Fig @ Livejournal: Knights in Shining Karma

Dear Jack,

You are on the edge of my mind tonight, as I sit here in this coffee shop with my red suitcase full of lists and my head full of hopes 'n' dreams. I imagine your life in Naples and I long for the simplicity you seem to maintain. Since the time we sat down for dinner a few weeks back, my life has a tilt-a-whirl in my search acceptance and wholeness.

Before I update you on projects, I mustn't skip over the strange developments that have occurred. I realize this is something we never talked about much so it may be surprising. Please accept this disclosure in confidence.

As Brett and I build our future together - setting up an office at his new apartment, opening a joint bank account, and laying out the business plan for Established Now -- we have occasionally meandered into a game of love. As I discover the treasures inside of me and the value of my female counterpart, I feel the overwhelming desire to share. Again and again, he ends up in the crosshairs of my newly found Eros.

Two visions I had back May came true, felt like deja vu. In the first vision, he and I sat on the floor at a low table in a dark room smelling of curry. We spoke silently and cleared our plates to the distant sound of a mandolin 'round a fire . In the second vision, we waded water as the moon disappeared. And so we undressed at Indian Beach in the wee hours and let the the ocean carry us away. 'Twas surreal.

Just as fast as the storm rolled in, the skies have cleared. Brotherhood restored, business as usual:

+ http://establishednow.com will be up and running in a matter of days.
+ We will be offering 1 year subscriptions to ZIGZAG for $10. Issues are free for Ringling students/faculty at events.
+ There will be two pop-up exhibitions hosted by Est.Now in July: Walter Matthews solo show on July 2nd and Matt Coomb's on July 30th. If you can only make it for one, make sure not to miss Matt's - it's going to be a blast with his circus theme.
+ We attended a creative conference called SUM+, made connections with the Young Professionals Group of Sarasota, and important people in the Arts community. There is a plan of how to make Sarasota a true destination for contemporary art, and open up opportunities for creative businesses. The pieces are fitting together.
+ Jimmy, Brett, and I are collaborating on a video for Est. Now. It addresses the need for creative leadership worldwide.
+ Planning a bigger, better Subterranean show for September 17th or 16th.


On a lighter note, I must thank you again for helping me with the essay I wrote for the AIGA minority scholarship. I was awarded the honorable mention.

ALSO: I found a mural job for a restaurant at West Field Mall. I think it will pay decently. Give me a call at 941-526-3228 when you can.

Wishing you health 'n' happiness. Keep the creativity flowing.

Yours truly,

Van Jazmin

It takes courage to look someone straight in the eye and say, “I am not what you think I am”. Every statement of my true nature is preceded by a risk of rejection. When I tell people that I am transgendered – that I identify as a man although I appear female and embrace feminine qualities – they are moved. Some are moved to curiosity, or reverence, and others to unrest, insecurity, or hate. To an open-minded few, my gender nonconformity is inspirational. These reactions move me just as well. I will never forget the classmate who responded, “I admire that because you are really searching for yourself and wont stop until you find it.”

Self discovery is necessary for an artist to develop a personal voice. Likewise, living between genders involves challenging social expectations and deep self-reflection. These revelatory experiences inform my work on a regular basis. For instance, every portrait I paint is a self portrait. Meanwhile, I depict a wide variety of people in my illustrations – from strong women and sensitive men, to wise elders and innocent youths. By representing myself through an assortment of characters, I gain an understanding of my identity through the people I embody. As observe archetypes within myself, I find I can connect with all types of people.

In addition to an intuitive sense of gender, my search for identity is strongly affected by my estranged heritage. Although I am blessed with a supportive family, there is something missing. Where other families may have stories and traditions, my family history is lost due to frequent displacement. To fill the void, I make friends with different cultural backgrounds, and immerse myself in their stories. With a sketchbook in tow, I glorify the details of peoples' lives that are often taken for granted. This way, I can transform a typical family outing into a celebration of togetherness, or turn a frivolous party into a meaningful discussion group. Often I am the guest at dinner who starts a thread running for a memorable night of story-telling. Those stories remain with me, and are eventually immortalized in my work.

By dedicating my life to listening and connecting with others, I am beginning to realize my purpose as a transformational leader. There is a flame inside of me, sparked by those living legends I've met on my journey. Before I came to art school, a Dominican revolutionary on his death bed passed the torch to me, as he repeated, “Stand on my shoulders.” When I arrived at Ringling College, I found a new mentor: a designer with a dream. He shared his stories of near-death experiences and overcoming adversity while educating me on the power of creativity. Ever since, I have been involved with his organization, dedicated to unifying the community through cross-cultural, multi-media events and publications.

Throughout my career as an illustrator and a creative entrepreneur, I will continue to address the imaginary boundaries that divide communities. As a member of a marginalized group in society, I will take on the plight of all “second class citizens”. I will promote social acceptance through power of communicative arts. I will raise the status of creators with the establishment of an environmentally conscious design firm. Ultimately, I will share all that I've learned to motivate other young creators toward self-actualization.

After I changed my name, I changed my ways. Now I am preparing to change the world.

Van Hibbert
American Creativity

Nightmare Comedy

War is serious business. The Cold War in particular was no laughing matter, for the threat of a nuclear apocalypse manifested in widespread panic and paranoia. With the escalation of global conflicts, the film industry rode the wave, and war films were revived in the box office. These films were often dramatic tales of earnest war heroes who sacrificed everything and were ultimately rewarded. These dramas served as propaganda for and against the many wars that were waged between 1950 and 1970. Anti-war films were especially commonplace after the Vietnam War, which left the viewer with horrific images once only reserved for the memories of shell-shocked veterans. There were also directors who saw these horrors, and chose to use humor to express the sheer terror of a world gone mad. After all, isn't laughter a healthy approach when coping with the bleakest aspects of life ? Two fine examples of comedic approaches to the anti-war film genre are Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love the Bomb and Mike Nichols' screen adaptation of Joseph Heller's Catch-22. Despite focusing on different conflicts in separate time periods, these films share a common thread of absurdity, and the inescapable madness of war; as Kubrick himself may have said, they are quintessentially “nightmare comedies”.

The first of the two films, Dr. Strangelove, was officially released in 1964 – a year after the assassination of JFK. American audiences were not prepared for this kind of movie any sooner. The sky was falling, and who wanted to be reminded of the imbecility of military leaders when mourning over the loss of their Commander in Chief? After all, the apocalyptic scenario played out in Kubrick and Terry Souther's screenplay was also happening in reality with the Cuban Missile Crisis. The screenplay went beyond the hypothetical nature of the Peter George novel it was based on, and became hot button satire of current events. In the 1960s, fear of communist conspiracies and brinkmanship between the U.S. And U.S.S.R. was definitely relevant. So not only does the plot of Dr. Strangelove mirror events during the summer of 1962 (“the most dangerous two weeks in history”), wherein miscommunications between world powers creates potential for “guaranteed mutual destruction”, the characters parody military leaders of the time. Ironically, when the film was shown, Colombia Pictures included this disclaimer: “It is the stated position of the United States Air Force that their safeguards would prevent the occurrence of such events as are depicted in this film. Furthermore, it should be noted that none of the characters portrayed in this film are meant to represent any real persons living or dead.” Furthermore, the disclaimer itself is reminiscent of a scene in the film where General Turgidson (played by a cartoonish George C. Scott) claims that the airforce's “Human Reliability Program” would make it impossible for a field commander to exceed his authority, and that he doesn't “think it's quite fair to condemn the whole program because of a single slip-up.”

Between General Turgidson's juvenile manner and General Jack Ripper's sexual hang-ups (which influence him in single-handedly provoking nuclear combat with the Soviet Union), it is clear that Kubrick meant make a comment on men and militarism. There is only one female actor in the whole film (Tracy Reed), and she is featured in a playboy centerfold ogled by a distracted B-52 bombardier no less. Three main roles were undertook by the prolific Peter Sellers, whose ability to improvise dialog lead to hilarious retroscripting by Kubrick and Souther. There is a scene where Sellers, as the egg-headed President of the United States, carries on a telephone conversation so expressively that he is the only actor required in the conversational scene. He also plays a stuffy British officer as if it were second-nature to him, and last but not least, excels at his part as the sinister nazi weapons expert who the film is named after. It is now difficult to imagine the scientists behind the hydrogen bomb or the Manhattan project without thinking of a grinning goon in a wheelchair wearing black leather gloves.

Already the story and hysterical characters serve to make Dr. Strangelove a memorable film, but what makes it worthy of being preserved in the National Film Registry must be the sophisticated direction and meticulous set designs, which are synonymous with Stanley Kubrick. Despite working under a tight restrictions, Kubrick was able to produce an aesthetically and technically advanced piece of cinema. He did such thorough research for recreating the insides of the bomber planes that the film crew risked investigation by the FBI. The “War Room” where the President and his Chiefs of Staff hide underground is an equally impressive set, perhaps inspired by German expressionist film. Whereas the battle scenes use an active camera in a gritty documentary style, the scenes at the Pentagon use longer shots, less camera movement, and careful lighting. Kubrick also placed cuts mid-scene to induce suspense. I found that even though a different photographic style was used for each location, the fact that the film is completely black and white ties it together. It takes true artistry to create imagery is so strong as the iconic scenes in Dr. Strangelove.

While Kubrick's take on the absurdity of war mongering was masterfully executed on a small budget, Mike Nichols' anti-war farce, Catch-22, was masterfully executed on a massive budget. The fact that Catch-22 used actual B-25 bombers instead of models contributd to its commentary on war as a tremendous waste of money (those who argue that the film was a waste of money may fail to see the irony of showing a horrendous plane wreck in the distance while two military men in the foreground nonchalantly chat about ways to make profit on the war.) Released almost a decade after Dr. Strangelove, Catch-22 premiered in 1970 to an audience disillusioned by the Vietnam War. Although the film takes place on an airforce base in Italy during World War II, rather than in the heat of the jungle, it is still relevant to the era in which it was made. A sense of panic is pervasive. The central character, Captain Yossarian, knows that the war is crazy (meanwhile, most of America is realizing this about the endless Cold War) and strives to escape. He tries everything from stripping naked to feigning a head injury to end his futile missions, and is hit with convoluted logic: the “catch” is that everyone knows the war is crazy, so if you're sane enough to fake insanity to get out of fighting, it only proves that you are sane, and so you have to keep fighting. There does not seem to be a way out of the madness, which escalates as the story progresses in a non-linear manner. War, according to Catch-22, is a “no-win situation”.

Another driving force of Nichols' film is the frenetic acting, especially the panicked, hollering Alan Arkin as Yossarian. Not unlike Dr. Strangelove, the characters in Catch-22 are played over-the-top and cartoonish. For example, lieutenant Milo Minderbinder, played by Jon Voight, wheels and deals with arrogance. His superiors Catchcart (Martin Balsam) and Dreedle (Orson Welles) care more about their appearance than victory while their men drop like flies or resort to crimes against humanity. The screenplay dialog – derived from Heller's novel with skillful additions – is so absurd on its own that the actors' gesticulations and comedic timing makes those parts laugh-out-loud funny. There are, however, many scenes that are not funny – serious gruesome images spliced between visual puns and sarcastic humor make for disturbing contrast. By 1970, censorship boards had less squeeze on filmmakers, and that's why Nichols' film features graphic dismemberment as well as full frontal nudity, which makes Kubrick's early work seem tame in comparison.

Not only that, there is an absence of standards for American films – virtually no cliches or typical plot structure. Catch-22 could be mistaken for a European film in its non-conventional storytelling. It is nearly a surrealist film, beautifully executed with long well-planned shots. The direction is so clever, and the cinematography so visually pleasing, that it is hard not to watch it as a work of art. Despite the countless explosions, blood, and guts, this is no action flick. I also must make mention of the sound track because it is intensely layered with effects and noise. The blaring sound of the planes overwhelms the talking tracks, emphasizing the unpleasant reality of war machines. At other times, there is no sound at all except for the dialogue, and so the film becomes rich by the absence of noise. The only music used in the film is the military band playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever” in the final scene when Yossarian flees to Sweden for his freedom – the only sane thing to do.
After watching both of these films back-to-back, the most obvious common theme appears to be the instability and immorality of the people who make war. In Dr. Strangelove, the men in charge of dispatching nuclear weapons are either bumbling fools or fanatical reactionaries. The only voice of reason in Kubrick's film is the President, who is nevertheless bland and easily influenced by his nazi advisor. Similarly, in Catch-22, the generals are masochists who like to say, “take him out and shoot him!” and are willing to bomb their own base if it means profit. In both movies, the bombardiers, who follow insane orders with uneasiness, are portrayed more sane than their officers. Neither Dr. Strangelove or Catch-22 glorify the military; in fact, they are equally disparaging and critical of war mongers. The satirical approach to anti-war filmmaking is effective because it encourages the audience to laugh at the human folly involved in war. If more people viewed war as it is portrayed in these two films, there would be little support for foreign invasions or nuclear proliferation. The logic of fighting for peace is as baffling as the catch-22, and the continuation of proxy wars in the 21st century amongst nations capable of mass destruction is as futile as trying to strike first in “noocular combat toe-to-toe with the rooskies”. One last thought: how is it that these films are funny because they're true, and simultaneously terrifying for the same reason?

Behold
The apex of human progress!
Visit the salient cities of a new world "order"
and sit on the leather throne
of your state-of-the-art, privately owned
traffic jam.

If you look to your right
you will see luxurious five-star
truck stops,
mile-high Hilton hives for all you
balcony beach bums,
and of course, scenic green acres
complete with a beautifully groomed
driving range.

Don't forget
when crossing the street,
to wait for direction from the nearest
self-serving state trooper,
and to yield to the flashing neon excitement
of reconstituted waste.

Observe the commoners in their natural
habitat for humanity,
living a life of simplicity in loose fitting
imported rags,
sipping on discount's instant grape flavored
escapes.
Watch them twist and shout when
the blue team versus the red team
in an inner city arms race.

And that's not all:
Act now and we will include
a first-class, one-way ticket to
the desert brigade.
For community service
They will not pay us
'If this is order, why not try chaos?'

Questioning Reality: Symbolism in The Matrix



Two men stand within a white void. There is no time or place, only a pair of padded armchairs and a vintage television set hailing the brand name, "Deep Image". As I watch the scene with close scrutiny, I lose awareness of myself. Concentrated on this movie scene, the world around me dissolves. Then, I'm hit with a line of dialogue that moves me from my trance: "How do you define real? If you're talking about what you can feel, smell, taste, and see...then 'real' is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain." (The Matrix) Suddenly, I realize that I'm actually watching pixels that create the image of a Hollywood movie, which represents people in a simulated world, played by actors in a computer-generated environment. Deeper still, the story told in The Matrix is rich in symbolism, so that each character and setting represents someone or something in reality. Through symbols and archetypes, the filmmakers successfully link the digital world of “the Matrix” to the "real" world outside the television screen. Thus, in order to connect with the allegory of The Matrix, the viewer must consider the question, "What is real?"

In the aforementioned scene, the man who holds the remote is called Morpheus. He shares a name with the god of dreams of Greek mythology, which is no coincidence, because it is he who wakes the protagonist from his "sleep". (Clark) Throughout The Matrix, there are many references to dreaming and awakening. From the very first shot of Thomas Anderson slumbering as projections from a monitor flicker across his face, one can predict this character's awakening in his technological surroundings. "You ever have that feeling when you're not sure if you're awake or still dreaming?" he drones. (The Matrix) Again and again, Anderson is lead into surreal situations, only to wake up the next morning and find himself still trapped in a software company desk job. When the agents apprehend him silenced to be bugged with an insectoid machine, it is thought to be a nightmare. He wakes up to the voice of Morpheus calling from another plane of existence. "You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees, because he's expecting to wake up..." Morpheus foreshadows, "Ironically, this is not far from the truth. " To prepare Neo/Anderson for defragmentation, he poses a conundrum: "Have you ever had a dream[...] you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream, Neo? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?" (The Matrix) Clearly, these scenes reflect the rising action of the hero's induction into the real world, where he awakens in primordial ooze of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Once awakened, Neo is re-introduced to life in the 21st century as simulated world called "The Matrix". With a touch of the dial, Morpheus exposes the only reality Neo knows as a "dream world," in comparison to the crumbling ruins that make up "the desert of the real." (The Matrix) This scene is an alludes to French Philosopher, Jean Bauldrillard's definition of simulation:

"Today, abstraction is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror, or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the map, nor does it survive it. It is nevertheless the map that precedes the territory-the precession of simulacra- that engenders the territory. It is the real, not the map, whose vestiges persist here and there in the deserts that are no longer those of the Empire, but ours: The desert of the real itself." (Bauldrillard)

By including this reference, the writers of The Matrix establish the meaning of this oppressive virtual reality as a product of the procession of simulacrum, described in Bauldrillard's essay, "Simulacra and Simulations". Like Bauldrillard's idea of looking at the map of the empire as it once was instead of the real territory where the empire has fallen, Neo has been living in a computer-generated construct of the year 1999 while the real world is long-gone. Moreover, it's ironic that in the beginning of the film, Neo uses a hollowed-out copy (simulation) of Bauldrillard's book as a hiding place for contraband software. The significant aspect of simulacrum to The Matrix is the notion that people believe in a facade made up of copies of outdated images (i.e. the American dream) in place of the real world, in which humans are enslaved by machines. All of the artificially intelligent machines in the movie are shaped like insects -- efficient, instinctive, and devoid of emotion. It is easy to say The Matrix is about man versus technology, since the humans are actually at war with the machines. However, I interpret the dominating machines as a metaphor for the domination of rigid thinking in society, where less compassion and more methods of mass conditioning (marketing) are prevailing qualities. The Agents in The Matrix represent the controlling mechanical thinkers at the top of the corporate ladder. Similarly, they prosper on the energy of the unconscious masses, while projecting a false sense of security. At the climax of the film, Agent Smith is the spokesman for the enslavement of mankind as he marvels at the sight of simulated skyscrapers, "Billions and billions of people, just...living out their lives...oblivious. [...] I believe, that as a species, human beings define their reality through misery and suffering." (The Matrix)

At first, Neo is overwhelmed by this information, sickened by this visage, and refuses to believe it. The hero's disillusion is symbolic of the early stages of enlightenment -- eventually, Neo is taught how to bend all the rules of reality, thereby becoming the savior of mankind. The name Neo, meaning "new”, and Anderson ("andros" is Greek for “man”) signifies him as "the new son of man" – yet another clue to the character's messianic ascension. (Clark) On second viewing of The Matrix, it shouldn't be a surprise that the computer hacker refers to Neo as, "My own personal Jesus Christ," only later to be executed and then resurrected. I see a closer comparison to Neo and the Gnostic Christ than the Christ of the New Testament. In Gnostic myth, there are a number of salivic figures who seek to bring mankind to spiritual freedom. (Hoeller) These "Messengers of Light" of Gnostic Christianity come to dispel ignorance of the spiritual reality perpetuated by "the false creator and his Archons" , akin to the mission of the awakened humans aboard the Nebuchadnezzar -- the name of the ship is even an explicit biblical reference to a Babylonian dictator. (Clark) Another obvious allusion to the Bible is that the last human city is called Zion, a metaphor for a distant yet sought-after goal or "promised land", which is appropriate since it is never visited in the movie. Also, no symbolic Christ-figure is complete without a Judas to betray him, whom in this case is Cypher. Just as Judas shares a drink with Jesus before turning him in, Cypher offers up his cup to Neo, and later turns traitor over a fancy dinner with Agent Smith. (Clark) It's important to note that Cypher wants to return to the Matrix to enjoy sensory gratification, even requesting, "I wanna be rich...you know, somebody important." (The Matrix) Clearly, Cypher's character represents willful ignorance for the sake of greed. Furthermore, he is manipulative, malicious, and happy to make a deal with an enemy for a reward -- an epic villain to balance Neo's epic heroism.

Meanwhile, Going farther with the thread of the Christian story, is an underlying story unfolding. The Matrix is the world that's been "pulled over our eyes". It may be subtle, but this leads me to a connection with the occult -- along with mass media, this is another web of symbols that may refer to another method of control, not only the corporate technology, and religious institutions. Another definiton of a "matrix" is "a rectangular array of quantities or expressions set out by rows and columns; treated as a single element and manipulated according to rules" ("Matrix") Notice that there are a number of images throughout the movie of triangles, pyramids, and columns. Let's go back to the white room and the television set, and its pyramid-shaped emblem. Let this pass as a coincidental image, but it is seen and acknowledged nonetheless. Then, consider that Morpheus distinctly shapes his hands into a triangle at the beginning of this scene, as he introduces "the construct". This hand gesture is associated with Freemasonry. An editor from the The International Masonic Research Society refers to Freemasonry as "a beautiful system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols." (Mcleod) Besides Morpheus' hand signal and the pyramid on the television, there is another masonic symbol in the white room, because the red armchairs are decked with lions' heads. It is difficult to ignore the possible significance of even these symbols, considering that the filmmakers of The Matrix are clearly careful in what is included on-screen at all times -- controlling the color scheme through exclusion of blue objects in the Matrix and green objects in the real world. Then, it is no accident that the lion is a masonic symbol of the sun, and there are repeated references to the sun throughout the movie: first, Morpheus reveals that the humans destroyed the sun as an attempt to destroy the machines. Later, there are sun wheels on computer monitors, a sun-shaped clock on the wall before the Oracle is introduced, and the word "Sol" is seen multiple times in the background during the climactic showdown between Neo and Agent Smith. Furthermore, checkered floors -- a well-recognized characteristic in Masonic rituals -- are seen in the staircases. Perhaps these seemingly subtle references to secret societies redefine the Matrix as a hidden matrix of power, a web of symbology that saturates the world, unquestioned by the sleeping masses.

Another, more overt, theme in the Matrix is the use of reflections. Having established the layers of complex imagery used in the film, I uphold that the mirror has multiple meanings. First, mirror images are associated with magic and trickery, which refers to the illusory nature of perception. Morpheus emphasizes the brain's powers to make whatever it sees reality, responding,"Your mind makes it real." (The matrix) When the agents escort Neo Anderson from a building made of reflective glass, the whole process is seen through a mirror, begging the viewer to ask, "is this really happening?" Later, the hero is reflected in a double-image when he is faced with his two choices -- to see the truth or remain in the dream world. Once Neo decides to be awakened, he sees his mirror reflection go from fragmented to whole as he becomes "the One". Then, upon meeting the other potential saviors, he watches his reflection on a spoon warp as he realizes the truth, "There is no spoon," meaning that without perception there is no reality. (Clark)

In sum, the Matrix is a reflection of the image-saturated reality in which we all operate. The filmmakers use references to consciousness (waking, dreaming, and perception) along with pervasive symbols in Western culture (computers and Christianity) to address the question, "what is real?" If our experiences are defined by the books we read, the movies we watch, and the institutions we hold responsible for the functions of society, then reality is only a complex program of symbols. If the material world is limited to sensory interpretations, which vary from person to person, and the spiritual world is unmeasurable, what is the foundation of reality? When one considers that is is now common in the post-postmodern 21st century to interact exclusively through the internet -- a digital simulation of society at large -- it more important than ever to ask "how do you define real?" Through an illusionary medium, The Matrix holds a mirror to society and its reliance on self-delusion, ultimately causing viewer to question reality.









Works Cited:

Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulations. Translated by Sheila Faria Glaser.
Michigan: University of Michigan Press. 1994.

Clark, Frank. “Baudrillard, Christ, & Reality: Reading The Matrix As A Postmodernist Statement”. EnglishScholar. May 2001. Web. 09 July 2010. <http://englishscholar.com/matrix/matrix.htm>.

Hoeller, A. Stephan. “The Gnostic World View: A Brief Summary of Gnosticism”. The Gnosis Archive. February 2009. Web. 09 July 2010. <http://www.gnosis.org/gnintro.htm>

The Matrix. Dir. Andy Wachowski and Lana Wachowski. Perf. Keanu Reeves, Laurence Fishburne. Warner Bros., 1999.

McLeod, Wallace. “Masonic Symbols: Their Use And Abuse”. A Page About Freemasonry. 14 January 2010. Web. 10 July 2010. <http://web.mit.edu/dryfoo/masonry/essays/symbols-and-use.html>

After a particularly stressful day, the best way to escape reality is not with drugs, but dreams. When we are asleep, the world is a playground: There is no pain, actions do not have consequences, and travel is unlimited. Because dreams derive from reality, however, they tend to arrive at mundane locations. Ever finished a long shift at a tedious job, only to wake up to your alarm clock and realize it had been a cruel rehearsal? To avoid the overtime and steer your dream vessel toward the uncanny, consider lucid dreaming: a method for becoming aware that you are dreaming during a dream. While an average dream may be spent in an abyss with occasional flashes of imagery, a lucid dream is experienced as a journey within the imagination. It's an opportunity for introspection, creativity, and pleasure. Best of all, anyone can learn to control their dreams; all it takes is dedication, observation, and a good night's rest.

The dream world is a place unbounded by the laws of physics and the constraints of time. It is a vast stage where the mind produces an absurd play featuring our thoughts and memories. In the depths of sleep, most people do not realize they are watching a show. It can be so believable that, upon waking, they may be feel disappointed to be torn from a vivid fantasy or greatly relieved to have escaped an unpleasant situation. This is due to our tendency to operate on “auto-pilot”. We deal with whatever situation the subconscious conjures up, reacting as we would in reality. Lucid awareness, on the other hand, reminds the dreamer that they are not restricted by reality, and therefore free to explore the countless possibilities of the dream world. To attain such a state can take days or even weeks of preparation, but it possibly the most unique experience available.

The first step in preparing for lucidity is to remember your dreams. I recommend keeping a dream journal. Three years ago, when I first started documenting my dreams, I could rarely re-call anything but vague images, fragments of dialogue, and fleeting emotions. Still, I took careful notes of every detail like I was collecting clues to an unsolved mystery. With time, my dreams became more coherent and my journal more elaborate. This is no coincidence. Memories of dreams will not slip away so easily if you make an effort to retain them. Either jot down your dreams in the mornings in a notebook by the bed, or try to remember them long enough to be typed in a blog later. Once this becomes a routine, it's crucial to start looking for connections between your dreams. The ability to recognize re-occurring themes, called dream signs, will be essential to achieving lucid awareness.

By becoming familiar with aspects of the dream world, we can then distinguish the difference between dreams and waking life. This may seem too obvious. “Of course I'm awake,” you might be thinking. But how can you be so sure? One indicator is that you are reading this essay. In a dream, the words would likely re-arrange and change, or become illegible. Reality is characterized by consistency – cause and effect, logical order of events, and predictability. There are many ways to check for consistency: remember the events leading up to this moment, count your fingers, examine the environment for irregularities, or do a double-take at a clock. Use these reality checks throughout the day to answer the question: “Am I dreaming?” To remind myself to do a reality check, I sometimes write an “A” on my hand. Then every time I see it, I remember to assess my level of awareness. I ensure my own wakefulness by just realizing that I am conscious. That way, when I habitually do a reality check when I am actually dreaming, I will inevitably realize it is a dream. This triggers a state of lucid awareness, which grants me complete control over the dream. In sum, lucid dreaming is made possible by self-induced psychological programming.

Once documenting dreams is a daily practice and performing reality checks becomes a ritual, every night holds a prospect of a lucid dream. It's easy to stay awake thinking about the potential for exploration of alien landscapes and conversations with dead celebrities. Making plans for what to do when the dream arrives will be helpful, but on the cusp of sleep, it's more important to relax (if falling asleep is difficult, try listening to soft music or binaural frequencies). After crossing the threshold into the dream world, gaining awareness is a matter of reacting to the given surroundings. The first time I had a lucid dream, I found myself in a grocery store. I had a feeling that something was wrong. I couldn't remember how I got there. When I looked down, I was wearing clothes that I knew I didn't own, so I concluded that I must be dreaming. Suddenly, I gained control of my movements and ran down the aisles at an impossible speed. The thrilling epiphany, “I can do whatever I want!” gave me a sense of power. It was a rush of awareness, like waking up with a splash of cold water. As soon as I stopped running, my lucidity dissipated. Nevertheless, the experience was so memorable that it inspired me to continue my pursuit of lucid dreams.

Maintaining a state of awareness in a dream is a challenge. Blinking, hesitating, or losing concentration for a second can sabotage the entire process. To remain lucid, one must continuously look around, pick up objects, and explore new realms. Lucid dreaming, therefore, is not for passive observers but for active participants. Immediately after discovering that you are indeed dreaming, form an objective – perhaps to find a place you've seen in a past dream – and don't stop moving. I suggest trying something supernatural, like flying. Flying is a great way to prolong a lucid dream, because it takes concentration and constant movement. Plus, it's incredibly fun.

On the flip side, there is the possibility that a prolonged lucid dream may lead to a false awakening, in which the dreamer repeatedly “wakes up”, only to realize that they are still dreaming. The time I experienced this phenomenon, I became distraught. Caught in a loop of false awakenings, I thought I was forever trapped in the dream. This prompted me to forcibly wake myself up by screaming at my distorted reflection in a mirror. My lucid dream had turned into a nightmare. I should have taken advantage of my stable state of awareness and had an adventure, but rather I dwelled on one disturbing thought. In the event of a false awakening, remember that it is a temporary state and there is no reason to panic. Forget trying to wake up, and instead go to sleep in the dream.

The effort that lucid dreaming requires is well worth the benefits it yields. I hope that by practicing these techniques, more people can experience the liberation that comes with awareness in both dreams and waking life. Reflecting on awareness reduces automated behaviors such as “zoning out” and mindlessly moving from task-to-task like a worker ant. Regardless of whether one can achieve lucid dreams, continuing to use reality checks inevitably creates a habit out of becoming aware. Since I learned to lucid dream, I have begun to ask myself questions like, “How does my awareness fluctuate throughout the day?” and “How aware am I of my position in my surroundings?” As a result, I feel that I am “in the moment” more often. It has also assisted me as an artist by revealing new ideas from deep in my subconscious. Pure awareness is synonymous with creativity. Last but not least, lucid dreaming can nourish spirituality when used as a medium for counsel with God. The world of dreams is infinitely inspirational, and the pursuit for answers within depends on the expansion of consciousness. Mindfulness, when cultivated, can improve the quality of life for everyone.

Put me back there.

"Do you wonder sometimes about sound and vision?" is the question I plan to ask. I'm quick to acquire a movie for the two of us to see: Christmas on Mars (the Flaming Lips!). I wouldn't call on Saturday without an idea. And I certainly wouldn't call until I was dressed to the neck. Before I could dial his number I see Nick's name light up on my phone. Hey man, what's up? Just sitting in my room (I had been tidying up, thinking about the day.) Sure, come by. See you soon. All the while, Wendy Carlos' soundtrack to A Clockwork Orange is spinning in the background. I make sure my bandana is on straight and prepare a stir fry. When Nick's beige-mobile rolls up outside my window, I move the needle and get a mouthful of noodles before greeting him and Mary at the door. Y'all look like you've been swimming! I take notice to some bottle necks peeking out of brown sacks. "We got a whole lot of alcohol," Nick explains with armfuls of evidence. I don't want my brother to know that we're chilling cheap wine in the fridge, or that I just swiped our mom's Playboy corkscrew. There are suddenly plans for a beach romp. Ho ho, this is gonna be good.

To my surprise, Clay appears in the doorway. He's dressed in beach wear from Urban Outfitters. The coincidence is delightful. Mary and Nick, after recalling an awesome story involving free gasoline, retrieve their bottles from the crisper. Soon enough I'm on the road with Clay. "We hit the big time -- yeah, yeah -- you're such a maniac, we're fuckin' maniacs, we're fuckin' maniacs oooh." We make a stop at Janine's blue house to ask her baby daddy to help us get liquor. I didn't think it was necessary, but Clay actually had a great wad of money in his little Warhol wallet. Yeah, let's get that shit with the gold flakes in it. Then I'm smoking a chocolate cigarette in the parking lot of Walmart, waiting for our man with the clinking glass. It's all very gamey. I finally pop the question, clumsily. A mention of David Bowie makes Clay light up with conversation and I love it. Although, I felt dumb when I couldn't guess "Diamond Dogs". Gasp, can't forget Halloween Jack. I hate guessing games.

We stop back at my house briefly to conceal the goods, plus pour an amount for the occasion. Vodka easily masquerades as spring water. Hunky dory. Middle beach is a lovely place with a lovely couple drunk kiddies laid akin on a pic-a-nic table. Ah, good to see you. Mary's bikini top is showing and Nick has a stuck grin. There's delight in the air. No children at the playground, so we talked about the joys of being legal and going to porn shops. Despite our differences, we're at an agreement. Now it's time to make it into the trail with a carelessly exposed bottle o' vino. I adore the sights. I cannot commiserate with my barefooted friends stepping on spikes. Phil's bench is perfect for four! I pass the dutchie on the left hand side while fish jump out of the water. Clay is beginning to show his true colors, and even scares Mary a little. Nevertheless, there's positive energy surrounding us, and so it's time for the beach. Shore thing, I'll lead the way! Gulp.

The sun is so bright after walking in the shade of the canopy. The water is burning in the distance, like liquid metal. The crew follows me to "the tree" only after I assure them that I know where I'm going. It seems as though whenever I am really confident about something, people want to doubt me. Good grief. We find the blasted tree, which I manage to climb in record time. The view from above is perfect. I can hardly hear the conversation going on below me, and that's okay because I'm not a part of it. I wish I had my camera. When I come down, everybody's high. We have a talk about the importance of honesty and the shame of lies. Sooner or later it's time for a swim. The waves are cold cold cold! Hell if I care. Stripped down to my binder, I'm slightly hesitant to throw down the Red Towel. We walk into the tide with slow assertion. Clay suggests that we fight waves like Artie on Pete & Pete. I get salty water in my eyes with each punch, karate chop, and uppercut.

Later we pass around the Red Towel and blow our noses on it. Humans do as we do. Eventually it's time to trek back, so we take the road instead of the beach as to make time. What a mistake. There weren't many cars on the road, really. Not until this white SUV shoves by us and violently smacks Nick in the back like a thunderclap. Horrifying impatience in broad daylight! The mirror broke off, bruised him instantly. It happened so fast, I didn't know how to react. Nobody did. The driver stops in his tracks to check on the damages. The fat old man with a fanny-pack doesn't apologize. "The road is not a sidewalk," yet there is no sidewalk except the road side."Well, you shouldn't hit people with your car!" is Nick's response. The guy just backs off and drives away. We should have asked him for money and threatened to write down his plate, but we hadn't been thinking properly. What if? Silence followed by nervous laughter is imminent.

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When I predicted that the 8th would be the happiest day of my life, I was not fooling myself. No siree, it's quite hard to beat six hours of eager jubilee, three hours of genuine euphoria, and two more of content exhaustion to top it off. That doesn't come close to a summary, either. There is so much left to describe that I don't know where to begin or how to find the appropriate words to describe such a magical event. Ever since I hopped off my chair that Sunday afternoon to yell to the high heavens the revelation of Ween's forthcoming to Florida, I have not dismissed the show from my mind. I may be relieved of the anticipation now that it's over and done, but those expectations have been replaced with glorious memories.

But enough of my grandiloquence; this shall be a review rather than a reminiscence (even if it felt like a spiritual experience). St. Petersberg, as always, was a treat to visit. I'll start there. St. Pete is a high-density city between Sarasota Tampa that is distinguishable by its many red, orange, and pink buildings. Quite stylish if you ask me, with all the auburn roofing and latin hangouts. We passed Tropicana Field and the Holocaust Museum on our way, my dad finished his second blunt for the day, and Gov't Mule on the car stereo kept us from freaking out over our closeness to Ween. Zac and I could almost smell them, if you catch my drift. On arrival, however, we found out that specific combination of sweat, beer, hemp, and cigarettes filling our senses was reeking from the fans themselves.

Waiting outside the gate, surrounded by fellow Weeners, nearly killed me. Oh, and what a variety of folks showed up! I never knew so many dreadlock-sporting mothers and tattooed internet geeks lived in the region. Although, I'm sure a lot of them migrated south just for Ween...there's always road-trippers. So five minutes into standing in the ticket lines, I almost lose my head because I suddenly see Dave Dreiwitz and Kirk walk through the crowd right ahead of Zac and I. The instant I recognize the two men, the realism of the event sinks in and I become more excited than ever. My teeth don't begin chattering until we're in front of the stage ogling at Claude's drumkit -- as well as a strange microphone wrapped in a palm trunk -- as the court yard overflows with happy fans. Zac whispers, "If you throw up, I don't know you. Okay?"

I didn't upchuck on anybody, though I felt like I might when I saw Dean wave to the crowd from behind the stage, 15 minutes before the show began. That put a grin on my face 10 miles wide which refused to falter. Hell, I must have looked like a lunatic I was so eye-poppingly gleeful. The joy I felt when Ween finally came onstage knew no bounds -- it felt like I had been waiting away a lifetime in the front row and when they came out and opened with "Exactly Where I'm At", I was in heaven. When the song kicked in, I remembered why I was so excited in the first place: live music, especially live Ween, just sounds so good. "She Wanted to Leave" came second and I was thrown from my world, overcome with positive energy, sucked into euphony. Something like that.

The setlist was ever satisfying. A powerful medley consisting of classics ("Little Birdy", "Doctor Rock", "Push Th' Little Daisies"), rarities ("Albino Sunburned Girl", "Final Alarm"), new material ("Leave Deaner Alone", "Light Me Up"), and contemporary favourites ("Mister Richard Smoker", "Transdermal Celebration"). To my surprise, they played the most songs from White Pepper than any other album. I was expecting to hear more from Quebec or Shinola, Vol. 1 honestly. Either way, I must express how thankful I am to have heard any of their music live in person, especially such a well-played variety of it. Never will I forget the way Zac and I exchanged ecstatic glances when Gener, in his button-up glory, announced "Puerto Rican Power".

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Mr. Ramsay's advice for his students was to stay home today. "Make it a mental health day," he said, "nobody's going to be here anyway." Boy, I am sure I didn't listen to him this time. He almost had me convinced that today would be useless and nobody would show up. The truth is, he wasn't going to be there and neither were his prized students. They were all on their way to south China for an extra-special field trip that requires the use of public squat toilets. Hooray for them! I, on the other hand, still have classes to attend to, no matter how boring or useless they are. I think I've become resistant to Ramsay's rule, thinking over the way I reacted. Mind you, he should have given us a mental health day a long time ago. A couple of them.

Okay, so a lot of the student body was missing today. Unlike Mr. Ramsay tried to persuade us, this wasn't the cause for the dismissal of involvement. My teachers still had expectations of me that I failed to meet, just like any other day. The only big difference I noticed was that my louder classes were tamer, thus less annoying, and the halls didn't smell quite as pissy as usual. Did I ever talk about that? My school smells terrible, like some sort of sweaty Axe beast took a leak on all the walls like we were in France or something. Just like L.A. Ainger, this effect is enhanced whenever it rains which, fortunately, it doesn't too often. When it rains I can get close to gagging on that dank air. Sheeet!

By sixth hour I had gone crackers bananas with anticipation for the Ween show. The rest of my school day is not even worth mentioning, but in Mrs. Head's class I was just buzzin' on my own excitement. While my remaining classmates were doping around, playing "hangman", I was feverishly doodling images of the mighty Boognish and transcribing titles of Ween songs across my notebook. I could not just not imagine the great time I will definitely have in time. Glorious sounds will fill my ears -- no, my brain! -- and I will be incapacitated by the immense amount of skill, soul, and strength the performance shall reign upon us groundlings. To keep myself from acting out, I attempted listing all of Ween's legit songs alphabetically in my head.

There is no negative stress, not anymore, not today. I'm sitting here drinking a tall, cool glass of water; there's pink light shining through my curtains; no screams can be heard but those of utter happiness. Ahhh! Plus my dad got me some new shoes to wear to the concert. They're ugly and over-sized, but oh-so comfortable. For now I'm waiting for Zac to arrive, which shouldn't be too long. All I can do is hold on to these moments and hope not to drop dead until after the show. I swear, if I'm this hyped about it now what will I be like when we arrive at the venue? God, please don't let my heart explode or my bladder for that matter.

Just a few hours and my dreams will come true. Okay okay, maybe I make the event sound too fanciful. Put it this way: Ween are my favourite living band right now, I have been obsessed with them since the Weenings of late 2005, and I have vividly fantasized about seeing them ever since I bought their DVD last November. Truthfully, it didn't seem like something that would happen for a long time. I imagined attending one of their shows later in high school or summat, never this year. That's crazy talk! Oh, but it's reality now -- I still close my eyes and imagine myself standing against the stage; however, now it is much more than a reverie. Soon enough I'll smell the sweat of a thousand dirty Ween fans and feel the magnitude of Boognish separate my mind from my body. Heck yes.

Not only has this been the longest week of my life, it's been one of the most stressful outside of academics. I have so many jobs at home because my siblings refuse to help out, my friends' expectations have not been met, I can't keep up with my internet duties, and I just generally feel shitty. For that matter, I also haven't been updating my journal regularly. I am sorry it's come to this, but writing one entry a day has become another load on my shoulders. Anyway, there's so much happening that it'd be impossible to document everything here without spending time unecessarily (but am I not already doing so?) Between pointless crap mucking up my schedule and my upcoming responsibility, I'm going nuts here.

Hey, but don't think I'm miserable or anything. There is no denying that I am psyched about some things coming up in the next two weeks. For one there is the Ween show: I am so excited about that my brain could implode right at this moment. Thinking about what may happen at the concert (although I probably shouldn't) has probably added to the sluggishness of time. In a way I feel like I want to hold on to the anticipation the longest I can, but on the other hand I think all this pressure -- positive or not -- is unhealthy. I could be popping braincells every time I imagine being in close proximity to the band while they play their godly music for me. Maybe I'm overestimating the power of one Ween show...then again, maybe I'm not.

If anything, it'll be way better than the Ween dreams I've had. Yes, even that one where they were wearing traditional Japanese robes and jamming on a metallic island among a sea of fiery fans or when I offered Dean donuts in a real life chatroom. Speaking of dreams, I had my third lucid moment last night! I was standing in the muddy driveway of the old farmhouse looking up at the pale blue sky through some bare trees when I realized that I wasn't really visiting Pennsylvania, I was dreaming the whole venture up. In amazement that a dream could be so realistic, I cut off all conversations with the people around me and I proceeded to walk around the house. Unfortunately, my lucidity was dismissed within an instant.

Even staying lucid long enough to make the big realization is astounding, I must say. I need to get better at it so I can practice summoning and eventually have complete control. My goal is to, on my own command, meet somebody I admire that I could not speak to otherwise. Their words wouldn't be their own; however, I would love to describe such a confrontation. Lucid dreaming has to be one of the neatest things I have ever discovered on my own. It's just a shame I haven't had time to practice it the proper way, with school and all. Aside from giving me a reason to wake up early, art class, and an opportunity to see the guys, school has been just a bother. I feel bad for saying so; I know I should be more thankful. It's just that my classes have become so dull since FCAT ended. I'd rather be at home, self-educating.

All the kids at my bus stop smoke cigarettes and chatter in quasi-street slang. They are the epitome youth in my neighborhood. I take the bus to school every morning now because my dad leaves for work so early. I have no problem with this -- it's a whole lot better than having a private ride and coming in late three times a week, that's for sure. Because of the early arrival, I have time to take a stroll before the first bell. It's a good way to start the day. Best I be in a good mood during Mr. Smith's class so I don't choke a bitch. Usually I am allowed to listen to my mp3 player the entire time, but every once and awhile we get a worksheet and I am forced to listen to the dialogue of Lacie Clark, Bull Astro A.K.A Ricki Lake, and Star Jones.

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