Originality, where have you gone?

I've been away from "pop culture" for awhile now.  And logging onto my Facebook seems like being bombarded with images and posts of what the world has been up to, and I've blocked myself away from.  Not that it's a bad thing.  But in this day and age, not knowing what's going on, besides checking the news sites and newspaper is like taking yourself away from the real world.  Not originally my interpretation.  But I'm sure it's being said.

I log onto Facebook, and there's this song/video, which apparently has been number 1 on some lists for a few weeks or so.  Nothing new there . . . And I take a listen/watch the video just to see what the hype is.  It's found here, http://music-mix.ew.com/2013/11/20/christina-aguilera-great-big-world-say-something-video/

I think the song is okay.  However the visuals?  The scenes in the video just got me thinking.  Why is it that whenever there is a song that just so happens to have ballad-like chords, ie. a piano or guitar, there is either a sappy couple, a distraught child and/or an elderly couple -- likely married -- in where one is on the brink of death?  I only ask this question, because in the day and age of millions of music videos that seemingly rip off each others concepts, there truly isn't a force of originality out there.

Again, not saying the song is bad.  But let's take away Christina Aguilera's sauntering into the room, while a piano is played.  Let's also take away the piano playing male singer, and strictly focus on the story through images.  What is being told?  What is new, which we haven't already seen?  Is there a reason why duplicating said images in most videos is done ONLY to pressure a feeling that constantly happens when people are pushed towards emotional recall?  And if that's the case, why not just let the song speak for itself?  After all, interpretation is what ties each listener to a specific song or lyric.

I love music videos -- artistic ones, and even some which I've seen done numerous times.  But when are these templates at the point of overly used?  Can't we as artists, directors, writers (also artistically driven) think beyond that same template?  Don't we have the courage to think outside the proverbial box and make our own standard.

They say "imitation is the greatest form of flattery," but I would like to think creation, coinciding with originality is where the greatest form shall lie.  I've seen it done before.  Just lately not as much.

Or maybe I should dive back into the world of social media . . . find another video, and cry along with its imagery.  Besides, that's what the director intended.  Right?

Reminders

*Spoiler Alert - The picture below may not be suitable for everyone*

So many things can make you dredge up the past:  faces, a smell, a picture, a sound . . . a thought.  And when you come face-to-face with that emotion, it can often be too difficult to erase.  Been there, done that.  Reminders are more than just an alert from a calender -- telling you it's the anniversary of something you'd rather forget.  Maybe the reminder is to try and forget -- putting your energy into something else more time consuming.  Whatever it is, reminders can also be a trigger.  

I must say, placing this picture (taken a while back) in my blog was beyond one of the most impacting, yet extremely terrifying moments I've had to overcome.  Just as the following poem that leads after (will be posted soon). 

I'm such an enclosed person, that I never discuss my own emotions -- never wanting to be bothersome.  Most of my friends come to me to vent, but I never let it go the other way.  I'm there -- a bouncing board of ideas as to what to do -- how to stay calm -- how to breathe -- how to be positive.  Why hasn't that worked for me?  Why, now, must I write about the past?  Well, because it just seems to continue bringing its way back into my present being.  And I'm secretly hoping it never makes it to my future.  

Yes, I've tried to kick the habit of being my own psychiatrist -- prescribing my own remedies for unwanted thoughts -- Still trying.  Yes, I've gone days, weeks, months even, without resorting to those habits.  But just as one small whiff of odor can set one into a tail spin, so can one unblocked and blurry image.  

Moment by moment -- that's what happens.  I don't see myself as a person venting.  However, now, I see myself as a person FINALLY being able to speak.  And I hope that in time, I can speak about other moments.

"No more maybe's"

I watched her.  I watched from inside.  Peered from above.  And listened intently, because I knew something would protrude its way from under her staccato'd breathing.  But it didn't.  Maybe she never saw me.  Maybe the daze caught her for too long.  Took away her capabilities, just like it took mine.  I watched her.  She never moved.  Never.  Not once.  And I listened.  She said nothing.  I wondered when her actions would take place, but they didn't.  When those sharp pains subsided, she looked up, at me.  Still, nothing.  So, I watched, again.  Those once sharp pains, didn't seem like anything anymore.  The jabs were like clock work, and were persistent.  I wondered if she felt anything anymore.  Maybe she had disappeared . . . I wanted her to disappear -- from the outside, just as she did on the inside.  Maybe then my hovering would fall into one.  And she'd move.  Watch me.  Feel something.  Or maybe she knew how to control it.  That moment.  Those minutes, which went on for too long.  Or just maybe, as her daze sunk in deeper, she fell further.  And maybe she wondered too --  why my eyes were open and yet I never saw it happening.  Because if I did, why didn't I catch her?

~Kyra C.

Summer . . .

There's a quiet serenity that takes over a campus during summer vacation -- a seemingly private whisper, as the leaves sway.  The moment when all confusion is removed, and the only idea is clear skies NOT breaking.  An environment where people once trekked to and from, not noticing the beauty around them.  To only realize it, as the breeze stops, the leaves prohibit themselves from shaking, or changing color.  The fascination with birds, squirrels, and all nature -- they become one.  If only for a mere few months -- all nature resides in a commonality; of peace and quiet serenity.

The packed classrooms, are now empty.  The crowded buses, are cleared.  The subways . . . well, they're still in use.  The streets are filled with smiling inhabitants, packing for their annual trip to the "Cod," or the "Hamptons" and the only people visibly maneuvering through the streets, are either tourists, or locals with no need for travel.

It's funny how many people we look past, when they are EVERYWHERE.  And when that crowd disappears, for some, so does that ignorance.  The want to walk past someone; pretending they aren't seen, just because you don't want to be bothered.  That moment when you look down a corner, and there are more than six cardboard cots lined up . . . You turn up your headphones, turn your head, or proceed to pantomime a phone conversation, just so you aren't approached.  Well, that moment seems too irrelevant.  There are no longer a thousand people crowding the streets, so you cannot walk away.  Their faces are clearer, in a sense, you see their shame of lying on the ground.  You see them, as you jog through the park, exit the station, bike towards the River -- they are still there.  Many people have deserted the area(s), but they still have NOWHERE else to go.

There is no Cape Cod, no Hamptons, no summer vacation to another state.  There is only a move; to another corner, another street, maybe even another town nearby.  But they remain, the same people -- the same during each semester.  When you're running late and running away from a quick conversation, they are waiting, patiently.  When you're getting ready to pack up for another destination -- they are still visible.

There will always be a quiet serenity that takes over a campus during summer months.  It doesn't matter which campus, there will always be less people;  to meet, to speak to, to avoid, to walk past.  But just as you would stop to caress the leaves, or feed an animal, or possibly take a run -- why not clear a moment and break a habit?  Why not take a second to provide serenity for someone else?  It only takes a few moments, when you really have an entire summer.

Much Love,

~Kyra C.

"Nowhere To Run"

Sitting and listening to Caleb and Sol's Nowhere To Run, and realizing how simple I always thought it was, to do just that.  It's amazing how many times this semester I've felt like running away . . . anywhere . . . although I knew there wasn't a real destination to go.  The fascination with trying to be everything and do everything, just won't release its hold upon me.  Learning how to cope with more regret, drama, and let down -- done by myself, is what pushes me -- that want to prove I can get to the other side.

And as Caleb and Sol's gutsy lyrics stir their way through my speakers, singing "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go," I'm yet complicated with the notion to relieve myself from feeling as though I have any control over the matter at hand.  Even if I know my actions are because of the notions I choose to react from, I am still learning . . .

So, instead of reverting back to old habits, that I seemed to shake, until later in the semester -- alas, I will go for a run, to the gym, to the river, around the school . . . wherever there's a blank space, which can only come alive with deep understanding, made from taking in the peace that surrounds me, everyday.  I mustn't try and run from the evil around me . . . I mustn't try and control every move.  I need to just live.

Because, "there's nowhere to run to . . . nowhere to turn to . . . nowhere to run . . . nowhere to hide, and nowhere to go."  And I'm still learning . . .

~Kyra C.

"My Way"

So, I'm still at the computer, avoiding my tasks -- which are finishing these assignments and sending them off . . . I get that once I've completed everything, I'll have more time to break and relax, however for some odd reason, I just can't get myself to write . . . I mean, it's not like there's too much of writers block going on.  The only sort of explanation I can give to myself is, procrastination is taking over.  And that's most certainly not a good thing.

I've made lists,  started the aforementioned assignments -- even went as far as having the notes that I wrote out, lying next to the computer . . . Still, nothing.  I'm not finished.  I'm nowhere near finished, and this is driving me insane.  *Speak of the devil -- I get a phone call, which I have to pick up -- but I shouldn't have . . .*

I wish I could -- You know what, I think I'll make myself another vow . . . One that always worked as an undergrad.  I'm going to chillax, once more (for one hour), then I'm going to write in isolation, until EVERYTHING is complete, revised, again, and sent off (by the deadline).  Then and only then, will I need to take another nap, or gosh forbid, sleep.  Yeah, I'm planning on pulling my first Grad School All-Nighter!!  So, wish me luck . . . :-p

Peace Out Dudes and I'll check in later -- Much!

~Kyra C.

"The Shame"

Sitting here, listening to Alex Cornish's "The Shame" and trying to figure out why with all of my upbeat energy, I always seem to fall into another dimension of numbness . . . Today should have been a great day, where everything had been taken care of  -- I would be relaxed and ready for tomorrow's big day.  But somehow things didn't go according to plan -- My plan.  And even now, I seem to have found myself changing the positive habits, for the old vices that use to keep me complacent.  In that moment where you don't want to smile, laugh . . . You just want to SCREAM, into a pillow, and feel like you're okay.

Tomorrow may be the big day, however I've had to make many decisions on what not to do and as much as it hurts, I cannot have the happiness that I really want.  I just need to settle on what could possibly turn into a happy moment -- Even if it's by isolating my subconscious and racing until the end.

I'm slowing down, running from the truth -- I can't really change this.  I can't really change me.  And why should I continue to try and force the inevitable? This just has to be the way;  My way.

~Kyra C.