He coughed, cleared his throat, and moved on.
The clerk at the counter looked smug. "You're limited to two boxes of Sudafed," he said, "We can't let you buy that many."
The man was tempted to begin making meth, solely because they had started regulation.
He had a bad view of the world.
He walked back to the car.
When he got home, he unloaded the groceries, two brown bags. The produce would have poked out the top like in old movies, but he didn't buy produce. He only had one mouth to feed.
The television in the living room was covered in dust, the remote hidden in a drawer. His nephews would storm the desk and capture the remote, only to be befuddled by its lack of batteries. He didn't buy batteries. He hated them.
The oven was spotless. He liked food. He was not unique in this sense.
He shut the door carefully behind him, doubly checking the locks. He was always worried he would fall asleep without locking the door. He crawled out of bed in the early night to check. It haunted him.
In morning, the coffee pot would beep and start its usual hissing and groaning. He always made four cups. Always.
The Raisin Bran box would get empty fairly often.
He would often shave before he went to sleep, to save time in the morning. Sleep was like a free time withdrawal unit. He'd always say, "It's quite okay, to get less before day."
Sometimes it would be 3 a.m. and the mirror would be fogged by his breath. He had a dry-erase marker on the bathroom counter and he would write on the mirror, carefully. It rarely made sense. It often rhymed.
He was handsome. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet; shirts always without wrinkles. His bed wasn't big enough for two people.
It was shoved in the corner. Around the feet were books, magazines, a box of tissues, legal pads, eraser debris. He sketched a lot. He liked making comics. He never showed them to anyone.
In a file cabinet on the wall were his writings. They were numerous. Some were terrible. Some were great. He never showed them to anyone.
His computer sat on a large, wooden desk. Its keyboard was well worn.
Some speakers on the floor. They were big. They played things that he liked. He was not unique in that regard.
He was smart. He had degrees. He made a lot of money. He lived alone.
He thought too much.
He wrote too much.
He prayed too much.
He believed in luck for a while.
He had a couple pictures in his desk, of smiling faces. Beautiful, smiling faces. They only existed in two dimensions. They only existed in two dimensions.
He would walk to work sometimes--it was only a few blocks. He would see happy people. He liked to watch their ignorance.
The checks got bigger every year. The writing on the mirror got longer, nastier, messier. It began to disturb.
He walked to the park one day. Looked around at the sky.
He sat down and wondered, "Why?"
He smiled.
December 12, 2009
December 6, 2009
Nearing the end
Christmas break is almost here, and I am only unsettled.
I don't want to go back home.
I like my microcosm; I like my little room full of junk and my bicycle outside latched to a steel ring; and, I like my neat routine and schedule, my to-do list taped to the back of my desk in red ink; I like my stack of textbooks on the floor; my folding of laundry while music plays in the background and I sing along, poorly.
I like breakfast with friends. Lunch with friends. Dinner with friends. Sitting in dorm rooms, awkwardly. The bad weather. The walks to class. The skateboarding late at night; the late at night bike rides. The tunnel to the rec. Basketball at the rec. Programming lectures and falling asleep. Chemistry lectures and falling asleep. Calculus lectures and waking up, if only to be alarmed, and falling asleep again.
My hand hurting from taking so many notes. My eyes red from days spent coding or writing lab reports on the computer. Six empty cans of soda around the room, a coffee pot that is on more than off.
I will miss these things.
Life is seemingly measured out in chunks of meaning; we work for a while, and then we are dunked into a bowl of nothing--we are wasted by this; we are pieces of filet mignon being submerged in mild salsa. We can exist at another level, but every few months, we are kicked out, told to go home--and I go back to a world I no longer feel I can be productive in.
Maybe it will be better, maybe what I've learned this semester will change how I see things back home. Back in Belton. Maybe my new skills will open new doors back home, or at least break some more windows. I don't know.
That's the main thing right now.
If I leave here, I don't know.
There is comfort in knowing, if we recognize we are inherently scared of the unknown. By leaving for Christmas, I am leaving my comfort zone here at the university; I am heading deep into a world that I no longer feel I can be productive in.
In any case, my goal is to make Christmas break as healthy as possible--it's imperative that it is actually a break. In this sense, I would like to not work.
But what do I do for a month?
That is a preposterously long time.
I'm not saying I don't want the break; I do. I'm just scared that I'm going to lose a month, and that's time I'm never going to get back.
Is it bad to be 19 and worried about losing a month of my life?
I know that in a month I can do a lot; I can learn a lot; I can make a difference.
Is it bad that I value my time?
I'm not really sure.
But I do know that Christmas break is at least an opportunity to relax--whether I use it to do so or not.
Hmm.
I don't want to go back home.
I like my microcosm; I like my little room full of junk and my bicycle outside latched to a steel ring; and, I like my neat routine and schedule, my to-do list taped to the back of my desk in red ink; I like my stack of textbooks on the floor; my folding of laundry while music plays in the background and I sing along, poorly.
I like breakfast with friends. Lunch with friends. Dinner with friends. Sitting in dorm rooms, awkwardly. The bad weather. The walks to class. The skateboarding late at night; the late at night bike rides. The tunnel to the rec. Basketball at the rec. Programming lectures and falling asleep. Chemistry lectures and falling asleep. Calculus lectures and waking up, if only to be alarmed, and falling asleep again.
My hand hurting from taking so many notes. My eyes red from days spent coding or writing lab reports on the computer. Six empty cans of soda around the room, a coffee pot that is on more than off.
I will miss these things.
Life is seemingly measured out in chunks of meaning; we work for a while, and then we are dunked into a bowl of nothing--we are wasted by this; we are pieces of filet mignon being submerged in mild salsa. We can exist at another level, but every few months, we are kicked out, told to go home--and I go back to a world I no longer feel I can be productive in.
Maybe it will be better, maybe what I've learned this semester will change how I see things back home. Back in Belton. Maybe my new skills will open new doors back home, or at least break some more windows. I don't know.
That's the main thing right now.
If I leave here, I don't know.
There is comfort in knowing, if we recognize we are inherently scared of the unknown. By leaving for Christmas, I am leaving my comfort zone here at the university; I am heading deep into a world that I no longer feel I can be productive in.
In any case, my goal is to make Christmas break as healthy as possible--it's imperative that it is actually a break. In this sense, I would like to not work.
But what do I do for a month?
That is a preposterously long time.
I'm not saying I don't want the break; I do. I'm just scared that I'm going to lose a month, and that's time I'm never going to get back.
Is it bad to be 19 and worried about losing a month of my life?
I know that in a month I can do a lot; I can learn a lot; I can make a difference.
Is it bad that I value my time?
I'm not really sure.
But I do know that Christmas break is at least an opportunity to relax--whether I use it to do so or not.
Hmm.
November 10, 2009
That speech I gave at graduation
I thought I'd post this, now that's it's been a while, and people still seem sort of interested in it. I honestly haven't thought about this speech too much since I gave it.
I wrote it one night when I couldn't sleep; I was standing up, hunched over my desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad. I don't think I edited it at all from the original. I simply typed it up, and submitted it to Mrs. Cook for approval.
I don't really know if I truly agree with the speech or not. I wrote it emotionally. As such, it is what it is.
That being said--I think looking up to Kanye West is, in many ways, a very simple thing to do. Because oftentimes, you only have to look down.
That's not to discredit the point of the speech. West rarely misbehaves because of his job. He misbehaves because of some insecurity far deeper than his career. The point of my speech was that you can do what you love and get paid for it, not to idolize the fact that Kanye is sometimes a jackass.
Anyway.
----------------------------------------------
I remember 2007, and listening to Kanye West’s then-new album, Graduation.
Track one, “Good Morning”:
“Good morning, look at the valedictorian
Scared of the future while I hop in the DeLorean
Scared to face the world, complacent career student
Some people graduate, but we still stupid
Kanye West is an interesting fellow; he is a college dropout. Most rappers never even begin attending college—let alone go and make the conscious decision to stop going.
A conscious decision?
Very much so.
Kanye West dropped out of college to ensure success.
Success in the world of hiphop, where college’s involvement would be like dumping ketchup on an alarm clock, and then deeming the resultant Heinz-Timex monstrosity rather preferable to either component on its own.
Umm, no.
Which brings us back to that verse from “Good Morning”. Mr. West accuses the valedictorian of being a “complacent, career student” that is “scared to face the world.” From West’s viewpoint, the valedictorian guy is a joke. West is doing what he loves—making music. And not only that, he is making dump-truck loads of money while doing so. The antagonized valedictorian, while he may indeed get his own dump truck full of US currency, will probably never end up as happy as Kanye West—because Mr. I’m-Smart will have his nose too far inside a textbook to realize he doesn’t like anatomy. That he doesn’t like law. That he doesn’t like metaphysics.
To someone as pure as West, the career student is laughable. Why would anyone waste time doing something they don’t love? Why give up happiness for money when it’s possible to get happiness and money? I mean think about it—what’s easier: crafting yourself an enjoyable career for the remainder of your life, or working till you drop dead and there’s some more zeroes on the end of that five in your bank account? One of those is easy—anyone can slave away, double overtime, money in the bank, third mortgage, new BMW. But not many can say, “I love my job.” Just remember that money is the variable that could go either way, can happen regardless—but right now, choosing not to do what you love virtually guarantees you are not going to do what you love for the rest of your life. Forever.
Money can’t buy happiness, so plan your investments accordingly.
I admire Kanye West. Because he went against society, and won. Because he does what he enjoys and is still an incredible financial success. Guys, this is what we should aim for. Kanye West. We should shoot for the stars, literally. (Not at, that’s a felony.) We should do what we love and get paid for it. We should ignore advice that is completely contrary to our own life decisions; we should be selfish.
Others don’t admire Kanye West. Because he has an ego the size of this room, or bigger. Because he is completely and utterly selfish. Because he makes distasteful comments about presidents. But what’s wrong with that? That is what it takes to do what you love in life. To believe fully in yourself. To be proud of yourself, and by that measure, your thoughts.
The only alternative to selfishness is selflessness—and guess what? That means you don’t pick. Here, be a mechanic. Here, be a chef. Here, be a movie critic. Since when is getting told what to do an ideal of society? Isn’t this America? Let’s tell selflessness off. Let’s tell it to go away.
Let’s enjoy ourselves, our decisions. Let’s act in our own self interests. Let’s have a toast tonight, to us.
West does that. Money in the bank, remember? Getting the best of both worlds. Love your job. Love your life. Love your paycheck.
Selfishness is the key to this—this leaving high school.
The saying goes, “They’re ready to face the world.”
Guys, we’re on offense.
We’re not hanging back.
We’re a tactical strike, a precision movement.
We’re taking over.
And we’re not letting the world tell us anything about how we choose our lives.
***
Conveniently, track six on Graduation is titled, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”.
This Kanye West guy, I think he’s onto something.
----------------------------------------------
© 2009 David Kline
I wrote it one night when I couldn't sleep; I was standing up, hunched over my desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad. I don't think I edited it at all from the original. I simply typed it up, and submitted it to Mrs. Cook for approval.
I don't really know if I truly agree with the speech or not. I wrote it emotionally. As such, it is what it is.
That being said--I think looking up to Kanye West is, in many ways, a very simple thing to do. Because oftentimes, you only have to look down.
That's not to discredit the point of the speech. West rarely misbehaves because of his job. He misbehaves because of some insecurity far deeper than his career. The point of my speech was that you can do what you love and get paid for it, not to idolize the fact that Kanye is sometimes a jackass.
Anyway.
----------------------------------------------
I remember 2007, and listening to Kanye West’s then-new album, Graduation.
Track one, “Good Morning”:
“Good morning, look at the valedictorian
Scared of the future while I hop in the DeLorean
Scared to face the world, complacent career student
Some people graduate, but we still stupid
Kanye West is an interesting fellow; he is a college dropout. Most rappers never even begin attending college—let alone go and make the conscious decision to stop going.
A conscious decision?
Very much so.
Kanye West dropped out of college to ensure success.
Success in the world of hiphop, where college’s involvement would be like dumping ketchup on an alarm clock, and then deeming the resultant Heinz-Timex monstrosity rather preferable to either component on its own.
Umm, no.
Which brings us back to that verse from “Good Morning”. Mr. West accuses the valedictorian of being a “complacent, career student” that is “scared to face the world.” From West’s viewpoint, the valedictorian guy is a joke. West is doing what he loves—making music. And not only that, he is making dump-truck loads of money while doing so. The antagonized valedictorian, while he may indeed get his own dump truck full of US currency, will probably never end up as happy as Kanye West—because Mr. I’m-Smart will have his nose too far inside a textbook to realize he doesn’t like anatomy. That he doesn’t like law. That he doesn’t like metaphysics.
To someone as pure as West, the career student is laughable. Why would anyone waste time doing something they don’t love? Why give up happiness for money when it’s possible to get happiness and money? I mean think about it—what’s easier: crafting yourself an enjoyable career for the remainder of your life, or working till you drop dead and there’s some more zeroes on the end of that five in your bank account? One of those is easy—anyone can slave away, double overtime, money in the bank, third mortgage, new BMW. But not many can say, “I love my job.” Just remember that money is the variable that could go either way, can happen regardless—but right now, choosing not to do what you love virtually guarantees you are not going to do what you love for the rest of your life. Forever.
Money can’t buy happiness, so plan your investments accordingly.
I admire Kanye West. Because he went against society, and won. Because he does what he enjoys and is still an incredible financial success. Guys, this is what we should aim for. Kanye West. We should shoot for the stars, literally. (Not at, that’s a felony.) We should do what we love and get paid for it. We should ignore advice that is completely contrary to our own life decisions; we should be selfish.
Others don’t admire Kanye West. Because he has an ego the size of this room, or bigger. Because he is completely and utterly selfish. Because he makes distasteful comments about presidents. But what’s wrong with that? That is what it takes to do what you love in life. To believe fully in yourself. To be proud of yourself, and by that measure, your thoughts.
The only alternative to selfishness is selflessness—and guess what? That means you don’t pick. Here, be a mechanic. Here, be a chef. Here, be a movie critic. Since when is getting told what to do an ideal of society? Isn’t this America? Let’s tell selflessness off. Let’s tell it to go away.
Let’s enjoy ourselves, our decisions. Let’s act in our own self interests. Let’s have a toast tonight, to us.
West does that. Money in the bank, remember? Getting the best of both worlds. Love your job. Love your life. Love your paycheck.
Selfishness is the key to this—this leaving high school.
The saying goes, “They’re ready to face the world.”
Guys, we’re on offense.
We’re not hanging back.
We’re a tactical strike, a precision movement.
We’re taking over.
And we’re not letting the world tell us anything about how we choose our lives.
***
Conveniently, track six on Graduation is titled, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”.
This Kanye West guy, I think he’s onto something.
----------------------------------------------
© 2009 David Kline
October 18, 2009
Halfway
I said this semester was going to kill me; if such turns out to be true, I am now halfway deceased.
It feels good.
My brain, at times, feels as if it's about to burst--I am being tested in ways I never thought possible--I am enjoying my life in ways I never thought possible--I am, in many ways, not happy.
College is essentially high school, but with an enlarged portion of self-importance. College is some kind of pipe dream, something that high school seniors look up to--are scared of. It's not any different, guys. It's a little bit more time-consuming, class-wise--but you aren't going to find yourself suddenly fulfilled.
I reek of hypocrisy.
I am cynical now--in that I know exactly what it would take, what I would need, to be 100% happy with my life. I am stupidly certain of this. ("stupidly certain" could possibly be the most accurate way to describe my life in two words, by the way, haha)
It's this idea I have, that God maybe makes us as perfect as possible, then subtracts one key component, to make our lives a little bit more interesting. For some, God subtracts intelligence. That must be fun. For others, he subtracts common sense. For others, he subtracts identity. And so on. And for some people, he gives them everything but the ability to get along with people.
I have a very small comfort zone when it comes to social relationships. My circle of friends could hardly be considered a circle; it is far from encompassing 360 degrees. It's more like a dozen or less points, scattered arbitrary distances from me, me being in the middle. Haha, I would put myself in the middle.
Point being, I feel like my greatest challenge in my life is going to be dealing with people. The people close to me, the people far from me, the people I care about, the people I don't care about. In many cases I will struggle because I have a hard time facing the people I care about. I don't know how to read people. I don't know when to take risks. I don't know when to just have blind faith. Which I'm beginning to realize is important.
I'm a mess of things; my principle motivation system is based roughly on the following.
Romans 8:28:
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
And, to a lesser extent, Spiderman's uncle:
"With great power must come great responsibility."
An advertising slogan that Audi used at one point:
"Never follow."
And finally this general idea:
"Everything happens for a reason. Pay attention to circumstance." (Thanks, Dad)
So I would say that I live my life morally; I do what I think is right at the time. I feel that if you always do the right thing, things will sort themselves out. You will get what you need. I also believe in the importance of identity--in order to be a successful human being, you need not worry what other people think of you. You need to be confident about yourself; never fake. You should love being you. And you should never follow. And once you get that inner confidence, you should never abuse it. You should never use your inflated sense of importance to hurt other people. (I don't want to admit it, but I am guilty of this... I am sorry. I was younger. I was learning.)
Have you ever felt really bad because of one thing? Whenever I feel like that now, I try to think of everything in my life that has gone right. It goes back to that idea that God builds us, then takes away one vital part, so that we can learn. It's okay to know that we have one big problem, it drives us. It makes us go outside our comfort zone. It makes us learn.
I like to think of life as three L's: learn, laugh, love. Usually you laugh because of how much you suck at the other two. :)
I like to count my blessings sometimes. Because then I feel less mopey. Not to say that I am depressed; I am just perpetually aware of my flaws. My default state is to look at the glass as half-full, as it is more efficient: to single out what I hate about my life is much faster than to list everything I love about it. So in my desire to be efficient, I make myself feel terrible. Neat. Haha.
If you can't tell, college is very much about discovering yourself, and very little about classes. Class is there; it's not hard; it just takes time. What we learn at this point in our life is what we are missing, and what we need to do to get our life to the point where we aren't missing it any more.
I think, anyway.
I have to go study, and hope.
It feels good.
My brain, at times, feels as if it's about to burst--I am being tested in ways I never thought possible--I am enjoying my life in ways I never thought possible--I am, in many ways, not happy.
College is essentially high school, but with an enlarged portion of self-importance. College is some kind of pipe dream, something that high school seniors look up to--are scared of. It's not any different, guys. It's a little bit more time-consuming, class-wise--but you aren't going to find yourself suddenly fulfilled.
I reek of hypocrisy.
I am cynical now--in that I know exactly what it would take, what I would need, to be 100% happy with my life. I am stupidly certain of this. ("stupidly certain" could possibly be the most accurate way to describe my life in two words, by the way, haha)
It's this idea I have, that God maybe makes us as perfect as possible, then subtracts one key component, to make our lives a little bit more interesting. For some, God subtracts intelligence. That must be fun. For others, he subtracts common sense. For others, he subtracts identity. And so on. And for some people, he gives them everything but the ability to get along with people.
I have a very small comfort zone when it comes to social relationships. My circle of friends could hardly be considered a circle; it is far from encompassing 360 degrees. It's more like a dozen or less points, scattered arbitrary distances from me, me being in the middle. Haha, I would put myself in the middle.
Point being, I feel like my greatest challenge in my life is going to be dealing with people. The people close to me, the people far from me, the people I care about, the people I don't care about. In many cases I will struggle because I have a hard time facing the people I care about. I don't know how to read people. I don't know when to take risks. I don't know when to just have blind faith. Which I'm beginning to realize is important.
I'm a mess of things; my principle motivation system is based roughly on the following.
Romans 8:28:
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
And, to a lesser extent, Spiderman's uncle:
"With great power must come great responsibility."
An advertising slogan that Audi used at one point:
"Never follow."
And finally this general idea:
"Everything happens for a reason. Pay attention to circumstance." (Thanks, Dad)
So I would say that I live my life morally; I do what I think is right at the time. I feel that if you always do the right thing, things will sort themselves out. You will get what you need. I also believe in the importance of identity--in order to be a successful human being, you need not worry what other people think of you. You need to be confident about yourself; never fake. You should love being you. And you should never follow. And once you get that inner confidence, you should never abuse it. You should never use your inflated sense of importance to hurt other people. (I don't want to admit it, but I am guilty of this... I am sorry. I was younger. I was learning.)
Have you ever felt really bad because of one thing? Whenever I feel like that now, I try to think of everything in my life that has gone right. It goes back to that idea that God builds us, then takes away one vital part, so that we can learn. It's okay to know that we have one big problem, it drives us. It makes us go outside our comfort zone. It makes us learn.
I like to think of life as three L's: learn, laugh, love. Usually you laugh because of how much you suck at the other two. :)
I like to count my blessings sometimes. Because then I feel less mopey. Not to say that I am depressed; I am just perpetually aware of my flaws. My default state is to look at the glass as half-full, as it is more efficient: to single out what I hate about my life is much faster than to list everything I love about it. So in my desire to be efficient, I make myself feel terrible. Neat. Haha.
If you can't tell, college is very much about discovering yourself, and very little about classes. Class is there; it's not hard; it just takes time. What we learn at this point in our life is what we are missing, and what we need to do to get our life to the point where we aren't missing it any more.
I think, anyway.
I have to go study, and hope.
September 13, 2009
Music in morning
I made a new song yesterday.
It's called "In morning".
You can listen to it here:
http://www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
I usually make music whenever I need to vent. I've been needing to vent a lot lately; after this, I feel much better. Writing also helps me get things off my chest, but writing can never be as raw as a real voice.
I made the beat in Garageband. I didn't compose any of the musical bits; Garageband simply allows one to arrange loops of prerecorded music in the desired fashion. I think I used 3 or 4 drum loops and then 3 or 4 vibraphone loops to make this beat. (The loops come with Garageband, like a little "loop library". You just move them around on screen and decide how it should line up.) I'm still learning a lot about what I can and can't get away with in terms of repetition, simplicity, length, etc. But if you listen to the songs I've made previously, there is a definite progression. I'm getting more comfortable.
I also did something weird, in that I tried to do a chorus, but ended up making four different choruses, that all kinda suck. I actually wrote the choruses out, in an attempt to be all master planner and stuff. Heh. My singing is still terrible, I'll admit, but is it at least more bearable?
As far as the rapping, I pretty much winged it. What I have done in the past is actually write out lyrics, pages of them. This nets one "clever" rhymes at the expense of saying things one otherwise would never say--for proof, check out my other songs, "Friends" and "10 Feet Away". The majority of content in those songs was only generated so it could be a "cool" rap. And it's not even that cool.
So for "In morning" I decided I wasn't going to write any lyrics. This is a blessing, and a curse. A blessing because it lifts that stupid curtain of "I'll say that 'cause it rhymes" and a curse because freestyling (i.e. to ad lib) a rap is rather difficult. I'm getting better, but it's still extremely challenging.
Some insight: I say Xbox in what I believe is the second verse. Why I said it? I was recording and I thought, "Oh crap, I'm out of things to say!" so I did a desperate search of the room, and saw the Xbox. So I started rapping about Xbox.
Then I repeat myself a few times, quite a few actually. That's another problem with freestyling: you can get kinda stuck on certain phrases, as if they're comfort zones or something. I said "too many instances" in both the first and second verses. That bugs me.
But, another problem with freestyling is if you like 70% of it, you don't really want to do any more. Because you could try and write it out, clean it up a little, and rerecord it, but then it will come across as forced. At least I always thought so. And then if you try a new freestyle, you end up losing a bunch of good material.
So what actually came out as the "finished" product is about 70% was good as I wanted it to be, because I freestyled. It's irritating, but acceptable--I'm just doing this to vent, after all.
Speaking of that, the three songs I've made so far where I actually rap--"Darkside" is an instrumental I made in 2004, and threw up on the Myspace for fun--"In morning" is the most truthful, but all three--"In morning" + "Friends" + "10 Feet Away"--all have a common theme--relationships, whether they be friendships or something more involved.
Its ultimately interesting because while the three songs seem so similar, they represent three different instances in which I put myself in the same problem--they are not three songs concerning one experience; they are three songs concerning a number of experiences.
So in doing these I keep revealing to myself that I put myself in the same situation every time, and act surprised when I get the same results. The path to change is change, not repetition of failed experiments.
And so, maybe after three songs and several years, I'm ready to be over my insecurities. I'm ready to try something new.
Only problem is, if everything is going well, I probably won't make any more songs.
Development of musical skill through suffering just seems so proper.
But hey, if misery can work, happiness can too.
David Kline
It's called "In morning".
You can listen to it here:
http://www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
I usually make music whenever I need to vent. I've been needing to vent a lot lately; after this, I feel much better. Writing also helps me get things off my chest, but writing can never be as raw as a real voice.
I made the beat in Garageband. I didn't compose any of the musical bits; Garageband simply allows one to arrange loops of prerecorded music in the desired fashion. I think I used 3 or 4 drum loops and then 3 or 4 vibraphone loops to make this beat. (The loops come with Garageband, like a little "loop library". You just move them around on screen and decide how it should line up.) I'm still learning a lot about what I can and can't get away with in terms of repetition, simplicity, length, etc. But if you listen to the songs I've made previously, there is a definite progression. I'm getting more comfortable.
I also did something weird, in that I tried to do a chorus, but ended up making four different choruses, that all kinda suck. I actually wrote the choruses out, in an attempt to be all master planner and stuff. Heh. My singing is still terrible, I'll admit, but is it at least more bearable?
As far as the rapping, I pretty much winged it. What I have done in the past is actually write out lyrics, pages of them. This nets one "clever" rhymes at the expense of saying things one otherwise would never say--for proof, check out my other songs, "Friends" and "10 Feet Away". The majority of content in those songs was only generated so it could be a "cool" rap. And it's not even that cool.
So for "In morning" I decided I wasn't going to write any lyrics. This is a blessing, and a curse. A blessing because it lifts that stupid curtain of "I'll say that 'cause it rhymes" and a curse because freestyling (i.e. to ad lib) a rap is rather difficult. I'm getting better, but it's still extremely challenging.
Some insight: I say Xbox in what I believe is the second verse. Why I said it? I was recording and I thought, "Oh crap, I'm out of things to say!" so I did a desperate search of the room, and saw the Xbox. So I started rapping about Xbox.
Then I repeat myself a few times, quite a few actually. That's another problem with freestyling: you can get kinda stuck on certain phrases, as if they're comfort zones or something. I said "too many instances" in both the first and second verses. That bugs me.
But, another problem with freestyling is if you like 70% of it, you don't really want to do any more. Because you could try and write it out, clean it up a little, and rerecord it, but then it will come across as forced. At least I always thought so. And then if you try a new freestyle, you end up losing a bunch of good material.
So what actually came out as the "finished" product is about 70% was good as I wanted it to be, because I freestyled. It's irritating, but acceptable--I'm just doing this to vent, after all.
Speaking of that, the three songs I've made so far where I actually rap--"Darkside" is an instrumental I made in 2004, and threw up on the Myspace for fun--"In morning" is the most truthful, but all three--"In morning" + "Friends" + "10 Feet Away"--all have a common theme--relationships, whether they be friendships or something more involved.
Its ultimately interesting because while the three songs seem so similar, they represent three different instances in which I put myself in the same problem--they are not three songs concerning one experience; they are three songs concerning a number of experiences.
So in doing these I keep revealing to myself that I put myself in the same situation every time, and act surprised when I get the same results. The path to change is change, not repetition of failed experiments.
And so, maybe after three songs and several years, I'm ready to be over my insecurities. I'm ready to try something new.
Only problem is, if everything is going well, I probably won't make any more songs.
Development of musical skill through suffering just seems so proper.
But hey, if misery can work, happiness can too.
David Kline
August 31, 2009
Day One
Hello.
This is me decompressing from my first day of college.
Read on, if you feel so inclined.
I tried to make it somewhat readable, but no promises. =]
- Frosted Mini Spooners
- Maxwell House Dark Roast Coffee
- General Chemistry for Engineers
- Engineering Math III (aka Calculus III)
That brings me to an aside: pressure. Not force over area, not physics, just, pressure. On me. Assumptions. There's a reason the first three letters of "assumption" spell "ass". Because in order to make an assumption you must first be an ass. I know this from making many assumptions, and seeing the responses they ignite. Ergo, allow me to act wise here. Please.
Anyway. A lot of people seem to think I'm smart--cool, nice, I appreciate it. But don't call me a genius, please. I know it's sort of complementary, but it's also sort of a misnomer. I don't just "get" stuff. I have to work for it. I do what I do in school because I disappear for a while. Because I give up basic social interaction, because I give up being able to talk and have a good time. To call me a genius is to say that I don't need to be a reclusive bastard, and that makes me mad. Because I do have to be one. I don't like it, but I do.
My goal this year is to balance some things out, so that I don't have to be a jerk. I'm tired of it, quite simply. Have I been doing a good job? You tell me. But I don't want to be cocky, I want to be approachable. Not an open book, that's a bad way to be, but a book that doesn't bite back like that one in Harry Potter.
I need to talk sometimes, and the internet seems weird, but feels good. I don't like to talk this much in person. It is a lot of time talking about oneself, which, in the company of others, is rude. Which I'm trying to get away from. Or maybe I'm wrong about that. Shrug.
- Sbisa Dining Hall
- State & Local Government
If you read carefully, you'd have seen I only went to three classes today. That's because I have two labs on Monday, but they were both not scheduled today, thankfully.
After class I went over to Ben House's dorm, read a chapter of the chemistry book, and helped him a little with his calculus homework. Then we went for a bike ride, and randomly met up with Matt Johnson. So he joined in, we rode around some more, then locked up the bikes to play pool at the Commons.
I played one game--and then realized--I'm exhausted.
It's been a long week, leading up to this.
I'm exhausted.
So I went back to the dorm, took a shower, and ate.
- Hormel Ready-to-Eat Salisbury Steak/Potatoes
- Easy Mac
- Cherry Pop Tarts
I am. Extremely. Tired.
You can probably tell, because this Note is pretty boring.
I'm sorry if you read it all.
To make up for it, I'll give you a quick laugh.
HOWDY!
I'M DAVID KLINE, AND I'M THE LOUDEST AND PROUDEST MEMBER OF THE FIGHTIN' TEXAS AGGIES' CLASS OF 2013!!!!
AAAAAA!!!!
Err... yeah.
This is me decompressing from my first day of college.
Read on, if you feel so inclined.
I tried to make it somewhat readable, but no promises. =]
Breakfast
- Frosted Mini Spooners
These are the off-brand version of the popular Kellog's Frosted Mini Wheat. I find them 80% as satisfying for 60% of the price. It's a fair trade off. Of note: I use 2% lactose-free milk, more on what happens if I don't later.
- Maxwell House Dark Roast Coffee
It's cheap, comes in a blue container, and my grandparents drink it. Obviously, this is the choice for the modern college student. Especially its blue characteristics. Of note: I use International Delight French Vanilla creamer, about a 70/30 coffee/creamer mixture. Black coffee is a facet of grandparent living that I am simply unwilling to transition to the college experience. I want to live cheap, but not that cheap.
Morning
- General Chemistry for Engineers
My professor wrote the textbook, and made 3 references to said fact within 15 minutes. Other than a little pride, which is healthy, he seems promising. Fingers crossed.
- Engineering Math III (aka Calculus III)
We started almost immediately with three-dimensional planes, things like find the distance between two points in 3D space as well as 3D vectors. I've run into some of this before, in AP Physics C, but a lot of the material was new. I was one of the few freshman in the class--I skipped a full year of Calculus because of the AP Calculus BC test--so it will be interesting to see how I do. I'll do my best.
That brings me to an aside: pressure. Not force over area, not physics, just, pressure. On me. Assumptions. There's a reason the first three letters of "assumption" spell "ass". Because in order to make an assumption you must first be an ass. I know this from making many assumptions, and seeing the responses they ignite. Ergo, allow me to act wise here. Please.
Anyway. A lot of people seem to think I'm smart--cool, nice, I appreciate it. But don't call me a genius, please. I know it's sort of complementary, but it's also sort of a misnomer. I don't just "get" stuff. I have to work for it. I do what I do in school because I disappear for a while. Because I give up basic social interaction, because I give up being able to talk and have a good time. To call me a genius is to say that I don't need to be a reclusive bastard, and that makes me mad. Because I do have to be one. I don't like it, but I do.
My goal this year is to balance some things out, so that I don't have to be a jerk. I'm tired of it, quite simply. Have I been doing a good job? You tell me. But I don't want to be cocky, I want to be approachable. Not an open book, that's a bad way to be, but a book that doesn't bite back like that one in Harry Potter.
I need to talk sometimes, and the internet seems weird, but feels good. I don't like to talk this much in person. It is a lot of time talking about oneself, which, in the company of others, is rude. Which I'm trying to get away from. Or maybe I'm wrong about that. Shrug.
Lunch
- Sbisa Dining Hall
I had some pizza, I think it was sausage-pepperoni. It was good. And a Diet Dr Pepper. Bad habits die hard. Let me give up some more critical stuff before I give up my caffeine, haha. Of note: I saw that Sbisa serves cereal during lunch. Of course I needed some of that. Got some Fruit Loops. Issue: no lactose free milk. I said whatever... now my stomach hurts. Or, it did. Then there were these really weird noises and the pain went away. And now my room smells. At least it was all audial/nasal feedback. Could be worse?
Afternoon
- State & Local Government
The professor was really funny! Rude! But funny! So that was fun. I'm glad to have at least one entertaining professor. As far as the class goes, it seems like it won't be too bad. Some reading, but at least there is no final. :)
If you read carefully, you'd have seen I only went to three classes today. That's because I have two labs on Monday, but they were both not scheduled today, thankfully.
After class I went over to Ben House's dorm, read a chapter of the chemistry book, and helped him a little with his calculus homework. Then we went for a bike ride, and randomly met up with Matt Johnson. So he joined in, we rode around some more, then locked up the bikes to play pool at the Commons.
I played one game--and then realized--I'm exhausted.
It's been a long week, leading up to this.
I'm exhausted.
So I went back to the dorm, took a shower, and ate.
Dinner
- Hormel Ready-to-Eat Salisbury Steak/Potatoes
This was actually pretty good. It's not frozen, it just comes in a tub. Slit the lid, nuke it for a minute and a half, good to go. I had the swedish meatballs one the other day for lunch, it was really good. I think these have Ramen beat.. but they do cost a lot more.
- Easy Mac
I haven't had this for probably five years. It's not really very good. Probably won't buy any more. I dunno why, but it's just not very satisfying.
- Cherry Pop Tarts
Dessert. Only the finest. And yes, Mom, I did have Pop Tarts for dinner. Deal with it!
Night
I am. Extremely. Tired.
You can probably tell, because this Note is pretty boring.
I'm sorry if you read it all.
To make up for it, I'll give you a quick laugh.
HOWDY!
I'M DAVID KLINE, AND I'M THE LOUDEST AND PROUDEST MEMBER OF THE FIGHTIN' TEXAS AGGIES' CLASS OF 2013!!!!
AAAAAA!!!!
Err... yeah.
August 4, 2009
I sit & rot
I'm sipping decaf. I've come full circle.
I started drinking coffee for the caffeine. Not because I wanted to start caffeine--because I already had, and a Mountain Dew in the morning as I was so accustomed began to seem uncivilized, despite its dew premise and such a fitting connotation. Got tired of the fizz.
That leaves tea, or coffee. Considering the country I live in, tea would be daft.
In the morning, I tip the Nestlé French Vanilla creamer bottle into a Harry Potter mug, dump in the ambiguously South American coffee, and relish in the United States' inability to accept certain, let's say, facets, of world culture. We take the Harry Potter, but not the tea. We take the Brazilian ethanol concept, but apply it to a country that has no such infrastructure. We take the "French" food, but not the politics. I once said "Renault" in the presence of others of similar age; drool production had to triple to account for seeping losses. French cars, it seems, were more tea than Harry Potter.
Caffeine and cars, David. Good work.
My only goal this summer was to watch every episode of British motoring program Top Gear. I can now say, I have seen all 112 episodes. They run an hour long each. Four and two-thirds days of my life are now locked in to that show--and to the British version of English. I figure I watch it fifty percent for the cars, twenty-five percent for the rants of Jeremy Clarkson (look him up, he's my hero), and the final twenty-five percent for British English. The way they speak is so different from United States' English. I find it fascinating.
If you want examples of British English, use Google. Look up "chuffed". (It sounds worse than it is.)
Continuing the theme of passivity, I finally played, and beat, the campaign mode in Epic Games' Gears of War 2. The video game was released November of '08. I'm a little "late" on that one, then. My brother must have had it finished in days, where I took months. I have spoken with others about this; they all say, "About time!" Well, let me talk a little bit about time.
Until now (as in this last week) I haven't had time to play that game. I literally haven't. During the autumn, winter, and spring I was working 14 hours a week, going to high school, and studying. People always ask why we have textbooks--it's just so I can read them, that's it. They're for me. Yeah. So I was busy.
I'm not trying to sound pompous, I assure you. I simply find time a strange concept. Six months wait for a video game is entirely reasonable for a person like me. I like to do things. Get my hands dirty, whether it be in the abstract or the practical. Calculus for breakfast and engine rebuild for dinner. (Usually skip lunch, time is of the essence.) To sit and rot (aha!) in front of a television screen clutching a white, Microsoft controller--that is characteristically un-me. I could be doing something seemingly more productive.
But in my mind, November 2008 was yesterday. It wasn't like I was sitting in a darkened room for eight months, going, "Can I play it yet? Can I play it yet?", but more like I was in a semi-lit room for eight months, room being faintly illuminated due to the fact I was on fire, screaming "Stop! Drop! Roll!", and bouncing off the walls. It went by with little regard to gaming. It's a messy metaphor, I know. But the simple fact of the matter is that those eight months went by like a second. I couldn't have possibly played Gears of War any sooner.
But did those months really go by in "like a second"?
Time is a silly animal.
I always laugh at people that say something went by really fast--e.g. high school. College. "Enjoy it," they say, "because it will go by faster than you think." I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say "NO" to that. Hear me out.
Everything always seems fast or easy after you've done it. Man climbs Everest. Takes months of planning and training; it is dangerous and expensive. Gets back to the office the next week--"So how was it? Was it hard?" someone invariably asks. "Oh, it was great! I'd do it again!" he replies.
Well, shit.
It wasn't easy when he was planning it. It wasn't easy when he almost died of *insert applicable hazard*. It wasn't easy, ever. It took a lot of hard work to climb Everest. It was a serious undertaking in every imaginable way--but something about human nature makes us incredibly, stupidly proud of our achievements--so the man leaves the office that night, having convinced the middle-aged secretary that, he too, could scale Everest. "It was easy," after all.
I consider this trait akin to sex, in that it can have untimely consequences, but is ultimately necessary for the survival of humankind as a whole. For everyone who dies of AIDS, some staggering statistic of children are born in yuppyville and grow up to inhabit law offices and hospitals. And similarly, for everyone who overestimates their exploring ability due to post-facto, secondhand bragging and dies hiking, seventeen new galaxies are discovered and named some alphanumeric string. It's just the way the world works.
But back to time and old people. And their stories. I want to say something, before I get to that "In Memoriam" age--nothing goes by fast. We think it does, but it doesn't. Time is a sweet, sweet mistress, that seduces us into thinking that four years of high school just "flew by". Hey buddy, it didn't. Remember sitting in English class watching Hamlet: The Movie for a week straight? Remember Spanish class? Remember Geometry? Tell me that flew by.
We just think it did. It's hereditary.
It's a natural defense mechanism--when our children complain about school, about growing up, about the world--we can tell them not to worry--because it'll "just fly by".
I won't admit that. I'm going to tell my kids life sucks, and Spanish class especially. But heck, the sooner they get it done, the sooner they can tell their kids that it'll fly by.
And then they're even.
I started drinking coffee for the caffeine. Not because I wanted to start caffeine--because I already had, and a Mountain Dew in the morning as I was so accustomed began to seem uncivilized, despite its dew premise and such a fitting connotation. Got tired of the fizz.
That leaves tea, or coffee. Considering the country I live in, tea would be daft.
In the morning, I tip the Nestlé French Vanilla creamer bottle into a Harry Potter mug, dump in the ambiguously South American coffee, and relish in the United States' inability to accept certain, let's say, facets, of world culture. We take the Harry Potter, but not the tea. We take the Brazilian ethanol concept, but apply it to a country that has no such infrastructure. We take the "French" food, but not the politics. I once said "Renault" in the presence of others of similar age; drool production had to triple to account for seeping losses. French cars, it seems, were more tea than Harry Potter.
Caffeine and cars, David. Good work.
My only goal this summer was to watch every episode of British motoring program Top Gear. I can now say, I have seen all 112 episodes. They run an hour long each. Four and two-thirds days of my life are now locked in to that show--and to the British version of English. I figure I watch it fifty percent for the cars, twenty-five percent for the rants of Jeremy Clarkson (look him up, he's my hero), and the final twenty-five percent for British English. The way they speak is so different from United States' English. I find it fascinating.
If you want examples of British English, use Google. Look up "chuffed". (It sounds worse than it is.)
Continuing the theme of passivity, I finally played, and beat, the campaign mode in Epic Games' Gears of War 2. The video game was released November of '08. I'm a little "late" on that one, then. My brother must have had it finished in days, where I took months. I have spoken with others about this; they all say, "About time!" Well, let me talk a little bit about time.
Until now (as in this last week) I haven't had time to play that game. I literally haven't. During the autumn, winter, and spring I was working 14 hours a week, going to high school, and studying. People always ask why we have textbooks--it's just so I can read them, that's it. They're for me. Yeah. So I was busy.
I'm not trying to sound pompous, I assure you. I simply find time a strange concept. Six months wait for a video game is entirely reasonable for a person like me. I like to do things. Get my hands dirty, whether it be in the abstract or the practical. Calculus for breakfast and engine rebuild for dinner. (Usually skip lunch, time is of the essence.) To sit and rot (aha!) in front of a television screen clutching a white, Microsoft controller--that is characteristically un-me. I could be doing something seemingly more productive.
But in my mind, November 2008 was yesterday. It wasn't like I was sitting in a darkened room for eight months, going, "Can I play it yet? Can I play it yet?", but more like I was in a semi-lit room for eight months, room being faintly illuminated due to the fact I was on fire, screaming "Stop! Drop! Roll!", and bouncing off the walls. It went by with little regard to gaming. It's a messy metaphor, I know. But the simple fact of the matter is that those eight months went by like a second. I couldn't have possibly played Gears of War any sooner.
But did those months really go by in "like a second"?
Time is a silly animal.
I always laugh at people that say something went by really fast--e.g. high school. College. "Enjoy it," they say, "because it will go by faster than you think." I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say "NO" to that. Hear me out.
Everything always seems fast or easy after you've done it. Man climbs Everest. Takes months of planning and training; it is dangerous and expensive. Gets back to the office the next week--"So how was it? Was it hard?" someone invariably asks. "Oh, it was great! I'd do it again!" he replies.
Well, shit.
It wasn't easy when he was planning it. It wasn't easy when he almost died of *insert applicable hazard*. It wasn't easy, ever. It took a lot of hard work to climb Everest. It was a serious undertaking in every imaginable way--but something about human nature makes us incredibly, stupidly proud of our achievements--so the man leaves the office that night, having convinced the middle-aged secretary that, he too, could scale Everest. "It was easy," after all.
I consider this trait akin to sex, in that it can have untimely consequences, but is ultimately necessary for the survival of humankind as a whole. For everyone who dies of AIDS, some staggering statistic of children are born in yuppyville and grow up to inhabit law offices and hospitals. And similarly, for everyone who overestimates their exploring ability due to post-facto, secondhand bragging and dies hiking, seventeen new galaxies are discovered and named some alphanumeric string. It's just the way the world works.
But back to time and old people. And their stories. I want to say something, before I get to that "In Memoriam" age--nothing goes by fast. We think it does, but it doesn't. Time is a sweet, sweet mistress, that seduces us into thinking that four years of high school just "flew by". Hey buddy, it didn't. Remember sitting in English class watching Hamlet: The Movie for a week straight? Remember Spanish class? Remember Geometry? Tell me that flew by.
We just think it did. It's hereditary.
It's a natural defense mechanism--when our children complain about school, about growing up, about the world--we can tell them not to worry--because it'll "just fly by".
I won't admit that. I'm going to tell my kids life sucks, and Spanish class especially. But heck, the sooner they get it done, the sooner they can tell their kids that it'll fly by.
And then they're even.
June 12, 2009
May 22, 2009
April 18, 2009
New Song
I made a new song, it's pretty amusing
www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
It's '10 Feet Away'
My attempt at hip-hop. Laugh at me; I don't care.
But it's out there. Have a listen.
www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
It's '10 Feet Away'
My attempt at hip-hop. Laugh at me; I don't care.
But it's out there. Have a listen.
April 13, 2009
March 24, 2009
The future
I can't wait until we start saying "twenty-ten" and "twenty-eleven". I cannot wait.
I'm tired of this "Two thousand and - " bullshit. I want "twenty". I want the future.
I remember like kindergarden, I was confused, they taught us numbers. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. But if it was 1995, then 96, 97, so on, what would happen after 1999? I didn't know. I was confused. Instead of figuring this out, asking, I forgot about it, until 2000. And then I was like, filin' that one between N and P. Y'know, "Ohhhhhhhh."
Now it's like 9 years later and I'm about to graduate high school and shit and I cannot wait for when we start saying twenty-ten.
Because that will be the motherfucking future, ya dig?
I can't wait. I want it to be 2020, like the news show or eyesight test result. But the year dude. The year 2020. Z33s and JZS160s will be like $5 and stuff, and I'll have a real job and family.
And since I was born in 1990 I'll seem ancient to my grandkids in like 2060 or whatever. It'll be rad. "YOU WERE BORN IN THE 1900s?????!?!?" And I'll say, "Yes." And then they'll see my crusty 240SX in the garage and ask me what a turbo is. And I'll hop off my walker and do a big fat burn out with middle finger out the window in the middle of retirement village.
Gonna be epic.
Gotta go do some homework now.
I'm tired of this "Two thousand and - " bullshit. I want "twenty". I want the future.
I remember like kindergarden, I was confused, they taught us numbers. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. But if it was 1995, then 96, 97, so on, what would happen after 1999? I didn't know. I was confused. Instead of figuring this out, asking, I forgot about it, until 2000. And then I was like, filin' that one between N and P. Y'know, "Ohhhhhhhh."
Now it's like 9 years later and I'm about to graduate high school and shit and I cannot wait for when we start saying twenty-ten.
Because that will be the motherfucking future, ya dig?
I can't wait. I want it to be 2020, like the news show or eyesight test result. But the year dude. The year 2020. Z33s and JZS160s will be like $5 and stuff, and I'll have a real job and family.
And since I was born in 1990 I'll seem ancient to my grandkids in like 2060 or whatever. It'll be rad. "YOU WERE BORN IN THE 1900s?????!?!?" And I'll say, "Yes." And then they'll see my crusty 240SX in the garage and ask me what a turbo is. And I'll hop off my walker and do a big fat burn out with middle finger out the window in the middle of retirement village.
Gonna be epic.
Gotta go do some homework now.
February 6, 2009
Filter > Add Noise
p.s. yes i took cell phone pics and then made them even grainier in photoshop. why?
because i can.
2009 is about, BECAUSE I CAN.
January 18, 2009
January 5, 2009
Making progress towards God-knows-what.
MB Wheels Battle in 17x9.5+15. Wrapped in Sumitomo HTR+ 235/40/17.
Riding on Stance GR+, S14/Z32 5 lug, and Z32 calipers/ebrake.
Car has come a long, long way.
Engine runs great. That pic of it is a bit old, as I've now switched back to the OEM clutch fan since it looks cooler.
Yes, I know.
What have I become.
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