Original Emo sits in front of his fucking Vista, thinking about someone he thought he’d gotten over, not that there’d ever been anything between them, forgetting all of the many possibilties ahead of him, listening to a Seether song, remembering that there was a time when he listened to this song while working along side her, getting all fucking depressed, and as if the past day hasn’t been lonesome enough, he logs onto his blog to bitch about it. Nobody reads, nobody cares, and nobody notices, and I’m so self-indulgent, and I want… I don’t know what I want. I never know what I want. I never know anything. What a fucking great waste of time this was for you. I hope you choke on the shit and fucking die. Maybe I’ll join you, and you can ostricize and smear shit and trickle piss on my quivering soul as you please. Bottles and rocks for everyone. Fuck you.

One of my favored possibilities for a career, reviewing movies and entertainment news, is part of an industry in crisis, and three great minds have come together in a discussion about it. Listen to the audio on Dave Chen’s site, here:

http://www.davechen.net/2009/10/conversation-on-blogging-ethics-and.html

If you’re confused, read the material Dave has set up to prepare you for the conversation. If we are to keep the internet a respectful place, we must all respect each others’ intentions.

For those of you who read and keep track of my life, as I report it, I am terribly confused about what to do when I leave high school, and online ethics are a part of that confusion. If you listen, you’ll understand why. I do not have the diction or creativity, as it turns out, to express all of these ideas on my own, if they are even in any sort of abundance at all.

October 14, 2009
sometime after 7:00AM
The Zutons are golden.

I feel lonely and useless, no matter what I do.

2:22PM
I’ve just found the words to say this, and maybe a month of experiencing:
I have been in an emotionally gray spot. So many strong feelings are rushing forth at once, without provocation, and I’m either too dull or distracted to interpret them all at once, so this mass of emotional energy is…
in between any discernible, definable, recognizable, possible extremes.
It almost feels like the gears and cogs are grinding, and the metal’s soft, and the clock has to slow down or stop, before it breaks. The sharps points and edges are beaten, ground, bent, and dulled.

8:44PM
Smith has me reading Sprout, by Dale Peck.

I do not ever feel like writing, anymore, but I’m writing, now, because Sprout put me “in the mood”.

Everything bores.
Everything depresses.
If I don’t hang out with Colt, soon, I’ll scream.

Joss Whedon and J.J. Abrams, comin' atcha!

Season 1:
Joss N’ JJ’s Excellent Adventure
Joss N’ JJ Go To the Moon
Joss N’ JJ Meet Frankenstein
Joss N’ JJ Cure Cancer
Joss N’ JJ Have A Baby
Joss N’ JJ: The Swimsuit Special
Joss N’ JJ Meet the President
Joss N’ JJ Find the Plot
Joss N’ JJ and the Dynamic Duo Kill Jeff Loeb
Joss N’ JJ Start a Band
Joss N’ JJ: The Musical
Joss N’ JJ Meet the Harlem Globetrotters
Joss N’ JJ, Awesome Show It’s Canceled!

What further adventures can we look forward to?

It’s just a momentary gag, yeah, but it’d be fun to see if anybody can some up with some real stories to go along with the idea of a buddie-time-cop series that throws references to these guys’ shows.

I’ve just seen the first episode of the second season of Dollhouse. I’m not too fond of it, but I know that these shows follow a pattern. As soon as the “ordinary circumstances” are drawn in the dirt, we can fully enjoy the thrill of it all being thrown off balance, which was every episode of the first season. Awesome. It has its terrible moments, like the pointless memory-disease episode that only served to give a little backstory to Caroline, who is not a character I sympathize with or enjoy watching, and the plot twists involving Paul’s neighbor/girlfriend was such a trivial thing for a character I passionately hate, but it’s all cool. The Alpha and Omega thing was the perfect apology for such painful moments.
I was almost hoping that it might get canceled, just so I could see a movie-length continuation of the thirteenth episode.

Dudes, I got curious about how easy it’d be to find me online, and I Googled “Blobguy”, my online persona. Holy shit! My blog, Spill page, and Deviant page came up first!

I’m a pretty important person.

I watched a thin, tan, translucent spider with black joints spinning a smaller black spider trapped in a web, behind the kitchen faucet, beneath the window overlooking the backyard. I watched, and realized something.
Any other teenager would make a big deal out of this and bore everyone else with their bullshit “philosophies”, using the spiders as an excuse for trying to appear intelligent to the dimwitted and disconnected.
What the fuck is happening to our nation’s youth? It’s being fucked over, that’s what. The only difference between your hippies and our hipsters is: we don’t know that we’re fucked no matter what, and we have more drugs than you. Shit, under ethical treatment, we get pumped full of happy pills that shrink our perspectives while communicative therapy and healthy diets are all we really need to stay afloat, and neither of them have to cost any more than buying good food and being open with people.

This is nothing new.
So why are so many of my peers BLIND to this shit?
Because they’re distracted, easily, and the pills and salty fats don’t help us, there. We’re not completely fucked. Not all of us are idiots. The fucked part is that most of the cats who dig the knowledge abuse it, instead of respecting it and using it to benefit the majority. These aren’t new ethics.

And none of that is new, either.
So why am I the only teenager in my city who voices these things? Those of us who’ve accepted all of these truths for a long time are apparently few or silent, here in South Carolina, or at least in the military community of Goose Creek.
Why bother with all of this shit?
Who cares?

Nobody.
And, fuck it, I just did the teen thing, anyway. Maybe I’ll hint toward committing suicide and other trendy teenage bullshit.

What was a joke at the end of last year is now a real holiday, folks, though it isn’t printed on calendars, so you’d better take it down now, before you forget!

September 18 is officially “Make-Bob-Feel-Like-Shit Day”!

Make some touching cards to remind everyone to “cheer up, at least you’re not Bob,” and toss in some of your favorite insults. Use today as an opportunity to take out some serious frustration on Goose Creek’s smartest, most idiotic teenage masochists. Had a bad day? It’s probably Bob’s fault! Show that bastard what’s what!

Really? The only viewer of my fucking blog, all goddamn day was searching for the phrase “fucking angles”? Fuck that! Fuck you! Fuck!

I edited a video, made up of recordings from Caitlin’s camera, together about the long search for Captain’s Comics. Follow the URL:

http://my.spill.com/video/the-hectic-misadventures-of

It looks poor quality, because I can’t compress the original video. (I know absolute shit about all of this editing stuff, but I love doing it.)
Let me know what you think – content, story, editing, script, characters, actors, score, special effects, advertising – what can I improve for future features?

Here it is, on the Spill community.

I remember that the summer sun was as filthy and overexposed as the Woodstock documentary footage. Grit in the air snagged on my hairs and fell to my scalp, and in caught in the sweat of the joints in my hand. The sweat on my head layered over dry, sticky sheets of itself, and captured the slightest gust. The heat in my arms and chest from thrashing at the grass. The pain in my heart from moving too fast in the heat. Brush and can in both hands, I worked to see what waited me on the other end of the paper’s transformation. I looked forward to seeing a masterpiece form before my eyes, and found that I’d been fighting the heat and the pain to cover a piece of paper in blue latex. A sheet of light aqua-blue latex.

I remember having the raging hormones, just last month, and all of the complications that I thought were in my life. For the past year, I’ve dealt with a whole mess of emotions that had never occurred to me that I’d someday have to face. I’ve crushed, I’ve lusted, I’ve desired, and I’ve been desired. I’ve made decisions that I thought were for other people, and I realize that they were all mine, no matter who the intentions benefited. I’ve wanted to kiss someone, and I’ve wanted to hold someone else, and every now and then there’s someone I’m curious about fucking, and perhaps I’ll meet someone to love and make love to. I have many years to look forward to, in a complete life, but I could die tomorrow. For the first time in a long time, I’m not in any sort of rush to be anywhere or do anything, or get anything done, or be with anyone. I’m in no rush, and it feels great. I’m standing still, and the part of the world surrounding me is starting to catch up to me. Or am I catching up to it? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what feels good. What I enjoy. What makes me comfortable, and I’m comfortable with you. I’m not saying that I’m one of those artists who can get on with his life without getting drunk or high and ruining your life, or who falls in love with a younger, more Asian, woman, or a guy willing to mutilate or die to prove his own worth to himself with you as an excuse. I’d just like to spend more time with you. I’d just like to know you, and help you, and be whatever it is you need from a person like myself. I won’t always be charming or understanding, but I want to be, if it’s what you like. It’s what you deserve. I want to know: are you comfortable with me? Do you understand? Will you allow me the pleasure to be there for you? There may come a time when I ask some things of you, and I trust you to tell me when I ask for too much. Everyone butts heads. Oh, I look forward to an answer. Well, in due time, I guess. I feel so great right now. I guess you’ll let me know when you’re ready for this kind of question from me.

I said that I’d try to keep things up to date on here, and really all I have to say is “I’m in another show and I can’t read comics these days.” to hit the nail on the head.
I’m experimenting with sublimation tiles and printer ink. It’s rad.
I’m not quite as excited to act now as I was last year.
I’m not sure quite what to do or not do about someone who’s just entered the picture. I remember saying before that I document thoughts and ideas in notepads. Well, I also remember writing in one that this is a strange feeling for me. I’m not sure what is the cause for my interest in this person, but she gets more fascinating as time passes. Am I attracted? Am I smitten? I have no fucking clue what I’m feeling, but it feels good, whatever it is.
I recently shaved again. I look fatter and paler. I’m ugly, now, and must wait more than a week to make my hideous jaw disappear behind a mask of facial hair again. There was a time I thought I looked good. Now, this feels like a mistake. If I feel good in a beard, I should keep it. What made me shave it, post-audition thrills? Fuck. I look like a harlequin baby. (That’s a terrible thing to say, and I apologize, but I dislike my appearance that much.)
I’m more impatient. I’m more tired. I’m less angry.
One kid in Drama doesn’t seem to know that he plays for another team, but he’s coming onto me pretty hard. I don’t know what to do about it, how to handle it without lying or hurting the guy.
One friend of mine has something for a girl, and I have noticed that this girl’s started paying a strange amount of attention to me. She is attractive, but I don’t feel much for her, and I fear I’m stealing spotlight from my friend.
I am still very uneasy about some things concerning homosexuality. I don’t know if it’s a homophobic thing, because I get along great with some gay guys and lesbians, but there’s some odd feeling that I feel the need to get over, and I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m afraid of finding a bit homosexuality in myself, but I have to wonder if that’s a real possibility. If I have potentially romantic feelings for a girl, and I’m fascinated by women, then there’s no question that I swing that way. Am I bisexual?
This reminds me of a conversation, in which I recalled what my grandmother said to me about one of my astrological alignments, which she said was a trait rarely held by other men. Something to do with my emotions.
Listening to the Rushmore soundtrack. It is a film that I would call perfect, like Broken Flowers. Why? Dunno, don’t care. I love it. At moments, it reminds me of my friendship with Smith, but Max’s absurd desire for romance from his teacher draws a line. At one point, a long time ago, I thought I had those kinds of feelings, but they’re gone, and all I care to be to Smith is the best friend I can be. Sometimes my taste in film reflects my inner conflicts, and the course of the movie reflects my course of meditation. I never did anything outrageous, like Max Fischer, and it was because I’d drawn his very conclusions in a matter of days. Sometimes I have to remind myself that Smith is attractive, and keep in mind what conclusion others would draw if they don’t understand my inner workings. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s part of Smith’s job to know me, and her job doesn’t stop even when we’re capable of having a regular friendly conversation.

I’m tired. Thoughts of a Drama girl keep me awake at night. What do I do to keep myself from forcing this new person away, or thinking the wrong things about what I think of her? I’m not really “scared” of anything, but I worry about how things can go wrong. She seems easy going, but what does that mean? I’m sure she’s spent enough time finding the more attractive guys wandering the halls, and how long will it be before some confident, pretty guy reaches her interest before I do?
Smith has enrolled the help of Kayla to write our script project as a musical. In Amerson’s class, sometimes she goofs around with her guitar, and sometimes she plays, and I can’t help but be so impressed by her. Not in a jealous way, like I’m accustomed to.
I have the strange feeling that I’ve been cheating my way through my short art career, as a student, and I don’t know why. Like I don’t deserve praise, and it’s all I seem to look forward to, sometimes. I used to do things for praise as a kid, like an excited puppy. Now, when I try to do things for myself, I end up depressed when I don’t get rewarded. I want to say that I’m pathetic, but I know it’s for other reasons.
I’m so tired, these days. I’m hardly a pleasant individual in the mornings. I wish I could be, so… the Drama girl gets a little bit of a better impression of me, but it’s better that I act like myself more than show off something that isn’t me. At all.
Last night, I remember going to sleep, feeling like everything’s alright. Like nothing was of consequence. Nothing bothered me, and all that mattered was whatever I happened to be thinking about at the moment. Now, all day, I’ve been so uncomfortable, like last night’s feeling was a sham, like it was all something from a pill I don’t remember taking, but it wasn’t. What’s with me, now? What calls forth this degree of discomfort?

After I turn 18, I’ll ask everyone who matters to me whether they think I should give that free mental health clinic place a go, and weigh their opinions against my own desires.