Claudia Berdella

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Midnight Musings: Books, Spider-Man, Idols and Interesting Individuals, Star Wars and more

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Spider-Man Brand New Day Review

As with much of the common sentiment seen online around discussion involving the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I have had a sort of fatigue by and large in its regard ever since the aftermath of Avengers Endgame, with some exception here and there. Sure, I saw the Thunderbolts movie in theaters twice, but that was for less than enjoyable reasoning and irrelevant to today. That said, last night on its second day of running I went to see the latest in its storylines: Spider-Man Brand New Day and found myself with some of the most enjoyment I've had with the superhero genre in years, and plan on seeing it one more time in theaters when I can.

The marketing team did a good job in concealing the actual plot, only showing snippets of scenes which occurred in really the only first half an hour to 45 minutes of the movie and by doing so subverting all expectations of what would happen; especially in regards to the actual character played by Stranger Things star Sadie Sink. In spite of what is probably already out there online, I won't spoil it either at it's part of the fun of going to see the movie and would ruin part of the allure and story which is absolutely worth the watch. As a continuation of the tale that began being spun in Captain America: Civil War, it serves as an excellent chapter in Tom Holland's variation of the web slinger.

With that end I only have a few gripes and one question with it all. Firstly with the character that Sadie Sink played it essentially took the same sort of story already presented in the Black Widow movie and succeeding Hawkeye one-season series on Disney+ as well as the aforementioned and continuing Thunderbolts movie. Secondly with the other gripe, the end post-credit scene shows Ned's Spidey-Tracker app showing the vigilante off-planet once again to seemingly hint at an upcoming Avengers movie, which would hypothetically just restart the whole cycle this movie decided to do away with and remove the more grass-roots Spider-Man being built. Then as for my question, if Ned's muscle-memory kicked in and rejuvenated his mind with their shared secret handshake then why did similar not work with MJ?

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Stupidity & Spiritual Pipe Dreams

“… I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But as much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert and afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking…

The world is so exquisite… that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there’s little good evidence."

—Carl Sagan, Parade Magazine, March 10, 1996

I was listening to (yet another) interview with the artist Nick Cave where the topic of spirituality was discussed in conjunction with the idea of stupidity. Expressing distaste of labelling the irrationality that is posited by those of the more strictly atheistic variety in regards to the conceptualisation of some higher universal power(s). Conceding that by admitting the rational standard, it's hard to argue against that framework, however in that, it misses the mark based on much of what is deemed irrational is so nonetheless and that's part of the metaphysical or abnormal framework; with the universe being so vast and a mystery which we humans only have a limited comprehension of even with and in spite of progress in scientific understanding. Going on then Cave and the host expand that obviously many things in say, Biblical lore, are disputable, but in the more hardline negations attempt to remove any sort of artistry or value in stories and concepts as absurd and implausible as they may be.

“All religions of a spiritual nature are inventions of man. He has created an entire system of gods with nothing more than his own carnal brain. Just because he has an ego and cannot accept it, he has had to externalize it into some great spiritual device which he calls ‘God’...

... but no law states that an externalized god is necessary... He can no longer view himself in two parts, the carnal and the spiritual, but sees them merge into one, and to his abysmal horror, discovers they are only the carnal— AND ALWAYS WERE!"

—Anton LaVey, The Satanic Bible

Even then in negation, from any point would add to these ideas to some extent. Be it an apprehension against the Abrahamic framework or Greco-Roman pantheons, whichever mythology one leans into or away from in such a vehement approach somewhat lends into stemming from or into it all the same— it's not so black and white. From the desecration of Olympian temples or Varg Vikernes torching churches something is taken out of what is disgusted. Now that is obviously not to say these things lend or detract credibility to improvable faiths as opposed to the reality of merely adding to their lineage or human history as a whole. Ultimately what is being said here is that there's value in both positions, even in spiritual pipe dreams and it's too broad of an assumption to make either way around without having to as much question one's own position in arguing for or against.

Being one in the same and as Madonna sung, "living in a material world," is the human and conscious life not a form of the universe experiencing itself? Would it not mean carnality is the highest form of spirituality? Is it not fascinating that this may seem to necessitate near-endless inquiry? How did evolution come to this point of cognitive capacity and why are we the only species to such a degree of development, what's the purpose of it? Even with those questions and by all accounts, gods and whatever sort of divinity as humanity prescribes them likely are in all ways that of projection of personal attributes— desires and dislikes—but even in that doesn't wholly disprove the vast cosmos from having undiscovered and yet to be understood forces. Whether they're divine, conscious or whatever they're around; whether they're interpreted in said metaphysical fashion is in the mind of the beholder given there is no official capital T truth that isn't to an extent debatable, and we only know as much in what we do not know.

All that to say what it seems the Bad Seeds frontman was expressing is similar to that of what is presented in The NeverEnding Story, whereby letting that adolescent imagination die and ceasing to genuinely ask what, how and why in place of a presupposed and more solipsistic form of self-deceit masked as skepticism or total authority is a sad oversight which goes nowhere.

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Front Toward Enemy & Revelation 8; Lucifer's Teardrop & Enantiomorph: Marilyn Manson Pre-Analysis

1. Front Toward Enemy & Revelation 8

In the latest single by Marilyn Manson, Front Toward Enemy, from his upcoming sequel comeback album One Assassination Under God Chapter Two the Antichrist Superstar sings a line which seemingly stands to have some explanation to, as opposed to the rest of the song: "You chiseled open the seventh seal, it's the reason I exist." Hypothetically on some level this could be a harkon back to Holy Wood, as in Biblical literature the Lamb of God is the one who is worthy of opening up seven seals detailed in the Book of Revelation. These seals in order being the onset of the Armageddon, end-times prophecy; where supposedly the four horseman of the apocalypse are unleashed onto the world, each with a respective horse ushering in the destruction of the Earth. Obviously, as with anything presented in the Bible there's a range of interpretation surrounding the specific text at hand. Some view Revelation and these events as having yet to occur while others see this prophecy as an ongoing process symbolically correspondent to eras of historical conflict and human struggle over the centuries. 

In order the seven seals in Revelation are:

1. Out comes a rider on a white horse, who conquers the lands and brings a false peace, 2. A rider on a red horse comes and rescinds that peace then levying war and bloodshed, 3. Riding on a black horse then with shortage of food and ushering economic collapse with widespread famine, 4. Coming on a pale horse and accompanied by Hades with brought about disease and mass mortality, 5. The souls of Christian martyrs and the faithful cry out to God for justice and vindication, 6. Mass geological and cosmic disasters occur, as the sun turns black and moon reddens, 7. A momentary silence lasting around half an hour before seven angels blow into their trumpets to signal further judgement to come

Revelation 8 is when the Lamb of God goes to unlock this seventh and final seal in the list, setting a brief pause in Heaven— the eye of the storm— wherein which seven angels go on to blare their instruments onsetting further cataclysm, in the first half that is. From there as the trumpets are sounding is where the already devastated world is engulfed in the typical image of the end times; in a hailstorm of fire, blood and darkness descending with each ringing out of the horns. Finishing off Revelation 8 is a declaration by an Eagle still somehow soaring overhead, saying, "Woe! Woe! Woe unto the inhabitants of the earth, because of the trumpet blasts about to be sounded by the other three angels!"

Considering the titles of the proceeding yet to be released tracks listed on the album: All The Vilest Things, The Arsonist, None of the Suns and, Lucifer's Teardrop with possible exception to the first single this cycle Exit Wound and ending Enantiomorph; it seems like an interesting musical parallel and not out of the ordinary for Marilyn Manson to do. If One Assassination Under God Chapter One was concocted in Purgatory as he stated, this endless oblivion ending with the Sacrifice of the Mass; then similarly as announced with the release of this latest single that, "I outgrew purgatory and carved these songs into the skin of the world. As you listen I hope it forms a scar that you cannot forget," Chapter 2 may just be Hell unleashed on Earth. 

2. Lucifer's Teardrop

Of these next and still unreleased from the upcoming album and in spite of that fact is the seventh section in the Chapter, this being Lucifer's Teardrop. It's never been shied away from that the God of Fuck has an affinity towards the Angel With The Scabbed Wings, which is where the title of this track obviously derives from. Possibly specific in its point of reference is the Paradise Lost inspired 1847 oil painting of the Light Bearer/Bringer by Alexandre Cabanel called L'Angel Dechu. Depicting the prideful and rebellious Fallen Angel (as the French title translates to) with a smooth and near impeccable physique laying upon rocks, almost at ease whilst simultaneously poised to fire up at any moment before he is cast out of Paradise. Eyes full of wrath and rage, tears swelling silently before he falls to the Earth below.

3. Enantiomorph

Finale of the album from the aesthetic terrorist being the uniquely christened Enantiomorph. According to a 2008 article this word explores a visual concept of, "a pair of asymmetrical images that are mirror images of one another." Merriam-Webster further defines it as, "either a pair of chemical compounds whose molecular structures have a nonsuperimposable mirror-image relationship to another." Pointed out by a listener awaiting the release on a Marilyn Manson fan server on the Discord platform, this idea is intertwined with the idea of chirality; or, like Merriam-Webster's usage of the term, an object and its mirror image that are not identical to one another. This rings a bell to the cover art for the As Sick As The Secrets Within, which was the first released song of this whole two-album cycle, showing Manson holding a shard of a mirror that is characterised by the reflection of his face in his hand. 

[claudia-berdella]

The Stilts Of Slaughter

Walking around the farmers market in humid heat, the former part of the atmosphere of the day being a byproduct of the heavy monsoon last night which was the first of its kind here in Tucson this year, and in quite a number of years to be frank. Other than that extenuating the already blistering as is typical of the Sonoran Desert; it was a clear (for now) and dare I say it, beautiful day. Just short of downtown and right near the University of Arizona's agricultural wings. I'd gone on this Sunday with my grandmother to get some salad material— fresh grown basil, lettuce; hoping to find some tomatoes, which unfortunately only resulted in a bunch which were dried and cracked on this occasion. Oh well, Whole Foods should have a decent selection as backup. 

Also stopping to grab a pack of homemade flour tortillas and then heading back to the car. Amongst the tented vendors and moving bodies about them, a figure emerged. Raising to an astonishing height above the crowd this tattooed young woman in a grey dress that obscured her actual walking limbs was standing above the mass on a a set of metallic stilts. 

While on the way back to the car, just reaching the gravel parking lot when out of the corner of my eye I saw the stilted woman lift up one leg— far higher than should be possible on stilts— as her skin began to shed off, making it clear the extended ligatures were actually part of her whole body. She proceeded to bring down the leg, stomping onto the moving shoppers surrounding her while blades like a mace sprung from each side. The face of this entity, ridden entirely of the skin and hair it had just minutes before, was clearly that of some automation; scanning the panicked crowd as she—it— went on a rampage, stomping on everyone moving to escape. Uniquely the mechanical being left those too stunned to move away unscathed beyond splashes of blood and other bodily fluids spraying them as a result of their mayhem. 

Luckily by that point I'd already reached the car and was sitting in the passenger seat watching this all unfold. Suddenly from the nearby ditch, somewhat wet from the aforementioned storm last night, a troop of velociraptors emerged and attacked the slaughtering stilted being. It took out one of the four swiftly before the other three managed to pin down the mechanical monster, snapping off its extended ligatures before dragging it back down into the ditch from where they came. As quickly as it had began it was over and the local news affiliate helicopter could be seen in the distance before even ambulance sirens for the wounded and dead could be audible.

The Search So Far

Moving on from the events and combining it with my usual middle of the night/early morning routine of going out to grab creamer for my coffee and rides on my bike around town I have unfortunately yet to run into the prehistoric beasts from the other day. So far it's been about a week since the encounter after they swiftly ended the mechanical monster's massacre and I've spent many of these after dark/pre-dawn hours on a mission to find them to no avail; covering around 5 miles so far in thorough investigation of the surrounding area. One would think a trio of velociraptors would be easily spotted as an eyesore, being living dinosaurs claimed extinct as of 65 million years ago; and I say would be given I've seen them with my own two eyes and know they're here now.

On one of these expeditions I ran into a homeless friend of mine named Scott, who I came to know over the long time I spent working at Circle K, and enlisted him for the venture at hand. Naturally I queried to him about it given he is homeless and tends to sleep in the connected system of ditches and I witnessed the velociraptors leave the scene with the carcass of the rampaging automation. Asking if he had seen them himself in his time, he explained that while he has not personally had an encounter that many he knows in the homeless population here in Tucson have. Further inquiring from there as to where these tales specifically tend to occur, to which he detailed the usual encounters, as reported to him, being in between where we were at the moment in Oro Valley up to just past Stone Avenue near the newer Bookmans location and Tucson Mall, with some occasional sightings all the way out in Marana too. All very interesting information, but still to no pot of gold at the end of the rainbows being regularly produced by the monsoons now in full swing here. It feels quite a bit like questing to find Bigfoot; so thankfully I am no longer in Washington state where the harassment of that humanoid, ape-like cryptid is an illegal act; so I can assume the search for living prehistoric beasts of prey is sanctioned somehow. But, like with Bigfoot, actual evidence beyond firsthand accounts such as my own or secondhand testimony via Scott is next to nill. This all leaving me to do as Dr. Ian Malcolm remarked in the first Jurassic Park movie about life, and finding a way…

to be continued with further research and adventure in finding these prehistoric predators.

[claudia-berdella]

1.Elephant

Watching Elephant, a 2003 film from director Gus Van Sant. From what I understand it’s largely based on Columbine, and has a more homoerotic interpretation of Eric Harris & Dylan Klebold’s dynamic. I find I highly probable, or possible that in reality the two engaged in some sort of homosexual exploratory activity and could have been some kind of killer-queer-duo in the end.

So far the film has opened on a shot of lights at what is presumably a football field in front of a grey-green overcast sky– as if a tornado is about to form by the color scheme. Then switching to a drunk parent driving, then pulled over by his choppy-haired bleach-blond son John; then trying to make-up with his child by talking about going hunting together over the weekend. Then cut to a photographer named Eli in a park photographing a punk couple. A tag-team football match in a field before what appears to be a more legitimate practice goes on in the background. Eric arrives at school and calls his brother to come pick up their hungover father, as the principal walks up behind him and sends him to the administrative office for tardiness.

A brunette wearing a beach style necklace then walks into frame, putting on a red lifeguard hoodie; as the camera pans and proceeds to follow him across the campus where he stops to meet a girl, who he’s presumably dating, then walking into class with her after the viewer learns their names: Nathan and Carrie. John receives detention.

Now to a shot of John crying, a girl kisses him on the cheek. She then goes to a Gay/Straight Alliance club meeting. Cut to the meeting where a never-changing youthful discussion about sexuality occurs.

For the majority of this section I was under the impression John was an imitation of Eric Harris, based on the hair. However after stopping in the hall for Eli to take a picture of him, walks out the door where he is greeted by two armed students walking into the building, where their names are revealed: Eric and Alex. A bit on the nose.

Two scenes in a row then with the Dylan Klebold representative, Alex. One of which depicts him going through the kitchen and cafeteria taking notes. When inquired about by a classmate answers in that which can only be known as foreboding by the audience, of she’ll just have to wait and see.

Okay, I get it now. In terms of the focus on the mundane aspects of a school shooting: the elephant in an otherwise banal room. In that and with its focusing on the different perspectives it also likens in to the old parable about three blind men feeling an elephant, all with their own incorrect opinion and personal truth of feeling the large mammal. Personal, not statistical in its portrayal.

Now focusing on three girls, briefly shown as Nathan passed by them in his long walk scene. I think this is showing who will die side by side with who will be the reason why, and who will be negatively seen in the wake of their deadly actions. An interesting style of simultaneous one-shots. “I wanna live to get mine,” one of them remarks regarding a driver’s license as they walk from the cafeteria into a restroom; wherein they perform bulimic activities in side-by-side stalls.

The Eric Harris caricature, succinctly named Eric, enters the scene as Alex/Dylan plays Beethoven on his piano. The Elephant in the room here clear as day, in that it’s a deconstruction of the idea music was to blame for Columbine. He comes in through some basement window and proceeds to hop on a bed, open a laptop computer and begin playing a Doom imitation. About half an hour left in the film now. Beethoven ceases and Alex joins Eric on a couch, taking the computer into his own jurisdiction and goes to a website selling guns. Then to a scene at night, storming while the camera slowly gives an overview of the room and two future perpetrators sleep. Waking up for a breakfast of pancakes, then ditching school to await the arrival of guns ordered two scenes prior; waiting in the living room watching a documentary on Nazi Germany until they do. Getting them, the narrator on TV flatly asks, “Peace, did Hitler say?” as they tore into the packaging of their newly purchased automatic weaponry. They then proceed to Alex’s garage where they practice shooting at a pile of accumulated fire wood there.

Focus changes once again to a face shown prior but now given the name Michelle wearing a pinkish/red sweater half walking half jogging down the hall, passing by Eli as he snaps his pictures of John. She makes her way to the library where she signs in and begins work reshelving volumes. To Dylan once more, this time showering. Eric then joins and one comments, “I never kissed anybody,” and the two proceed to do just that under the running water. Cutting then to both dressed, tying their shoes and going over a map spliced with them setting up explosives in the cafeteria and moments yet to occur in the near future.

“Most importantly, have fun man,” Alex tells Eric. A slient drive with in a car with a cracked front window as they go to their educational institution; where they encounter John on their way into the campus buildings. Following John then as he runs to warn others…

I stopped notation for the culmination of the event as the two conducted their sociopathic massacre. Eric ranting to the principal about actually listening to struggling, troubled kids, then shooting him numerous times in the back, after letting him run for personal amusement. Alex entering the bathroom with the three girls and killing them. Eventually meeting up with Alex again for a brief interaction with his partner in crime, who then shoots Eric too whilst discussing their kill count. Alex proceeds to the kitchen where he finds and corners Nathan and Carrie in the freezer, listlessly– albeit with a hint of personal bemusement– recites eenie meenie meine moe while waving the automatic rifle between the two, movie cutting back to the overcast grey-green sky where it began as he gets to the end, with no clear indication of who he shot next: just one or both? Himself too? The Elephant in the room.

Researching a bit and I learn that Gus Van Sants presentation of events was heavily inspired– as well as taking its title from– a 1989 BBC short film by Alan Clark, fittingly about murder as well. It depicts numerous, senseless acts of murder where rhyme and reason are stripped away. In a way it’s very Lynchian as is its imitation by Sant in their emphasis on long, uncut scenes following a character: allowing for the viewer to simply take it in and sit with, well: the elephant in the room.

2. Zero Day

Starting Zero Day, an adaptation of the Columbine Massacre which came out in 2002, a year prior to Elephant. So far the movie has more of a found footage feel to it; seemingly imitating the real home videos created by Eric & Dylan. Opening with almost 1to1 physical embodiments of the class of ‘99 killers and introducing them as Calvin and Andre. In this it shows a birthday party for a five year old Calvin, sitting rather unamused and looking quite uncomfortable, it seems he’s portrayed in what would be today phrased as an ‘autistic’ way. Main introduction to the two however comes in a few minutes after these opening credits where the two and a friend set up their camera in front of their school, where Calvin gives a standard mockery of the whole, “best years of our lives” trope so often repeated by adults in regards to the teenage experience.

At this point it would seem Calvin has a plan, whether Andre knows and is in on it beyond his scheming is unknown to the viewer. With direct allusion to real statements made by and written in the Diaries of Eric & Dylan, it’s a lot more on the nose about the coming violent event than Elephant; even with something like Alex taking notes in the cafeteria and making a reference only he and audience would understand.

Footage cuts between dates and old-school teenage debauchery: lighting illegal fireworks at a lake on the 4th of July and using long since expired eggs to throw at a house in the middle of the night on Andre’s birthday; using a newly gifted camera to capture the moment. More redoing of the Columbine home movies; now confirming Andre knows the plan as he explains the plan for posthumous uncovering of their ‘tell-all’ footage. Opening a space in a nearby bank so as to prevent pre-mortem discovery.

Calvin gets his bottom bracket of braces removed. Mundane spliced into what is generally viewed as insane.

Going through Andre’s fathers’ gun collection which according to Andre, was used for hunting. He explains that in spite of being out of the room by his dad’s own design when he would go to grab the mobile artillery, he’s known where both safe and key where located since the 5th grade and was merely humoring his parent thereafter. Andre then constructs one of the rifles after sorting through the other guns.

July turns into August, showing now Calvin exploring a cemetery with a girl named Rachel; who comments that she views Andre as violent and weird– and from what can be gathered the feeling of dislike between the two is quite mutual– having, “a lot of anger” unresolved that makes her uncomfortable. Calvin asks her about how she perceives their dynamic to which she says she views Andre as the more dominant and in charge of the two. She then takes the camera and asks Calvin as to why he films everything with no clear-cut answer given.

Then to a bit where Andre and Calvin are constructing untested pipe bombs, espousing detailed instructions on how to and the efficiency in certain techniques; much pulled directly from the online presence of Eric Harris. Cut to Calvin musing on the difference between mere suicide, which he notes while thousands do and in that he’s no different: what makes his case exceptional is his choice is his, “way of the samurai,” addition to it.

On another date the two discuss Andre’s cousin Chris and using him as an unbeknownst “patsy” to steal guns from for their “Zero Day” plan. Going out with an unsuspecting Chris to practice shooting; footage of which again harkening back to that taken by the real-life perpetrators in Littleton, Colorado. When back at his cousin’s place they inquire to him, in what to most would seem typical youthful morbid curiosity, which gun would be most optimal in use to kill a person, to which Chris responds that any would really do the trick.

Camping with Calvin’s family and a brief moment of joking around with his younger brother.

August becomes early September and Andre recites their plan, explaining why they have no set date except to wait until the temperature outside reaches exactly zero degrees fahrenheit; as it would be announced on the radio as the two wake up one morning. Going over their, “invasion plan,” then with a slide show on an old box computer, meant as layout for their own killing spree and outline for others to imitate. Eric expresses anticipation in a video on his own. Later on in the course of months the two go to a poetry reading at night, where Calvin gets on the stage in a military-style outfit and recites his own piece. Comparing himself to a bullet and the Third Reich, ending the limerick with, “and it’s a wasted life.” Getting offstage they heckle the next act and leave as Andre expresses annoyance and dramatically emphasizes that Calvin could have caused major social and personal repercussions from his reading being so topical.

September suddenly to New Years Eve and clearly nothing came of the reading. Cut then to January 10, where Calvin explains while the temperature had in fact reached zero their plan was forcefully postponed on account of Andre catching a stomach virus. Calvin then explains that while Andre has an ideal of some interschool/interstate spree after their own school is shot up, he at least knows he will be coming back out of the school in a body bag. Back at the bank they discuss leaving a trail to their box of video tapes, talking about the superficial blame which will undoubtedly be attributed to various influences from music to movies, which Calvin asserts as wrong because the idea is their own.

January then cuts to April where the two have a bonfire. Burning their books, video games and movies so as to emphasize that the idea was truly of their own scheming. Calvin reading a kindhearted note Andre saved from a girl in the 8th grade, to his dismay. In burning all their shit they realize now they ‘have to’ act quickly. Then they talk about prom, Andre detailing his disdain of Rachel. Banal teenage drama. Turning then to the topic of who was leader in the coming escapade, lightly mocking the notion.

In a limo all of a sudden with a person named Josh filming, picking Calvin and Rachel up. Andre not present as he exclaimed a scene prior he wouldn’t stoop so low. Young adults enthusiastic with menial adolescent babble. Then showing Andre, filmed by his dad on the camera he bought his son for his birthday at the beginning of the movie, surprising him at work then riding in the car with him while expressing pride in him as they make a final pizza delivery, heading home after. Back to the limo less around an hour later, post-prom and the party more rowdy than before– likely a bit intoxicated. Calvin has the driver take him to Andre’s to be dropped off.

“We acted alone,” Calvin emphasized once again. An hour after arriving to Andre’s the two talk of how it was all an act of their own volition and even if they had been discovered earlier, would have done it eventually nonetheless. “Could you blame them for not noticing?” whilst pinning the responsibility on the world around them for molding them into doing the soon to commence shooting; relating it to a duel like in the old days, a way to squash beef. Relating themselves as deities in human form for their ability to choose life and death of their classmates, and their whole point in the act was, “respect and love for fellow man,” acknowledging the seeming contradiction in their perpetration and doing away with it being to teach people to value life. They then finally go back to Chris’ house to steal the weaponry, only slightly complicated by a party across the street; leaving the clueless cousin a note they had merely borrowed the guns to use in a home movie.

Turn to May first, the morning after, and they park in the school lot preparing their firearms. Expressing nervousness and debating who gets/wants what gun, and how instrumental each other were to the act. They then exit the vehicle, leaving the camera rolling on the dashboard as they make their way into the school.

From there it shows black and white security camera footage as 911 calls are overlayed over the chaos unfolding. Throughout the bloody ordeal the operator on a phone left on attempts to make herself audible to Andre, whose name she learned from someone yelling it, repeatedly attempting to reason to unhearing ears. Describing what she heard in the room– a library– from the landline audio until the two simultaneously blow their brains out. The film then cuts to 9 days after their attack, with some other adolescents sneaking onto the campus grounds where crosses had been erected to the dead youth, including Calvin and Andre. Already vandalized, the troupe proceeds to light them on fire, drive away and the movie ends.

3. Collected Considerations

I was discussing with a friend once regarding the epidemic of school shootings, stating I personally doubt such events would cease anytime soon– more likely it is that they will evolve into another form. The school shooter, as Calvin noted and Shane Bugbee has explained to me evolved out of strings of suicides which would start with one kid, then run through a school and then infect another nearby. Such base never yet going away either, given the many perpetrators in such events in the end of their murderous moment take themselves out.

Both films explore the mundane aspect of the murders, even with the central reference point of Columbine, which in of itself is banal. As a result of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold it’s an eyesore, whereas had the events of April 20, 1999 not occurred, it would be passed by like any other educational institution is on the road.

In a bit of irony to it all, like Calvin and Andre relating themselves to deities and Eric Harris’ shirt on the day of the massacre reading, “Natural Selection,” none of it would seem so. Harkoning back to the 1989 inspiration for the 2003 Elephant adaptation, what’s presented is senseless and without meaning beyond likenability to the three blind men feeling around. None of it is done over food, shelter or any resources beyond a vague motif of ‘revenge’. Certainly, other species such as Dolphins engage in the activity of killing for sport. The fittest blowing their brains out with their victims; only achieving their goal posthumously in getting on the cover of Time magazine. Another case to be gawked at, grappled with and grabbed onto with mortal fascination and/or imitation.

A contrasting view to the violence depicted in these films, and mundane surrounding them all, I think of Gregg Araki’s Teenage Apocalypse Trilogy. Namely, the second installment The Doom Generation. Portraying in this movie a wild ride of a night three adolescents share, going through a ringer of violence and bisexual exploration, which culminates in Jamie Duval’s character having his penis chopped off by a gang of Neo Nazis, dying from shock and blood loss as the leader of the group proceeds to rape Rose McGowan’s character… They then in turn get killed and Rose escapes outside with the other still-alive young adult, driving off as if nothing ever happened. She lights a cigarette, a minor but constant dissociative self-medication throughout the movie, beginning and ending with said action so simple and everyday. The difference in nihilistic violence portrayed by Araki in his films is that while senseless, is often enacted upon the youth by older forces; while in Zero Day, Elephant and Columbine the gore is caused by the youth brutalizing the youth.

The full answer however, is there is none as I told my friend once. It’s, as Gus Van Sant and his predecessor implored: an elephant in the mundane malaise.

[claudia-berdella]

Exit Wound Review

New Zealand, the lucky bastards in the future time zone position of the Earth's rotation making it a day ahead of those in the Western hemisphere; got a new Marilyn Manson track off the upcoming One Assassination Under God Chapter 2 album. Presumably, tomorrow where for us over here will get the track as well. Nonetheless what I heard from the track entitled Exit Wound is a wonderful tune, far more groovy than anything off of Chapter 1, which includes its seeming predecessor Sacreligious where it takes to a similar sound as the delivery of the line, "and all of your ghosts are blind." With that it's a continuation of what some have deemed as Eat Me Drink Me fully realized, or in my personal opinion after listening to the gracious international uploaders sharing the track, is structurally reminiscent of the collaboration with Emigrate on the song Hypothetical mixed with the aforementioned predecessor atop an outtake from The Golden Age of Grotesque era. Continuing with the hollow vocal effects which bring to mind those heard on the title track of Mechanical Animals, with added in screams and growling similar to Born Villain songs or the b-side song Front Toward Enemy, which appears to be listed now on Chapter 2 as the third on its list. Altogether continuing with the atmosphere solidified on the prior chapter's title track and expanding into this grand-narrative of One Assassin-Nation Under God as Manson deep-diver Forever Dirt explored in a reaction to that song. Lyrically sharp as ever with lines like, "Ballerina bayonets, slice us up with pirouettes/ Mouth is shut on hand grenade," and, "Turn off the spotlight, whose god will you be?/ Will they want you if your hands are clean?/ Can't stop the bleeding, I'm not healing soon/ You shot the world, I am the exit wound…" it's far more aggressive than the majority of releases on Chapter 1, continuing in the harshness of Front Toward Enemy, but with more of a groove to it. All that to say it's an excellent example of Manson's musical accumulation.

[claudia-berdella]

coffee II

Coffee stained on the back of my hand

Covering skin, expressing cracks and follicles

Brown-black over pale; a better textured smell.

Coffee: invigorating, uplifting entity—

French press delicacy, Colombian serentity

Heart-beating ease of sleep

Skip-step, racing wide awake;

steamy, caged insanity— hot creamy, controlled calamity

Alleviating pet-peeves, annoying discrepancies 

Up-right, so I can write; long after day shifts into moonlight, pleasurable blue nights

Like a cold-cheap milkshake-looking mixture,

midnight concoction before a quick weed-breather 

Tired survival, fresh blissfully evoked revival

Creative tool, albeit addictive in half rule

Certain stimulation, ingenious mental captivating

Anytime, anywhere: coffee is nearly always there

Delicious drink, bitterfully filling taste

Memories enduring from every small association,

happy to haunting all in a sip then gone away at once—

awry and alright…

[claudia-berdella]

coffee II

Coffee stained on the back of my hand

Covering skin, expressing cracks and follicles

Brown-black over pale; a better textured smell.

Coffee: invigorating, uplifting entity—

French press delicacy, Colombian serentity

Heart-beating ease of sleep

Skip-step, racing wide awake;

steamy, caged insanity— hot creamy, controlled calamity

Alleviating pet-peeves, annoying discrepancies 

Up-right, so I can write; long after day shifts into moonlight, pleasurable blue nights

Like a cold-cheap milkshake-looking mixture,

midnight concoction before a quick weed-breather 

Tired survival, fresh blissfully evoked revival

Creative tool, albeit addictive in half rule

Certain stimulation, ingenious mental captivating

Anytime, anywhere: coffee is nearly always there

Delicious drink, bitterfully filling taste

Memories enduring from every small association,

happy to haunting all in a sip then gone away at once—

awry and alright…

[claudia-berdella]

coffee II

Coffee stained on the back of my hand

Covering skin, expressing cracks and follicles

Brown-black over pale; a better textured smell.

Coffee: invigorating, uplifting entity—

French press delicacy, Colombian serentity

Heart-beating ease of sleep

Skip-step, racing wide awake;

steamy, caged insanity— hot creamy, controlled calamity

Alleviating pet-peeves, annoying discrepancies 

Up-right, so I can write; long after day shifts into moonlight, pleasurable blue nights

Like a cold-cheap milkshake-looking mixture,

midnight concoction before a quick weed-breather 

Tired survival, fresh blissfully evoked revival

Creative tool, albeit addictive in half rule

Certain stimulation, ingenious mental captivating

Anytime, anywhere: coffee is nearly always there

Delicious drink, bitterfully filling taste

Memories enduring from every small association,

happy to haunting all in a sip then gone away at once—

awry and alright…

[claudia-berdella]

Mechanical Memory

“The machines remember, so we don’t have to”. —Mark Fisher, i filmed it so i didn’t have to remember it

Denoting the documentation of nostalgia in digital device, so as to avoid personally committing the moment to full memory, hazy and unreliable as such can be, albeit. Documenting to dissociate but carry the receipts. Freeze frame on failure and memorializing mistakes; regret made into a fetish, point of perverted personal pride. 

Why?

All too common is it claimed by one that they wish they could just forget about all the terrible, banal bullshit which makes life so unpleasant. But without that where would growth be? Fire torches down the meadow to regrow into a dense forest just as the nearby volcano blows its top and unleashes its beam of heat destroy the area recently reborn. Remains for nature to reclaim, in our human context/ perceived prescription. 

Trauma and related psychology suggests the memory has an incredible depth and what can [re]surface with enough digging can be astounding in accuracy— or disgraceful distortions; like why the diagnosis of Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) required rebranding after manipulative malpractice occurred in said area, becoming the now odd diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (or DID). Nonetheless memory and the neuroplastic recall of the brain can be and is incredible; what isn’t truly remembered is seemingly scarce. Even Alzheimer’s and dementia patients have instances wherein they recall everything in due detail, lucid and momentary as it may be. Surely, under the proper conditions even the pain a woman may in childbirth experience but subsequently forgets from its intensity, could be recounted. 

Intensely documented is such an occasion, typically. Pictures and videos galore. All that would be left is a matter of manipulating the senses so as to induce the memory in detail— somewhat similar to the way EMDR therapy operates— by recreating the settings; so to say. It’s known certain sound frequencies of the sub-bass variety with the propensity to elucidate a sense of unease, unknown fear upon the beings of listening ears. Scent can quickly bring one to reminisce; paired with sight and sound the physical interpretation of information can be uniquely manipulated. 

Forgetting as a fetish however, is somewhat of a faith based in/on unresolved fear. The grass is always greener, is a platitude— true— however it is also a realistic rumination; but, the only thing way out is from the frying pan and through the fire… with a wet towel around the top of the head. What way through, differs but in every so slight degrees; regardless of lived extreme— life is but a banal dream. 

Mind flowing as age goes on and more is embedded: memorized and mended. It’s hard to fully forget before one is dead. 

None of this however answers the question, why document, if not to remember? Is it as simply complicated as being so addicted to the blue light of the phone screen, that it’s the chosen consensus reality? Obviously, there’s much oversight and overestimating the qualities, capacity and personal understanding of human memory; it’s flimsy and we are not elephants. While photographic memory seems so in select cases, it is still speculative in said examples. 

Which brings back around to the actual impulse to document, if it can be called an impulse. Arguably it is, as much as stepping out to smoke a cigarette is to some. In given connotation, the concept of documenting so as to let the machines remember for us, has an almost Gnostic lacing with such a negation of worldly sufferings. Stemming as aforementioned, from such fears and ills; and a lust for them not to cause so much inner shame. If such is the case, why then tape it in 4k?

Disconnected recollection, why documented evidence of deeds. In hindsight wished unseen, undone. Regret doesn’t make much sense without corrected course of action or continued drudging through the mud. Machines don’t seem to remember so we don’t in such instances even; they’re storage bins for aided reference in regards to  memory. Overactive imagination paired with erratic reminiscence. 

An unanswerable question overall, but it’s not one asked in the first place. 

[claudia-berdella]

gray gaeity

Drinking gin, it’s not a binge;

Stoned on survival, thriving cordial

Broke benevolence and intoxicating—

Choking in a haze of incense,

Gray gaeity in manic sanity

Personal pariah, protective precognition;

Dopeless eloped, sober seratonine;

Determined isolation, dreaded lonesome

Cigarette sex, nicotine like an alcoholic utter—

lively slow suicide; lesser lies love vice

Verse tonic and a pounding brain, typhonic

Delightful diabolical symphony, engrossing egress

[claudia-berdella]

Sedition & Stockholm Syndrome: Analysis of Burmese Days Chapter 13

The thirteenth chapter of George Orwell’s 1934 work Burmese Days is a whirlwind in cases of power dynamics; as well as subsequent masks and manipulation. 

Entering the chapter is once again a meeting between English Flory and the Burmese native, Doctor Veraswami. In their meeting the Dr. reveals he has figured out more regarding the looming conspiracy towards him on the part of the local magistrate U Po Kyin’s vying for election to the European Club, climbing up the ladder through sewing literal sedition to levy attacks at the Dr., supposedly on the behalf of the Dr. 

Once again the analogy of crocodiles striking at the weakest spot is rephrased. Reformed to the new light of Flory siding with Versawami in opposition to the magistrate as being an English Oriental would technically supersede the current amassed authority of U Po Kyin in general conventionality; however, since the initial dialogue regarding the crocodile Flory gained what would seem to be a new Achilles Heel with her arrival to India from Paris and his meeting of Elizabeth. 

That arrival being the catalyst for the rest of the chapter, and rationale behind choosing the doctor even if the convention is to let such petty Native business happen regardless as it served to only increase the idea of needing the control English Oriental’s had. 

“He knew why. It was because Elizabeth, by coming into his life, had so changed it and renewed it that all the dirty, miserable years might never have passed. Her presence has changed the whole orbit of his mind. She had brought him back to the air of England…”

While a break from English convention on behalf of a native, an act where at the moment Elizabeth’s character would seemingly frown towards; the purpose is as strange as it would seem exactly for that, though ultimately a seeming nostalgia in her as a mirroring muse. 

For so many years, as stated, while not void of companionship (as showcased fully later in the chapter), Flory’s day-to-day had been miserable; a listless existence of drinking and smoking and going about his duties, waiting to return to England… During the course of the story, he even almost makes it even for just a brief period, only to be called back to Burma. Finding himself, somehow, thankful to be back rather than his country of birth. 

The relation between Master & Servant has historically been one of an inherently dubious quality, given the blatant implication of one authority subjecting another to its own bends. A mundane extreme throughout time of slaves and other such synonyms for servitude— even Thomas Jefferson had at least one of them as a concubine, fathering a bastard child with a slave being the way we know in his case; it wasn’t uncommon. 

Ma Hla May worked as servant to Flory for a vast majority of his time in Burma leading up to the arrival of Elizabeth. Detailed in prior chapters of the book, the relationship between Flory and Ma Hla is innately speculative and Orwell makes no secret the dynamic of their sensual busines; the implication in it began as a form of rape and to an extent remained so even though over time she may have seemingly became attached. Or as it would seem their case could have been somewhat of a mutually inclusive hypnosis within her Stockholm Syndrome…

All cards of which shifted against her favor with Flory’s eyes darting to Elizabeth, as opposed to her conventional comfort. Or, as repeatedly stated as his ideation a few times within the chapter, the decent life that late he once lead. 

Attempting more restraint regarding his whiskey and tobacco driven habits, the listlessly living he believed, and did indeed on some level have albeit, at least only of late. Essentially, vice literally vulgar to the veins slowed down in relation to what Carl Jung pointed out regarding muses as a mirror-style conduit for what one wants to see in their reflection. 

Flory’s home is Burma, India. Though he desires some part of England, which he seems to perceive Elizabeth as portraying. The comforting capacity that could be there in companionship that seems familiar and similar and the nostalgia she brings to him, as well as a probable procreative impulse for continued lineage and conventional courtship. 

Similarly to cutting back on tobacco and alcohol in the presence of Elizabeth, Flory disregards Ma Hla May all the same. Or at least, initially attempts to. Having, “ruined her,” by her own as well as general cultural standards, and apparent gained attachment, during the week of her initial expulsion sent a mere message demanding a payment of 50 rupees, though it was disregarded. 

Going back to Flory’s after a week, Ma Hla May’s character appears to him at his arrival back to his abode proceeding his meeting with Doctor Versawami. 

Disheveled, plastered in a heavy white mask of makeup on her face she pleaded for a pity she seemed to know wouldn’t be given, even if felt. Wailing on the floor, Flory in his mind acknowledges her pain is his doing, however given the dynamic of power in the hypothetical late lead life it’s next to nothing, until eventually readjusting herself and in solemn-bitterness marched down the path away from the home. 

Dynamic encapsulated by Flory as she leaves, in his understanding that, “It was true, he had robbed her of her youth…” but with his power, concern turns back to his prior pondering. The solipsistic misery wallowing:

“Where is the life that late led I?”

“Late-lead,” as if dead before it ever left the head…

[claudia-berdella]

I.1.2 Neurotic Nihilism— Cycles, Cynicism & Fear

Instinctive drift is when an animal under the presupposition of domestication does something in tune with its innate imperatives, typically to our dismay. Similarly, people have a tendency to get stuck in a rut; they mean to do something different [or not, often people are content in their ruts even if dissatisfied, masochistically speaking], but make all the moves made previously to wind up in the same spot. Or they have a productive loop and upon disruption, the idea of its failure, fall into a reductive one. Neurotic Nihilism stems from a flow that seemed productive, but in practice resulted into total disarray. Recognizing the pitfalls underlying and obligations untended to under that model of thought, action and interpretation was not the ideal but an isolating, counterintuitive tendency. 

In absurdist fashion, Neurotic Nihilism’s self-appointed point, is as a result; a recognition, negation, acceptance, and adaptation to any [cycle] I am in, should I find myself in, or have been in. 

While I am the Neurotic Nihilist and case study of Neurotic Nihilism, it’s an impersonal observation in concept as well. Ideas outlined, enacted or characterized using the term are done so in primarily for my own understanding through such characterizations. Such philosophical, biopsychosocial data I have at grasp [as well as presently unknown, and unconsidered] is for personal introspection and external alliteration. Crab Culture or Ego Death as poignant examples. 

Neurotic Nihilism is Mundane Extremes in action and afterthought. 

***

Cycles exist, naturally or imposed in most areas of life. Ranging from that of abuse, insistences on not repeating past actions— habits that never seem to die, seasons, menstruation, visibility of the moon, relationships, elections, etc. Things happen in procession. 

Neuroticism results from cycles as it pertains to reaction to conscious stagnation in most negatively viewed situations. Much of it is self-fulfilling prophecy; the expected happens as a result of doing everything expected and that would cause the expected to occur. On the flip of that coin is when the enriching cycle gets disrupted, it can become Neurotic if left willfully ignorant to the pitfall, or obsessing on it solipsistically. Times change. What worked once might not always. Assimilation is easy, though in its own right Neurotic. Adaptation isn’t easy or instantaneous. Both roads being the bottom line in any cyclical system, isn’t it pointless? Reductively and depressingly, yes. 

***

Being an active, ongoing experiment of existential experience, the scope is (admittedly[?]) limited to the present moment and past— depressive, maniacal, happy or weak— as understanding and their catalyst roles in those actions and thoughts. There is no end in current sight, as I see no point in actually dying. Pointless as living is, there is a comedy in that there is no point in dying. That no point in dying is currently the irrelevant as the point is to not want to. What is so wrong in any given singular moment? A lot could be, emphasis on COULD be, but nonetheless I am alive. Still breathing on my own. Pointless as it is, I’d rather have fun in and with the Neuroticism rather than immobile. 

***

I know my mind can flip on a dime without a moment of notice, but in that it’s interesting in of itself. Depressively grandiose and in that insignificant and vulnerable. Even shitty the combinations of experience is interesting. 

***

Thus far, such is theory in spoon-by-spoon conception. Theory in theory for action for better theory inspiring more and better action. 

I am, in all instances now, my own battery; and accordingly. I have to learn not to burn myself out; and not accidentally move that battery into a shared port. Though, in such an unlikely [and frankly unwanted] scenario, I think I have improved discernment over that unstable sort of attachment streak. What the correct balance constitutes, I am unsure overall. 

Crab Culture, while I think a good analysis, is incredibly cynical in its asocial streak. Learned tendency it might be, it’s an illogical and counterintuitive detriment in its loop. 

***

“…why had he always feared that mysterious entity of consciousness within others?” asked Ayn Rand in The Fountainhead. Broken Needle by Marilyn Manson is a song I feel that encapsulates this. It is both a mirror and projection. Saying it’s an innate fear of others’ brain-space would only be half true. 

Journalistically I mine people. I want to understand them. In understanding them I understand myself better. With that, I get a mirror. The fear isn’t of the conscious entity, that’s actually the fascinating part; the fear is of connection to that unpredictable Dæmon. 

I only understand Broken Needle in that [aside from never playing you again, that is clear] I dig into grooves with that journalistic impulse, or as it more often seems in that I get my grooves dug into more. Likely both. 

I particularly understand putting people away. I can understand naturally growing separate, not psychic vampirism. That people feed off each others energy can be useful, but only optimal when not singular. 

The reason I take an issue to connection is that in the understanding of the other person, there is a mirror that is found. Carl Jung referred to muses as conduits to our own unconscious rightly, we like what we see in that conduit so we want it to stay. 

Stay. 

Stay. 

Stay stagnant. 

Staying is stagnation. 

Playing is only a game for so long. Getting attached to the conduit, is on me, or whoever does. While conduits can empathize or be  mutual, it is still a mirror. If you stare at yourself in the mirror too long, the image distorts. Narcissus is only partial; disgust for the distortion is simultaneously at work. People feed off each other, as such influence occurs. Eventually, the reflection is not one that’s yours, or your ideal. So, you close the circuit. Break the mirror. It could be mutual, one-sided, bitter, whathaveyou— it’s Personal choice at the end of the day. 

I like attachment. For that reason I hate it. Attachment is attachment. Like a limb, it’s a useful part of my person. My person. Me. Me, mirror. I don’t like losing things I’m attached to, though I accept that reality as stupid as it can be. Death I’m okay with; maybe because the finality of it. If they’re dead, I no longer have to worry. When they’re alive, I think of them for better or worse. Depending on the moment. 

Maybe it’s not a total mirror, as it’s attachment to people filling in the gaps. Puzzle-pieces-mirror sort of thing maybe. Though, in that it’s not so vain as I’ve subtly made it out to seem; it’s attachment to the person; and their qualities because they do differ. The fear is the mysterious entity will no longer find intrigue in yours, no longer be amused or threatened by it; all the while still finding the conduit amusing or threatening and as a result, intriguing. An outlet to plug into. I don’t get attached to people I don’t think it would have any ‘meaning’ or longevity to. Accordingly, I am my own cynical creation. Having standards is human, what is not is isolation imposed without outlet. Such is self-made and perpetuated however; I choose not to interact with people out of fear of having my grooves filled then harshly ripped out of. Grooves previously unknown usually. Though, I know now I wouldn’t let such occur again, at least in theory. Applicably, I’d rather not test such. I want to test from what I have now, while I can. Myself, while not separated from people solipsistically as a disembodied intuition of it all…

[claudia-berdella]

Tune In, Drop Out: How?

Destination reached too soon

Only to be gone as to lose

End in rear, unable to veer

Can’t even see if it’s possible here. 

Pray, pity, pleasure

love, laugh, love

Stagnate, serenade, shoot

Unison stomping boots

all to plead, means to loot

Utilitarian is a fetish; application a small dish

Moments of Might

Fawn, not right or flight

if it could only be a last night

[claudia-berdella]

What About Hope? An interview with Some Kid You Don’t Know

At a small venue known as the Groundworks in Tucson, Arizona on December 16,2025 hosted a night of musical numbers of a variety of acts from folk punk to grungy protests. Playing the bill an artist known currently Some Kid You Don’t Know with a set of unique original sonic serenades and a few covers from the likes of the Pixies, among others not to be named (the room promised).

Who are you, and what do you do exactly? 

Hi, my name is Emanuel Romero. I'm also known as Some Kid You Don't Know, or formerly in the band The Votes. 

You played a lot of songs: you played one that I found really interesting. I think it was called Song for the Sadists? 

Song for Guilty Sadists.

What exactly is that about?

Well, from my understanding, it's a song about exactly kind of what the song title is kind of describing, of being guilty for playing a sadist role in bed.

So, the guilt is being the sadist?  Yes. At least I believe so. That's how I take the song. That's how I always perform it, I guess. To connect it more to myself, I'm quite afraid to hurt people both emotionally and physically, especially when it comes to a romantic relationship kind of setting. So, especially in bed, it'd be a struggle for me to take on a sadist role, even if that's the kind of relationship that I have agreed to with my partner.

What is fear exactly? 

Just, I guess, I will admit that I think part of this comes out of being, for lack of better words, a people pleaser.

When it comes to relationship, whether it be friendship, romantic, role models, stuff like that, I really want to prove myself and just kind of avoid any wrongdoing. When it comes to someone I like or have some kind of a relationship with, that's why I perform Song for Guilty Sadists.

The opposite of fear would be hope. What do you think of hope? 

Hope? I think that definition has definitely changed for me. In my years of performing songs, I have definitely performed hopeful songs. 

I think that hope has definitely changed in recent years as I've grown older. As I started performing music in high school, I think the hope was that all my hopes and dreams, in this case, specifically regarding music, would have turned out. And within that time, I have been kicked out of the band, kind of spent a year out of music, not by necessarily a choice, but more inability to and trying to, and more in that time trying to figure out what I'm going to do with my life.

And right now, that is the hope. Being able to figure out what I'm going to do in my life, I guess, if that makes sense.

Do you think hope is necessary? Or is it a bit of a delusion that keeps someone going until they get where they want to be? 

I think that depends— it depends how people want to use their own hope. I truly believe that everyone has hope in them, even if they can't find it at the time. I think hope can be quite negative when it's an unhealthy kind of a thing, I guess. Maybe one that I would be able to relate to is an obsession with hope. I have this whole plan on one specific thing, and that's the only thing I focus on. And it just keeps getting out of reach, and I don't take the time to just stop and look around and just take in the information needed to assess the situation and assess, is this worth it? I think, at least with the people that I've met in my life, that is a big contrast that people struggle with, whether it be in a positive sense or in a negative sense.

So, what do you hope for?  Well, I guess right now, I really just hope that things will work out for not anything specific. Whether it be my music, whether it be my relationship with my friends and family, whether it be my own career paths. That's what I'm hoping for, just for it to work out in some way.  Thank you, is there any way that you can be found anywhere? 

Yes, currently my socials, it's only my private Instagram, but it is at somekidwhosnothacked— though that may change soon.

End of Interview.

[claudia-berdella]

Decay In The Plot

Coagulate

Stuck up, drop out

Cellar of data—

Decay on full-frontal display,

What’s in a name?

Rising up, tearing down;

right as whatever the goal,

trips in an inevitable plot-hole.

No one actually wants a clown

Crabbily holding one down

Rejecting projection

Internal imperfection