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17 December 2008 @ 03:09 pm
Okay, so I am done with school at the ole College of Charleston. I graduate on Saturday the 20th. The big (short) walk. Diploma and everything. But there is no rest for the restless, I.E. me.

I am applying to several places to do graduate work in creative writing, get my MFA. Hopefully this will lead to me teaching at the university level somewhere in the future. But that's long term. Here's the short term:

I am applying to

University of Massachusetts at Amherst
Washington University in St. Louis
UNC Greensboro
Purdue University
University of Virginia
St. Mary's College of California

Who know what will come of it. Professors say I have a strong chance of getting into one or more of these schools. I met with Kerri Webster, the poet in residence at Washington, over the semester and she seemed impressed. So hopefully that will work out in my favor.

I have to admit though, I have mixed feelings about possibly moving far away from all the people I love in the Drrty Drrty. My top choice is UMAss. That's like a hundred thousand miles away from here. Well, not really, but you get the picture. Either way, I want to dedicate some time to hanging with all my friends before I (possibly) get shipped off far and away.

So, beware. I may be coming to your town... and most likely sleeping on your couch.
Current Location: 99 Bull Street 29401
Music:: Emeralds
01 September 2008 @ 04:23 pm
I have a few extra minutes in the library, so I figured I'd update this thing, for posterity if nothing else.

Things are seemingly on the up and up. School has started again, and though I am technically a fifth year senior, I feel fairly confident in my position. I have recently completed a 37 page volume of poems that I will spend the rest of the year revising under the (perhaps cruel) tutelage of my teacher and academic adviser Carol Ann Davis. Essentially, there is where most of my effort and thought has been applied for the last couple of months. I live in a new house with Kate. That is working out well, though I didn't have much doubt that it would. I find myself very agreeable these days. Plus, our home is very clean. I have missed that aspect of life. We have a cat. His name is Louis Kilgore Cheese. He was a stray, but we rescued him, in a sense. Perhaps the most exciting new addition to my life is my recent internship at Crazyhorse literary journal. It's a nationally recognized review, so, though it is an unpaid internship, I will reap the benefits of having been associated with it via letters of recommendation to MFA programs or perhaps other literary mags I want to interview for. I will mostly do editorial work: read the slush pile in order separate the bad from the good, and ultimately all of that from the publishable. Other than that, I will be researching artwork for the cover, working on advertising, fund raising, and other business type aspects of running a magazine. I get some college credit, too (woo hoo).

I think that is pretty much it. I haven't been making as much music as I would like (meaning: I've made practically none). My computer crashed as well, so I lost a lot of what I already had, though I had the almost prophetic forethought to save all that I had written to discs about a week before it happened. On that note, if anyone has any mp3s of music I may have made and then shamelessly distributed, let me know. I'd like to compile as much of that as I can.
09 May 2008 @ 01:22 pm
Sometimes I am so full of joy that I can't stand myself. On those days I bounce around like a child and fall in love with everything. I love the way the wind moves the big trees that line my street. I love the way the air tastes and smells: cold and clean in winter, and muddled with honeysuckle blossoms in summer. My life is prospects, prospects, prospects, and no road block seems strong enough to stop my speeding ambition. No pool of worries is deep enough to drown my hope. On those days, I am strong and able. On those days, I am content.

Then other times I take a turn. Most times, really. I worry and doubt myself. It's hard for things to reach me, to touch me like the breeze or the sky or the poetry I slave over. During those times, I don't have much to say at all. I find it hard to express myself (to anyone, even those I love so dearly), and so, I keep it quiet. I simply go through the motions of how I want to feel, but I never actually feel it. What bothers me most is that no event can pull me up from those depths. There is no affirmation of self-worth that can reverse my emotional decline.

Late last month, Miscellany, the annual literature and art journal of the College of Charleston published a poem I wrote called "Commencement." It was the first step in trying to find my own voice in poetry and then see it printed, physically manifested, made real. But when the thing came out, and I attended the reception to read the poem for some of my peers, I felt horrible. Seeing my name in print and the words I wrote made me feel cheap. It made me question myself and my abilities. To be completely honest, I am not sure if I have ever disliked myself more than at that moment.

I will work through these days. I will begin keeping a private journal to chronical my thoughts and feelings, and perhaps seek professional advise if things start getting out of hand. This summer, I am starting an independent study in poetry writing where I will compose a collection of 35 poems under the instruction of Carol Ann Davis, my school's own poet-guru. This should be good for my work, as well as helping me sort through whatever personal issues are bubbling beneath my calm exterior. And then what? Graduation in December, followed by a breif period of introspection, and then perhaps beginning the road to my M.F.A.

I give thanks for all the people who keep me going. To Kate (who will never read this) for believing in me, and loving me sincerely despite the way I've been the last few months. To my family for never letting me go without the neccesities of life. And to my friends for being who they are, providing constant reminders that sometimes laughter can heal the deepest wounds.
03 December 2007 @ 06:46 am
Wisdom on the topic of Hellraiser: Bloodlines

Tavner: Yeah, it was just a whole lot of Pinhead, like, stalking people. On a spaceship.

Me: That is so fucking stupid. They've taken this sweet character from Clive Barker's book and made him into some kind of... interdimensional Freddy. He haunts your realities, I guess? Gay.
01 December 2007 @ 03:15 pm
Ack, livejournal, I hardly knew ye.

It's been a long time since I have posted here, but there isn't really much to tell. I haven't had the internet at my house for almost two months. I kind of feel out of touch with the world. On the other had, I feel kind of liberated. I don't, like, go out and run and enjoy nature or some shit now... but I feel less like I have an anchor around my leg anke... that talks... and is all like... "Hey Chad, maaaan. Where you goin'? Out? Naaaaaaah, daaaaaaawg. Just sit right here wit' a bleazy and watch dat Yubetube. Youtube. Whateva..."

I have had a lot of school work lately, and that has kept me very busy. Lit theory requires a lot of attention, though I don't have any difficulty in the course. In fact, I'm doing better in there than any other class I am taking. My two novel courses (Victorian and American 1900-1965) are essentially over: I have completed both term papers (one, a look at the relationship between language and reality in Hard Times by Dickens, the other a in depth analysis of the character of Brett Ashley in The Sun Also Rises to prove her strength as a female Hemingway character), and have finished reading all the books. As for the papers, the Hemingway was harder than the Dickens, and I feel I could have done a better job on both, but procrastinated over Thanxgiving break-- well, more like didn't have a computer over Thanxgiving break. Other than exams, the only thing left for me to do is write my paper for lit theory which is actually going to be pretty enjoyable. I am taking a look at Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange and examing how Burgess handles language, and how he uses it as a builder and destroyer of realities-- it's really more in depth than that, but I am only going to type this stuff once... hah.

Anyway, that's what I've been doing. Plus trying to beat Castlevania: Lament of Innocence in my spare time. Hope all is well in livejournal world, all you faithful users.

Oh, also: I got this fucking sweet album by two guys Bruce Russell and Ralf Wehowsky called Midnight Crossroads Tape Recorder Blues. It's some kind of like strang improvised "blues." It may very well be one of the most enjoyable albums I've ever listened to straight through. It's just so weird... and yet... bluesy? I found it on soulseek, so I am sure if anyone is interested they can find it there. Or maybe I can email it to you.

So yeah. Peace.
22 October 2007 @ 06:37 pm
"And it's being around people that makes you feel this way?"

"Insecure you mean?"


"Yes. Well, no."


"Yes. I mean yes, I think that is the reason, but sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Is it maybe that you are insecure about the way you look, or how you perceive that you look?"

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Oh, no reason. It's just that some people--"

"Is there something about the way I look? Like how I dress or something?"

"No, not at all, I merely thought--"

"My complexion? Or my haircut maybe?"

"Let's move on. Tell me about your father."

"What do you want to know about him?"

"Anything that you want to tell me."

"Well, I never knew him that well. I mean, I thought I did, and I hated him for what I thought I knew. But now I wonder if I ever knew him at all. Like maybe I held him to a higher standard because he was never a regular person to me. I never knew him as a person at all. He was my father. Now that I'm older I know that he was a person, just a person, like me or anyone else."

"Is your father deceased?"


You keep talking about him in the past tense."

"No. It's just that... the time I spent with him is like time from some mythological age or something, when people could be more than people. When I didn't question myself and wonder if my feelings and insides worked like everyone else's, or if everyone is as riddled with questions and confusions like I am. I don't know, I start thinking about this stuff and then it stops making sense to me. Is it making sense to you?"

"Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, he looks like me."
12 October 2007 @ 01:22 am
I love the notion that winter is coming. It makes me very happy.

Summer is always the heartbreak season. I think, maybe, it's too beautiful.
03 October 2007 @ 01:38 pm
When Sinclair Lewis died in Rome, Italy, the doctor who wrote the death certificate said he died of a "paralysis of the heart." Many critics have commented that this was ironic, as Lewis was incapable of love. From the time he was a young man until the day he died, he found himself unable to harbor feelings of affection, desire, or otherwise worthy of such a title as "love." This was evident in both his writing and his personal life.

I, on the other hand, fall in love at least twice a week, and am constantly hounded by an ever changing breed of obsessions, all of which I would sell my soul to languish in forever given the opportunity at the right time.

How else am I to identify myself other than as the binary component to someone or something else? Kieran Daly (a fellow musician) has named his new piece "No Object Implies the Existence of Any Other." I have been thinking of that a lot lately.
Music:: Stars of the Lid. Requium For Dying Mothers, Pt. 1.
01 October 2007 @ 11:09 pm
Prison Break has to be one of the most obnoxious shows on television. And not obnoxious in the sense that it berates me with shabby references and goofy ass "thisisfunnythisisfunnyyouarenotcoolorsmartunlessyouthinksolikewedo" humor a la post cancellation Family Guy and Tim and Eric's Awesome Show. Prison Break annoys me on a much more basic and primal level. I hate that show simply because it exists. I mean, how the hell could that last more than one season? The premise is dubious at best and the acting is poor as hell. And oh GOD don't even get me started on the fucking "this is too intense to miss" ad campaign.

However, as I was contemplating how fucking shitty Prison Break is, I had an idea for a much cooler show that should have been called Prison Break. In my fantasy television series, a real life master escape artist is placed into a different famous/infamous/otherwise known prison each episode and has to escape. It would take forever to film though, as everyone knows that it takes a long time to plan a prison break out. The end result would be kick-ass McCool, and that would totally make it worth it. Like, how tight would it be to see someone chronicle their escape from Chateau D'if? That example may be a bit ridiculous... but still, imagine the possibilities.