THE GONZO'S FEAR & LOATHING: REFLECTIONS ONE HAS YET TO KNOW
The air is cold, as it suggests for me to continue down the path I have yet to see. Still, I must continue — the scent is drawing me in. Closer I walk as the leaves from strangled trees wave past my eyes. Silently I sing a lullaby that my mother would recite before she kissed my head. I fell asleep there as the colors stop to be what they were. They took on a whole new hue — one no person has ever seen. I was compelled to see the vibrancy at its fullest.
I only had to hope for what I thought it to be and then it would become something even I could not believe in. Yes, something that even a mother could not dream up to tell her child. That great truth we seek for out whole life, but maybe we can only find it in death?
In the silence we can hear everything that has yet to be heard — all those soft little sounds that come out of our true being. For it is screaming a scream that has never, not even once, been heard. THAT is the sad truth of it all.
Only if we could hear, truly hear, the first great truth to ever be known. Maybe the truth is already in the situation? That could be the truth and the only truth we could ever know.
3/2/2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
My Grand Life Goals (Round 1)
I was asked to respond to this question in my Media Ethics course at SUNY New Paltz:
Sharing my answer seemed like a suitable thing to post to this blog. Since this blog, in some regards, is another thing I use to utilize these goals. Check out what I had to say and feel free to leave me a comment that sums up how you feel about this question in regards to yourself.
The first thing I remember promising myself, was that I would not work for a 9-to-5 job in a cubicle. I didn’t want an office job. I wanted something with more adventure and creativity. I wanted something that I could express myself in order to do my job. I guess that is how, in turn, I feel into journalism, eventually.
Ever since my mid-teens I have had this feeling that I wanted to change the world. I always feel childish admitting this, but I feel like I was put on this earth to change the world, or at least to affect some part of it in a positive manner. There are just too many reasons for me not to believe that I have a strong purpose here. I just don’t want to bore you with the details about why I feel this way. It started out that I thought I could achieve this through poetry, but now I feel I have more chance to do this through journalism. Who knows, maybe there will be a poetry revival in the future. At least I hope there is one — even if I never get my poetry published.
Lastly, I have decided recently that I want to be remembered. I don’t think it is being famous that I want, but I do want to be remembered in the future. I would like to have my writing looked back upon with significance to our culture and life. Similar to how we look back and study these great writers, such as (insert your favorite writer here), I want to be reflected upon too. I want to leave my mark on the journalism and literary world. Then I could die a content man.
In his book, "A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy," philosophy professor William Irvine says many people have trouble naming their grand goal in living. Do you? In other words, of the things in life you might pursue, which is the thing you believe to be most valuable?
Sharing my answer seemed like a suitable thing to post to this blog. Since this blog, in some regards, is another thing I use to utilize these goals. Check out what I had to say and feel free to leave me a comment that sums up how you feel about this question in regards to yourself.
The first thing I remember promising myself, was that I would not work for a 9-to-5 job in a cubicle. I didn’t want an office job. I wanted something with more adventure and creativity. I wanted something that I could express myself in order to do my job. I guess that is how, in turn, I feel into journalism, eventually.
Ever since my mid-teens I have had this feeling that I wanted to change the world. I always feel childish admitting this, but I feel like I was put on this earth to change the world, or at least to affect some part of it in a positive manner. There are just too many reasons for me not to believe that I have a strong purpose here. I just don’t want to bore you with the details about why I feel this way. It started out that I thought I could achieve this through poetry, but now I feel I have more chance to do this through journalism. Who knows, maybe there will be a poetry revival in the future. At least I hope there is one — even if I never get my poetry published.
Lastly, I have decided recently that I want to be remembered. I don’t think it is being famous that I want, but I do want to be remembered in the future. I would like to have my writing looked back upon with significance to our culture and life. Similar to how we look back and study these great writers, such as (insert your favorite writer here), I want to be reflected upon too. I want to leave my mark on the journalism and literary world. Then I could die a content man.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Typewriter Ramble #1
Thanks to Dylan, who recently offered to give me a typewriter he had sitting around from some suburban garage sale many years back, I have acquired a typewriter. I guess Facebook truly can be a good social networking tool. I posted something to the effect, "John Purcell wants to get a typewriter," as my Facebook status. Shortly later Dlyan offered the gift. Who would've thunk it? I certainly didn't, but, thanks again!
Besides a new ribbon and maybe some small maintance it should be really set. I am not sure how to get the musty smell off it though. Even the paper I typed onto reeks of this musty smell. It is not the worst smell, though, kinda homey.
After a Gonzo Imperial Porter, Miller High Life and two White Russians (with extra vodka) I sat down with the typewriter at Dylan's house while other friends conversed around me. I am not sure what exactly I was going to write when I sat down, but I just wanted to nail out something. Whatever the typewriter made me feel — for better or worse.
This made me think that I might have certain reoccuring posts just be whatever I ramble out on the typewriter. Hence the name for this post, "Typewriter Ramble #1," so maybe there will be more in the future, but here is the first.
You have no heart ... he is the golden boy of your sick shit.
What does the boy want from his father? The golden goose of sincerity that grows under his father's pathetic job of regret. The man said yes to his offer, for he had nothing to hide from his son. He gave him the gold he desired and he didn't shed a tear. He was only full of hope for the future of his family — he could not see the scum bubbling into his mouth. Yes, the scum does rise.
Besides a new ribbon and maybe some small maintance it should be really set. I am not sure how to get the musty smell off it though. Even the paper I typed onto reeks of this musty smell. It is not the worst smell, though, kinda homey.
After a Gonzo Imperial Porter, Miller High Life and two White Russians (with extra vodka) I sat down with the typewriter at Dylan's house while other friends conversed around me. I am not sure what exactly I was going to write when I sat down, but I just wanted to nail out something. Whatever the typewriter made me feel — for better or worse.
This made me think that I might have certain reoccuring posts just be whatever I ramble out on the typewriter. Hence the name for this post, "Typewriter Ramble #1," so maybe there will be more in the future, but here is the first.
You have no heart ... he is the golden boy of your sick shit.
What does the boy want from his father? The golden goose of sincerity that grows under his father's pathetic job of regret. The man said yes to his offer, for he had nothing to hide from his son. He gave him the gold he desired and he didn't shed a tear. He was only full of hope for the future of his family — he could not see the scum bubbling into his mouth. Yes, the scum does rise.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Journalist's Drug
I feel in love with this video the first time I saw it. This one goes out to all the coffee drinkers out there...let us hope we don't slip into a coffee paranoia.
le Café - Oldelaf (english subtitles)
Uploaded by Boebis
le Café - Oldelaf (english subtitles)
Uploaded by Boebis
Monday, February 16, 2009
You Gotta Feel It Man
"Some days I just really feel like a journalist." -Me
That was something that just really got me thinking. Why do I feel more like a journalist on certain days? Does it have to do with something that happened to me? Is there something that angered or frustrated me? Does it have to do with what I have been reading or watching? Maybe it is what I choose to wear? Could it really just be in the coffee?
Hunter S. Thompson really sparks me, I do know that. It always helps to read/study/observe those you idle. Although, I do not want to be the next Hunter S. Thompson. That would be pretty foolish...cause who the fuck could really be him, shit!
Well, whatever the answer is, maybe a mixture of them all, it seems I just feel more like a journalist at certain times. I have been falling further and further into becoming my major — which I hope you know after that long rant — journalism. I am finding myself welcoming and embracing the thought of being a journalist. I guess I am getting the feeling that I have chosen what is right for me. My biggest fear is that I am not going to amount to something on a grand scale. Not that I want to be famous, I don't feel that is really the word I would be going for, nor what I am striving for. "Famous" seems to involve a lot of dirty, shoe licking and puss sucking. Being well known, or at least well respected within a certain group, is all I really am striving for.
"Book people drink tea — Journalists drink coffee...and sometimes alcohol."
I feel like that quote is probably a mixture of a few real quotes. I like to think I added the "and sometimes alcohol" to the quote first, but who knows. I am still amazed how the "old school" journalist could pound down coffee during the day and pound down their liquor even harder at night. Yeah, and this is like every day.
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson
That was something that just really got me thinking. Why do I feel more like a journalist on certain days? Does it have to do with something that happened to me? Is there something that angered or frustrated me? Does it have to do with what I have been reading or watching? Maybe it is what I choose to wear? Could it really just be in the coffee?
Hunter S. Thompson really sparks me, I do know that. It always helps to read/study/observe those you idle. Although, I do not want to be the next Hunter S. Thompson. That would be pretty foolish...cause who the fuck could really be him, shit!
Well, whatever the answer is, maybe a mixture of them all, it seems I just feel more like a journalist at certain times. I have been falling further and further into becoming my major — which I hope you know after that long rant — journalism. I am finding myself welcoming and embracing the thought of being a journalist. I guess I am getting the feeling that I have chosen what is right for me. My biggest fear is that I am not going to amount to something on a grand scale. Not that I want to be famous, I don't feel that is really the word I would be going for, nor what I am striving for. "Famous" seems to involve a lot of dirty, shoe licking and puss sucking. Being well known, or at least well respected within a certain group, is all I really am striving for.
"Book people drink tea — Journalists drink coffee...and sometimes alcohol."
I feel like that quote is probably a mixture of a few real quotes. I like to think I added the "and sometimes alcohol" to the quote first, but who knows. I am still amazed how the "old school" journalist could pound down coffee during the day and pound down their liquor even harder at night. Yeah, and this is like every day.
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson
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