Jerrett

FIrst TIme

Thu, 07 Jun 2007 23:09:10 -0700

I think this time I will gather the nerve and speak to him. Praying that my breath doesn't get short, my palms sweaty, my voice cracking, my face red, my body shaking in fear; how could I even imagine I could say a word. How could I even think I had the nerve. What thoughts! Last time I tried this my palms got sweaty and my voice choked up in such a way that I couldn't utter a word at all. I just walked off in such swiftness that he probably wondered what the hell was wrong with me. He followed; he stood by me as I looked at my other friends talking, as I pretended to be listening ever so intently to the meanderings of this small but focused group. Laying in a small chuckle here and there, I'm sure I fooled him; I hope I did at least. I cut eyes in his direction occasionally; quickly returning to my the attention of my friends. I hope he didn't see me, I hope he didn't know what I was thinking about. I want to speak to him; I want to be comfortable; I want to stare into his eyes as he speaks to me about his passions and fears. I bite my bottom lip, these thoughts flooding me. I wish he were bitting my bottom lip. I wish he were laying into me for a small kiss, only a small kiss. I close my eyes and wish so tenderly to have him hold me. "This is silly," I think to myself. "This is truly silly, I am a grown boy!" I walk into the crowd of friends away from him and try to hide among the friends; I try to drown my image out and blend in. I'm so scared. I'm so scared he knows my thoughts; I'm so scared he knows my passion for him. Maybe next time. Maybe my body won't betray me again. --- When I get nervous and scared I have scenes in my head. Like movies. I decided to write one down.

Untitled

Tue, 15 May 2007 23:47:07 -0700

you stood there, looking at me; past my flaws and internal revelations. I wish I could touch you, only once. softly on the cheek. pre kiss. deeply I need you, eternally I want you, but you don't notice, and I break down. secretly behind the screen. secretly on my knees. I pretend in stare, I'm okay. cross to bear. you pretend you'd be better, without me there. games to play, no one wins, except the space between us. hollow air. a link flies from me to your chest, you turn red and brush it away. a link flies from you to my stomach, you turn red and brush it away. laying dangling on the floor, still attached and still adored. love taught me a lie, I learn to lie. love taught you to hide, you can't heal. I am flustered, clueless. You confused. we're just kids without a clue. I wait.

BLARGH!

Mon, 14 May 2007 14:20:01 -0700

I had a fist fight with a few Mimosa's last night and they are winning as of 1:17 p.m. the next day.

Love.

Tue, 08 May 2007 13:10:52 -0700

Love is a genuine mistake, flowing from an overlapping surge of chemicals located inside our brains. Lacking logic and reason, it's perfectly flawed in every way. Love loaded with connotations and reparations of what is and what is to be. I walked through the hallway unmatched by what's went before; Overwhelmed by what's to come. I looked through the window and looked straight at you. Your spirit, the only thing that's lasting and tears come flowing through. Love's perfect embrace, holding me there. Fear holding me in place, unable to touch your face; I stood in stare, our lives together flashing by. Touching the window as I imagined touching your face, I thought this would never happen. I was wrong as always. Is this the way it's supposed to be? Will it end here with me frozen with fear? Or will I gather the last morsels of courage, deep inside me and walk in to hold you. Hand on the doorknob, barely turning clockwise.

I want more

Tue, 08 May 2007 11:18:05 -0700

My heart took me hostage, holding a ransom I couldn't pay. It knew all along what it was doing, but treaded anyway. Funny how this story goes, as old as paintings on cave walls; deep faceted love, unending, falling away instead. I want more. I want more. What I'm getting isn't enough. I want more, I want more. All I can see now, is that distant storm, beating on my local atmosphere. I can't believe you mean so much to me, but I touch the thought anyway. Running my fingers through it, and swirling it around, like top water surface tension. I want more, I want more.

The One Worth Leaving

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 13:44:13 -0700

I took Intro to Communication Design this semester, and it changed my view of this type of art forever. Before I started this class I was under the impression that graphic design, though for profit, is still ultimately art. Right? Isn't that what it portrays itself as? As I learned, through many parts of class, you're not paid to produce art, you're paid to create visually stunning pieces which ultimately are either thrown away or used to turn huge profits. Most of which you'll never see on your meager salary. You're paid for on-demand creativity. Creativity, as defined by my Intro to Comm Design teacher, is not a "talent" but instead an "ability" that you work at perfecting; a skill. The value of the work itself, especially to the outside world, is that it's either spam (thrown away) or it makes them buy something. They never know that you did that awesome Scion commercial, that piece for Nike, or even that amazing print campaign for Apple Computers. Graphic design is directly linked to capitalism. In and of itself, capitalism isn't "evil" though when you mix art with capitalism, the art becomes cheapened. The value of the art is then transfered to how much that piece increases profits. Only within the design community itself, do we assign value to graphic design pieces based on merit, creativity, processes, and aesthetics. The average viewer would never think of a print piece in their favorite magazine as art. Ad agencies get most of the comm design students from this school. Though these are semi-awesome places to work, your work (as fellow blogger Joshua Blankenship states) is passed through so many hands that either your work is not recognizable in the end or it never saw the light of day. In my opinion this is akin to art slavery. Though it has its place in the world, I would never put myself in that type of situation. When I make art, I still have this "idealism" that people will appreciate it. I want people to view it, as art, not as an ad. I don't want my art to be seen for 2 weeks and thrown away, or immediately thrown away because the person deemed it as "trash." If I make something, I want it to have a lasting effect outside of the art community. Though, according to Postmodernism, there is no "high" and "low" art, I would definitely conclude that ad agency art is low art. Much better examples of art, especially things seen as art outside of the design community, come from small design firms (mom and pop shops). I still respect graphic design, however, as an industry I despise it. I still appreciate what my graphic design brethren are doing, however I can not respect the industry that it serves. So I pack up my bags and I leave graphic design, only to come to a place not far away. I am going to change my major to New Media Design. Which, as stated before, is more animation, 3d modeling, film, special effects, and basically anything time-based. I want to leave graphic design and go into an area where my art will be appreciated aesthetically outside of the design community. Where it wouldn't be thrown away, but viewed with awe. I want to be recognized for my abilities, for what I put out, instead of how many customers I bring in. Ultimately, I do realize that even though I'm changing to a similar place in the design world, I hope I will not be as linked to a capitalistic whoring ad agency as before. Perhaps I'll work for a game design company or a film special effects company? Perhaps I'll be known for something more than how much money I'd bring to a company. Perhaps I'll be something more than a whore of capitalism? At least I'd like to think so. The Postal Service - District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Vimeo: 300 Effect - Everyday Things.

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 23:42:14 -0700

300 Effect - Everyday Things (Part 1) on Vimeo

The Road.

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 18:41:23 -0700

I'm back on the road of grandeur, without the hope once had. 'Cause this time we're one less, Two minus one is one less. I wish you all the best, In all your future endeavors. I wish I could have been the one, To set your feet on the stone. Instead I burned your breast, making such a mess. Walking is such work, when your passion is dead. Some would say I'm unstable, that I invested far too much. I say I didn't do enough, To make the outcome, outcome. So I look back to the east, Hoping to find something more. Something that might help me, Open or close a door. Closed off, closed in, Washed up, fooling, Fooling myself into something, more than what's offering. Back east I go, On the road of grandeur. No turning back, No more starstruck reverie.

Why Love?

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 16:57:10 -0700

Agent Smith: "Why, Mr. Anderson? Why, why, why? Why do you do it? Why, why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something, for more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is, do you even know? Is it freedom, or truth, perhaps peace, could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose! And all of them as artificial as the matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now. You can't win, it's pointless to keep fighting! Why, Mr. Anderson, why? Why do you persist?" Neo: "Because I choose to." ** Why do we fight so hard for the things we believe in? Even deeper, why do we think we have to fight, why do we even believe in the things we do? Why do we put our faith in love, feeble human emotion? Is it truly just a figment of our warped imaginations? We go on and on through life, fighting for these various causes, everything ending in war. Ultimately concluding in hollow victory or defeat. Why do we insist on fighting? Is it for mere survival? Is it something deeper? Is there really a connection to something deeper than our intellect constructs? I can't give answers to these questions, yet I am plagued constantly by them. As I sit here sipping on my tea, I think of why I do the things I do? Why do I exist? Why do I fight so hard for these things in my life that I create for myself. That's what they are, constructs of my imagination. Is love truly deeper than a chemical reaction in the brain, or is it something more? Does it have "more" because we deem it as such, or because there is actual value there? This isn't something like paper money, that has value, this is something that is basically created in the mind and stored in proteins in the brain. It invokes emotion, basic chemical reactions firing off with internal stimuli as the catalyst. It's so logical it burns straight through me, not really giving me any answers, but instead minimizing the thought patterns I've created. I love. Indeed, I love. I have loved, I have went through that emotion. Love is pain, love is confusion, it's apathy. It makes us do so many horrible/wonderful things. We crucify those that disagree with us. We will die for our lovers. We search for the perfect mate. That person we'll be like for eternity. Attraction, being basic and primal. Love being elevated to something almost unattainable for most, and questioned by everyone else. At its basic core, what is this love? Why has it resulted in wars, fights, murders, kidnappings, art, literature, copulation, culture, etc? Is it even worth it? Even minimizing love down to basic chemistry, I still desire it. I desire to be held by my lover. I desire to write him poetry, create art, touch, and adore him. I want to live with him, have children with him, and nest with him. It's illogical, yes, but I want it anyway. I want to touch it and coddle it. I want love. Irrational or not, I want it so badly I will do anything for it. When I lay my head down to sleep, I taste it on my lips. Love. I will fight for love. I will desire it. I will do anything to obtain it. Why? Why will I do so much for this feeble human emotion? Because I choose to.

Modest Mouse wants you.

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 16:05:09 -0700

http://edcommunity.apple.com/epic/contest.php From the website: "Here's what we're looking for. Modest Mouse want a video for their new single "Missed The Boat". They know there are tons of talented fans and video directors out there who have what it takes to put it together. So that's where you come in. The band has shot performance footage of the entire song on green screen from multiple camera angles. Footage is posted here for you to download. You, the director, can download performance footage, add your own digital assets, and make a video using Apple editing tools. Use all of your own footage or use some of the band's. It's all up to you; just use your imagination. "