Saturday, December 15, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Capital L Love
Matters of daily life once considered banal and monotonous have taken on a new layer of profundity inversely equal to the strata in which contemporary western society has reduced them to.
Rain falling. A bowel movement. Brushing a stray hair behind an ear (mine OR hers.) Finding a comfortable position for the vessel that contains my soul whilst my mind takes me on a tour of the wonders within. Smoking. The sound a page makes as its turned.
Everything has become saturated with Divinity and overwhelmed by graceful scrutiny dredged from the personal perspective of my genuine curiosity.
I see beauty even in the profanely grotesque. I'm not sure there is any going back. I am in Love. I have half a mind to learn a musical instrument or three. The other half is hard at work weighing the pros and cons.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
麻 + 鬼 = 魔
Kanji is the name given to the Han symbols the Japanese language borrows from the Chinese language. Early written symbols in Chinese were pictographs, which are simply rudimentary drawings of what was/is being seen. Pictography is a form of writing which uses representational, pictorial drawings. It is a basis of cuneiform and to some extent, hieroglyphic writing. The kanji for forest (麻) also means hemp. If you look closely, you will note that the two five-pronged groups of strokes (林) blatantly resemble the upside down leaves of a male cannabis plant. The 广 portion of the symbol represents a grass hut, in which the leaves are being hung upside down to dry. So prolific and ubiquitous was cannabis in these days that the very symbol for forest drew its inspiration from the characteristic long fanned out leaf pattern still visible in the plant today.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
KYLE
He was running as fast as his little legs could take him.
His mother's voice was still echoing and trailing off with a sun that had almost finished setting. The bright orange glow was dipping behind the verdant hills and a soft indigo mixed with a loud fuchsia remained to light his way through the (relatively) tall grass. His steps were frantic and jostled his entire frame as he ran. Chubby cheeks and loose arms bounced with each successive transference of weight from right to left and back again. At this age, children don't really bend their knees when they run, they amble fervently, legs kept almost straight, achieving forward momentum only by constantly switching which stiff side is in front.
Kyle clambers up the hand-built wooden stairs of the house one-by-one, taking the steps in huge staccato strides. One tiny foot extends at the end of one short leg, just barely clearing the height, and the other one comes up to meet it. These aren't the smooth alternating steps we learn to take as our bodies grow to accommodate them. These are the genuine efforts of a small body desperately trying to keep moving onward and upward. He plows face first into the base of his mother's soft flower-printed, flowy dress and pulls his head back to gaze up at her. She smells like fresh laundry with a slight hint of spicy cinnamon. His dark brown, almost black hair pasted by sweat to his forehead is clumsily swept aside by one fat little fist. She gently ruffles the back of his head and softly pulls him inside, closing the door behind her.
Taking one of his hands in hers, she leads his short little legs up the stairs, patiently waiting for him to ascend. When they reach the top of the stairs she releases his hand and he hurries off to his room. The lights are already turned down, and the mood causes a short yawn to break the rhythm of his panting. He hops up onto the fluffy comforter adorning his bite-size bed and with one hand deliberately held in a fist, he uses the other to struggle to his feet. His head has just snuck under the curtains as his mother enters the room. Pressing his outstretched hand to the window, he gazes outward mouth agape. She is turning the ceiling lights off and flicking his bedside lamp on while shaking her head back and forth.
"Kyle, honey. What did we say about shoes on the bed?"
He is oblivious to her, rapt with the dancing specks of light in the field he just came from. His breath is fogging the glass as she scoops his feet out from under him with one hand on his backside. Laying him on his back, she begins unfastening his overalls, his little chest and belly still heaving up and down from the night's endeavors. As she slips them off from around his feet, she sweetly rubs and caresses his rising and falling tummy. Another yawn escapes him. Noticing his clenched fist she inquires,
"What do you have in your hand, sweetie?"
He coyly looks away and attempts to roll toward the wall. One smooth firm hand placed on his middle pulls him back to her and quickly dances around, tickling him for a moment. After stifling his giggle he quietly utters,
"Pweez?"
She shakes her head again and leans in close. Her hand gently pats his stomach and then settles into a slow rub.
"Now baby, we talked about this. He can't breathe in there. You have to let him go."
He defiantly shakes his head and yawns yet again. She sighs and sits up, meeting the boy's father at the threshold of the door.
"Oh let him be. He has to learn his own lessons." he says to her.
"But he's just a little boy. It's too much for him." she retorts.
"He's not going to be that way forever, and this is how we can prepare him for the rest. He's just going to do it again, tomorrow. Just like he does every night. He'll learn eventually."
"Hi, Daddy!" Kyle spurts.
He walks toward the bed holding a sustained, "Shhh." leading his wife forward with one hand tenderly placed on the small of her back. She settles on the corner of the bed nearest to his head and resumes tucking him in. The amount of time his eyes remain open between blinks is steadily decreasing.
"Hi, buddy." he whispers, and both of their hands find his forehead, rubbing and overlapping in tandem. Kyle lets out one final yawn and they both take their turns lightly pressing their lips to his rapidly cooling brow. She leans in close an utters an almost imperceptible,
"Mommy loves you, sweetheart. Sleep well. Sweet dreams."
She exits the room and his father remains behind. While keeping his eyes on Kyle he slowly pulls the door shut. After it clicks shut, it immediately opens back up and he peers in at his now sleeping son. This time he only pulls it most of the way shut and continues looking at the boy for a moment through the narrow vertical slice left open. With a pleasant sigh he walks away.
Kyle's fingers begin to loosen and a single firefly escapes his grasp, lighting and blinking as it flutters about his dim room...
His mother's voice was still echoing and trailing off with a sun that had almost finished setting. The bright orange glow was dipping behind the verdant hills and a soft indigo mixed with a loud fuchsia remained to light his way through the (relatively) tall grass. His steps were frantic and jostled his entire frame as he ran. Chubby cheeks and loose arms bounced with each successive transference of weight from right to left and back again. At this age, children don't really bend their knees when they run, they amble fervently, legs kept almost straight, achieving forward momentum only by constantly switching which stiff side is in front.
Kyle clambers up the hand-built wooden stairs of the house one-by-one, taking the steps in huge staccato strides. One tiny foot extends at the end of one short leg, just barely clearing the height, and the other one comes up to meet it. These aren't the smooth alternating steps we learn to take as our bodies grow to accommodate them. These are the genuine efforts of a small body desperately trying to keep moving onward and upward. He plows face first into the base of his mother's soft flower-printed, flowy dress and pulls his head back to gaze up at her. She smells like fresh laundry with a slight hint of spicy cinnamon. His dark brown, almost black hair pasted by sweat to his forehead is clumsily swept aside by one fat little fist. She gently ruffles the back of his head and softly pulls him inside, closing the door behind her.
Taking one of his hands in hers, she leads his short little legs up the stairs, patiently waiting for him to ascend. When they reach the top of the stairs she releases his hand and he hurries off to his room. The lights are already turned down, and the mood causes a short yawn to break the rhythm of his panting. He hops up onto the fluffy comforter adorning his bite-size bed and with one hand deliberately held in a fist, he uses the other to struggle to his feet. His head has just snuck under the curtains as his mother enters the room. Pressing his outstretched hand to the window, he gazes outward mouth agape. She is turning the ceiling lights off and flicking his bedside lamp on while shaking her head back and forth.
"Kyle, honey. What did we say about shoes on the bed?"
He is oblivious to her, rapt with the dancing specks of light in the field he just came from. His breath is fogging the glass as she scoops his feet out from under him with one hand on his backside. Laying him on his back, she begins unfastening his overalls, his little chest and belly still heaving up and down from the night's endeavors. As she slips them off from around his feet, she sweetly rubs and caresses his rising and falling tummy. Another yawn escapes him. Noticing his clenched fist she inquires,
"What do you have in your hand, sweetie?"
He coyly looks away and attempts to roll toward the wall. One smooth firm hand placed on his middle pulls him back to her and quickly dances around, tickling him for a moment. After stifling his giggle he quietly utters,
"Pweez?"
She shakes her head again and leans in close. Her hand gently pats his stomach and then settles into a slow rub.
"Now baby, we talked about this. He can't breathe in there. You have to let him go."
He defiantly shakes his head and yawns yet again. She sighs and sits up, meeting the boy's father at the threshold of the door.
"Oh let him be. He has to learn his own lessons." he says to her.
"But he's just a little boy. It's too much for him." she retorts.
"He's not going to be that way forever, and this is how we can prepare him for the rest. He's just going to do it again, tomorrow. Just like he does every night. He'll learn eventually."
"Hi, Daddy!" Kyle spurts.
He walks toward the bed holding a sustained, "Shhh." leading his wife forward with one hand tenderly placed on the small of her back. She settles on the corner of the bed nearest to his head and resumes tucking him in. The amount of time his eyes remain open between blinks is steadily decreasing.
"Hi, buddy." he whispers, and both of their hands find his forehead, rubbing and overlapping in tandem. Kyle lets out one final yawn and they both take their turns lightly pressing their lips to his rapidly cooling brow. She leans in close an utters an almost imperceptible,
"Mommy loves you, sweetheart. Sleep well. Sweet dreams."
She exits the room and his father remains behind. While keeping his eyes on Kyle he slowly pulls the door shut. After it clicks shut, it immediately opens back up and he peers in at his now sleeping son. This time he only pulls it most of the way shut and continues looking at the boy for a moment through the narrow vertical slice left open. With a pleasant sigh he walks away.
Kyle's fingers begin to loosen and a single firefly escapes his grasp, lighting and blinking as it flutters about his dim room...
[Ready For The Next Step]
Dear Harley,
I'M COMIN' FOR YOU.
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| Click this picture, and then click Like. Do it, or I will eat you. I mean, I might eat you anyway, but clicking Like will bump you down the list. |
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| 7.22.12 UPDATE - AT LEAST 11 more, PLEASE. |
I have a few episodes written/outlined, and I'm working on a few more. Gonna try to shoot/edit/upload a "Vish-pilot" ASAP. The only thing I'm waiting for is my parents' visit. Once they've come and gone, unless I hear differently from Harley, I AM WALKING TO FUCKING CANADA. I've mapped it out. I know my fitness/capabilities and while it will be hard, IT WILL BE SO WORTH IT. And so goddamned Epic. Befitting of both the Vish name and the EpicMealTime brand. Should take a little less than a month.
Harley, while I would greatly appreciate the help getting up there (bike, motorcycle, car, airfare, piggyback, magical flying baconweave, the money for any of those, etc.) save your generosity til after I arrive. This is some crazy shit, everybody knows that, but when I pull it off it will reach proportions that can fittingly only be described as Epic. I can hear one or both of our voices now, "THIS NUTJOB WALKED OVER 600 MILES. ALL THE WAY FROM PENNSYLVANIA, THE CANADA OF AMERICA." Besides, yer gonna need all that youtube money to feed me, 'cause when I arrive, I'LL BE FUCKING STARVING.
Pretty much unless The Sauce Boss says otherwise, the plan is to spend some time with my parents and then secure my apartment until after I get back, whenever that may be. I'll need to pony up a couple of months of rent and of course a little money for food for the journey. I'll be packing EXTREMELY light. Probably just a single outfit and my phone along with money and a few toiletries. I'll record videoblogs along the way and post them here to keep everyone apprised of my progress. That way everyone can follow along from the comfort of their own homes.
My goal is in sight and I'm getting sick of waiting for Morenstein to pull the trigger. Stime to show some initiative.
Knowing me and my charm it would be all too easy to fund-raise for travel fare and or secure rides along the way, but that won't do. That's not Epic enough.
No no.
When I burst through that door, likely the leanest I've been in years, HUNGRY AS FUCK, barefoot and barechested, I'll scream at the top of my lungs "HARLEY. I'M HUNGRY." and the whole crew will look at me and know "That's a crazy motherfucker right there." CRAZY LIKE A FOX.
I'm tired of waiting for things to come to me. It's time to go for what I want. Vish-style. Zero fux given. BALLS DEEP.
GET AFTER IT.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Rubbin' Elbows? More like Slammin' Shoulders!
My life has been one big fantasy as of late. One long string of wish-fulfillment. Goal-setting is a helluva drug.
So about a month back I got a call from Nancy Mosser to come be an extra on the film OUT OF THE FURNACE. An actual phone call, while I was reading the e-mail they sent in tandem. Usually, when you sign up with Nancy Mosser, you'll get notifications about what's available and then you call them. Well, this time, they called me. From about that moment forward I've been giddy as a schoolchild and for good reason.
Looked up the movie for that link above and now I'm distracted reading about all the other people that worked on it. And now I am editing my own IMDB page instead of finishing this entry...
Anyhoo...
Day 1
Arrive on set.
Within 10 minutes all my dreams begin coming true. Exactly like how they occur in movies and fantasies the globe over.
I can plainly see a line, so like a good little sheep I walk over and insert myself in it. A crew member asks me if I've signed in yet and when I respond that I have not, he tells me to go to another line. I was in line for wardrobe. I go over to the sign-in line which is about 20-30 people long and before I've settled into my spot, another crew member asks "Has he seen wardrobe?" and pulls me out of the line. I politely inform that I've yet to sign in and am quickly poo-poo'd off. They pull me out of the line and bring me back over to wardrobe. I'm wearing a wifebeater and the boys and girls of the wardrobe department are making no attempts at subtlety. Within seconds they begin undressing me. A gentlemen that I'm going to assume was gay, asks me with a signature slight lisp "Can we use these muscles?" Nodding and pulling my shirt off of me before I've had time to respond. Certainly, I say. That's what they're there for. They hand me another wifebeater and after I've put it and the other items handed to me on, two of them (a male and a female, both seemingly quite eager for this part of the process) begin "juicing" me up. A process involving rubbing me down with dirty rags.
Inside of a minute I am wearing different clothes and there is a woman purposefully applying product to my beard and twisting it into fours. I stare back over at the other extras, who are all staring at me like a hungry puppy stares up at the dinner table.
As I'm whisked away to go sign in, I can hear my fellows complaining. "But it's so hot! That guy gets to wear a wifebeater!" The scene we're were there for is set in November, so everyone else is wearing long-sleeves and pants, regardless of it being 70/80 degrees out.
I get signed in and go back over to the extras line.
"Sweet beard, dude."
"You're ripped, dude."
Thank you, thank you.
Not even a half an hour on site and already I feel like a doted-on celebrity.
After more beard/muscle praise we're all corralled to a school bus that will take us to the actual location that we're shooting at.
Sometime around there we're informed of the rules. We were literally told not to address celebrities. "Don't ask for pictures, don't ask for autographs." The caste system began asserting itself.
I would detail the place we went to, but as the movie has yet to come out, I don't want to ruin anything for you, so instead, I'll speak generally.
We were there to be spectators for two underground fights. One between two actors I'd not heard of prior. And another between Casey Affleck and one of the guys from the previous fight.
The two stunt guys were cool as fuck and keen to eye me up as I mirrored their stretching routine. This was the beginning of the shoot and therefore the beginning of 15 hours days and balancing shooting with my day job. My fitness was beginning its decline. Regardless, I was still decently jacked and receiving no shortage of confirmation of that. "Haha, so are you one of the fighters?" and many variations of that contributed to what was one of the longest Ego-stroking sessions of my life. In between takes my fellow extras would ask for fitness tips or forcefully tell me of their routines/diets. Shortly thereafter, the crew began joining in. Crew would walk me away and introduce me to other crew. Everyone shook my hand, looked me in the eye, told me their name and asked me for mine. Handshakes were firm and compliments were flowing like water.
Now despite our stark direction from the crew earlier, one of the ADs granted me exception. Everyone was told not to touch the actors, or to get too close or to do anything like Mary Tyler Moore tugging on her ear. "If we see you doing something to stand out on camera, you will be asked to leave." Regardless, T.Coe, whom I later came to affectionately refer to as "Coach" (the moniker bestowed upon him by the crew), leaned in and gave me special direction.
"Hey. You're doing great. Have you acted before?"
Indeed."It shows."
Thanks.
"Hey, don't be afraid to get in there. Don't be afraid to touch them. Get a lil crazy."
Again, I'd detail how I went crazy, but I'd rather you wait and see on the big screen. This is, after all, how we get paid and how I hope to be paid in the future.
Well after the first take wherein I "got crazy" the extras near me started doing the same. After cut was called, Coach came over and bluntly scolded "NOT you guys, okay? Him." Boy I was starting to feel like a snotty little shit at this point, and indeed I could feel a disconnect forming between me and my fellow extras.
I was the privileged guy. The special case. The exception. They were the faceless horde.
Sorry my friends, but we all get our due and this one was mine.
After a few takes, the energy was beginning to wear off of everyone whereas I kept resetting and giving 100%. It did not go unnoticed. After this first day, we switched around a bit. People that were across the way on day one eagerly offered, "Great energy, man." "Yeah, you really set the bar."
NOW THAT IS SOME PRAISE I CAN HANDLE.
Beard/muscles praise is nice, but.... it's just a beard, you know? This, this was something I was doing.
After that "Great energy." became the new go-to compliment that I'd receive and eventually lose feeling for due to semantic saturation.
We took breaks to eat and there the hierarchy became even more evident.
Now, I can't remember if it was that first day or the next as all the days blended together, running on 4 hours of sleep or less, but at some point, again when energy was waning, people were settling into modes of psyching themselves up between takes.
In between one take, Casey dropped to the ground and pounded out a couple of grueling pushups. Obviously to give himself a little pump and get his head in the game. Well when it looked like he wasn't even gonna reach ten before standing back up I dropped to the dirt and started bangin' some out myself. Heads snapped toward me. I had crested ten and was onto twenty in under a few seconds. My form was borderline plyometric as I was coming several inches up off the ground each time. The moment got the better of me and I screamed (what is fast becoming a signature move of mine) a fratboy "Woooo!" and followed with "Let's go Affleck! Don't quit!"
Literally the entire group turned their heads my way.
I stood back up and bounced in place a bit. I was pumped. Fired up. Lovin' and livin' life. My actions had not yet fully registered with me. I could see something moving through the crowd like a wave does at a stadium. Unrest. When it made it's way to me it was the extras flanking me on either side.
"Yer fucked man."
What?
"Yeah they're gonna kick you off set. Everyone was watching you."
But it was in between takes!
"Yeah but that guy *gesticulates toward fight choreographer* looked over here and he HATED it."
Oh?
"Yeah and Casey looked perturbed too."Really?
So I waited a few takes and then walked over to Casey and the Fight Choreographer. As I was approaching, the looks on the faces of the crew said "What the fuck? First you screamed at him, now you're walking toward him? Do you have a death wish, kid?"
I poke Affleck. He turns around.
Hey dude, did I fuck with your concentration or anything?
"Not at all man, I really appreciate the energy."
See! That's what I thought! We're here, we're supposed to full of testosterone and meth and I know everyone's tired. I was just tryin to keep morale up.
The Fight Choreographer chimes in... "Yeah, yer fine, man."
I walk back over to my spot, Big Dick Swingin'.
Balls just draggin' on the floor.Yeah, that's what I thought.
We do some more takes and we wrap for the night, 15 hours later. I sleep for like 6 minutes and then head back out.
The next day is when things intensified.
Day 2
The wedge between me and my fellows was becoming more and more apparent.
Lots more praise was received and people were still pulling me away to introduce me to people. People knew my name before I knew their's. The crew and the stand-ins had taken a liking to me and would sneak me food and or grant me access to the swanky bathrooms. The jealously was plain on the other extra's faces. But fuck 'em, you know? Be happy for me you jealous little shit. Snot my fault you never lifted weights. Not my fault you still insist on bringin a thin strip of metal to your face daily. This is my time to shine, let me have it.
And a good group of them did. Indeed we all added each other on facebook and would talk and chat in between takes and at meals.
One of my favorite memories of this day (and it was filled with many) was when one of the men cast as one of the Slavics came up to me, shook my hand and told me I was his hero.
For what?
"Dude, you were in a push-up contest with Casey Affleck. Yer the man. We're supposed to be looking certain ways, but every take I can't take my eyes off of you. I kept looking over to see what you'd do. Yer an animal, man."
Wow. Set filled with celebs and I'm your hero? Thanks, guy.
So we got to talking about how we regarded the celebs and such and then the topic of Willem Dafoe came up..
Willem Dafoe is a goddamned force to be reckoned with. A sight to behold. The man is a samurai. Intense, focused and unfaltering. When crew would be scrambling to remember marks or subtle wardrobe changes Willem would always speak up, and from one fellow observer to another, he was always right. The man was the only other person on set besides me that was soaking in as much as I was. He was completely aware, completely present. I started this project expecting to meet Christian Bale, and wondering how starstruck I'd be, I left it with an immense and newfound respect for Willem Dafoe. The man was truly an inspiration. And from the way he creepily (Willem Dafoe is creepy as fuck. Nice guy, but gives me the willies) stared at me between takes he could sense my energy too. At first I thought he was gay and maybe just into me, but as the day wore on I realized something we all realize in middle school or sooner. You can't see that someone is staring at you unless you are staring back at them, too. He was essentially acknowledging my presence and keeping watch on me. As I was doing to him. It was a powerful moment in my life. I could notice him looking my way whenever he and I would reset. Everyone else kinda never hit the highs we did and also sorta stayed zazzed up in between takes. Willem and I, samurais that we are, hit our marks and then returned to our spots to await the call of action again. The more I watched him watching me, the more respect I gained for him and myself.
The dude that told me I was his hero, claimed Willem was an asshole.
"He's an asshole. They'd already called cut and he still looked us in the eye and yelled at us."
What'd he yell?
"Get out of the way, you fucking zombies!"
Hmm. Weird. Is he method?"Method?"
How are you supposed to feel towards his character on camera?
"We're not supposed to like him."So you're supposed to regard him with disgust and scorn, right?
"Yeah."And now that he said that to you, how do you feel about him?
"..."
Which means now, when you're on camera your genuine looks of disdain will shine through. No acting necessary.
"..."Willem Dafoe just got inside your head. He did your job for you. You're a fucking pawn to him.
My broner raged on.
We eventually wrapped for lunch and what happened then is the only time I'm really comfortable name-dropping.
I FUCKING PLAYED SOCCER WITH WOODY FUCKING HARRELSON. FUTBOL WITH A MAN THAT PLANTED CANNABIS ON THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN.
We'd just finished eating, when I noticed a pink ball being tossed around in the distance, giant manpuppy that I am, I jogged toward it. "What are they playing?", I inquired as I passed staggered groups.
"Kickball."
KICKBALL?! I increased my pace, I was now at an 85% sprint.
KICKBALL FUCK YEAH.
As I drew closer I could see that it was a soccer ball, not a dodgeball. I peeled off my shirt and shoes and began rolling up my jeans on the sidelines.
"That's Woody Harrelson out there. You can't go out there." A spectating extra offered.
Watch me.
I get out there, and I'm stuffed from lunch, tired from the long days/no sleep but something deeper and greater than my flesh keeps propelling me forward. When will I ever have this opportunity again? The super cute Brenna Lee Roth, cheered me on from the sidelines. This was real life. This was my real life.
"Let's go, beard!" she called after me as I chased the ball as if my life depended on it. I haven't played footy in years and barely knew what teams were, but we had a fucking blast. At one point the ball wooshed past Woody and I came in hot chasing it,
BOOM
I slam in to his shoulder. Reality turns to bullet-time. We're both shirtless and slightly sweaty and as parts of his skin stickily pull away from mine and other parts effortlessly slide past, I look him right in the eye, and what I saw there very well may be my favorite memory from the entire shoot. The look on his face was one of shock mixed with boyish pleasure. Pleasantly surprised. His face said "Thank you. Fucking thank you for not treating me like a little prissy pansy like everyone else on set does." At least that was my interpretation. He coulda been thinking, "YOU DARE SHOULDER WOODY HARRELSON?!" either way, next play he made a bee-line for me and shouldered into me. Wow. Either Woody Harrelson is playing with me or mad at me. Either way, WHO CARES, I AM PLAYING A GAME WITH AN A-LIST CELEB.
We got called back to set and as I'm unrolling my jeans and putting back on my shoes, someone addresses me,
"The balls on you, sir. I wish I coulda just ran out there like that. Weren't you scared?"
No. What's the worst that could happen? He'd just point and shake his head and I would've obediently turned around. "Any shot not taken is a goal not scored."I've always taken that saying to heart.
Once we got back to set, the buzz of my actions made its way back to me a couple of times and sustained the high I'd had from the very moment they pulled me out of line.
I was standing next to a dude named Eliot and he totally ruined my attempts at staying calm in between takes. He and I were cracking each other up left and right and even some of the people around us. Funny dude and we both hope to work together in the future.
During a meal break I also accomplished something nearly as memorable as pushups with Affleck and soccer with Woody. The moment I perceived the hierarchical breakdown I desired to shatter it. And shatter it I did. I did exactly what I wanted. It was literally like a scene out of a movie. Extras on one side of the tent, crew/celebs on the other. Middle table vacant. You know exactly where I set my tray. Right at the head of that middle table. And just like I wanted and just like you'd want, representatives from each group began congregating on me. "You played soccer with Woody Harrelson!" I know man, I know. We sat and ate and chatted until it was time to shoot again.
Toward the end of one of my other personal favorite highlights began occurring. The crew and specific members of the crew at that, began shaking my hand and complimenting my work. I'd died and gone to heaven. "Great energy." "Pleasure working with you." Glad-handing and dick-sucking were in no short supply.
I fully expected that to be the last day of shooting, but instead in keeping with it being a fantasy experience, I was asked to come back the next day.
In between takes I continued to joke with Eliot and in between scenes I continued to flirt with Brenna. Interesting girl. Little troublemaker. A real firecracker. Hung out in the extras tent, encouraged bad behavior. My kinda gal.
Days 3 and 4
The beginning of day 3 we shot some scenes in a Buick and I became infamous for my Jamie impression. Jamie was the AD and the most stereotypical British AD ever. He spoke in an even disaffected tone but peppered everything with properly pronounced swearwords that seemed somehow simultaneously elegant yet extra laughable in his accent. So most of this day was driving back and forth and slaying my fellow extras with my impression. Twice, not once, but TWICE I'd accidentally fooled a crew girl. "Wait, when did he say that?" He didn't, that was Josh. "He literally sounds exactly like him." If I ever work with him again, I'll be sure to zing 'im.
After we wrapped the Buick scene, they walked us way the fuck back in the cut and left us there. Informing us that they'd call us when they needed us. So after about 2 hours in the COMPLETELY dark woods, alone, we began growing restless. Somebody played some tunes with their phone and eventually a pipe was lit and passed around. Most stuff was done, and besides I wanted the memory for posterity. I took as many hits as the circle allowed and got nice and high realizing the beauty of being paid to hang out on quads and smoke weed in the woods. There will be few moments in my life that simplistically beautiful. Life was literally perfect at that point. The perfect end to a perfect experience. I also got smacked with an unexpected life lesson. The dude that was passing around the weed was a longhaired, tattooed, sunburned ginger answering to the name of "Red". I'd written Red off as a good ol' boy and largely resolved myself to treat him with professional courtesy, nothing more. Well after he pulled out ganja he skyrocketed up in my book and then after we were high and got into talking, he brought up ancient aliens and lost civilizations and such. Here is this guy that I wrote off as some dumb hick and now here I am smoking his herbs and engaged in interesting conversation with him. Boy was my face....... red. That'll show you, Vish, you cocky, elitist sunuvvabitch. You looked down on him and now you realize he's into all the same shit as you. I felt bad, as I rightfully should, but still very thankful for the harsh lesson. It's one I won't soon forget.
So essentially at the end of Day 3 and then all of Day 4, I/we got paid to have a sleepover in the woods. We got paid to smoke tree and drive quads. For 2 days, that was my life. Get a ride with Jeff to Raccoon State Park and then sit in the dark puffing flowers, talking about shit and occasionally riding quads. Unbelievable.
Thank you Life. Thank you Universe. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Allah. Thank you Tom Cruise. Thank you Mom. Thank you Dad. Thank you Me.
Also, in addition to getting paid to poke smot and hang out in the woods, Days 3 and 4 consisted of getting paid to eat things like this:
On day 3 before shooting the buick scene I gave my phone to a crew girl and she snapped some pics for me. If anyone from the production is reading this and has a problem with these, please, let me know right away, I'll take them right down. As they don't give anything about the plot away, I see no harm in sharing.
 |
| My butts was a dirty butts. |
 |
| Each of those lights was about the size of a recliner. |
 |
| I loved the juxtaposition of the new equipment and old building/nature. |
 |
| White tent to the right in the background is where the extras were held. |
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| This pic makes it look like these guys were just sitting around, but truth is the crew hummed around set like bees or ants. |
In between Days 3 and 4, a buddy of mine came into some quality cannabis and was kind enough it to deliver to me at work. I gave him my card and permission to go into my place and he rounded up the cash and made the purchase for me. I'd somehow already just come into free pizza and my buddy Joe had just purchased a six-pack to enjoy out front. So after a text to a fellow stoner, I smoked in the basement, drank a few beers and finished my shift the happiest and most efficient any one has ever finished a shift ever.
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| Beer was free, pizza was free. Herb was dank and reasonably priced. All brought to me whilst on the clock. That's right, I got paid to drink pizza and eat beer. #Vishlife |
And to think, none of this would've been possible without that cowboy-hat-n-chux clad friend of mine (and favorite Betten): Jeff.
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| Me and Jeff |
On a completely unrelated note:
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| This was Uncle Phil's face when I told him that he was Shredder. |
Thursday, June 21, 2012
6.21.12
Spent last night drinking wine, smoking hand-rolled tobacco and eating homemade salsa in the grass with friends. Oh yezh dare wuzh a doobie dare too.
Had a blast, didn't want the night to end, but everyone had work in the morning.
Inexplicably woke up at 8am today. Beautiful. Decided to run with it. Still Mother Hubbard's Cupboard at my place so I sauntered down to the local breakfastery to break mine fast. Enjoyed a BLT with eggs and hashbrowns on it.
More about yesterday though... I woke up somewhat downtrodden, I knew I had some mentally taxing endeavors looming. My account was 200 in the negative and the 2 paychecks I'd received from working on the movie didn't cover it. I've yet to receive the other 2 paychecks owed to me. So first thing, I called about those, got that squared away and then set out for a lil town called Productivity. Population: Vish.
My good buddy (and getting better) Joe had lent me his car to run some errands that are difficult for me to do sans vehicle. Shortly after expediting some local errands that I could actually do on foot, I texted a friend that might be interested in a burn-run, and when she responded, she had just quit her job. So I scooped her and we blazed on the way to the bank. Once I got there, I took a big breath in, swallowed my pride and steeled myself to do what had to be done. I signed the checks and deposited em.
Positive balance?
How the...
THANKS MOM. YOU ARE A REAL TEAM PLAYER. FUCKIN' CLUTCH.
After that, we headed over to REI for me to switch out my Vibrams for freshies. That sounds affluent, but trust me, the reality was I'd literally worn holes in the soles already. Walking is a huge part of my life, so I had to get those back up to snuff.
Get this, because of REI's AMAZING return policy, and return policy procedures, I left the store with $70 cash money (American) in my pocket, a fresh purr o kicks sent to the crib and an eavesdropped acquiescence of bike knowledge. I want a rough n' tumble road bike or a super sporty mountain bike. Tachyon GT 3.0 really caught my eye. Seemed like a great hybrid.
So I went to robinson fully expecting to leave with my account in the negative and instead I left with it in the positive and with duckets in my coinpurse.
Then we drove back to Joe, burned another bowl, dropped her off and Joe and I headed to open mic at Cannon Coffee on Brookline Blvd. Neither Joe or I had time to perform because he had plans with a mutual friend that I was wholly intent on crashing, and boy am I glad I did. That was said nighttime frontyard picnic.
I am full of my old familiar positivity. I'm sore, I feel weak and withered, but I am happy and hopeful. I've not been able to maintain my gym routine for about a month and it's starting to make me a bit cranky. Regardless, I just can't help feeling like the day is rife with opportunity!
I have so many options!
I already flirted with a pretty girl whilst ingesting bacon (should be a standard part of every day) and now I've centered myself by journaling.
I want to do any or all of the following today:
2 Big Blogs
Look for local employment
Go to the pool
Write
Gotta try to cram as much of that^ in before 5 as I can.
After 5 I'm getting to go play the make-believes again and hopefully after that meeting up with a pretty girl. Not just any pretty girl, one I've been crushin' on...
Had a blast, didn't want the night to end, but everyone had work in the morning.
Inexplicably woke up at 8am today. Beautiful. Decided to run with it. Still Mother Hubbard's Cupboard at my place so I sauntered down to the local breakfastery to break mine fast. Enjoyed a BLT with eggs and hashbrowns on it.
More about yesterday though... I woke up somewhat downtrodden, I knew I had some mentally taxing endeavors looming. My account was 200 in the negative and the 2 paychecks I'd received from working on the movie didn't cover it. I've yet to receive the other 2 paychecks owed to me. So first thing, I called about those, got that squared away and then set out for a lil town called Productivity. Population: Vish.
My good buddy (and getting better) Joe had lent me his car to run some errands that are difficult for me to do sans vehicle. Shortly after expediting some local errands that I could actually do on foot, I texted a friend that might be interested in a burn-run, and when she responded, she had just quit her job. So I scooped her and we blazed on the way to the bank. Once I got there, I took a big breath in, swallowed my pride and steeled myself to do what had to be done. I signed the checks and deposited em.
Positive balance?
How the...
THANKS MOM. YOU ARE A REAL TEAM PLAYER. FUCKIN' CLUTCH.
After that, we headed over to REI for me to switch out my Vibrams for freshies. That sounds affluent, but trust me, the reality was I'd literally worn holes in the soles already. Walking is a huge part of my life, so I had to get those back up to snuff.
Get this, because of REI's AMAZING return policy, and return policy procedures, I left the store with $70 cash money (American) in my pocket, a fresh purr o kicks sent to the crib and an eavesdropped acquiescence of bike knowledge. I want a rough n' tumble road bike or a super sporty mountain bike. Tachyon GT 3.0 really caught my eye. Seemed like a great hybrid.
So I went to robinson fully expecting to leave with my account in the negative and instead I left with it in the positive and with duckets in my coinpurse.
Then we drove back to Joe, burned another bowl, dropped her off and Joe and I headed to open mic at Cannon Coffee on Brookline Blvd. Neither Joe or I had time to perform because he had plans with a mutual friend that I was wholly intent on crashing, and boy am I glad I did. That was said nighttime frontyard picnic.
I am full of my old familiar positivity. I'm sore, I feel weak and withered, but I am happy and hopeful. I've not been able to maintain my gym routine for about a month and it's starting to make me a bit cranky. Regardless, I just can't help feeling like the day is rife with opportunity!
I have so many options!
I already flirted with a pretty girl whilst ingesting bacon (should be a standard part of every day) and now I've centered myself by journaling.
I want to do any or all of the following today:
2 Big Blogs
Look for local employment
Go to the pool
Write
Gotta try to cram as much of that^ in before 5 as I can.
After 5 I'm getting to go play the make-believes again and hopefully after that meeting up with a pretty girl. Not just any pretty girl, one I've been crushin' on...
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Thoughtful Thursday
At the library, at a reliable computer terminal. I feel I should post while I can.
Great morning, woke up nice n early, did a spontaneous load of--
OH YEAH, NANCY MOSSER IS COMIN' AT ME SIX WAYS FROM SUNDAY TO BE APART OF THE MOVIE FILMIN' HERE.
EpicMealTime
Bike
HDTV
Resident Evil 6
This acting role
A new phone/camera/mp3 player
A new computer/laptop
A new apartment
These are things I desire.
Gotta hustle n' grind to figure out a ride to Imperial.
Get this, as I'm posting a facebooks status, toward the end of that goal, I get a CALL from Nancy Mosser. Usually you have to call THEM. I am honored.
"We are writing to see if you'd be interested in being in a scene in the feature film, "Out of the Furnace" starring Christian Bale and Woody Harrelson that will take place next week Tuesday,May 22- Friday, May 25 in Imperial,PA which is by the airport. YOU CAN DO EITHER 2 or 4 DAYS. YOU WOULD NEED TO DO EITHER TUESDAY/WEDNESDAY TOGETHER OR THURSDAY/FRIDAY TOGETHER OR IF YOU WANT YOU CAN DO ALL FOUR DAYS. This is an important and intense scene in the movie and the Director is very excited to film it. All days will start in the early morning and last 12-14 hours. WE NEVER KNOW START TIMES UNTIL THE DAY BEFORE. Pay is minimum wage for the first 8 hours and time and a half after that."
LiveBlogging? What if I published an entry early in the day and then just added to it as the day wore on? Wonder if someone who read it early, would read it again after the additions? Ah, I'm thinkin' too much. I just don't wanna do a bunch of separate entries.
UPDATE: I called and booked the part! Here's hopin' I get to be shirtless in a scene with Christian Bale. (Wait, that sounds gay. Wait, I don't care.) I'm so excited!
Great morning, woke up nice n early, did a spontaneous load of--
OH YEAH, NANCY MOSSER IS COMIN' AT ME SIX WAYS FROM SUNDAY TO BE APART OF THE MOVIE FILMIN' HERE.
EpicMealTime
Bike
HDTV
Resident Evil 6
This acting role
A new phone/camera/mp3 player
A new computer/laptop
A new apartment
These are things I desire.
Gotta hustle n' grind to figure out a ride to Imperial.
Get this, as I'm posting a facebooks status, toward the end of that goal, I get a CALL from Nancy Mosser. Usually you have to call THEM. I am honored.
"We are writing to see if you'd be interested in being in a scene in the feature film, "Out of the Furnace" starring Christian Bale and Woody Harrelson that will take place next week Tuesday,May 22- Friday, May 25 in Imperial,PA which is by the airport. YOU CAN DO EITHER 2 or 4 DAYS. YOU WOULD NEED TO DO EITHER TUESDAY/WEDNESDAY TOGETHER OR THURSDAY/FRIDAY TOGETHER OR IF YOU WANT YOU CAN DO ALL FOUR DAYS. This is an important and intense scene in the movie and the Director is very excited to film it. All days will start in the early morning and last 12-14 hours. WE NEVER KNOW START TIMES UNTIL THE DAY BEFORE. Pay is minimum wage for the first 8 hours and time and a half after that."
LiveBlogging? What if I published an entry early in the day and then just added to it as the day wore on? Wonder if someone who read it early, would read it again after the additions? Ah, I'm thinkin' too much. I just don't wanna do a bunch of separate entries.
UPDATE: I called and booked the part! Here's hopin' I get to be shirtless in a scene with Christian Bale. (Wait, that sounds gay. Wait, I don't care.) I'm so excited!
Monday, May 14, 2012
MEMENTO MORI MONDAY
5:00PM wake n bake with one-hitter
curse past vish for not doing laundry yesterday and for not getting up on time today
resolve to deal
damage control
gather up laundry
go about day as normal
GOTTA GET RIDDA MORE SHIT.
GOTTA CUT THESE SANDBAGS SO I CAN SOAR.
3 loads of laundry going at the laundromat.
6 eggs, oatmeal with whole/soy, cinnamon and a banana.
Switch laundry over.
And here we are. The present.
The moment in front of the fire where no fear of predators is felt and free-thinking is allowed.
Oh yeah, a dude jogged up to catch me on the street just to tell me I had a "Fucking epic beard, man." Thanks bro, I says and was on me way.
Man oh man, I've been on so many adventures lately!
Unfortunately, one of them included walking in a rainstorm, which hurt both my phone and laptop. Phone has recovered nicely but is still slowing down with age regardless and laptop is hurtin' fo certain. His screen looks like he has digital leprosy. Poor guy. He's needing force-restarted a lot too. I don't suspect he has very long...
AND THUS, THERE IS NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.
You know for most people, and in my younger days, everything falling apart would be stressful and worrisome, but I've learned better. It's the Phoenix getting ready to burn out. The replacements are almost always upgrades and you learn discipline/gratitude in the interim of not having them.
About time to walk back down to the laundromat again...
I wonder if the line in front of Las Palmas street taco stand has dwindled at all... TENGO LA HAMBRE.
Ubermonster + Fruit-Roll-Up
superhero suit up
OFF TO GYM
kicked gym's ass
Came home.
Hillsprints.
Protein shake.
I'm in a Ghibli mood, I have the mind to hook up my PS2. I need to get my PS3 fixed and join the age of 1080p.
Boy this is rambly-pambly and disjointed, but you know what? With my computer not cooperating very nicely, I gotta post when I can.
Time to eat an avocado and some cottage cheese and turn in for the night.
Oh, by the way, -YOU- are the Dancing Queen.
curse past vish for not doing laundry yesterday and for not getting up on time today
resolve to deal
damage control
gather up laundry
go about day as normal
GOTTA GET RIDDA MORE SHIT.
GOTTA CUT THESE SANDBAGS SO I CAN SOAR.
3 loads of laundry going at the laundromat.
6 eggs, oatmeal with whole/soy, cinnamon and a banana.
Switch laundry over.
And here we are. The present.
The moment in front of the fire where no fear of predators is felt and free-thinking is allowed.
Oh yeah, a dude jogged up to catch me on the street just to tell me I had a "Fucking epic beard, man." Thanks bro, I says and was on me way.
Man oh man, I've been on so many adventures lately!
Unfortunately, one of them included walking in a rainstorm, which hurt both my phone and laptop. Phone has recovered nicely but is still slowing down with age regardless and laptop is hurtin' fo certain. His screen looks like he has digital leprosy. Poor guy. He's needing force-restarted a lot too. I don't suspect he has very long...
AND THUS, THERE IS NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.
You know for most people, and in my younger days, everything falling apart would be stressful and worrisome, but I've learned better. It's the Phoenix getting ready to burn out. The replacements are almost always upgrades and you learn discipline/gratitude in the interim of not having them.
About time to walk back down to the laundromat again...
I wonder if the line in front of Las Palmas street taco stand has dwindled at all... TENGO LA HAMBRE.
Ubermonster + Fruit-Roll-Up
superhero suit up
OFF TO GYM
kicked gym's ass
Came home.
Hillsprints.
Protein shake.
I'm in a Ghibli mood, I have the mind to hook up my PS2. I need to get my PS3 fixed and join the age of 1080p.
Boy this is rambly-pambly and disjointed, but you know what? With my computer not cooperating very nicely, I gotta post when I can.
Time to eat an avocado and some cottage cheese and turn in for the night.
Oh, by the way, -YOU- are the Dancing Queen.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
For a night, I was Wolverine.
I legitimately had a dream that I was Wolverine last night.
It was -VERY- vivid. I can still recall the odd juxtaposition created by my superheavy skeleton anchoring me to the earth and my mutant musculature making me feel light as a feather. (Think of one of the floatier characters in Smash Bros. with both a Metal Cap and a Bunny Hood.) I can still taste the stogie I was chewin'/smokin' on. I can still feel the way the leather jacket and fitting blue jeans I was wearing stretched and strained over my animalian form. The pleasant sound/feel of my cowboy boot heels striking the metal deck underneath.
But most of all, I remember that split-second icy cold feeling between my knuckles when I would pop one of my claws. A pain so sharp and quick that it was quickly overridden by the pleasure chemicals secreted directly afterward. Indeed, in the short time that I inhabited Logan's bestial body, I became quite masochistic with how liberally I'd allow pain to be inflicted upon me. It was such a rush. And, I'm getting ahead of myself here, whenever heavy pain was issued, in the form of sustained gunfire or massive lacerations, the dull hot throb gave way to blinding white anger that we all know and love as his signature Berserker Rage. Mentally it's a very complex thing to semi-anticipate/look forward to taking a beating just because you know once you reach a certain level, you're unstoppable. It's like in old-school games where after your character takes enough damage, your sprite blinked quickly and you were momentarily invincible. Oh how I welcomed that state.
Anyhoo, it was night and I was on a huge metal freighter. I was on a mission, to find someone or something, though I can't remember exactly what. I was too enthralled in the physical sensations being bestowed upon me by my brain.
It was to be a stealth mission, but being nigh invulnerable, I didn't bother with any camouflage or tactical clothing. Just ma wifebeater, ma jeans, ma boots n ma jacket. And of course my claws.
I sauntered slowly, but purposefully, each footstrike rooting me to the floor in a way I can only describe as magnetic. When I wanted to be attached to ground, I was. When I wanted to break free, I did. It was intoxicating.
The occasional guard would wander into view and/or I'd burst into a room with one or two of them. More often than not, before they could even draw their weapons, I'd already swooped in and dipped a single claw into their neck or thereabouts. Gently setting the lifeless body down.
Toward the end though, right before I woke up, shit got hectic. I had already killed about a dozen or so men and my stogie was quite short. I'd acquired a key, a keycard, some important papers. I felt the mission was coming to a close, and thus, got a little reckless. I'd just popped the top of the room I was in and spryly jumped up to the surface. I had about three seconds back in the salty sea air, when *ZAAAAAANG!!!* my right eye reflexively closed and the white flash in my left eye quickly subsided. I'd been tagged. The ringing had just begun when *THOT, THOT, THOT* traveled down my still vibrating skull. The first two hit my metallic bones and ricocheted back out, but the last one tore through my sternocleidomastoid and was now accompanying the rush of blood filling my throat. I lost my cigar. All I tasted was metal. I swallowed the projectile and a good couple gulps of blood as I ducked low to see where I'd been hit from. The dense little rock shredded all the way down and I welcomed the pain.
I was losing my composure.
I could see him now. Little pussy, high in his tower with his rifle. I sprinted at the base, claws at the ready. There were only three supports I needed to sever and I knew gravity and physics would do the rest. Before I reached the first, I felt a nice hot spray of lead cut up my back from my left hip to my right shoulder. EXCELLENT. I slashed the metal beams quickly and spun before witnessing the result.
An all black-clad soldier had just swung up out of the hole I cut earlier and from the movement and his scent I could tell he wasn't human.
I planted my feet. He'd come to me.
He was sprinting in fast, but not faster than I could see, and his hands both went to one hip. He was drawing a katana, and with decent form. Still, I had him.
*CHA-THOOM!!* a nearby concussive blast caused me to throw my arms up in an x to shield my precious eyes (I'd need those for this fight) from the steadily mounting heat.
I could smell it. My own flesh cooking. Goddamnit. I really liked this jacket.
He was right on top of me, and the moment he brought his blade through the air, he switched sides. Instantaneously. He cut deep into my left shoulder, I could feel the muscle disconnect. That side is gonna be useless for a few minutes. I barely had enough time to block a strike at my head, don't even remember where it came from, but I do remember his sword meeting my metal-laced radius. That surprised him and bought me a much needed moment to get my bearings. I don't know how he switched sides at the last moment. Maybe a teleporter?
The bleeding on my shoulder had stopped, but the muscles weren't functional yet. Also, I could feel hot sticky liquid pouring down my right side.
The distinct coppery aroma queues me in that it's MY blood.
NOW WE'RE STARTIN' TO PARTY.
I DIDN'T EVEN SEE ANYONE TAG ME THERE.
I shake the tatters of my coat off.
He begins his onslaught. He's fast, real fast, but I'm all warmed up now. I'm not sure how he's doing it, and I really don't care, but he has some sort of a mirror power, every blow he throws transfers to the exact opposite side right before it lands. Maybe I don't need my eyes after all... The other men's screaming, both agony and orders is washing back into my ears and we've settled into a nice little flow. I'm learning to predict his moves and he's steadily backing away. Usually I can smell fear at this point, but for some reason his scent remains neutral, still his body language tells me he's scared. I AM EXCITED. I ramp up my assault and he's on the defensive.
The steel lands in my left side, a little below my armpit, I feel the pain, but with everything else that's going on it feels like a slap on the back before a big lift at the gym. I bring my left arm down on the other side and pinch in tight. GOT YOU.
I retract two claws on my right hand and dip in under his ribcage, aimed right at his heart. I get a quick fast jolt and my whole body vibrates as he peels off and backhandsprings.
OOOOOh.
I'm getting ready to re-engage him when it starts coming down. Raining down dense little rocks all over my body. I go to that -other- place, the one I go to when -this- happens. And for a moment, I am perfect. I am calm. I am free.
I can hear the gunfire for a bit and even feel my body being bandied about by the large-caliber bullets assailing it. I raise my arms and welcome the silver stones striking me from all angles.
HERE WE GO.
There are only split second images. Mirages of visuals. Terrified faces holding up hands with fingers severed clean.
When I come to, I'm surrounded by mangled corpses and one sparking mass. A robot or cyborg of some sort. His torso is -here- his head and limbs are -there-.
I'm breathing deeply and I feel amazing, just the way I do after yoga. I can feel all the tiny holes in my flesh lacing themselves back up and for a moment I wonder, "What next?"
Then I remember, I'm not Wolverine. I'm Josh Vish. And I wake up.
MAN, I love dreaming.
It was -VERY- vivid. I can still recall the odd juxtaposition created by my superheavy skeleton anchoring me to the earth and my mutant musculature making me feel light as a feather. (Think of one of the floatier characters in Smash Bros. with both a Metal Cap and a Bunny Hood.) I can still taste the stogie I was chewin'/smokin' on. I can still feel the way the leather jacket and fitting blue jeans I was wearing stretched and strained over my animalian form. The pleasant sound/feel of my cowboy boot heels striking the metal deck underneath.
But most of all, I remember that split-second icy cold feeling between my knuckles when I would pop one of my claws. A pain so sharp and quick that it was quickly overridden by the pleasure chemicals secreted directly afterward. Indeed, in the short time that I inhabited Logan's bestial body, I became quite masochistic with how liberally I'd allow pain to be inflicted upon me. It was such a rush. And, I'm getting ahead of myself here, whenever heavy pain was issued, in the form of sustained gunfire or massive lacerations, the dull hot throb gave way to blinding white anger that we all know and love as his signature Berserker Rage. Mentally it's a very complex thing to semi-anticipate/look forward to taking a beating just because you know once you reach a certain level, you're unstoppable. It's like in old-school games where after your character takes enough damage, your sprite blinked quickly and you were momentarily invincible. Oh how I welcomed that state.
Anyhoo, it was night and I was on a huge metal freighter. I was on a mission, to find someone or something, though I can't remember exactly what. I was too enthralled in the physical sensations being bestowed upon me by my brain.
It was to be a stealth mission, but being nigh invulnerable, I didn't bother with any camouflage or tactical clothing. Just ma wifebeater, ma jeans, ma boots n ma jacket. And of course my claws.
I sauntered slowly, but purposefully, each footstrike rooting me to the floor in a way I can only describe as magnetic. When I wanted to be attached to ground, I was. When I wanted to break free, I did. It was intoxicating.
The occasional guard would wander into view and/or I'd burst into a room with one or two of them. More often than not, before they could even draw their weapons, I'd already swooped in and dipped a single claw into their neck or thereabouts. Gently setting the lifeless body down.
Toward the end though, right before I woke up, shit got hectic. I had already killed about a dozen or so men and my stogie was quite short. I'd acquired a key, a keycard, some important papers. I felt the mission was coming to a close, and thus, got a little reckless. I'd just popped the top of the room I was in and spryly jumped up to the surface. I had about three seconds back in the salty sea air, when *ZAAAAAANG!!!* my right eye reflexively closed and the white flash in my left eye quickly subsided. I'd been tagged. The ringing had just begun when *THOT, THOT, THOT* traveled down my still vibrating skull. The first two hit my metallic bones and ricocheted back out, but the last one tore through my sternocleidomastoid and was now accompanying the rush of blood filling my throat. I lost my cigar. All I tasted was metal. I swallowed the projectile and a good couple gulps of blood as I ducked low to see where I'd been hit from. The dense little rock shredded all the way down and I welcomed the pain.
I was losing my composure.
I could see him now. Little pussy, high in his tower with his rifle. I sprinted at the base, claws at the ready. There were only three supports I needed to sever and I knew gravity and physics would do the rest. Before I reached the first, I felt a nice hot spray of lead cut up my back from my left hip to my right shoulder. EXCELLENT. I slashed the metal beams quickly and spun before witnessing the result.
An all black-clad soldier had just swung up out of the hole I cut earlier and from the movement and his scent I could tell he wasn't human.
I planted my feet. He'd come to me.
He was sprinting in fast, but not faster than I could see, and his hands both went to one hip. He was drawing a katana, and with decent form. Still, I had him.
*CHA-THOOM!!* a nearby concussive blast caused me to throw my arms up in an x to shield my precious eyes (I'd need those for this fight) from the steadily mounting heat.
I could smell it. My own flesh cooking. Goddamnit. I really liked this jacket.
He was right on top of me, and the moment he brought his blade through the air, he switched sides. Instantaneously. He cut deep into my left shoulder, I could feel the muscle disconnect. That side is gonna be useless for a few minutes. I barely had enough time to block a strike at my head, don't even remember where it came from, but I do remember his sword meeting my metal-laced radius. That surprised him and bought me a much needed moment to get my bearings. I don't know how he switched sides at the last moment. Maybe a teleporter?
The bleeding on my shoulder had stopped, but the muscles weren't functional yet. Also, I could feel hot sticky liquid pouring down my right side.
The distinct coppery aroma queues me in that it's MY blood.
NOW WE'RE STARTIN' TO PARTY.
I DIDN'T EVEN SEE ANYONE TAG ME THERE.
I shake the tatters of my coat off.
He begins his onslaught. He's fast, real fast, but I'm all warmed up now. I'm not sure how he's doing it, and I really don't care, but he has some sort of a mirror power, every blow he throws transfers to the exact opposite side right before it lands. Maybe I don't need my eyes after all... The other men's screaming, both agony and orders is washing back into my ears and we've settled into a nice little flow. I'm learning to predict his moves and he's steadily backing away. Usually I can smell fear at this point, but for some reason his scent remains neutral, still his body language tells me he's scared. I AM EXCITED. I ramp up my assault and he's on the defensive.
The steel lands in my left side, a little below my armpit, I feel the pain, but with everything else that's going on it feels like a slap on the back before a big lift at the gym. I bring my left arm down on the other side and pinch in tight. GOT YOU.
I retract two claws on my right hand and dip in under his ribcage, aimed right at his heart. I get a quick fast jolt and my whole body vibrates as he peels off and backhandsprings.
OOOOOh.
I'm getting ready to re-engage him when it starts coming down. Raining down dense little rocks all over my body. I go to that -other- place, the one I go to when -this- happens. And for a moment, I am perfect. I am calm. I am free.
I can hear the gunfire for a bit and even feel my body being bandied about by the large-caliber bullets assailing it. I raise my arms and welcome the silver stones striking me from all angles.
HERE WE GO.
There are only split second images. Mirages of visuals. Terrified faces holding up hands with fingers severed clean.
When I come to, I'm surrounded by mangled corpses and one sparking mass. A robot or cyborg of some sort. His torso is -here- his head and limbs are -there-.
I'm breathing deeply and I feel amazing, just the way I do after yoga. I can feel all the tiny holes in my flesh lacing themselves back up and for a moment I wonder, "What next?"
Then I remember, I'm not Wolverine. I'm Josh Vish. And I wake up.
MAN, I love dreaming.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Noting the effects.
Life feels novel and new again.
I'm cold, it's winter, that's natural. Not natural for me, I usually run like a space-heater.
I'm being reckless, taking chances.
Visual patterns emerge like divine mathematics.
My hands take on an extra layer of profundity and navigate my IRL FPS
I have incredible friends. I'm incredibly grateful.
I'm cold, it's winter, that's natural. Not natural for me, I usually run like a space-heater.
I'm being reckless, taking chances.
Visual patterns emerge like divine mathematics.
My hands take on an extra layer of profundity and navigate my IRL FPS
I have incredible friends. I'm incredibly grateful.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
27 and 2012
I've been dreading this blog entry for close to a decade.
I knew it would one day come.
It's hard to believe it's finally here.
The beginning of what could very well be my last year on this earth.
1.1.2012
The first day of 2012. The first day of a new year.
I am 27, and it's 2012. OFFICIALLY. No take-backsies. For realsies.
When I was in my late teens, I prophesied my own death. Not in the serious manner that statement suggests, but in a far more serendipitous revelation that sent me down a spiral of mania culminating in my early 20s.
You ever ask yourself a question inside your head and then get a knee-jerk response from a "voice" within? The voice just being your inner thought, not a perceived separate entity.
You know, something like, what do I want to eat right now? And the next thought you have/hear is omelette with mushrooms, peppers and bacon.
Well, one day, in my youth, I randomly thought to myself "When will I die?" 27.
27.
Quick and unwavering. Knee-jerk. Instantaneous. 27, was the answer. "Well that's kinda freaky/unsettling..." I thought, followed by thinking, "Wonder how?" Car accident.
Car accident. The very next discernible bit of data was "car accident". No other possibilities listed. No lilting unsure tone. Smooth, definitive delivery. Car accident.
The damage done, I sat and thought and largely have done so ever since. I even used to have a countdown on a dry erase board much to the behest of a former flame.
That experience in and of itself is scary and threatens one with what I would categorize as "unhealthy" thoughts.
Couple that with the following information and learning it all for the first time en masse thanks to the internet and a voracious curiosity that has fueled me (and possibly defined my character) my entire life and you practically have a recipe for psychosis.
In an order that I don't care to remember I learned of 2012, and its significance to the Mayans, my best friend's self-predicted age of death (30, what he would be in 2012), The Age Of Aquarius, and the 27 Club.
Maya and 2012 - 13th b'ak'tun - End of the calendar. Misinterpreted as Armageddon. Meant to be taken as The End Of Time. A Mass Spiritual Awakening.
Age Of Aquarius - We're moving from the Age Of Pisces wherein we are the "fish" in "water". Human in life. Immersed in it. Powerless to affect its ebb and flow. In the Age Of Aquarius, we'll be the water-bearers. The Water won't control us or our lives, we'll control it.
27 Club - Many famous musicians and performers have signed off at this age and I fit right in with them. Eerily well.
In my early 20s I was dating a delightfully intelligent young asian girl. (I love asian girls.) She was South Korean (I love Japanese and South Korean girls) and quick as a whip. Her beautiful outside shell was merely icing on the cake compared the gorgeous brain/intellect she housed within. Her personality and wit pulled on me like a black hole and her ethnicity/beauty communicated The Fates were at work. They sealed the deal. It seemed "too good to be true". (It was.)
In certain ways, she enabled me. Unfortunately an intellect like mine is hard to contend with when it's set its sights on a goal.
My name is Joshua, I desire to help everyone, I get along with pretty much everyone I meet, remarkably wise despite my youth, surprisingly heartfelt compared to my pervasive silliness, a naturalist concerned with whole foods and sustainability, a fierce thinker with deep interest in The Eastern Ways, a psychonaut pioneering the farthest reaches of my mind with the aid of entheogens, I was born on Christmas Eve, I'm white, I have/enjoy beards, I don't wear shoes... She, I, and many others had all been led to the same conclusion: I was the Second Coming Of Christ.
Having one person tell you they think you might be Jesus after you've lightly theorized this independently is surreal and disconcerting. Having several people do this, several times a day, without provocation is a great way to schism from reality entirely.
I've always prided myself on Observing The Observer and Breaking The Fourth Wall, so after some pensive introspection and careful analysis of my overall character and past experiences, a new more terrifying theory surfaced: I was the Anti-Christ. Nowhere in the bible does it say that the Anti-Christ, WILLINGLY, MALEVOLENTLY brings about the end of mankind. It says simply that he will unite them and ultimately lead to their downfall. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me then that he may accomplish this without setting out to do so. What if he made an invention, or gave a speech, or something that led to everyone being connected and then once THAT occurred the new Collective fucked things up on its own? This quickly became incorporated into Theory 3.0: I, Josh Vish, am both the Second Coming Of The Christ and The Anti-Christ. It stood to reason that with my innate charisma and intelligence and my burning desire to connect with the entire planet that I could totally be responsible for uniting everyone. And even though it was in the name of Love, some sort of a horrible perversion of my ideals might occur leading to cataclysm.
I'd pretty much resolved myself to loserhood/obscurity. For the sake of the planet.
Then I came to realize that a good deed is a good deed is a good deed. Like the woman that dumped expensive amounts of anointing oil on Jesus. The people around said "Hey! She coulda sold that and bought food for kids or something!" "Yeah!" "Yeah!" They all said and all patted each other on the back. "She wasn't thinking right! She didn't do THE MOST good she could do!" And Jesus shut dem bitches up with, "She did was she thought was good, and that is enough."
BOOM.
That it came from her heart and was genuinely altruistic is what exonerates her of folly.
Here's this suave motherfucker, strollin' from town to town, wearin' sandals, havin' a beard, spittin' wisdom, healin' niggas, preachin', just bein' an all around badass and now he's in YOUR town. Show your appreciation/reverence. GO! And the first thing she could think of was to douse his ass in Anointing Oil. Good enough, the J Man said. Appreciated.
*Side note, Anointing Oil was made from Cannabis...
If you bought someone a pizza and then when they got home they were too full to eat the surprise steak someone else had prepared for them, are you a bad person because you indirectly contributed to them missing out on steak? Fuck no. Easy answer.
Shit. YOU DICK. How dare you buy me pizza?!?! What a thoughtless asshole! Did you ever think that maybe steak was waiting for me?! You're evil. This confirms it.
NO.
So why should I feel bad if my efforts to Unite The Planet In Harmony end with Apocalypse?
I won't.
I've since matured, and integrated my thoughts and experience into a pretty stable worldview.
I'm not Jesus. I'm not the Anti-Christ. I'm Josh Vish. Not-Quite-Jesus. Jesus-like, but not actually Jesus.
I've talked before about my belief in what is essentially a more positive slant on Solipsism. I believe I am talking to myself right now. I believe we (as in not just humans, but EVERYTHING) are all one "thing" (call it God, if you want, I do) that willfully split into all these separate parts for the sole purpose of fun. Yes, you read it, my model of spirituality, philosophy, science and religion is the Cosmos is the answer to Cosmic Boredom. Divine Bordeom. We Weren't and Now We Are. Simple as that. Time is a perception, not an absolute value and all things exist HERE, NOW. They just aren't available to humans and our limited perception. WHICH IS OKAY. THAT'S THE POINT. These meatsuits are blinders from infinity.
America, cheeseburgers, facebook, alcohol. It's all okay.
Anyhoo, while I no longer believe myself to be The Second Coming/The Anti-Christ, I still sometimes fear it. I have big plans to put into place this year and I'd be lying if I didn't profess being motivated by fear. Fear of Mortality and fear of The Unknown. I've never been one to be controlled by my fear, but fear is a tricky thing. On the physical plane, if something creates terror in me, I sprint at it. Literally. However in the intangible realm of thought and possibility it's not always so easy to choose your target.
I love movies. I love everything about them. I love stories, I love symbolism, I love photography, color, kinetics, dialogue, language, art, music, etc. And I especially love movies' ability to transcend time and space. To alleviate barriers and blur boundaries. Cinema unites us like nothing else can. Well, except maybe the Internet, but still. MILLIONS of people watch a single film and BAM! just like that, it's ingrained in the collective. Unconscious AND conscious. Like orators, books and comics before it, movies are the most successful expression of communicating to everyone at once.
For a long time now I've wanted to be a part of movies, and even have. I want even more involvement. I want it to be how I pay rent and afford food. (I AM HUNGRY.)
So in 2012, I will continue down that path, Acting, Writing, Directing, Filmmaking, and if my predictions are correct, as I gain more and more notoriety, and more influence, I'll be poised to spark ACTUAL change on this planet. Whether with my voice or a film or a book, etc.
So far, the only direct attempt at omnipresence that I'm endeavoring upon is a simple birthday wish. I'm going to make it a facebook event and everything. (That's how you know its SERIOUS BUSINESS.)
This year, for my 28th birthday and last day of being 27, 12.24.2012, I would like for EVERYONE, literally every single human being on the planet capable of thought, to stop and think and focus on LOVE. Oh and making the summer in Pittsburgh a little longer and the winter a little shorter. That last part is a selfish desire though.
So that means that at one point in time, the entire planet's population of humans will be united in an activity AND thinking of me. POWERFUL STUFF. I get my Ego stroked AND help the planet. WIN/WIN. And then, from there, if my fame dwindles to niche crowds instead of the entire planet, so be it. I will've accomplished my goal.
Hopefully 2013 will consist of spending time in Japan while continuing to make movies, smoke cannabis and lift weights.
I'm going to attempt to get to Japan in 2012 as well, but it will be from more of a tourist standpoint with the end goal of Uniting The Planet in mind. Afterward, in 2013, my time in Japan will focus SOLEY on Japan.
If I'm still alive and we're still here, in 2013 I'd like to be:
making movies for a living
lifting weights regularly
swimming routinely
practicing yoga
smoking cannabis whenever it tickles my fancy
furthering my research on entheogens
living in Japan for indefinite periods of time
on my way to connecting with my future wife
eating flesh and fresh fruits and vegetables every single day
Beyond 2013 -
Wife and kids.
Living in Japan and Western PA.
Making movies.
Doing standup.
Working out regularly.
Drawing.
Writing.
Experimenting with Farming.
Hunting.
Owning Land.
I have lots of goals and am fervently in love with the leapfrog pace of obtaining them and setting new ones. This is guaranteed to be a great year for me.
One last stitch of anxiety I'd like to address. The focus on my own mortality that 27 and 2012 have brought does not overwhelm me in the ways you might think it does. I don't care about death. I don't care about dying. It's no big deal. I'm not afraid of it. What I am afraid of is: not living. I'm afraid of not accomplishing all I want to, before dying. Even then, that's not really a concern.
Truthfully, the most unsettling anxiety this age and year have brought me is a very stereotypically human one: my parents mortality.
All this focus on death has brought an unsettling amount of consideration to the question of when will my parents die. I am terrified of losing either of them. As Buddhist as I am about my own death and the fate of the entire planet, I cannot shake the very present, very powerful fear of losing my parents.
It was the thorn in my lion's paw after conquering my thoughts on my personal mortality. I've decided that I want to live indefinitely. Not Immortal per se, just continuing as long as I wish. And as this is my wish and I've set my intent on it, I will have it. That's how things work here. Intent>Action>Reality BUT, I cannot control how my parents think/feel. Nor would I want to. Neither of them would accept life extension, I'm sure. I'm in fact sure they are just as okay with their eventual end as I am. Yet, I am not okay with theirs.
Maybe that's another not as concrete goal for 2012 and hopefully 2013?
I keep thinking that if I get rich enough, soon enough, that I can retire my parents and learn everything about them I want to know, so that when the end is near I'll be more comfortable with it. As it stands however, I want more time. I miss them.
I also hope to be institutional in bringing about Mind-Uploading and Prosthetic Bodies. Those are certainly beyond 2013 endeavors. They're going to take time. Even if they were here, now, I just don't see my parents being keen on participating.
I've learned to move past fears of my own mortality and those of my parents and the planet with the simple realization that everything is as it should be. If I don't ride around in cars all this year for fear of dying, how would I feel if on 12.24.2012 a car "randomly" fell out of the sky and killed me anyway? Pretty stupid. As it stands I'm going to die one day, in fact all of us are, but I'm not going to let that dominate my actions and enjoyment in the here and now. I'm not going to be careless or reckless or do anything to hasten its arrival but I'm also not going to diminish my quality of life with unnecessary precaution.
2012 is going to be my year. 2012: The Year Of Josh Vish.
It's either going to be my and/or our last year and thus I'll/we'll go out with a bang, or it's going to be a fierce start to whole new lifestyle. The initial explosion that sends the rocket hurtling upward into space.
Either way, it's guaranteed to be awesome.
Hello 2012, I've been waiting for you. For a long time.
My goal, for 2012 and the rest of my life: To realign mankind with the harmony of nature.
I knew it would one day come.
It's hard to believe it's finally here.
The beginning of what could very well be my last year on this earth.
1.1.2012
The first day of 2012. The first day of a new year.
I am 27, and it's 2012. OFFICIALLY. No take-backsies. For realsies.
When I was in my late teens, I prophesied my own death. Not in the serious manner that statement suggests, but in a far more serendipitous revelation that sent me down a spiral of mania culminating in my early 20s.
You ever ask yourself a question inside your head and then get a knee-jerk response from a "voice" within? The voice just being your inner thought, not a perceived separate entity.
You know, something like, what do I want to eat right now? And the next thought you have/hear is omelette with mushrooms, peppers and bacon.
Well, one day, in my youth, I randomly thought to myself "When will I die?" 27.
27.
Quick and unwavering. Knee-jerk. Instantaneous. 27, was the answer. "Well that's kinda freaky/unsettling..." I thought, followed by thinking, "Wonder how?" Car accident.
Car accident. The very next discernible bit of data was "car accident". No other possibilities listed. No lilting unsure tone. Smooth, definitive delivery. Car accident.
The damage done, I sat and thought and largely have done so ever since. I even used to have a countdown on a dry erase board much to the behest of a former flame.
That experience in and of itself is scary and threatens one with what I would categorize as "unhealthy" thoughts.
Couple that with the following information and learning it all for the first time en masse thanks to the internet and a voracious curiosity that has fueled me (and possibly defined my character) my entire life and you practically have a recipe for psychosis.
In an order that I don't care to remember I learned of 2012, and its significance to the Mayans, my best friend's self-predicted age of death (30, what he would be in 2012), The Age Of Aquarius, and the 27 Club.
Maya and 2012 - 13th b'ak'tun - End of the calendar. Misinterpreted as Armageddon. Meant to be taken as The End Of Time. A Mass Spiritual Awakening.
Age Of Aquarius - We're moving from the Age Of Pisces wherein we are the "fish" in "water". Human in life. Immersed in it. Powerless to affect its ebb and flow. In the Age Of Aquarius, we'll be the water-bearers. The Water won't control us or our lives, we'll control it.
27 Club - Many famous musicians and performers have signed off at this age and I fit right in with them. Eerily well.
In my early 20s I was dating a delightfully intelligent young asian girl. (I love asian girls.) She was South Korean (I love Japanese and South Korean girls) and quick as a whip. Her beautiful outside shell was merely icing on the cake compared the gorgeous brain/intellect she housed within. Her personality and wit pulled on me like a black hole and her ethnicity/beauty communicated The Fates were at work. They sealed the deal. It seemed "too good to be true". (It was.)
In certain ways, she enabled me. Unfortunately an intellect like mine is hard to contend with when it's set its sights on a goal.
My name is Joshua, I desire to help everyone, I get along with pretty much everyone I meet, remarkably wise despite my youth, surprisingly heartfelt compared to my pervasive silliness, a naturalist concerned with whole foods and sustainability, a fierce thinker with deep interest in The Eastern Ways, a psychonaut pioneering the farthest reaches of my mind with the aid of entheogens, I was born on Christmas Eve, I'm white, I have/enjoy beards, I don't wear shoes... She, I, and many others had all been led to the same conclusion: I was the Second Coming Of Christ.
Having one person tell you they think you might be Jesus after you've lightly theorized this independently is surreal and disconcerting. Having several people do this, several times a day, without provocation is a great way to schism from reality entirely.
I've always prided myself on Observing The Observer and Breaking The Fourth Wall, so after some pensive introspection and careful analysis of my overall character and past experiences, a new more terrifying theory surfaced: I was the Anti-Christ. Nowhere in the bible does it say that the Anti-Christ, WILLINGLY, MALEVOLENTLY brings about the end of mankind. It says simply that he will unite them and ultimately lead to their downfall. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me then that he may accomplish this without setting out to do so. What if he made an invention, or gave a speech, or something that led to everyone being connected and then once THAT occurred the new Collective fucked things up on its own? This quickly became incorporated into Theory 3.0: I, Josh Vish, am both the Second Coming Of The Christ and The Anti-Christ. It stood to reason that with my innate charisma and intelligence and my burning desire to connect with the entire planet that I could totally be responsible for uniting everyone. And even though it was in the name of Love, some sort of a horrible perversion of my ideals might occur leading to cataclysm.
I'd pretty much resolved myself to loserhood/obscurity. For the sake of the planet.
Then I came to realize that a good deed is a good deed is a good deed. Like the woman that dumped expensive amounts of anointing oil on Jesus. The people around said "Hey! She coulda sold that and bought food for kids or something!" "Yeah!" "Yeah!" They all said and all patted each other on the back. "She wasn't thinking right! She didn't do THE MOST good she could do!" And Jesus shut dem bitches up with, "She did was she thought was good, and that is enough."
BOOM.
That it came from her heart and was genuinely altruistic is what exonerates her of folly.
Here's this suave motherfucker, strollin' from town to town, wearin' sandals, havin' a beard, spittin' wisdom, healin' niggas, preachin', just bein' an all around badass and now he's in YOUR town. Show your appreciation/reverence. GO! And the first thing she could think of was to douse his ass in Anointing Oil. Good enough, the J Man said. Appreciated.
*Side note, Anointing Oil was made from Cannabis...
If you bought someone a pizza and then when they got home they were too full to eat the surprise steak someone else had prepared for them, are you a bad person because you indirectly contributed to them missing out on steak? Fuck no. Easy answer.
Shit. YOU DICK. How dare you buy me pizza?!?! What a thoughtless asshole! Did you ever think that maybe steak was waiting for me?! You're evil. This confirms it.
NO.
So why should I feel bad if my efforts to Unite The Planet In Harmony end with Apocalypse?
I won't.
I've since matured, and integrated my thoughts and experience into a pretty stable worldview.
I'm not Jesus. I'm not the Anti-Christ. I'm Josh Vish. Not-Quite-Jesus. Jesus-like, but not actually Jesus.
I've talked before about my belief in what is essentially a more positive slant on Solipsism. I believe I am talking to myself right now. I believe we (as in not just humans, but EVERYTHING) are all one "thing" (call it God, if you want, I do) that willfully split into all these separate parts for the sole purpose of fun. Yes, you read it, my model of spirituality, philosophy, science and religion is the Cosmos is the answer to Cosmic Boredom. Divine Bordeom. We Weren't and Now We Are. Simple as that. Time is a perception, not an absolute value and all things exist HERE, NOW. They just aren't available to humans and our limited perception. WHICH IS OKAY. THAT'S THE POINT. These meatsuits are blinders from infinity.
America, cheeseburgers, facebook, alcohol. It's all okay.
Anyhoo, while I no longer believe myself to be The Second Coming/The Anti-Christ, I still sometimes fear it. I have big plans to put into place this year and I'd be lying if I didn't profess being motivated by fear. Fear of Mortality and fear of The Unknown. I've never been one to be controlled by my fear, but fear is a tricky thing. On the physical plane, if something creates terror in me, I sprint at it. Literally. However in the intangible realm of thought and possibility it's not always so easy to choose your target.
I love movies. I love everything about them. I love stories, I love symbolism, I love photography, color, kinetics, dialogue, language, art, music, etc. And I especially love movies' ability to transcend time and space. To alleviate barriers and blur boundaries. Cinema unites us like nothing else can. Well, except maybe the Internet, but still. MILLIONS of people watch a single film and BAM! just like that, it's ingrained in the collective. Unconscious AND conscious. Like orators, books and comics before it, movies are the most successful expression of communicating to everyone at once.
For a long time now I've wanted to be a part of movies, and even have. I want even more involvement. I want it to be how I pay rent and afford food. (I AM HUNGRY.)
So in 2012, I will continue down that path, Acting, Writing, Directing, Filmmaking, and if my predictions are correct, as I gain more and more notoriety, and more influence, I'll be poised to spark ACTUAL change on this planet. Whether with my voice or a film or a book, etc.
So far, the only direct attempt at omnipresence that I'm endeavoring upon is a simple birthday wish. I'm going to make it a facebook event and everything. (That's how you know its SERIOUS BUSINESS.)
This year, for my 28th birthday and last day of being 27, 12.24.2012, I would like for EVERYONE, literally every single human being on the planet capable of thought, to stop and think and focus on LOVE. Oh and making the summer in Pittsburgh a little longer and the winter a little shorter. That last part is a selfish desire though.
So that means that at one point in time, the entire planet's population of humans will be united in an activity AND thinking of me. POWERFUL STUFF. I get my Ego stroked AND help the planet. WIN/WIN. And then, from there, if my fame dwindles to niche crowds instead of the entire planet, so be it. I will've accomplished my goal.
Hopefully 2013 will consist of spending time in Japan while continuing to make movies, smoke cannabis and lift weights.
I'm going to attempt to get to Japan in 2012 as well, but it will be from more of a tourist standpoint with the end goal of Uniting The Planet in mind. Afterward, in 2013, my time in Japan will focus SOLEY on Japan.
If I'm still alive and we're still here, in 2013 I'd like to be:
making movies for a living
lifting weights regularly
swimming routinely
practicing yoga
smoking cannabis whenever it tickles my fancy
furthering my research on entheogens
living in Japan for indefinite periods of time
on my way to connecting with my future wife
eating flesh and fresh fruits and vegetables every single day
Beyond 2013 -
Wife and kids.
Living in Japan and Western PA.
Making movies.
Doing standup.
Working out regularly.
Drawing.
Writing.
Experimenting with Farming.
Hunting.
Owning Land.
I have lots of goals and am fervently in love with the leapfrog pace of obtaining them and setting new ones. This is guaranteed to be a great year for me.
One last stitch of anxiety I'd like to address. The focus on my own mortality that 27 and 2012 have brought does not overwhelm me in the ways you might think it does. I don't care about death. I don't care about dying. It's no big deal. I'm not afraid of it. What I am afraid of is: not living. I'm afraid of not accomplishing all I want to, before dying. Even then, that's not really a concern.
Truthfully, the most unsettling anxiety this age and year have brought me is a very stereotypically human one: my parents mortality.
All this focus on death has brought an unsettling amount of consideration to the question of when will my parents die. I am terrified of losing either of them. As Buddhist as I am about my own death and the fate of the entire planet, I cannot shake the very present, very powerful fear of losing my parents.
It was the thorn in my lion's paw after conquering my thoughts on my personal mortality. I've decided that I want to live indefinitely. Not Immortal per se, just continuing as long as I wish. And as this is my wish and I've set my intent on it, I will have it. That's how things work here. Intent>Action>Reality BUT, I cannot control how my parents think/feel. Nor would I want to. Neither of them would accept life extension, I'm sure. I'm in fact sure they are just as okay with their eventual end as I am. Yet, I am not okay with theirs.
Maybe that's another not as concrete goal for 2012 and hopefully 2013?
I keep thinking that if I get rich enough, soon enough, that I can retire my parents and learn everything about them I want to know, so that when the end is near I'll be more comfortable with it. As it stands however, I want more time. I miss them.
I also hope to be institutional in bringing about Mind-Uploading and Prosthetic Bodies. Those are certainly beyond 2013 endeavors. They're going to take time. Even if they were here, now, I just don't see my parents being keen on participating.
I've learned to move past fears of my own mortality and those of my parents and the planet with the simple realization that everything is as it should be. If I don't ride around in cars all this year for fear of dying, how would I feel if on 12.24.2012 a car "randomly" fell out of the sky and killed me anyway? Pretty stupid. As it stands I'm going to die one day, in fact all of us are, but I'm not going to let that dominate my actions and enjoyment in the here and now. I'm not going to be careless or reckless or do anything to hasten its arrival but I'm also not going to diminish my quality of life with unnecessary precaution.
2012 is going to be my year. 2012: The Year Of Josh Vish.
It's either going to be my and/or our last year and thus I'll/we'll go out with a bang, or it's going to be a fierce start to whole new lifestyle. The initial explosion that sends the rocket hurtling upward into space.
Either way, it's guaranteed to be awesome.
Hello 2012, I've been waiting for you. For a long time.
My goal, for 2012 and the rest of my life: To realign mankind with the harmony of nature.
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