Doubts of Camp NaNoWriMo April 2014 (update)

     In little under 3 hours from now, I will be starting Camp NaNoWriMo April 2014. This year, I was reckless enough to double the word count. Instead of doing 50,000 words  (200 pages) of a single novel, I will be doing 100,000 words (400 pages) of 5 separate novels that I have done before in NaNoWriMo. Just tonight I organized my month so that for ten days (for thirty in total) I focus on one out of three novels, being "A Plead to Iris" "The Daughter of Athena" and "The Tunnels". For those 10 days, I write the same amount for them as I would in a regular NaNoWriMo. But, I will be doing 834 words (about half a daily word count) for "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Journal" on top of that, and another 834 words for the editing of "Love: A Chaotic Insanity" (which will take form as a rewrite on a separate file).

     Frankly, it seems doable, considering last November, I was doing a full 1667 words in approximately 40 minutes to an hour. However, on top of Camp NaNoWriMo, I will still be doing school work, and April is exam period for the most part. So, as part of my school work, I will be finish editing the first 30 pages of "The Beginning of The End", doing my readings and studying for exams, as well as writing a 15 page paper for my level 300 philosophy course. To be honest, I'm starting to regret my ambitious choice to do so many words (as well as take that level 300 philosophy course), and it hasn't even begun yet.

     But I would be lying if I said I am not prideful and have every intention of winning Camp NaNoWriMo once again. For the whole month, my mind has to be in several places at once. It has to be in at least 5 novels for Camp NaNoWriMo, but it also has to be in my studies, and these things have to be kept separate as best as I can do. If push comes to shove, I'll break my current plan involving when I'm going to write what novel, and the amounts that I write, but in the end I fully intend on emerging with 100,000 words done.

     Before I end this post, I want to quote a musical artist that I admire quite a bit. His music is an inspiration to me, and his lyrics, I think, are incredible.

     "Almost wish I hadn't picked up the pen but when I did
       Death accorded into the flames the old me went"

      The artist's name is Eppic, and the lines come from his song "Doubt" which can be found on itunes as well as youtube. I recommend looking him up, especially if you're also an artist. Anyways, I must be off to prepare. Until next time,

-Zero

Radiant Nightmare (poem)

He wakes up at night,

Not sweating,

But scared.

His fingers shake

As he pours himself a drink,

Hard liquor to drown dreams.

He sits by the window

To gaze into an empty reality,

To purge her face from his mind.

This is the third night:

He wants to sleep,

But to sleep is to dream.

Sometimes nightmares are happy,

Filled with radiant people,

And light and warmth.

Sometimes happiness terrifies,

Makes courage tremble,

And nights unbearable.

He weeps at the image,

And fears what may follow

When next he shuts his eyes.

She is radiant beauty,

Playful, strong, loved,

Impossible to forget.

He fears her dream-image

Because she is real,

Because dreams are uncontrollable.

He tries to forget her,

As he thinks he should;

He cannot love her.

This is why he trembles

When there is warmth and light;

What seems good, a great evil.

Another drink before his eyes grow heavy,

And his heartbeat slowed.

One more shot before he falls victim again.

-Zero

A Child's Dessert (poem)

A child plays with his food,

His dessert,

Even though he didn't eat his vegetables,

He gets sweets.

Tonight it is ice cream,

But for once,

There's fresh fruit

On the side.

He searches for the name

Of his new plaything,

A toy for one night,

Never to be seen again.

Strawberry, he says,

But he knows he's not right.

Raspberry, he exclaims,

The realization overtaking him.

With a crushing grip,

He reaches into its heart,

And pulls it out,

Stringing it on his ice cream.

Playfully,

He begins stabbing it with his fork,

Forcing it into the ice cream,

To be overtaken by cold.

The raspberry's wounds are visible,

And as the child cuts it apart,

No blood comes.

It is a wound beyond blood.

Then the moment comes,

The devouring,

But he decides against it,

And throws it to the ground.

He demands for a new toy,

To be thrown away like the rest.

-Zero

The Pretenders (Non-Fiction)

       "It seemed to me that Cambridge and, to some extent, the whole of England was pretending, with an elaborate and intent and conscious, and perhaps in some cases a courageous effort, to act as if it were alive."(140) Thomas Merton, a monk of the nineteen hundreds, said in his autobiography "The Seven Storey Mountain". It is the summary of what I will discuss in this short essay.
       It only serves me to be honest, and in doing so, I may be revealing some things that I had previously left unsaid. But there comes a time when one reaches his/her limits and must act accordingly. As to the effect this paper will have, I expect very little, if any, impact. But I believe that it is worth the attempt.

       For some time I have feared the mask of society. This has not always been a completely defined figure, but I had my mind set on being myself and being no one else. For so long I have feared becoming another mindless part of the machine, labouring only in order to survive and labour more. For myself, there is nothing worse than that sort of death. It enslaves you and allows you to suffer accordingly. In this manner, I have succeeded in holding true to my own being. However, the past few years have taught me much about the masks that people wear. Once, some time ago, a group of friends of mine and I heard these words "I see the man among you. Hidden behind a facade." The source does not matter, for when I heard those words, they spoke to me far too deeply to be ignored. They have been burned into my mind and they still catch fire at times. This was the moment that I realized that I was pretending. For all that I had tried, for all that I had feared, I was still pretending. There is a difference between selling one's self to society, and constructing a mask of likability to wear in social situations.
       About two years have passed since, if not more, and I find myself in a similar position as Merton did himself in Cambridge. While my passions are not so recklessly chased, and I am a strong student in most regards, I too find myself face to face with a reflection I cannot possibly hope to recognize. It is hard to see myself in a man who engages in completely meaningless conversations and engagements on a daily basis, who can feel so passionately and yet seems tranquil in the most powerful of times. This is the mask. To who here have I confessed that writing is the future I plan for myself? The answer is few if any. It is confounding to think that such a crucial aspect of any person's life might be so easily brushed off as a hobby. As if to add to the terrible nature of this facade, even deeper emotions, how people truly feel, are often concealed. This, I find, is most evident in the way in which I hear people talk about each other, as opposed to the actions that they undertake around those people. It is obvious that no one wants to be the 'bad guy', so no one bothers telling each other what annoys them, or that they simply don't like them. Instead, they keep up the facade of friendship by smiling and laughing along when in person, and then turn around and whisper plans to others as if it was not obvious that someone was being left out. In some cases it seems acceptable, but that may just be an illusion. Sure person A might have a lot of friends besides this particular group, but does that pardon the deception at play? I hardly think so. Even worse is when person B does not seem to have very many other friends. Sometimes that group is all they have, as little as that may actually turn out to be, and in being excluded, they are left all alone with no one to turn to. And both person A and B know that they are being excluded, which results in frustration and sorrow. Perhaps you have not been either, but imagine now if you had five friends, all of which seemed to like you because they always seemed to laugh and smile with you, only to find that every night, when the contact was not necessary, you were completely alone. No one calls for you. No one checks up on you. No one asks you to come out with them. This all leads to the inevitable conclusion that no one cares about you. From there, it's not terribly hard to imagine it spiraling into some terrible place.
       Imagine all that. Now imagine that you are the one causing it. Imagine that there's this one guy, or girl, who just rubs you the wrong way, so you don't want to hang out with them. That's understandable. In fact, I recommend avoiding people you simply don't get along with, unless it is absolutely necessary that you deal with them. However, when you put on the guise of friendship, talk behind their back, and then do everything you can to not deal with them otherwise, then you are the cause of the problem described above. I understand that you may not like the way they view the world, or the way in which they speak, but putting up a facade of friendliness is not going to fix the problem. In fact, it might just make it worse. It is better to know one is disliked than to have the haunting suspicion that everyone secretly hates him/her.

       But enough about that. Here we are to talk about pretending like Merton described in his autobiography. In a way, we've already addressed, more specifically, what this means. First, it includes the pretending involved in simply doing as society says, which never perfectly corresponds with one's true nature. Second, it includes the pretending that people do on a social level about themselves. I would suppose that if you were to ask any of my friends here at Bishop's, they would not be able to name what scares me the most. Likewise, I could not do the same for them. We conceal ourselves. Third, it includes the pretending also taken at a social level, but more specifically, the pretending of friendship. While I would not claim that all of these are conscious and intended facades that have been put up, for these things can often be built into one's person before they are able to detect it, it is clear that the last one is very much conscious and intended. After all, they make the conscious decision to exclude certain other people, and include others. But as for the actual attempt to pretend as if this is all alive, this much remains unsaid.
       These types of pretending attempt to create the illusion of life through their general affirmation that they are the reality. The people involved have this tendency to fall for the act, even though they themselves are the actors. One tends to claim that he/she knows his/her friends, but I have my doubts about that. That's not to say that there are not genuine friendships out there in every day life. They exist and are more or less abundant. But compared to the amount of fake friendships, they are scarce. For some people, they are essentially non-existent. Regardless, all of this pretending creates a meaning in the people's lives that only be traced back to meaningless. It is the mask of the dead, and when removed, there is nothing more obvious than the decay.

       And now I will end this essay on pretending. There is much more that could be said, I am sure, so feel free to comment or contact me with questions or disagreements. And so, until next time,

-Zero

"Justine" or "The Misfortunes of Virtue"

       "Justine" or "The Misfortunes of Virtue" is a short novel by Marquis De Sade. He is known for his twisted imagination and it is from his name that the term "sadism" originates. That being said, I had imagined his works to be particularly amoral in the sense that there is absolutely no care for morality. However, once stumbling across "Justine" I entertained the idea that his works were immoral in the sense that they promoted vice over virtue. But even there I was wrong. Rather, this work makes a moral argument.

       The novel begins with two sisters, Juliette and Justine. There is another novel altogether for Juliette, but she is important in this story as well. In the beginning, their parents die, leaving the two sisters (about 15 and 12 respectively) orphans in France. Juliette, aware of her beauty and uncaring for virtue, decides to become a prostitute, despite Justine's objection to such a sinful life. The two sisters go their separate ways to live very different lives.
       Justine's character is fundamentally virtuous and very pious. Throughout the entire novel, she is almost the only virtuous character. She is also the only character who consistently has bad things happen to her. A great portion of the men that she encounters only want to sleep with her, whether she is willing or not, as they all believe that women only exist to please men. Because of this, there is an overwhelming amount of sexism in the novel. The men all try to justify it using arguments based on their view of nature. However, I would argue that the novel itself does not support sexism. Not only are these men often described as cruel by the narrator, who seems to be reliable and omniscient, but their arguments are also described as false sophisms many times throughout the novel. Even more so, the final paragraph of the novel, where the narrator addresses the reader directly, expresses a hope that the reader has reached the same conclusion as Juliette. That conclusion is that virtue is the only path to true happiness, and that virtue is its own reward. This is where Marquis de Sade perplexed me. 
       After all that had happened, from the first rape in the woods by a man that Justine herself had saved from bandits, to the convent of monks that held her (and many other girls) prisoner as a sex-slave, to the woman who sells her to a man who takes enjoyment in decapitating beautiful young women, I was not expecting it to have such a moralistic conclusion. The evidence that Marquis de Sade gives for the misfortune that is being virtuous is compelling, but the novel concludes that regardless of all this suffering, it is still the best option. All the happiness that those men exact from Justine and other poor unfortunate souls is false in some way. Somehow Juliette, who had actually succeeded in her endeavors and was not subjected to the terrors that Justine was subjected to, decides that her old life, one of pleasure and money, is wrong and the book ends with her decision to join a convent and repent for her sins. Something about seeing her miserable, but virtuous sister, caused a sudden shift in her person. She stopped being able to sleep because of it. Juliette became tormented by the pleasurable, but sinful, life that she had led. Even Juliette's affection for the man that Justine had thought Juliette's husband wasn't strong enough to make her forget about her idea to go off and live in a convent. However, the deciding action is a thunderstorm, during which, Justine is struck dead by lightning. 
       Justine, I find, is almost a Job or Jesus character in the sense that she is upright and pious, and stays true to virtue and God, but is subjected to intense suffering regardless. In the case of Job, God regards him as upright and pious, a man who does no wrong and is very virtuous, but at Satan's suggestion, God allows Satan to take everything away from Job and make him suffer terribly. The virtuous suffers almost unexplainable misfortune there too, except at the end of that story, Job is given everything back, most of which is returned doubled. This leads me to the Jesus comparison, where Justine suffers all this misfortune almost as if to allow others to benefit. She too becomes an example of goodness amongst the sinful and hopeless. Unlike Jesus, however, she is completely mortal and human. She has no idea of the future and so walks into traps completely unknowing, whereas Jesus knows ahead of time that he will be betrayed but goes into it willingly. Finally, the most compelling part of the comparison is the final part of Justine's story, which is her death and the result. Just like Jesus' death, her death allows for her sister to repent and become virtuous as well. It is as if all of the sins that Juliette committed were buried with Justine. I never thought I would be saying this about a Marquis de Sade book, but it's beautiful in that way.
      Before I finish this post, I want to remind you of the final line of the novel, or at least a paraphrased version of it. Virtue is its own reward.

-Zero