet and cold season right now, but soon it will be warm and bright season, and you know what that means:

Parkour/Freerunning -- so that's probably my next post on its way. These are physical sister disciplines I've undertaken, both akin to obstacle courses and involving acrobatic manuevers and critical thinking. I do flips and stuff, and I fall down a lot. I'll have some great links and a broad explanation of what I can do, and what you need to do to get started.

Secondarily, this came up in conversation with the fella who writes this here other blog. My stance on confidence is: You make what you have. You have to put yourself in situations where you'd normally be uncomfortable, realize it's not that bad, and decide to not care about it. Girls are the same way. Just pretend like you know what you're doing and eventually you will. Just jump into your life --talk to strangers, or worse acquaintances-- and most of the time you won't get shot down. I'm going to be performing in front of some people this spring. It's going to crash and burn-- I know it will because my guitarist is a narcissist and so am I and, combined with the excess of members, we step all over each others' toes musically-- but I'll have fun up there in front of a ton of people, realizing that I don't care what they think as much as I originally did and just playing my violin and maybe throwin' a little soul with ma voice.

I love making music, be it with my guitar, violin, or just messing around on the piano (I need to learn someday). I also love making beats and electronic tracks on the computer, even though I'm not fantastic at it.

I think the thing I like about the seemingly new-school concept of electronic music is that it allows you to compose old-school music without looking like an idiot. Even if it is a simple musical phrase, it's got value and it's sad that most other genres seem to stifle such creative freedom with musical conventions and classifications. There are a lot of great undiscovered acoustic composers and folk artists, but it's kind of a box-in. More often than not, with electronic music, you're dealing with actual notes represented visually. You don't need to know chord progressions, you can feel it out by ear. I'm definitely a by-ear kind of guy, and I feel that applies to the rest of my life. I figure things out on my own, without convention, responding to the reactions I attain through series of action, and of course, messing up, falling down, and making crappy music sometimes.

My First Post: What This Blog Is

Well, it seems I have one too. This post will serve as a working mission statement for the rest of my blog. I aspire to the last of a dying breed of epic warrior-poets-- tech-savvy pavement-dwellers with the slipperiness of a con, the rascal-charm of George Clooney, and of course the impressive tricks that go along with being a generally legit fella with a taste for Bourne-esque talent. In short, I am on my way to becoming an Suburban Scoundrel.

That being said, this page is a documentation of my journey, and possibly the beginning of your own. I will post what I've learned each week in the hopes that I you, the reader, can become more legit through reading and applying the concepts learned here.

Even if you don't go the whole way to becoming a Suburban Scoundrel, I hope this page teaches you something interesting or cool. I'm just a guy with a lot of different passions attempting to share my interests and passions, so feel free to comment and tell me what you like and don't like, what I should write more and less of, or tricks of your own!