Into The Wild...Into The Film

I just got in from seeing Into The Wild by myself in a theatre with 3 other people. It moved me in a way no film has before. It struck right to my core on so many levels so that I feel any explanation I try to offer here won't do it justice. Ironically the theme from my last post was evident throughout and I feel like a douche for virtually copying a subject Sean Penn has so totally nailed. Maybe its my age, or the period of life which I'm currently in. Maybe its my ignorant second-year college attitude of wonder and possibility, of quasi-intellectualism, of unbridled nostalgia that arises from laying awake at night reading Kerouac or Sallinger before turning out the light and resting for another day of effortless curriculum. Maybe its a life of caution and boredom that prevents me from taking any real risks or unplanned adventures. Not to say that I haven't taken risks and adventures, especially in the past year, but I'll be the first to acknowledge the thought and planning that went into them. Maybe its my fear of routine. Or maybe its the soundtrack and score done by the frontman of one of my top 5 favorite bands of all time. Maybe its seeing where my parents have succeeded, and where they have failed. Maybe its having lived a life of privlege that allows me to think and feel and dream about such things in uninhibited ways. Whatever it is...something between my brain and the film I just watched spawned an unmistakeable union that, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, made me a part of the film.

I'm gonna go to bed.

Aqueous Transmission

I listened to this song about four times in a row for class, then wrote the following paragraphs. The purpose of the assignment was to pick a song from your past and use it as a catalyst for a piece of writing that captures the essence of the song. It's not the greatest thing I've ever done but please enjoy reading it while listening to the song in the background.

I’m floating down the river. Twigs beneath the flowing current rise as the ripples separate at their ends. My fingers grace the passing water and spirals emit from my fingertips. I glide so easily and yet without direction or control. My vessel pulls left like a grocery cart with a bum wheel. The leaves overhead are bright green and fat. Only small slithers of sun are able to burst through. Mossy rocks form a line up ahead and I slow my raft with my two hands.

I leave my raft and ascend a small hill with extra long blades of grass. Why strain from the course of my trip? Why interrupt what comes naturally? Soft, clear droplets bounce on my forehead from the branches above. They hit the ground in complete succession, and not rhythm, but, white noise soundtracks the landscape. The sky is drab and colorless. A cool wind sweeps across the meadow in which I stand. “Well, well, well, so I can die easy.”

The dark hairs on my forearms rigidly stand. up Tiny bumps run across my shoulders and up my neck. I squint as the flowing air pierces my pupils. I continue to move forward but am now trudging through green and brown mush. The wet mud drags down the bottoms of my jeans. I pull a hood over my head and my peripheral vision is lost. I start to panic. The rain is now heavier, harder, faster. I see a mountain-sized stream of electricity streak across the sky. The clouds are gone and the sky has turned a deep purple-y black.

I feel alone and so far from home. I haven’t seen anyone for the past six hours and I’m starting to realize that I need them to be happy. I unfold the crumpled piece of loose leaf from my pocket. The light blue ink-drawn map is smeared and illegible. Every tree is beginning to look the same. I start searching for thick forest, for proper shelter. The T.V. show back home makes it look so easy. It’s not. There aren’t roof-shaped branches and pre-woven bamboo tarps scattered throughout the brush. I’m on my own.