Tuesday, August 3, 2010


I'm no longer sure why I started this blog. I started it during a ferverent period of my life when I was ridiculously productive (one whole year ago!), thinking that I would keep up that pace. That didn't happen. I keep questioning what direction this blog should take and, to a larger degree, what direction I should take. Originally a place for all my game-related creations, the contents of this blog have become less focused, more varied, and increasingly rambling. So I think I should just put all the cards on the table. Maybe if I get everything out of my head and onto some concrete manifestation, like a page or a screen, I can see what I can do. I'll see where I want to go.
But I don't want anyone to think I'm having some sort of breakdown. I'm doing ok. Right now, if you didn't know, I'm in Los Angeles, enrolled in a Semester in LA program through school. It's really fun, and although nervous at first, I can tell this is going to be great after only two days. And I'm doing ok. Great, even. But it has me guessing, thinking about what, exactly, I'm going to be doing for the rest of my life. Maybe it will be a little of everything. Maybe not. But that's ok.
When I wrote this, I wasn't ok. This is a pretty rough piece. Again, kind of like the last post, I don't really know what to say about this one. But the last ones were creative bullshit that I needed to get out and wasn't really sure what to do with. This one is real, that's for sure, but... I wasn't ok when I wrote this. I purposely left it out of the last post because I thought it was too heavy. And the last post wasn't exactly a bowl of sugar. It was a nasty summer. But I'm glad I said it, all of it. I needed to see it all written out, I think. So please, don't think I'm clinically depressed when you read this; I'm fine now. Suffering, if nothing else, is a new experience.

So on that uplifting note, here is "She," a bitchfest about my bitch problems.
She is mystical. She isn't anything I want except when I don't know anything about her. She destroys my hope when she is around, and fills me with anticipation for our next meeting. She makes me feel like dirt with every thought.
She is better than me. She could finish me. Her intelligence is godlike when compared to mine; she explains with infintisimal detail while I stammer.
She is greater than I in every way. At times I truly hate her, she fills me with a level of self-loathing that is unbearable.
She is faster.
She is well on her way. I look on, thinking I am on the same level as her, when she is actually lapping me, passing me by for the second time.
She is magical. She brushes off my advances as if they were unpleasant breezes. She tells me of her day and doesn't bother to ask about mine.
She is an enigma.
She is a book written on two different kinds of paper. Yet she is more likable than me. Even strangers can relate to her. I wonder if I am the wrong one, and I only have to be in her prescence to realize, yes, I am wrong. Because she is always right. It doesn't matter what I try to do, she has already done it.
She is never impressed. Never caring. Her cold eyes search me for worth, and I clamp down, an oyster with no pearl. As if I could keep it from her. She knows I am worthless, talentless, futureless.
She is incredible.
She is shining, blinding judgment. She makes me hate myself. She brightens my day. She smiles when anyone but me talks to her. I am a dark cloud on her sunny days. And I hate myself for it. I flail around, trying to impress her, and I only succeed in annoying her. She hates me, and I hate her, but more than hate, I want her, and I hate myself most of all.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Short Writings

Don't feel like saying much about these. These are two short stories, although the narrative is weak in both of them. Really, these stories are what happens when you have 7 terrible weeks in a row and come home from a soul-crushing, repetitive job and decide to do some quick and nasty free-writing. These stories are anger and depression incarnate, occupying the space between stories, poems, and nonsense.
A vast and terrible desert lies between them. This expanse is home to only the worst of human emotions made real: blood sand, bitter rain, deafening clouds, piercing winds. Although they cannot see each other from across the legions, they see eye to eye. Their temples pump intuned. They know each other, but don't. They are the same, but aren't. They have never met, and never will. They feel it, for a moment, a single moment where they know that if they could see across the continent, they would be looking straight into the windows of another person's soul and they would see it matches their own. They both feel it, at the same moment. The man feels like the wind has blown straight through his chest, and he stops walking. The woman feels her hair wrap around her face like a hand covering her mouth, not in anger. And they both feel it. They look up, into the empty desert of hateful, tormentious nature, and they experience their life changing moment pass them by thousands of miles.

The Single Moment has been felt before, by many other people who they have never met. It's something that they never forget.  It is the moment when they realize that their lives have come to a peak, a gut-churning feeling that precedes the long and terrible drop into the depths of life-envy. Every person who feels the Single Moment thinks they are alone in its experience. They are not. Although it is impossible to tell how many people have felt it, it is certain that they cannot be alone. It has been accounted for, but rarely admitted to, for the Moment is a frightening thing, a thing that is far more terrifying than the thought of death or monsters, rape or murder. The Moment chills much deeper than the bone. It is Spiritual Death, the moment when one's soul simply gives up on the body, realizing the vehicle it has chosen is a faulty one. The soul gives up, leaves, dies.

Across the vast and terrible desert, the two shells did not see each other, but the souls did. The souls saw one another across the endless expanse and the curvature of the Earth and they recognized their plight. They recognized their own pathetic circumstances in each other, and when they left, the shells felt it. They felt the Single Moment. They looked at each other, and then shuffled their feet through the dust as crystalline vines of ice filled their insides. They would never meet, and even if they did, their conversation would sound like empty aluminum cans being dropped on one another.

Some blame the desert. Most blame themselves. The rare realize that there is no blame to give. Perhaps if something had been different... but what could be different? There are only so many things a person can do. They close their eyes, and hope a door will appear in their darkness and they will unwittingly step through it. But when the next foot drops, they are still walking on the same surface. They pray that when they open their eyes again, there will be another pair looking into theirs. And the fear of being wrong, the fear of walls without windows in empty landscapes keeps their eyes closed.

So that's that. And now this is this.
"I'm Going CRAZY Crazy. Crazy!" He screamed at the wall, the night, the everything that wouldn't listen. He was going crazy.
"Listen to ME!"

She listened to him. She could tell he was going crazy.
"I'm going CRAZY!"
"The trones will kill me too!"

Everyday, the trones would occupy his computer screen. It was a stationary portal to a mobile weapons platform. It was making him crazy.
Let me tell the shit to you like this. They all had guns.

A million gigabytes away, trones were killing people. Real people.
Real people had real bullets lodged in their ribs, because of trones.
And he controlled one of the trones.

In between the instant-Cheez and party talk he killed people.
Sticky keys with worn out lettering.
W, W , W, W, w w w w w w wwwwwwwwww killed real people.

Now he huddled, far away from his computer screen. The camera ran.
He didn't see the camera, but it ran on him. He heard the whir.
It whirred in his sleep. In his waking hours. Always the whir.

But when would the gunfire come? When would his ribs slip apart?
When would the lovely bullets stick to this lungs?
I'm going crazy.

It was his day job. IT WAS ALL OF OUR DAY JOBS.
Everything else was just something else. "Gotta put in the hours."
Hit those computer keys.

I saw it too. I killed those People. Some people. Not all of them.
But enough. I would come home, after friend time party fun, take over my shift.

"Here is your trone."
"Treat her well."
"See you tomorrow."

And they called it love, the marriage of technology and war.
Citizen and soldier.
Freetime and wartime.

We killed people, we fought a war, from our computers.
With the taps of a keyboard.
W, W, W, W

But now this guy went crazy. He went crazy because of the war that he never went to, only sent emails too.
A million miles away, he went crazy.

He killed dozens with thousands of keystrokes.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder meets Repetitive Stress Disorder.
And they called it love.

All OVER the place. Everyone did it. It's the norm.
The status quo became status updates on the status of the combat unit.
Social wetworks.

He shakes, screams about digitized battlefields he has never stepped on.
Only the treads, the tendrils, the camera and the gun.
Things he has never seen. But utilized.

And she watches him, in his room. His safe room.
He is protected in the room. No harm will befall or become of him when he is in the room, because he is removed from the harmful things.

You see, he is safe. She will watch him, because she feels pity for him.
Hopefully, no one else will go crazy because of the trones.
They will watch and hope it doesn't happen, and if it does...

They they will put them in a safe little room and watch them so that they are safe and removed from the harmful things.
For now, things are good.

People are happy citizens. They have fun, and do their favorite things.
At night they sit in front of computers and kill people across the world.
And they called it love. I call it crazy.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Don't Eat the Sun

School has been out for over a month, but for some reason I have not uploaded anything related to my final projects to my blog yet. Is it because they are bad? Awful, even? Am I ashamed of them? Were my final projects really so terrible that I don't want to share them with the world?

It doesn't matter, because if I have learned anything from the internet, it's that nothing is too terrible to share with the world, so I'm going to show off my final projects anyway. Although, honestly, I don't think they're bad. All I'm showing off today is my Animation final and an image I had to create for my Semiotics class.

For my Animation final, my instructor pretty much said, "Do whatever the f you want," so I did. If you happen to remember my last post, for my midterm, I animated a Native American mask turning into a Macbook.  I stuck with the Native American theme for my final. It's a short story about a snake who eats the Sun. I had fun with it. I also tried my hand at some new animation techniques, like blur animation, which looks really cool. The pencil version, followed by the color final, are below.

And, just for the hell of it, I'll show off a little image I had to make for my Semiotics class. The assignment was to interview 20 to 30 people on what they thought of a subject of our choosing, and then make a visual representation of the responses I got.  The subject I asked people about was "scientists," and this is the visual I made.

Behold, the extent of my Photoshopping skills. But really, I did think this image was kind of funny. And that's all for now. I also have another gameplay video from my Engine-Based Design II (read: videogame-making) class, but I think I'll upload it some other time.

Friday, April 2, 2010


Midterms! Are usually not fun, or worthy of an exclamation point. But this time, they are. Mainly because these midterms that I'm going to show off were actually kind of interesting, to make at least. Also, midterms usually don't fit into nice little Youtube nuggets, but these ones did.

This was my midterm level, for Engine-Based Design II, AKA the one class I'm taking this semester related to my major. For the midterm we had to make a single-player level with multiple AI bots running around, who would shoot you dead if they saw you. Which I totally did, thank you very much. Sometimes it would take the bots a minute or two to respond if you shot them with a rocket, but that's cool. They're silenced rockets. Or something.

Note: I didn't make the weapons, characters, or mechanics or anything like that. I built the world, the buildings, and programmed the bots. And I added some sweet music over the video, because I thought it would be HILARIOUS.

Also, the instructors make us use those ugly-ass color cubes, so don't be gettin' on my case that my level is ugly. I know. I did my best.

So I'm kind of an idiot and didn't upload the color version of this one to Youtube yet (I'm doing it now) but enjoy this choppy, hard-to-see black-and-white version instead, until I can edit this post and add the color one, which was the actual midterm for my Animation 1 class.

This assignment was a morph, basically changing from one object to the other. Whichever object we started with was our choice (I chose a Native American Haida mask, because I am cultured, damnit), but it had to morph into whatever object the person sitting next to us chose (a MacBook, because he is trendy, damnit).

There isn't much else to say about it, except fuck my ability to draw.

Edit: Oh hey look, the color one is done.

That was quick. A little easier to see, I guess. But yeah, the same.