Texas Deserves Itself.

So the world would not be the world unless someone somewhere in Texas was doing something that annoyed me.

In the latest bit of bother, Governor Rick Perry has been blowing a nice chunk of taxpayer cash on a not-too-shabby pad outside of Austin.

Here is the first paragraph from the AP article on Yahoo:

AUSTIN, Texas – With the state facing a budget shortfall of at least $11 billion, Texas Gov. Rick Perry has spent almost $600,000 in public money during the past two years to live in a sprawling rental home in the hills above the capital, according to records obtained by The Associated Press.

And here is the link: Click me! Click me!


.
.
.
.
.
.

Done.

Tonight I took the last final of my Undergrad life. I have completed college. I would tell you more (and believe me I will), but right now I am exhausted in just about every way.



.
.
.
.

Like I Always Say: Fungus is Mightier Than the Sword.

So apparently there is some kind of fungus ravaging the opium fields of Afghanistan. Which means that your Mom’s heroin is going to get more expensive, so you had better chain up your TV like it’s the beginning of Requiem for a Dream (you should seriously get your mom some help).

Read the BBC article all about it.

The thing that I like about this story is that NATO is getting accused of having caused the fungus (somehow). And you know what? I wish that we had, but I think that we all know that we’re not that smart.

This is exactly why I believe that they should put me in charge of stuff. All stuff. I would put together a crack team of awesome people (I would call them my “Awesome-neers” [like engineers or imagineers, only of awesome!]). The team would have the world’s most talented hacker, a muscley european getaway driver, a sexy safecracker, a good all-around funny and cool black guy (like Mos Def maybe). I would get us all Mini-Coopers to zip around in.

Anyway, a bunch of NATO guys would come into the office and be all like, “We have this problem, the Taliban has an endless income because so many Americans are buying their drugs. They use the money to kill our boys. It is a vicious circle. You have to help us. Please The Awesome-neers!”

And then I would rub my chin with my thumb and forefinger (I will have grown a Van Dyke beard by this point) and then I will wink at the sexy safecracker and then I will look at the NATO guys and be all like, “Fungus!”

If we lived in the world that I want to live in, that’s how it would have happened. But since we live in this world, I think it is all just a happy (though mysteriously awesome)accident.

P.S.
Although, now that I think about it, in the early 1960s the CIA tried to implode the Cuban economy by killing off the sugar and coffee fields with chemicals sprayed from crop dusters and also with bugs dropped from airplanes (the CIA spent $30 million designing and producing tiny parachutes for locust and cicadas. True story!).


.
.
.
.
.

“Paparazzi”, as played by a 6th grader.

How fucking cool is this kid?




Click here to read the Yahoo article about him.


.
.
.
.

Can't Sleep.

It’s the middle of the night right now and sometimes the middle of the night is just right for writing. It feels right but I don’t have much to write about right now.

The truth is that I just can’t sleep right now. Life is full of emotion right now. Work stress and school stress and life stress. I don’t mean to complain, I really don’t. I don’t want to be unseemly. I know that many people have it much harder than I do so I try not to complain. Too much.

Anyway, all I want to do right now is write this little note. My little scrawl across the nighttime, my own little bit of internet graffiti. I like to think that when you read this it will be nighttime for you too. I’m in a soft sort of midnight mood right now and I hope that you’ll be in one when you read this.

In other words, I’m being introspective (yes, I acknowledge that there is an awful irony in being introspective by posting on one’s blog) and I just might stay that way for a little while. Please stay tuned then for atrocious poetry about the moon or something.

.
.
.
.

I Love the Word KINETIC.

Two of my favorite things are kinetic typography and Eddie Izzard. So I virtually (no, actually) wet myself with joy when I found this video.



.
.
.

My Netbook Review.

Below is an email that I wrote to my older brother. His laptop died and he was asking in I liked my little HP netbook, which I do. This would be a good time to ask yourself why you like reading other people’s mail. Are you some sick kind of voyeur or something? What’s your deal?


Hi [my brother],

I’m sorry to hear about your laptop, I know that’s like losing a close friend. On the upside though, now you get a shiny new friend and you don’t have to feel any of that guilt when you see the old one sitting on a shelf all sad.

Anyway, I do love my netbook, but it’s not for everybody. I was willing to sacrifice some power for greater portability, but I take it with me almost all the time. It’s great for Word and the internet, but it’s not the fastest thing in the world. Mine has a 60 gb hardrive and only one gb of ram, so I can steam the radio while I use Word and have Facebook open. So that’s good enough for me. I would not use it if I were spending all of my time role playing on World of Warcraft or that kind of thing.

You probably wouldn’t be happy with it as your primary computer, it’s just too small. Also it doesn’t have any drives at all (just USB ports) so you can’t listen to a CD or watch a DVD or anything like that. Even I still have a clunky old Pesario that I tend to use at home because it is normal sized.

So if you want something that’s good on-the-go then a netbook is great, but if you’re looking for an all-purpose, go-to laptop, then you probably want to go with something else. I know that HP makes some standard laptops that are super thin and sleek but still have all the fixings. Or if you want something really cool, Alienware makes one with keys that are backlit red and the side that faces you is molded kind of like the bumper of Knight Rider. That way people know that you’re hard core like the Hoff.

I hope some of that helps,
Jamie

.
.
.
.
.

More Awful Poetry.

So I have never claimed to be a poet. I still make no such claim. What I enjoy doing though is writing nonsense little poems in class while I am supposed to be taking notes.

This is bad for me as a student and even worse for me as a writer. However it is great for you because you get to laugh at how bad my poetry is. Please see below.

.
.
.
.

Poem #1.

Zombies? Really?
By James Bezerra


We seem to be
more afraid of zombies now
than Russians
with A-bombs.

Am I the only one
who
still fears the
killer robot apocalypse?

The invading Martian apocalypse?
The apocalypse of sterility? Of Republicanism?
Of apathy?
Or of Nuclear Winter?

Or – you know –
the actual Apocalypse?
When Jesus comes back, angry.
I think that’s what’s supposed to happen, anyway.


.
.
.
.
.
.

Poem #2.

The Proud Philosophical Lineage
By James Bezerra


The proud philosophical lineage
of Nihilism
makes me feel
not so bad
about
stealing from children
(sometimes kids have good stuff).


.
.
.
.
.

Poem #3.

The Deaf Girlfriend
By James Bezerra


When
a deaf girl
says, “I love you”
she only bothers
with
the vowels.

And when I
say, “I
love you” back,
I don’t say anything
at all;

only
the motions of my mouth
matter.
So I only hope
she doesn’t blink.



.
.
.
.

Poem #4.

I Am an American Consumer.
By James Bezerra


Buying
something
is like
comfort food.
Because
I’m American
and I like comfort food
and buying –
anything, really –
is like
biscuits
and gravy
for my soul.
And
Buying actual biscuits and
gravy
totally completes me.



.
.
.
.
.

An Exchange That Just Happened.

So when I told Violet that I was going to post some of my awful poetry, so suggested that instead I should study for my History final tomorrow and I was all, “How come you do not support my career as a poet?”

And she said, “Because you won’t make any money as a poet.”

And I said, “No body makes money as a poet.”

And she said, “But I think that of all the people who do not make money as a poet, I think that you will make the least money.”

Here is a short poem that I just wrote about that:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Violet does not like my poetry,
but I didn’t really expect her to (because no one actually does).

.
.
.
.
.
.

Plans and Maybe a Coffee Shop.

So dear blog, I am sorry that I have not been around much as of late, but life has been overwhelming. I am in the final days of my last semester at Cal State Northridge and it has been much more difficult and intense than I had expected. All of my papers and projects are turned in. I have three finals still to come this week, but by next weekend I will be done. All that will be left is the stress of waiting for my final grades to come back.

Once all that is done I will be trying to find a way to reengineer my life. I plan to write more (I hope and plan to become prolific!) So expect to see a lot more short fiction posted here. Also, I need to get back down to my fighting weight. I realized that I have put on twenty-five pounds since I went back to school three years ago. So in a few months I want to be nice and trim and maybe even possess a detectable muscle mass!

Also I will be reading more. I can not wait. I have not gotten to read for fun in three years. Three years! I have a whole stack of books I to bite into.

And since Violet and I will finally have some eveing free time, I want to begin the quest for a good coffee shop. I believe in my heart of hearts that somewhere in the greater LA area there simply must be a decent coffee shop. I resolve myself to finding it. So if you have any suggestion, PLEASE COMMENT! I am desperate and need your help.

I know that none of this means anything to you, but sometimes I just like to type. It relaxes me to sit here and type. The way that some writers used to talk about the soothing mechanical clattering of their typewriters, I feel that way about the plastic click of my keyboard keys.

Anyway, once we get through this week you should expect to see much, much more here. A blog updating onslaught that will be unheard of in its veracity and intensity.

So that will be fun. For me anyway.

.
.
.
.
.
.

Minims.

If you enjoy things that are funny, please check out this link for a little book called Minims (the opposite of a maxim).

The author is the wonderfully deranged Tom Weller who wrote one of my favorite fake science books. That book, BTW, is called Science Made Stupid.
.
.
.
.

Bored Games? No, Board Games!

So very many years ago I used to like making board games.

Well, that’s only half true. They were board games, that is absolutely true, but they were also kind of drinking games. They were basically board games that required drinking. I remember thinking that they were fun, but everybody was pretty drunk, maybe they weren't like super fun. At least they were effective, I know that they were atleast that. Unless peole were just humoring me and pretending to be drunk and having fun. If that's the case, that's actually pretty mean.

The games themselves were sort of like crosses between Candyland and Truth or Dare and Trivia Pursuit and Pictionary and I’ve Never. You know what? Now that I’m thinking about it more, they were pretty fricken’ awesome.

Anyway, I was just digging around in my computer and I came across some of the cards that I made for one of the games.

This makes me totally want to have a party! A drinking/board game party!

You can come!

The Cards:

What kind of game show would you like to host?

Which two of the other players would you most like to watch make out?

What do you think makes people attracted to you?

Name 3 celebrities on your sex list.

Which of the other players do you most admire?

When was the last time you had sex?

Go find a q-tip.

Which of the other players is most likely to enjoy dirty talk during sex?

Who was your first love? Why don’t they like you anymore?

Which of the other players would you not want to be handcuffed to for a day?

If the person to your left was a car, what model would they be?

Talk about the first time you had sex. Use a lot of detail.

Which player do you think will die first? Why?

What other players do you have a crush on?

Please confess a deep dark secret.

What would your family be ashamed of you for?

The person to your left gets to choose something from the fridge for you to shoot.

What celebrity would you go gay for?

What is a good reason not to like you?

Please describe your taste in lovers.

Congrats! You get to give this card to someone who then has to take a shot. You are a jerk!

Ask another player what the title of your biography should be.

Ask another player who should play the part of you in a movie about your life.

Ask another player how much cowbell they would like, less or more?

Go change your shirt.

What was one of your best nights?

Lick someone’s neck.

Ask another player why did they even come tonight. Tell them that they were not invited.

Ask another player where they are planning on sleeping tonight. Invite them to sleep with you.

Do your best imitation of an umbrella.

Have you ever stolen anything? If yes, then explain.

Are you a little teapot? I think that you are. Do the routine, we know you know how.

What is your most embarrassing moment?

Cards are really hard to think up so just take a drink.

How many of the other players have you seen in some state of undress?

What is your spirit animal?

Who was your first kiss and where was it?

Are you pregnant?

If you could get away with any crime, would you do it? What would the crime be?

Take a group photo so we can always remember this night, without you of course.

Ask another player why they act like a bitch all of the time.




.
.
.
.

Y, Eye-Right?

So I have been busy busy busy lately trying to do all of this school stuff (the end is near!) but I thought that you might enjoy reading the below essay. It was part of a writing portfolio that I had to submit in my Senior Seminar class. It is one of those “Why I Write” kind of things. You end up having to write a lot of these as you pass through various writing classes, but I think that I got it about right this time.

BTW, I know that just thinking that you might find this interesting is so beyond the average sort of egomania as to be broaching on utter self-delusion, but look, let’s be honest, it is not easy to be generating content all the time for this blog so sometimes I have to double-dip. So why don’t you just not complain so much, huh? Why don’t we try that? Otherwise I’m going to have to put you in a timeout.

Okay, anyway, below is an essay explaining why I write.

Enjoy.


*************

Y, Eye-Right?
By James Bezerra

Attempting to answer the question of why I write always launches me into a kind of existential crisis. Something about my rural upbringing and my Father’s Calvinistic work ethic always makes me think that when people start to wax poetic about the internal muse that they’re really just bloviating all over the place. Attempting to set aside my own issues, I will set sail off into that existential vortex.

First – and this is the truest thing that I will end up saying in this whole paper – I write because I can’t not. My brain is so cluttered with words that they are always banging into one another, like the steel balls of a desk-top Newton’s Cradle. I love words and I love language. However that is not all that my brain is cluttered with. Certain images stick there too and I find myself always trying to describe the images stuck in there with the words stuck in there. I have been carrying little notebooks in my back pocket since I was a boy and when I go back to look through them I find that I have never really written anything in them, but rather they are just scrapbooks of words and phrases. Things that made the inside of my head glow with a weird light. These notebooks are a kind of intellectual and verbal savings account. These notebooks are also where my process really starts, but more on that later.

For now, the truth is that if I didn’t write, I wouldn’t have any outlet for the pressure of all of the language building up inside my skull. It is important to make the distinction here that I seldom dream of stories. First I dream the language. I think that this is the primary reason that I consider myself a writer rather than a novelist or a playwright or a screenwriter. The medium is not particularly important to me. In fact, once the language can be formed into a story, I often have the ability to channel it into a particular form. I have even, whilst bloviating all over someone, said that, “The story chooses its medium.” This should be explained. Briefly.

I have been writing narrative fiction since I was a boy, but as a teenager I started writing plays. After high school I worked as a journalist and I think those experiences explain why dialogue is generally very important in most of my writing. It allows the art - such as it is - to hop the borders of form and I have always taken a lot of pride in that. I like that I can mold the writing into whatever form is required. I have no interest in simply being one thing. I think that this is part of that Calvinistic work ethic. If I’m going to be self-indulgent (which part of my brain thinks all art is) at the very least I can cover as many bases as possible. So I am an award-winning playwright, a former professional journalist, a produced screenwriter and a published short story writer. And, obviously, a very fancy person all around.

There is another reason, though, why I have tried to spread myself across the spectrum; it’s simply that I was never told not to. I didn’t receive any formal creative writing instruction until the Spring of 2008. By that time I had already found myself as a writer, albeit a somewhat schizophrenic one. I think that this is apparent in my writing and it is both a blessing and a curse. I think that all that time writing out in the wild, beyond the safe confines of school, allowed me to develop my own voice in a way that workshops might have squashed. However, it also means that I am deficient in some ways that my peers are not. For instance, since I don’t dream in stories, I often feel like my plots are contrived conveyances for language. I realize that I have tried to compensate for that in school by crafting meticulous and intricate narrative structures. Sometimes I wish that I just dreamed in plot. It would make life easier.

But what does this all have to do with why I write?

It simply makes the point that words are the key. Any single piece of my writing generally begins with words scrawled quickly in one of my little notebooks. Eventually the words start to cling together like sticky electrons and then those phrases start to stick together and form misshapen atoms and eventually I realize that this is something! And then I say to myself, What the hell am I going to do with the phrase ‘Deftron Goat’?

Luckily though, my influences tend to run toward the experimental. I was sixteen when I happened across a copy of Steven Erickson’s novel “Tours of the Black Clock” and I remember reading it in the back of the family van as we drove across the desolation of the Nevada desert. That book blew my mind off its hinges. It was a kind of experiment of form and language that I had never seen before. On the back of that book there were blurbs from both Thomas Pynchon and Tom Robbins. At the time I didn’t know who they were, but I made sure to find out. It was in this way that I learned about what I consider to be my secret family tree. Eventually I found Jonathan Lethem and Aimee Bender. I read every crazy writer that I could get my hands on (there were times when I made the three hour drive to book stores in San Francisco because I didn’t exactly know what I was looking for, but I knew that I couldn’t find it at my local mall outside of Fresno) and while I didn’t try to emulate them, they gave me the support to write however I wanted. When I find myself stuck staring at a blank white page and a mockingly blinking cursor (I first-draft on a computer) I always repeat that to myself: write how you want. As a writer, I am an autodidact, though I had to come back to college to learn that word.

As a creative writing student I have been fleshed out as a professional. I have been given the tools to write effectively. My first semester I was overjoyed to learn terms like: circularity, thumbnail sketch, ergodic, discursive. I remember thinking to myself, these things have names!

Speaking of circularity: why do I write? If we have to get all existential about it, I suppose that I write because it is a kind of active exploration, for me at least. It is part a game of chess, it is part a kind of engineering, it is part a kind of grand and elaborate lie. Writing well means being an expert on everything and it just so happens that everything is exactly what I’m interested in. There is simply no aspect of existence that can’t be contemplated and maybe even understood, through the act of writing. I have discovered that it is through writing that I view the world.

All of this is all fine and good, but the reality is that I was recently rejected by the very best MFA creative writing programs in the country and so the question of why I write has come to the forefront of my actual life as a person. What I should be asking myself is why the hell do I write? Why didn’t I major in business? The answer, of course, is that I had no choice; there was nothing else that I wanted. So in a very real way I am about to set sail back out into the wild where I learned to write, once again without the protection of school and the cozy classes and mandatory assignments. The question of why I write is really a very practical question in my life right now. I know that life would probably be easier if this was not my dream, if I had some other dream. However, I write because I do. There is really no better or more honest explanation. It simply is.

.
.
.
.

Blogger's Guilt.

Oh dear blog! I am so sorry. It has been so long since I have been able to see you and to touch you. I miss ou very much. I long to write and rant on your stark white pages, but life has not allowed us to be together as of late. My life has gotten in the way of our being together. Basically I am in finals crunch time right now and being that I am an English major, that means that I am writing paper after paper after paper, none of them any fun. But I will be able to return to you soon. For now, please enjoy this picture of Scarlett Johansson, who is madly in love with me and very sad that I haven’t been updating.




.
.
.
.
.