Victor's Soliloquy

"You know, sometimes I find myself staring blankly forward, legitimately contemplating life. I find my contemplations to be rather negative. Frankly, the more I ponder them, the more negative they get. It's not that I'm contemplating life in general, or the meaning of life, just life. Mine, I suppose. It's not that my life is terrible, really, that I should end up thinking of it so dreadfully. I guess it's just suddenly starting to dawn on me just how long a lifetime is. People say it goes by quickly--which it does, I won't bother to deny. However, that being said, I think it goes by much more quickly when one is, for lack of a less cliche saying, having fun. A lifetime is a long time to be alone.

"I look at Patrick. Patrick doesn't care a snippet about anyone besides himself. I wonder how much if will hurt when he wakes up and realizes all that he's missed. I worry for the day when that happens. I worry that by the time he sees it, it will be too late.

"I look at someone like Woodrow, who wants nothing more than to have a family of his own, and I feel pained to think he may never get it. The towns are small, they're highly judgmental, and we're rather far away. I fear I may have doomed him to a life with only us. Us at the castle, that is. I know I won't be going anywhere, and I'm afraid that he won't be willing to just pick up and leave when the truth is finally revealed that sticking around with me could mean the end of his dreams."

A long silence followed.

"But dreaming never dies." Claudia's voice entered, like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day, a sweet release pulling him from his trance-like state. He looked up at her, into her bright green eyes, feeling a wash of water flow through him, putting out the fires of self loathing that had so suddenly brewed. He had completely forgotten she was there.

Never again.

Notes on Beautiful

Society has destroyed beauty. There seems to be a strange sort of paradox occurring in the world in which one can’t be beautiful and healthy at the same time—unless you’re an air-brushed actress who is seen with her clothes off relatively frequently. But at the same time, we do seem aware of this problem. Mind you, we do little to nothing in the area of fixing it, but we do seem aware. We are very aware that there are young people, mostly women, in the world who have a skewed body image of themselves. We give them diagnoses and put them into hospitals if necessary, teaching them to eat properly. The problem arises in the people who are never diagnosed because there isn’t technically anything wrong with them.

The problem resides in the people who are healthy but look into the mirror every morning with a slight sadness or disdain. They know exactly what they look like, there is no skewed body image and they are not changing their eating habits in any severely negative way. They may be dieting when they don’t necessarily need to, or running every morning in the hopes that their disdain may fade. These are the people who suffer from the horrible view on beauty yet who go unseen. The people who are pretty, and therefore unnoticed. The people who suffer not from anorexia or bulimia, but from a lack of self-esteem are the people who are suffering most in society today.

It’s a problem, and it needs to be fixed. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know. I understand that the media may be the source—it certainly is one of the prime suspects—but which comes first? Is it really the media’s fault that as women on screen and paper got skinnier and skinnier, people seemed more and more interested in the people and mimic it more and more? Trust me, I would love to blame the media as much as anything else, and there is little doubt that the ugly progression of beauty was fueled by the media. But let’s face it; it’s not the media’s fault. The media cannot influence us unless we choose to be influenced.

I’m afraid I don’t really have much more to say on this topic. I know that my analytical inserts are usually at least 750 words long, and this one is barely over 400. What I needed to say has been said, so to say any more would be a waste of both our time. Until next time, and I apologize for the lack of writing (writer’s block isn’t fun); I will try to get my groove back as soon as possible.

Be careful where you step, young one; the water is only shallow for so long.

Notes on Music

I have found throughout the years that music teachers think that they can, for some reason, decide what is and is not music. Of course, the opinions vary from one teacher to the next, which, in itself, poses one of the key problems in their claim. Some teachers would die before calling Lady Gaga musical genius, while others cringe at the idea of Andrew Lloyd Webber being considered amazing. Some teachers don’t believe in the jazz clarinet; some don’t believe in jazz at all. Some teachers think that classical music is the only music worth a dime and that rap is not worthy of any recognition and should be wiped out. Is this a problem? My friends, this is just the beginning.

I think it is time that the definition of "music" be changed. True, the definition has stood high and proud for many years now, but imagine what life would be like if we all held true to rules and definitions hundreds, even thousands, of years old. Society changes all of the time, and with it should change definitions. Definitions should be used to decide what something is or is not in any sense beyond the purely scientific (though even this can be called into question as time continues). Definitions should be changed to allow things to be correctly called what they truly are.

I have heard it said that without music, we would not be civil, but like animals. I think this is a false statement. As a proud, fictional British man once said, "Any savage can dance." And though these words are cruel and demeaning, one can hardly deny their truth. The simple fact of the matter is that music keeps us leveled. With technology booming, it is hard for humanity to remember that is, in fact, animal. Music keeps us off of our high horse. Music attaches us to nature and our beginning more than any other human creation. Perhaps this is due to the fact that “any savage can dance.” Elephants in India can be trained like any 5th grader to play various instruments—mostly percussion—and in Jane Goodall’s camp, there was a chimpanzee who reached the top of his hierarchy by banging garbage tops together. Music is, plainly and simply, animal.

Music needs to be redefined. Music can be anything from Beethoven to Lady Gaga to the wailing of horns as cars drive through New York City on a very normal morning. Music should be considered to be any sound, or series thereof, that causes some sort of internal reaction in someone—anyone. Music is an expression of self. When you find a music teacher who can define each and every one of the students in their school using classical music, please let me know so I can give them an award for the most closed-minded person to walk the Earth.

Ignorance! Society is feeling a massive spur of ignorance! We think, we insist that we know everything. We pull out our dictionaries to prove other people wrong when we should be pulling out pencils and editing our dictionaries. Imagine what a better place the world would be if definitions were more inclusive rather than exclusive. We’re sitting peacefully inside our perfectly defined world, ignoring everything that goes wrong because our darned definitions. Redefining music is only the beginning. It’s time for change, massive change. But before we can change the politics and the laws and the tiny other insignificant details, we need to change the dictionary. So much be changed by typing a few extra lines into a book that’s too large for its own good anyway. At the point when views are being forced upon others with the dictionary, there is a problem.

Perhaps one of the reasons music programs are failing around the country is because people are getting so picky about what music is. There is little doubt in my mind that the true reason is because we, the younger generation, keep telling the kids younger than us that it is failing, thus resulting in them not really wanting to be involved, thus resulting in decline. BUT regardless of the true reason, I’m sure that more kids would be in band if every now and then we played a strong beat, heavy percussion section, and more kids would undoubtedly join choir if we could drop the Gregorian Chants for once and pull out some pop (and no, allowing pop songs in the top choirs won’t do the trick, guys). We need to reach out. We need to expand. I am a fan of, what I consider to be the new classics (Williams, Horner, Howard, Giacchino, etc.,) but I will be the first to acknowledge that anything usable for purposes of self-expression counts as music. If not to me, to someone else.

Music: a sound, or series thereof, that causes an emotional response in the listener or can be used as an expression of self.

At least then the teachers can’t tell us that we’re wrong.

The Woman Named Amy

So I met this woman named Amy. The situation had the strong potential to be extremely awkward. She and her boyfriend, my neighbor, were coming over for dinner with his two sons. But the thing is, her boyfriend is the ex-husband of one of Mom's best friends. I found myself trying, yet failing, to convince myself that I could truly, honestly like her.

She seemed impressed by me right off the bat. This was, by itself, somewhat surprising. My surprise was only to be built upon. The conversation was between my mother, Amy, and myself, and it turned to politics. Being sincerely impressed at the 19-year-old with not only an opinion, but one that could be reasoned and explained fairly well, I, for lack of a better phrase, blew poor Amy out of the water.

Finding myself somewhat captivated by this new woman who had not only faced family tragedy, but also done volunteer work in Africa and visited Italy some five times, I sort of followed her about the house, dancing between conversing and listening intently.

Through a series of chance events and encounters, I wound up alone in the library with that very woman. It had arisen earlier that I was floating in the center of three very different majors; psychology, film, and marine zoology (which apparently does not actually exist, so marine biology). She asked me how, exactly, I had ended up in such a position, seeing as the three are hardly related. Sure, film can go with either of those, but psychology and marine biology don't really have many over-lapping features. I explained how I had happened upon psychology via my grandfather. She then asked my how marine biology had happened. What was it that I liked so much about marine biology?

The speechlessness that ensued is impossible. I opened my mouth several times, feeling an answer of the tip of my tongue that was so completely imagery that I couldn't even begin to imagine how to describe it. Each time I tried to speak, my smile grew slightly larger. With a breath of almost exasperation, but far too joyful to be anything of the sort, I admitted defeat. I found myself talking about the most pointless things: my frustrations at humans interfering with marine life during "research," my thoughts being the exact opposite of my mother's "they sure are ugly things aren't they," upon the viewing of a Great White Shark. The more I spoke, the more I knew, the more I realized, the more I found myself saying, "that's probably what I'll end up doing."

It all fits together. The only thing that makes summer even mildly tolerable is the idea of sitting underwater for hours at a time. Mom often referred to me as a "sealy," the proper term for which is a "Selkie," because the seals at the zoo seemed somehow drawn to me--added of course, to the fact that I only ever came up from beneath the water's surface to breathe. Even when I was deathly afraid of sharks, and wouldn't dare sleep with any part of limb hanging from my bed for fear of it being eaten off, I was completely captivated and fascinated. I went whale watching with Mom while in Boston, and though I got sea sick and didn't see more than the lower backbone of a few Mink and Finn whales, I have never been happier (with a few rare exceptions--all of which you are aware)... Mom refuses to be truly satisfied until she has seen a humpback dive. I refuse to be happy until I have seen a whale dive from beneath the surface.

And thus, a conclusion was reached, and the only question yet to be answered it how.

Passion

All I have are words, yet speechlessness is all I can muster. The feeling inside of me right now is so completely undescribable, I can't even tell you how undescribable it truly is. It's a joy, an exhileration, a fear... an unbelievable fear.

It's like love--assuming, of course, that I was correct in interpretting this feeling as love when I felt it before. It's like beauty defined is second best... or even nothing compared.

Is this it? This must be it. I think I may have found my passion.Th question now is how to achieve it.

Ideas, anyone?

The Devil's Keep

You'll find inside the devil's keep
An angel who has learned to weep.

A heart does not just simply break,
It burns and tears and hurls and quakes.
A single step too far to reach,
But jumping is too far a leap
To sit beside the one who tore
And left it lying on the floor.
I find myself alone.

Apologies cannot describe
The horrors deep inside my mind.
I cannot turn the past away,
or it will fester, curl, and fray,
and I will never learn from this
that life cannot be simple bliss.
I find myself alone.

The road of friendship drives both ways,
and driving on those longer days,
one needs a hand to take the wheel,
when lids grow dark to sight conceal.
And now that I have fin'ly crashed,
And lying here upon the grass,
I find myself alone.

Apologies cannot describe
The horrors deep inside my mind
Where you'll find, inside the devil's keep
An angel who has learned to weep.

Sunlight

Sunlight filtered through the cracks around the edge of the window curtains. Christina Harris lay in bed, staring at the window, hoping that this new day would be better than the last. She heard the door open and knew that Charles had entered the room. Her body rose slightly as her husband sat on the bed at her feet. He said nothing. She altered her gaze slightly to look down at him. He too was staring at the window, no doubt hoping for the same thing.

"I won't happen, you know," she said softly.

"Yes, I know." He looked at her with a sad sort of smile, "But I can still pray for it."

She sat up. "What would they do, Charles, if they found out?"

His eyes grew wider and sadder as he turned to face the window one more time. "Let's not talk of this, Christina. It will do no good. I do not know what would happen, nor do I wish to. The less we speak of it, the less likely it is to be overheard." He stood. "You should come downstairs now. It is nearly time for lunch, and you and I both know I can't cook worth a farthing."

Christina nodded as Charles left the room. She looked back to the window, her thoughts returning to the conversation that had just ended. "But I can still pray," her voice said inside of her. She stood and walked to the window. She reached out, grasping the curtains.

She did not open them.

Conflicted

"Conflicted" is a word that comes to mind. Ordinarily I am not one to believe in all of that astrological mumbo jumbo, but there seems to be at least a relative amount of outside evidence. I seem to be suffering from mental confusion due, I believe, to mental conflict.

I am quite well aware that everyone uses both sides of their brain--ok, there are a few terrible exceptions, but the point remains--one side is usually dominant. I seem to be confused as to what side of my brain is dominant. I am right handed and right footed, implying that I am left brained; I can only wink with my left eye and, when driving one handed, drive with my left hand, which implies that I am right brained. I focus constantly on logic, try to have everything as organized as possible, and am extremely detail-oriented... but I'm also very creative. This leaning would say I'm left brained, but the test I took said I was right brained... just barely.

Is it possible that this is due in some way to all of that astrological nonsense? Is it possible that being caught between Aries and Pisces has had some devastating effect on my life and the way I am? Could that somehow explain why I would love to be a psychologist but see it as sacrificing everything I love to do?

I seem to be stuck in my own mind--wandering aimlessly in circles, having epiphanies that I had only a few years, maybe even months, before. I try to look at things in a different light, but I always seem to arrive at a conclusion that had already been reached at some earlier date. So what should I do? Should I become a psychologist or should I pursue film direction? Or should I try and achieve the impossible dream? Should I go for the shack in Rhode Island and sail around the world, shark diving all the way? Or should I stop thinking quite so much?

"Conflicted" is a word that comes to mind.

Dinner Conversation: Part II

Annie was, and always had been, terrified of her mother leaving and simply never returning. It was almost as though she remembered her father vanishing from her family map. Later in life she would hold this above her sister's head and claim that she had felt it happening from their mother's movements and heart rhythms, and that she was simply more in tune to people's emotions.

Isabella looked over at her mother, her eyes large. She didn't know what to say. She had been feeling somewhat conflicted about the young law student. Something about him made her uneasy, but at the same time, she felt almost impatient about seeing him again. Her mother seemed to feel her daughters eyes and turned. Isabella transferred her gaze quickly back to her plate. The food was still untouched. She hadn't had much of an appetite at all that day since meeting Mr. Raemon.

"We should look into it then," Poindexter said, deciding that Isabella was not going to eat her beef and plucking it off of her plate. "I know I would have no objection to the idea."

"I agree," Lana stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone.

Annie looked at her mother, horrified. "But he's not related to us! We've never even met him!"

"Anna Catherine, keep your voice down. We're going to look into Mr. Raemon as a potential sitter for you two, whether you like it or not, so if I were you, I'd learn to accept it."

Annie eyes dropped back to her food. Isabelle's heart lept into her stomach.

Dinner Conversation: Part I

"He attends the University, I hear," Poindexter said through a mouth full of food. "The law school. Political Science. Something like that."

"I don't see why he chose to live here," Lana snorted. "We're not very close to the University. I don't know that we can trust him."

"We don't need to trust him, Lana. He's just another neighbor. Unless you want him to watch the girls so we can get some alone time," he winked.

Lana smiled sweetly--too sweetly to be completely honest. Lana was in her mid-fourties with short-cut blonde hair. On most days she would dress in little more than a colorful cloth wrapped and draped over her. She always had a false sort of sweetness to her affect. Her boyfriend, Poindexter, had short black hair and very tan skin and a good twenty years older than his girlfriend. Strangely, he was just as unemployed as his young girlfriend. He also showed a certain amount of annoyance towards the girls, mixed in with a strong love. All in all, he seemed a bit conflicted. Both Lana had Poindexter had had children earlier in their lives that were, as far as any outsider or Lana's daughters knew, very much not a part of their lives at all.

"I certainly wouldn't mind having someone to sit for the girls every now and then," Lana smirked. "Maybe we should check him out. What do you think, girls?"

Isabella was snapped out of her thoughts at her mother's address. She looked over at Annie, who was blubbering, trying to concoct some reason why her mother should never look at any sort of babysitter.