Flashes of rage

The strangest things set it off. I have that nervous energy running through my body. I'm still feeling it now. I roll my shoulders and neck around. I stretch my elbows and fingers. Pressing on my eyes and brow with the heels of my hands helps squeeze the images out of my head.

"Just stop it, stop it, stop it...stop it.", I tell myself. I hate this feeling and I wish it would just stop. Images have significantly decreased, but they still come.

I'm calming now, but it's still there. In....hold it....and out.

I was reading a simple Onion article today. It was pretty funny. In fact, the whole time I'm reading it, I'm thinking about sending it to Rob and Melissa, two Wii-loving friends. In case you don't take the time to actually read it, essentially, it's making fun of the whole debate about how video games shouldn't be so violent cause that teaches our children to be violent in real life. However, they translate that to the Wii system, that is notorious for creating the cutest, most lovable characters you could imagine.

It's interesting how the thought progression goes. I'm reading the article talking about sissy fights on playgrounds and scurmishes ending in tears. This flashes back to my own playground days. For some reason I got into a lot of fights in middle school. I don't know if it was because of being the new kid or what. I'm not really an instigator or anything. Well, ok, now I am a bit, but not then. Then, I was really shy and mostly kept to myself.

I remembered about this one time when this douche bag Frank Giordano, this rich kid that probably didn't get any love at home or something, punched me in the face on the playground. When we were both sent to the vice principal's office, I started crying when I had to tell the story, and then Frank made fun of me later for it. (also, later this same kid stole my Arrested Development tape...god I hated that kid).

In school I never did anything to retaliate against any of the bullies, but I sure did have fantasies about it. I suppose this is where the progression went next.

I flash forward a bit through my life to last December (2006) when I got jumped and mugged by two guys a block away from my apartment in Philly. I'm walking down the street, texting my girlfriend, and these two kids were walking toward me, I supposed just passing me on the block. Instead, the dark street got darker and I was in a down jacket caccoon. My reaction was to defend myself. Long story short, they got the best of me, my cell phone, and $7 cash.

The police never booked anyone, even though I found a letter that one of them dropped with his full name, birthdate, and social security number on it. Apparently, I couldn't make a positive ID matching a face in the dark to his driver's license photo. Not to mention, I wasn't murdered and that's now really the only business the Philadelphia Police Department is in.

For months after this incident, I had a lot of flashbacks to that night. I would have long flashes I couldn't get out of, and they would happen quite frequently. The flashbacks started out as a strict memory, and turned into various scenarios of me getting the better of them. All were ultra-violent. Most times they ended up dead on the street. Some times, I gave 'em the old sleeper hold. They'd pass out long enough for the police to come. Sometimes, I broke bones, caused internal bleeding, knocked out teeth, and worse. I've already elaborated more than I should.

It's calmed down dramatically now, but even after a year, I still find things that will trigger it. Each time though, the images are just as lifelike and detailed. And each time, I get an immediate surge of adrenalin that's hard to shake.

There's nothing I can do about the situation. It's been a year. The cops did nothing. My computer crashed which had a scan of the letter with the kid's info on it. (I only remember that he was 19 at the time and his name is Joshua Stokes, but how many of those are there....I suppose I also still have my phone records from that month as well). Anyway, there's really nothing I can do though for real. And anything I did do would not make the images go away.

Well, I just wanted to get that out. I gotta stop now though, cause I'm starting to get another flash and I need to do some work. I'm gonna go walk around the office a bit. Talk to you later.

Disappointed at work

Ever since the giant sign went up showing the future of 17th and JFK, I have been enamoured with the Comcast Center in Philly. I don't know what it is. Despite the many cons of building more skyscrapers, I love watching them go up. I mean, who doesn't like the Cirra Centre now, what with the fun light show and all?

I've been working at a construction consulting firm in Jersey for the past 6 months. To my surprise, I learned soon after starting here that we are the ones in charge of overseeing the Center goes up properly.

In this company, I have carved myself a niche in a new "Creative Services" branch of the Marketing Department. I work on advertisements, web design, branding, photos database, blah blah blah. This photo database is mostly me just keeping the project photos that come into our office in our organized hierarchy of folders. Boooring. But no, finally I hear from my boss that he'd like me, as the creative serv..er, to oversee some of the local photos being taken. Not taking the photos, but being the go-to guy for outside photographers. He assigned me to meet on-site with a photographer at...yes...The Com.....wait for it.....cast Center. Perhaps, he wants some photos from the top of this amazing building. I'd be there with the photographer wherever he/she went to take the photos. This field trip was tentatively scheduled for next week sometime.

This morning, without actually being told about it, my boss and his "right-hand man" just went to Philly for something entirely different, some stupid luncheon, and "you know, while we're there, we might as well call our photographer in and take the pictures". This is what I overheard from over my cube walls. My boss barely said hi to me as they ran out....laughing and throwing flaming bags of poop at the back of my shoulder, while I have to stay here and make a goddamn PowerPoint presentation. Grrr, this so-called right-hand man doesn't do anything creative. He doesn't know anything about points of view and photo composition. What the flip??

Thank you for hearing me out. I needed to vent, cause I know I won't say anything about it to my boss. Heaven forbid I show any sign of dissatisfaction. Oh well. Back to PowerPoint. psshh.

Coffee Table...if only

Oh, the excitement I had when I came home from my last show at the Hinge gallery to see boxes from Barnes & Noble and Amazon on the kitchen table! Not only are these great books, but with the two gift cards I used, I got them for only $2.05. Noice.

Whether it's politics, work, play, money, dinner, or art, my dad and I often disagree. The pinnacle of any art to him is that it looks like what it's supposed to look like, or in his words: it looks like something. Now, my favorite genres of art include Dada and Abstract Expressionism... not exactly your looks-like-something kind of art.

No spite intended, but there's certainly an ironic choice of title for this first book: Pictures of Nothing, by Kirk Varnedoe.

He goes through a history of nonrepresentational art and the importance it plays in our society. I haven't read any yet, but it sounds great. I do enjoy the pictures that I've looked at so far.

Usually, with art books, I get caught up in the pictures themselves and, despite a mild intellectual urge to learn, I don't end up reading the content. Oh well, this just means I no longer have to feel childish for rejecting books without pictures.

On the other hand, the second book I'm excited to have gotten is making me want to actually read the content. In recent years, I've gotten really intrigued with Andy Warhol's career. Without specializing his interest, he has become one of the most marketable artists of the 20th century (without being a tool like Thomas Kinkade: Painter of Lights). It's inspiring to me that someone could find this kind of success without having to specialize their efforts, or even dumb down what they do. Hmm, well, at the same time, I suppose his art was as dumbed down as it could be. That was the point. Even his dumb is brilliant. He was an illustrator, painter, photographer, printmaker, movie producer, music producer, and an actor. If he wanted to do it, he did it...and well.

This book was published by the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh (which I can't wait to visit one day). It's basically Warhol's B-sides and rarities album. It has a bunch of pictures of things from his past (like yearbook photo, diploma, early drawings), along with some quotes and tidbits of his life and work. It's pretty great.

If I had an apartment with a coffee table in it, this book would definitely be on it. Ahhh, more dreams of future apartments. Oh well, I will go now. G'night.