Thursday, December 30, 2010

Band Generator

1 - Go to Wikipedia. Hit “random”
or click
The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Quotations Page and select "random quotations"
or click
The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to Flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use Photoshop or similar to put it all together.

Now you just need to learn to play an instrument well.


Sunday, December 26, 2010

Lego Antikythera Mechanism

Incredible how something like that can just vanish from civilization for so long. It took nearly 1,000 years before a device like this could be rebuilt.

Makes you wonder what kinds of things have been lost and remain undiscovered.


Tuesday, December 21, 2010

the key is right in front of you.

9874123 14863 9635741
75952 987412369 7412369
987456321 98745654123 98745654123
789852 741456963 98745654123
9874123 987412369 7862147 98745654123 ?

watch your hands.
98745654123 9874123 . 7415369 987412369 74123 987456541

Lunar Eclipse/Winter Solstice

The luster will be a bit "off" on Dec. 21st, the first day of northern winter, when the full Moon passes almost dead-center through Earth's shadow. For 72 minutes of eerie totality, an amber light will play across the snows of North America, throwing landscapes into an unusual state of ruddy shadow.

The eclipse begins on Tuesday morning, Dec. 21st, at 1:33 am EST (Monday, Dec. 20th, at 10:33 pm PST). At that time, Earth's shadow will appear as a dark-red bite at the edge of the lunar disk. It takes about an hour for the "bite" to expand and swallow the entire Moon. Totality commences at 02:41 am EST (11:41 pm PST) and lasts for 72 minutes.

If you're planning to dash out for only one quick look -­ it is December, after all -­ choose this moment: 03:17 am EST (17 minutes past midnight PST). That's when the Moon will be in deepest shadow, displaying the most fantastic shades of coppery red.

This would have been a post including pictures of the lunar eclipse; however, the skies over the city I live in have conspired against me, and sadly, I could not see the eclipse past the clouds.

Unfortunate, considering this is the first time a lunar eclipse has lined up with the Winter Solstice since 1638.


Thursday, December 16, 2010

Short Wolf-Themed Prose

Knowledge of death is reflective and conceptual, and thus wolves are spared it. For them, survival is not a choice; it is the only thing that they know, and so wolves will continue to hunt until their bodies are too weak to carry them further.  Inborn instincts drive paws further and deeper in snow; it entices noses to sniff and ears to perk; it rallies them to cooperate, to leap and strike, it guides fang to throat—and all for one reason: survival.


Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Need A Dispenser Here..!

I like to imagine that I'm a rather independent guy. I've been living pretty much on my own since I was about 14 when my parents were divorced. Technically, I live with my father, but with my school and his work, we are only seldom in the house at the same time. Even before my parents were divorced, I was a somewhat introverted child, so I adjusted easily and was never much bothered by the isolation. In fact, the whole idea of loneliness had never really entered my mind--that is, until recently.

It's such an odd sensation meeting one of the handful of people that will--intentionally or not--make you question just who you are; who will, through some subtle, accidental words or through momentous action, challenge the foundations you've built for yourself.

I was oblivious to how much I'd craved contact with someone else until I actually felt that closeness, and then  an unconscious loneliness came over me like a wave. I had no experience with this kind of emotion; it was something that must have been building-up over the years that I was unaware of, and so I didn't know how to deal with it. The loneliness quickly turned to obsession and desperation. Desperation is a cruel emotion and people can smell it on you. It works so that, the more you want something, the further it will be from you.

It seems to me that it was the reason things ended, though I can't be sure. That is a horrible sensation in itself. It's like when you have to watch your dog be put down, and as it happens there is that thought that enters your mind: that maybe there was something that you could have done, or worse, maybe it was something you did.

- ec.wolf

Monday, November 8, 2010

I Know How You Feel: No Secrets To Reveal

"My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work."

-Sherlock Holmes

Monday, November 1, 2010

Useful Information

Knowledge: The amount of information one remembers.
Intelligence: How easily one is able to acquire information.
Wisdom: How well one is able to apply information.

The more you know.

Get it?


Sunday, October 24, 2010

Quick Note Regarding Superhero Status

It should be noted that yesterday night, I was driving to my friends house and I found a dog in the road dragging its broken chain behind it. After taking it to my friends house to ask who it belonged to, I returned the dog safely to its rightful owner.

To all who doubted my animal-rescue prowess: TREMBLE! A MASTER HAS COME!


Monday, October 18, 2010

The Great Kitten Rescue

I had quite an adventure today.

This morning when I while I was walking to school, I saw a black cat dash across the road and a van had to slow down to avoid hitting it. As I walked a bit further, I started to hear a whining noise and so I looked next to a mailbox and there was a tiny black kitten hiding in the grass. I looked around at first and then glanced over to what I assumed was the mother cat on the other side of the street. Then, I bent down and made noises to persuade the kitten to come to me, and once it came out of the grass, I picked it up and planned to take it across the road to its mother, but when I stood back up, the cat on the other side of the road was gone. In the house directly across the street from me, there was a man standing in the window with a cat near him. I thought it might have been the mother cat, so I crossed the street and knocked on his door, but he said the kitten didn't belong to him.

I didn't want to be late for school, but I figured I didn't have much of a choice. It was too dark to search for the mother cat, so I turned around and started to walk back toward my house; luckily, my dad was driving by to drop my sister off at school and I handed the kitten off to him and asked him to go door-to-door and see if it belonged to anyone.

When I got home from school, I saw my dad on the ground with the kitten. He had called the vet and asked what we might need to do to care for the kitten since it looked too young to be away from its mother. They told him to buy some kitten formula and a bottle to feed it with, which is what he was doing when I walked over to him. I played around with the kitten for a bit and tried to feed him, but I had to work so I wouldn't be able to take the kitten door-to-door until I got back home. Before I left, though, I took some pictures.

When I got back from work, I filled a little box with some towels and my sister and I went down the road to where I discovered the kitten. First, we went to the mailbox where I found that cat and walked up to the door of the house. I knocked and stood there for a while, but no one answered. We walked down the road to the next house, and I walked up onto the porch. Before I could even reach the door, a woman opened it and her family was standing in the doorway. "Ohhhhh, you found it," she said as she walked up to me. I handed the cat to her and she said "Just the one? There is another white one that has gone missing as well." I told her where I never saw a white kitten and I showed her where I found it, and then my sister and I walked home.

Perhaps I'll have to go rescue its white sibling as well. I could be a super hero or something.


Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Bat and the Weasels

A bat fell to the ground and was caught by a weasel, and was just going to be killed and eaten when it begged to be let go. The weasel said he couldn't do that because he was an enemy of all birds on principal. "Oh, but," said the bat, "I'm not a bird at all. I'm a mouse." "So you are," said the weasel, "now I come to look at you." And he let it go. Some time after this, the bat was caught in just the same way by another weasel, and, as before, begged for its life. "No," said the weasel, "I never let a mouse go by any chance." "But I'm not a mouse," said the bat, "I'm a bird." "Why, so you are," said the weasel. And he too let the bat go.

Exercise caution before committing yourself.


Monday, October 11, 2010


Every once in a while I get a feeling. For a while, I wasn't sure exactly what it was or where it came from, but a few years ago I took a psychology class and learned a bit about mental disorders. One particular article (the wikipedia page on bipolar disorder) intrigued me when I first came across it:

"Mania is generally characterized by a distinct period of an elevated, expansive, or irritable mood state. People commonly experience an increase in energy and a decreased need for sleep. A person's speech may be pressured, with thoughts experienced as racing. Attention span is low, and a person in a manic state may be easily distracted. Judgment may become impaired, and sufferers may go on spending sprees or engage in behavior that is quite abnormal for them. They may indulge in substance abuse, particularly alcohol or other depressants, cocaine or other stimulants, or sleeping pills. Their behavior may become aggressive, intolerant, or intrusive. People may feel out of control or unstoppable. People may feel they have been "chosen" and are "on a special mission" or have other grandiose or delusional ideas. Sexual drive may increase. At more extreme phases of bipolar I, a person in a manic state can begin to experience psychosis, or a break with reality, where thinking is affected along with mood. Many people in a manic state experience severe anxiety and are very irritable (to the point of rage), while others are euphoric and grandiose."

A lot of the symptoms seemed to match what the feeling was like. I assumed I had bipolar disorder, and this was simply an effect of it. After some time though, I figured that I was being ridiculous and that not every quirk is because of a mental disorder. After all, self-psyche evaluations aren't very reliable and not every symptom matched.

Basically, the experience is an amalgam of different ideas, which I'll try to explain, such as:

As self-centered as it sounds, I did (and sometimes do) feel that I am "chosen" for something; sort of like life is a story and I am the protagonist. I used to lie awake at night and convince myself that some day someone was going to take me to some wild place and I would have a great adventure.

Almost all of these symptoms have decreased in frequency as a got older, but some of them still happen. Sometimes I feel that I MUST carry out ridiculous ideas. For example, when I was younger, I went for a walk one night, and as I was returning to my house I suddenly had the idea that if I didn't walk past my house and continue down to the end of the road, I was going to miss something very important. So I did. Nothing important ever did happen on these little journeys, but I still felt compelled to do things like that time and again.


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

One-Eyed Dog

There is a one-eyed dog sitting in the rain.
His ragged fur is wet and a chilling wind is whipping.
I open the door to let him in, but he sits there — one eye staring.
A bowl of food I place upon the ground, but motionless he stays.
Perhaps I am too caring?
What is one stray among all the strays on every corner?
I shut the door and walk away but soon begin despairing.
Alone and cold, surely he could parish.
Indeed, the reaper in the rain could well be preparing.
His scythe lustful and creeping slowly.
Towards the door I rush and throw it open, worry flaring.
But no fiends await, only one dog with one eye.
My mind playing tricks, I fancy, I am simply overbearing.
I stand in the doorway staring back and ponder,
What is it about this creature that has compelled my mind to erring?
Around I turn at last; I am finished with this tonight.
No more will I think of this one-eyed dog,” up the stairs I step, declaring.
I left him food; he will be alright.
I settle into bed uncaring.
But that night I dream a dog perched in the doorway of my chamber.
Its one eye watches me as lay; that one ghastly eye unsparing.
Starting upright, I awake with eyes wide and search for the infiltrator.

A poem a wrote for a writing contest between some friends of mine. It really shines at the end.


Single-Thread Spider Web

I saw this picture and it reminded me of some real life experiences I've had with this kind of thing.

I have probably run into more of these in my life than any other person. You see, in my back yard there is a fence with a gate on it, and every day I use this gate when I leave for work. Well, a certain spider also liked to frequent this gate, because every day when I left for work, I would run into his single thread of web. It must have become some sort of morning ritual for this spider to produce this single thread for the sole purpose of watching me walk into it, and as I did, I imagine he would smile, and as the sun set, he would turn around, content, and prepare for the next day.

You gotta do what makes you happy, I guess.


Sunday, October 3, 2010

Prometheus and the Making of Man

At the bidding of Jupiter, Prometheus set about the creation of man and the other animals. Jupiter, seeing that mankind, the only rational creatures, were far outnumbered by the irrational beasts, bade him redress the balance by turning some of the latter into men. Prometheus did as be was bidden, and this is the reason why some people have the forms of men but the souls of beasts.

I currently have a cold, but they say that a fable a day is the best medicine.


Saturday, October 2, 2010

The Kid on the Housetop

 A kid climbed up onto the roof of an outhouse, attracted by the grass and other things that grew in the thatch. And as he stood there browsing away he caught sight of a wolf passing below and jeered at him because he couldn't reach him. The wolf only looked up and said, "I hear you, my young friend. But it is not you who mock me, but the roof on which you are standing."

If it were up to me, it would be required for parents to read fables to their children.


Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Sex Theory

"...The men that think wealth comes from material resources and has no intellectual root or meaning, are the men who think--for the same reason--that sex is a physical capacity which functions independently of one's mind, choice, or code of values. They think that your body creates a desire and makes a choice for you just about in some way as if iron ore transformed itself into railroads of its own volition. Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a man's sexual choice is the result and sum of his fundamental convictions. Tell me what a man finds sexually attractive and I will tell you his entire philosophy of life. Show me the woman he sleeps with and I will tell you his valuation of himself. No matter what corruption he's taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which he cannot perform for any motive but his own enjoyment--just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity!--an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exaltation, only in the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces him to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and to accept his real ego and his standard of value. He will always be attracted to the woman whose surrender permits him to experience--or to fake--a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer--because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of achievement, not the possession of a brainless slut... He does not seek to gain his value, he seeks to express it. There is no conflict between the standards of his mind and the desires of his body. But the man who is convinced of his own worthlessness will be drawn to a woman he despises--because she will reflect his own secret self, she will release him from that objective reality in which he is a fraud, she will give him a momentary illusion of his own value and a momentary escape from the moral code that damns him. Observe the ugly mess which most men make of their sex lives--and observe the contradictions which they hold as their moral philosophy. One proceeds from the other. Love is our response to our highest values--and can be nothing else. Let a man corrupt his values and his view of existence, let him profess that love is not self-enjoyment, but self-denial, that virtue consists, not of pride, but of pity or pain or weakness or sacrifice, that the noblest love is born of, not admiration, but of charity, not in response to values, but in response to flaws--and he will have cut himself in two. His body will not obey him, it will not respond, it will make him impotent toward the woman he professes to love and draw him to the lowest type of whore he can find. His body will always follow the ultimate logic of his deepest convictions; if he believes that flaws are values, he has damned existence as evil and only the evil will attract him. He has damned himself and he will feel that depravity is all he is worthy of enjoying. He has equated virtue with pain and he will feel that vice is the only realm of pleasure. Then he will scream that his body has vicious desires of its own which his mind cannot conquer, that sex is sin, that true love is a pure emotion of the spirit. And then he will wonder why love brings him nothing but boredom, and sex--nothing but shame...

...Only the man who extols the purity of a love devoid of desire, is capable of the depravity of a desire devoid of love. But observe that most people are creatures cut in half who keep swinging from one side to the other. One kind of half is the man who despises money, factories, skyscrapers and his own body. He holds undefined emotions about non-conceivable subjects as the meaning of life and his claim to virtue. And he cries with despair, because he can feel nothing for the woman he respects, but finds himself in bondage to an irresistible passion for a slut from the gutter. He is the man whom people call an idealist. The other kind of half is the man whom people call practical, the man who despises principals, abstractions, art, philosophy and his own mind. He regards the acquisition of material objects as the only goal of existence--and he laughs at the need to consider their purpose or their source. He expects them to give him pleasure--and he wonders why the more he gets, the less he feels. He is the man who spends his time chasing women. Observe the triple fraud which he perpetrates upon himself. He will not acknowledge his need of self-esteem, since he scoffs at such a concept as moral values; yet he feels the profound self-contempt which comes from believing that he is a piece of meat. He will not acknowledge, but he knows that sex is the physical expression of a tribute to personal values. So he tries, by going through the motions of the effect, to acquire that which should have been the cause. He tries to gain a sense of his own value from the women who surrender to him--and he forgets that the women he picks have neither character nor judgment nor standard of value. He tells himself that all he's after is physical pleasure--but observe that he tires of women in a week or a night, that he despises professional whores and that he loves to imagine he is seducing virtuous girls who make a great exception for his sake. It is the feeling of achievement that he seeks and never finds. What glory can there be in the conquest of a mindless body?"

Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged (pg. 453-455)

This is an interesting theory on sexual desire that I actually typed out from my copy of the book a while ago for a project in one of my classes. It's interesting to think about and compare to the relationships in your own life. Are you acting to feel rather than because you feel? It's an important distinction.

What sort of women are you chasing after?


Sunday, September 26, 2010

House of Leaves Excerpt

"Of course there will always be darkness but I realize now something inhabits it. Historical or not. Sometimes it seems like a cat, the panther with its moon mad gait or a tiger with stripes of ash and eyes as wild as winter oceans. Sometimes it’s the curve of a wrist or what’s left of romance, still hiding in the drawer of some long lost nightstand or carefully drawn in the margins of an old discarded calendar. Sometimes it’s even just a vapor trail speeding west, prophetic, over clouds aglow with dangerous light. Of course these are only images, my images, and in the end they’re born out of something much more akin to a Voice, which though invisible to the eye and frequently unheard by even the ear still continues, day and night, year after year, to sweep through us all. Just as you have swept through me. Just as I now sweep through you."

-Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

Have I?


Thursday, September 23, 2010

Finishing Projects

I received a digital camera last year for Christmas, and it was around this same time period that I became interested in the "paranormal." It's important to know that I don't mean ghosts, aliens, Bigfoot, or any of that--what I am interested in are projects like Marble Hornets and UVB-76. I don't believe that there is anything truly mystical about either of them: I know Marble Hornets is just a film project and I don't imagine that in reality there is anything special about UVB-76; however, things like that are incredibly fascinating, which I why I decided to start a project of my own.

I decided that I would take at least one photograph every single day and I was going to turn the collection into some sort of creepy project. I had the feel for what I wanted the final result to be like. I wanted to do something with the pictures to create a sort of treasure-hunt for someone else. I wanted them to take some paranoid, puzzling journey; something that would give them the same feeling I had when I decided to create the project.

That's where most projects seem to get stuck. I can never think of a way to translate that feeling into something tangible. I continued taking photographs for a few months hoping that an idea would come to me, but eventually I would skip a day here-and-there, which eventually turned into several days, and then weeks, until I finally stopped taking pictures altogether.

What is the secret?


Wednesday, September 22, 2010

A Peculiar Dream

Last night, I had the first lucid dream that I can recall. First I'll describe what happened, and then why it stuck with me.

The first bit I remember, I was in my bed (in the dream) trying to remember lucid dreaming. I could feel my body freezing up and I feel asleep (in the dream) and dreamed that I was in AP Spanish. The teacher was going around threatening us and telling us that the class would be the most difficult class we would take and that we were all going to feel bad when we failed. In the back of the class, these two guys were messing around, and the teacher hit them. I made some remark about it, and the rest of the class seemed to pick up on the spirit, and soon we were all insulting the teacher and eventually a food-fight broke out.

Afterward, the class was lead through the hall, and we walked through this narrow doorway and down some stairs. Eventually, it led us to a large stadium where there was a basketball game on the lowest level. The building was mostly made up of chain-link fences and sheets of metal. As the other people were being led somewhere else, I went around a sheet-metal wall and went up some stairs to a higher level. Up there, I looked around at the people in their seats before I went down a separate set of stairs that wrapped around the outside of the building and went down into the parking lot.

When I was there, I walked over to a comfortable-looking, old car and there was a girl there. I never saw her face, but in my dream, I knew I was in some sort of relationship with her. I walked over to her and she greeted me and we talked next to her car for a while. I don't remember the conversation, but I do remember reaching into her car and taking out a disc. Once I saw what it was, I felt suddenly happy, and I hugged her. She hugged me back, and I remember the most vivid and wonderful smell. I remember the little bit of her shoulder I could see as we hugged, and as I was about to stop, she pulled me back and we embraced for even longer. When she finally pulled away, I kissed her cheek and she smiled and said "three lanes." (In my dream, that made sense for some reason.)

After this, I woke up from the dream to see my dad's silhouette standing outside of my door. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 6:50am and I needed to get ready for school. I asked my dad what he was doing as I got up to get my clothes around and he said "Oh, I was just making sure you were up."

After this I woke up again and immediately glanced at the clock. It was 6:50am, but my dad wasn't outside my door and it was much darker than it had been in my dream.

Throughout the day, I've been left with this longing feeling for that girl in my dream, even though I never even saw her. I told a few people about the dream at school, but I left out the part about the girl and mostly talked about having an Inception-esque dream-inside-a-dream. Overall, I don't think anyone is too interested in other people's dreams.

Anyway, the dream brought up some things I haven't thought about in a while.

Why is it the scent you remember best?