J. M. Verville

Today I was sitting in class doodling; I was originally trying to make the soft circles with different degree of shading that makes flames. I found that I made something that looked rather interesting…

So I continued down from it; with the shades of gray, light gray, dark gray and near black; I made a complex pattern that began resembling an alien landscape.

Suddenly, it reminded me of the Star Trek episode in season three where you get a glimpse of Romulous.

Oo Geukhwi leaned over and said, “What are you drawing?”

I smiled and mumbled, “I am drawing rice paddies in the countryside of the planet Romulous.”

He became confused, but we both laughed slightly.

I think I will continue drawing Romulan landscapes and perhaps share them with you one day.

I identify a bit with the Romulans. I find a great deal of appeal to their strange culture. I think this was a good, healthy exercise for the mind.

I am becoming physically ill from some of what I have been reading. I just struggled through a pulp novel and am starting another one… The last one was more bearable even though annoying in different ways.

I just hit points where I have to put the book down…

In each novel, every main character is physically beautiful and possesses great prowess; their greatest fault is something like alcoholism or being socially withdrawn and this is caused by a tragic incident that was beyond their control. There are 1-2 supporting characters that fill the role of imperfect people.

Not only this, but they play off of stereotypes that I have been bored of since the 8th grade: Forbidden love, the agony of lost friendship and love, man against stereotypical evil monolithic powers that have no redeeming features.

Characters are so two dimensional. They have such simple motivations, and they are of such pure hearts it is inexcusable.

One of the only genres where the books can be said to be consistently OK  are crime novels where often the murderer suffers from a mental disease so you at least get more than a few simple stereotypes — the writer has to actually develop a little depth to a person as they are both a normal person and in part a diseased person.

I need to do some research and expand into some different authors because this is just not cutting it.

I used to be able to go through a pulp novel without being terribly bothered and merely enjoy the development of the plot but after reading George R. R. Martin and before that Steven Erikson, Glen Cook and Raymond E. Feist I just cannot bear to read anything so bad.

I am going to jump into the Stephen King novels that Matt lent me because I imagine these will be good. They will be what I need until I can find something else.

This could be very interesting — I will have to find these episodes when they come out:

 Director Oliver Stone’s upcoming Showtime documentary miniseries “Secret History of America” promises to put mass murderers such as Stalin and Hitler “in context.”

“Stalin, Hitler, Mao, McCarthy — these people have been vilified pretty thoroughly by history,” Stone told reporters at the Television Critics Association’s semi-annual press tour in Pasadena.

“Stalin has a complete other story,” Stone said. “Not to paint him as a hero, but to tell a more factual representation. He fought the German war machine more than any single person. We can’t judge people as only ‘bad’ or ‘good.’ Hitler is an easy scapegoat throughout history and its been used cheaply. He’s the product of a series of actions. It’s cause and effect … People in America don’t know the connection between WWI and WWII … I’ve been able to walk in Stalin’s shoes and Hitler’s shoes to understand their point of view. We’re going to educate our minds and liberalize them and broaden them. We want to move beyond opinions … Go into the funding of the Nazi party. How many American corporations were involved, from GM through IBM. Hitler is just a man who could have easily been assassinated.” (more…)

This was some interesting analysis provided by CNN writer Tom Charity — I found his words to be true and a little sobering considering the potential situation we will face:

Not so fast. Blockbusters are attracting huge audiences, but size doesn’t come cheap, and this year — like last year — the studios continued to cut back on the middle ground: the low- to mid-budget films that are rarely enormously profitable but that have nevertheless formed the bedrock of America’s love affair with movies for the best part of the last century.

In a society proud to place a high value on independence, movie culture seems increasingly stratified and programmatic. Moviegoing is no longer habitual for most adults; the gamers who flock to “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” — the biggest grosser of the year in more ways than one — are impatient with character and nuance, and are simply looking for maximum bang.

So long as Hollywood keeps upping the ante, audiences will repay the compliment. But sooner or later, something’s got to give. If film production costs keep escalating, it will be the audience who pays, not only in higher ticket prices, but in reduced choice.

CNN

Here is where we will start to suffer in ways we have not anticipated — a lack of choice. As piracy takes off and the recession sinks its teeth further and further into our wallets, we are confronted with consumers who do not know where to turn except when they are sure they can guarantee a thrill. There is no more casual movie watching — no more of those filler movies that would just make us nod our heads and shrug after two hours and comment that it was ok.

Certainly, though, with our domestic industry suffering it opens the way for smaller nations to capitalize on this vacuum. It will strengthen their local film markets by giving them more room for success and even open up American eyes to see what is happening abroad.

In the end this could be an opportunity for smaller yet burgeoning film industries in Korea, China, Taiwan, Japan, Iran (surprisingly), etc. to sink their claws into American consumers.

Perhaps that is the silver lining around the cloud, but whatever. Sucks anyways.

Last Years Youth - Yah Boo F++++ You

OK, the name is offensive to some folks but what do you expect of one of the only bands that in the last ten years has been making music so true to the 1977 feeling? Reminds me of a lot of early nineties punk like Exploited. I find the whole album enjoyable from start to finish — a real gift for you to enjoy in the year 2010.

Give it a listen and tell me what you think.

Here

I stumbled across an old album I remember purchasing several years ago. It was the much anticipated American release of some great Hawks stuff on golden vinyl.

The hawks were one of the more prevalent Japanese Oi! bands that gained notoriety for their controversial covers of songs like Tomorrow Belongs To Me (Skrewdriver).  It easily turned some people off while simply piqued the curiosity of others.

Their influences on other Japanese punk and oi music can clearly be heard in bands like 仁籟, who seem to adopt a lot of their runaway drumlines and get more progressive with their guitars, escaping from the narrower box of punk they crawled out of.

The album should be good for anyone who digs punk rock and also for those who are more into metal or even into mainstream rock. I find it to be an incredibly listenable album with the songs “Rock N Roll Band” and ” Tamashi No Koe” becoming instant classics.

Download found here.

Merry Christmas and I could not think of a better way to get you in the mood than the interesting insanity of Drowning the Light & Old Oak cutting a record together.

From the start to the end the lo-fi ambiance and keyboard work of Drowning The Light, mixed with the pounding drums and the overwhelming vocal style… It is a treat for anyone who sits at home drinking up loneliness and feels anger twisting themselves into a pretzel of hatred.

This is one of the most unique sounds I have heard in Black Metal and quite different than most DLT stuff, but it definitely has his stamp of expertise.

I would actually recommend this as well to first time Black Metal listeners even though this totally goes over the top of what we could simply and easily define as black metal.

Download here

It was excellent, to say the least, and the plot is enrapturing as are all the twists in the story.

It was both comical and dramatic, seemingly dividing it into two real spheres of feeling… The story progressed beautifully, and it succeeded in not being corny in the least.

It is basically mobsters meets sanitation men meets old, deaf-mute deli man. Hard to describe it and I would not want to as I feel that each segment of the film is necessary for you to watch and to garner knowledge of.

Go watch it and tell me what you think.

(BTW< there are good, online versions that are DVD quality if you seek them out)

Strong Blossom
Genre: Samurai Rock — this is a genre name I invented in 2003-2004 to characterize bands like:

New Dawn
壬生狼
鉄アレイ
雷矢
仁籟
Cannons
Resolute Immortal Patriot
Samchung
Sledgehammer

It is metal-influenced skinhead tunes from the East, though not necessarily comprised entirely of skins. It has right wing ideology and is very nationalist; many band names reference Nationalist imagery (e.g., Miburo, a reference to the last Samurai clan ‘the wolves of mibu,’ and Samchung, a reference to Samchung Gyoyukdae, a place where leftists were re-educated and forced to work [often to their death] in South Korea).

This particular album is VERY HARD HITTING, but with great melodies and compositions; the band is not afraid of tempo changes. Like most Samurai rock bands, the drums are quite Doric and militant.

Gang vocals are pretty standard and well done.

There are a few great guitar solos in this.

It is a real evolution of rock music — the harder undertones you want, the mid-tempo punk guitar lines that drive a song forward.

I went through great pains to get the track titles in their proper characters, so RESPECT.

Here, the .rar file

(if you are unfamiliar with badongo, look to the right hand side of the screen and simply type in the code at some point… It is a little confusing for some at first.)

I am really interested in feedback on the first Samurai Rock album I posted, and I would be interested in seeing this term as a genre and this genre in general spreading more in the Western world.

This is the product of a strange idea I have had for a few days about a love story meant to capture some of my ideals and messages in the context of my life in 2006. It probably will not continue and will most likely die after this post, as most things go, but I would like to chronicle it amongst the ruins of my other literary ambitions.

It is fictional and currently ambiguous. But I will put it up because I do not care if you do not understand, and if I cannot share these things with others I would just be another self-conscious person bottled up and repressed, stamping out any spark that might grow within myself out of a bizarre sense of shame.

I make things public because I never want to be alone.

—

I looked in her sad eyes, but my eyes were bright. I was thrilled for once to see somebody feel with all of their heart.  Cold is cold and it makes me feel alone. Hot is hot and it makes me feel close. Tears were passing down her cheeks. My eyes were bright.

“But isn’t that what it is all about?” I asked in a voice that was loud with alcohol.

“What? It’s about this?”

“Yeah. Isn’t life about yourself, your own way, your own path? Isn’t this what you want?”

“But I do not want to be alone and lonely and…” Her voice choked for a second, a whimpering sound of overcoming sadness, vocalized strongly. The pain sounded amplified beyond reason. “I want to be happy.” She broke into the sad sobbing that only drunks and bereaved women are capable of. She was both.

“You will always be happy if you…” I lost my words and waited for a long time. Maybe it was twenty seconds. But who is counting? “You’ll always be happy if you…” I realized I was not lost for words. I was just lost. I guess no one has the answer to, ‘You will always be happy if…’ It’d be the best jeopardy question since the ones that are about obscure details of Roman history.

She put my head on my shoulder and I worried about her, and I worried about the potential of snot smearing my jacket.

She was short and had chubby legs, black hair, full lips, a stomach that went a bit over her belt line and hands that felt like cobwebs.

“Genyang jookgo shippo.” It sounds better in Korean to say ‘I just want to die.’ She grabbed at my collar and it felt strange to me. Part of me thought about her desperation and sadness, her eternal despair, and part of me felt like falling in love again.

“No, you don’t want to die. There are a lot of good bands you haven’t heard. A lot of good movies you haven’t watched.  You still haven’t even eaten Indian food and, my God, you’ll never be the same after that.” She laughed slightly, against her will, at my words meant for cheering up. She grabbed me tighter and blubbered longer. We sat in silence for a while.

“You’re OK, now, it’s OK. We got punk shows to go to. We got music to make and to hear. We got everything.” She shuttered at my words and wept louder.

“Nobody likes me.” She.

“I like you.” I.

“No one else likes me.” She.

“Jesus likes you.” I.

“Jesus is dead.” Her.

“I like you.” I guess that’s what you say in these times. She cried harder. I guess I am not as good as Jesus. Or. Something. Else.

“Why, why?” The words were separated and short and they struck hard at the very soul, in that voice punctuated by sorrowful sobs and the terror of despair.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just life.” She was silent at this. I guessed I should add more. “Sometimes you feel confused about… The… People around you.” More sobs. “You loved him, and you hated him, and now he is gone, and… That’s life.”

“I loved my father.”

“I know.”

“I hated my father.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“I want my father.”

“Yes.”

I let her weep until her breathing slowed and her eyes dried, until her heaving body became docile. Then I didn’t know what to do for a while. I contemplated what to say. I felt her cold fingers clutching at my collar, brushing my neck, my skin turning to goose bumps. The most confusing moment in your life is when you mix someone else’s sadness and despair with your empathy and romance.

Desperation breeds a sense of hope. Hope breeds a sense of Romance. Romance breeds a sense of Love. Love eventually gives birth to a variety of emotions that are so much like love, but so much unlike love, and so much like pain and so much like happiness and so much like a person who gets joy out of cutting themselves. It hurts to put knife to skin, but it thrills you and the pain is a release and the sight of blood, your own blood, dripping down an arm is like art in a museum. It produces a cold thrill, but a real thrill. The body is relaxed and, I don’t know, pained? Hurt? But relaxed.

But anyways.

I thought a while, and then I said:

“Let’s go to my house.”  I figured an invite was in order. No one wants to keep drinking in a park when everyone has seen them weep like an infant.

“OK.”

The cab ride was odd. I kept an arm around her, her head lowered so no one could see her face or her heart pouring out through crocodile tears. The cab driver had a cassette sticking out of the player, which I knew must be the happy sounds of Bbongjjak music,

“What singer is that?” I asked.

“Kim Yongyim.” I smiled. She is a pretty good singer. God bless 50 year old men who know their Golden Oldies.

“Play it, please, sir.” And so he played it. We had small talk for 30 minutes about old singers and old songs, and old times and old things and old everything and families and politics and history and we became friends and he turned off the Taxi meter when it hit 20,000 Won and said ‘the rest is on me.’

And the rest was on him when I handed him two 10,000 won notes with Saejong’s stoic pose on them. As we stood in front of the Burger King that pollutes my neighborhood her bloodshod eyes found mine.

“Are we here?”

“Yes, we’ve arrived.” I said, with an impudent smile. She looked me in the eyes like she wanted to kiss me and I looked away.

I thought about giant buildings and open fields and eternal love and what if Star Trek was the future? while we walked to my house.

When we got there I was abruptly aware of the fact that I am  5 years older and she is 5 years younger, and that my house is dirty, and that I am too old for this, and she is too young for this, and that YouTube tends to load really fast at 2 AM so it’d be cool to watch a video of men fighting each other or punks playing music.

It took us a good 3 minutes to remove our boots, mine 12 eyelets high and hers 15; when she was done taking them off she grabbed my collar and tried to kiss me and then started crying with her wet face pressed against my neck.

“Let’s watch a movie.” I said. I borrowed the film Alexander from a friend. Fuck YouTube.

“OK.”

We watched Alexander. She fell asleep when Alexander fought the big battle against the Persians. I fell asleep after he fought the Indians with the giant elephants that struck terror into my soul.

We woke up and ate Ramyeon from the same pot while watching fight videos on YouTube in an unkempt house, and it felt like it was an awkward night but with a fresh start in the morning. She looked in my eyes a lot, and her eyes were full of the emotions I dread most — caring, hoping, loving emotions that spell “PAIN” if you put them all together, and spell “DISASTER” if you look at them from afar.

Her eyes were like a winter afternoon, just like every hopeful girl in her youth.

She didn’t know that it gets dark and even colder by 6 PM on a winter evening.