The Perfect Villain(or at least mine anyway)

Mitchell

The Epic Hero's Journey

9/30/13

Imagine a tall man, about 6' 2", but weighing no more than 120 pounds at most. He is thin enough so that you can see almost every bone in his body, but can lift a Smart Car with a bit of effort. His eyes are sunken deep within his skull, sullen by sleepless purple bags as a result of heavy drug use and very little sleep, looking even deeper by clearly visible cheek bones. His teeth are broken and yellow, and as he smiles his brownish gums overwhelm his smile. One eye is the same color as his teeth, the other is purple. He sports a very worn denim jacket and raggedy tanktop, both covered in stains of hues ranging from black to brown to a mottled crimson. His denim pants are destroyed, showing scraped, stained knees. His shoes are battered and falling apart, but he cares naught. He saunters about, hands in his pockets, holding who knows what, but only he knows of his nastiest secret, for all others who find out last little longer before finding out.

As a result of an accidental heroin substitute/toxic waste injection, he has the ability to collapse his skeletal structure and remake it into a new shape, with rapidly healing and accomidating skin and flesh to match, meaning he can weaponize his bones by breaking them, forcing them through his skin, and taking a new form to accommodate for the new appendage.

In his pre-powered stage of life, he woukd pay prostitutes and strippers in whatever drugs he couls scrounge up, but they would tend not to "suit his needs" simply because he was so heinous. Unfortunately for them, they are no longer safe, and will be repaying what they should have long ago, whether they like it or not. This tension has led him to have virtually no sexual preferences, and tends to get brutally intimate with his prisoners, often leading to death. When he isn't raping them, he cripples them in hot pursuit, and takes great joy in viewing them limp to a false sense of safety before eating them alive.

The only person able to kill him is the guy who hooks him up with his fixes, working at a nuclear reactor, and all done so by chance. Eventually, our villian will be lead into charging in blind rage at the hero whilst transformed, who will deftly bludgeon the abomination in the eye with a lead pipe and kick him into a vat of waste, degrading him faster than he can regenerate and ultimately destroying him for good.

Society's-and my own-fears he represents are torture, serial killers, rape, serious drug abuse, and the uncanny valley complex. [On uncanny valley; he is *almost* human, but the transforming while still resembling a human just totally sets him off and freaks you the hell out.]

A sketch is in the works. 

No, I do not have any serious issues to speak of.

Joseph Campbell Response

Mitchell

The Epic Hero's Journey

9/25/13

              The Father of Philosophy

Today in class we watched "The Hero's Adventure" with Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers. What an experience! Campbell is absolutely fantastic in every way, shape, and form. Not only does he know everything on the topic down to a tee, but he seems as if he has made all of these journeys himself. He speaks of them and about them like a being from the beyond, one who finds these great quests to find ourselves as petty as a stroll across the street, but at the same time, he holds the journeys in incredible respect, and doesn't once poke fun at them. He has deciphered every and all aspects of them flawlessly, and put it simple enough for anyone to understand. The way he speaks and his voice further accentuate how much he knows, and how little we do, but he hints at the beyond and our fate. He knows the truth of our kind, as humans- he knows what will save us and what will destroy us, and also knows that all we can do to help is reach his level of consciousness, which is, unfortunately, nigh impossible. In short, Joseph Campbell is a marvel, no less, and I am more than saddened that we lost him to time.

A Grievous Reminder

I forgot what it was like to get stabbed in the back.

Not good.

Our Heroes

Mitchell
The Epic Hero's Journey
9/23/13

Our Heroes

Who our heroes are can determine what in society we look for; help, idols, and inspiration, to name a few. For example, people who look up to soldiers as heroes perhaps idolize people with courage, strength, and the will to sacrifice for others, whereas people who look up to moms care more for patience and nurture in their idol figures. People who take fictional characters as their heroes- and there are plenty- may use them for any of the qualities above (usually the former).

Sleep- what's really going on?

What goes on in our sleep? When we do, we occasionally, or often, visit worlds beyond naturalistic limitations, which are called dreams. It is claimed that dreams are just mushed together happenings from the real world, but is this entirely true? Why can't we remember all of our dreams/forget them as we wake up, or have so many of them at a time? Could out unconscious minds be hiding the truth from us? 

Not only is it strange to think about, but dangerous to study. Lucid dreaming- the act of controlling one's dream as they sleep- is very dangerous, as one is susceptible to a specific kind of sleep paralysis linked only to lucid dreaming, leaving the dreamer locked in an unconscious state and unable to be awoken by outside forces, sometimes resulting in coma and even death. 

If our minds do this to us when we are on the verge of finding out, who knows what kind of knowledge we will obtain when the secret is finally uncovered.

Peddling Ponders- Perennial Philosophy

Mitchell

The Epic Hero's Journey

9/13/2013

Something about this topic is positively fascinating to me. I find the idea of "the Inner Self" to be incredible, and something we should all put great effort into pursuing. Wouldn't we all like to know the grand Truth, and see what living is like from the ethereal perspective? I most certainly would. To have soul and body linked as one would make you feel as a god in your own world, or the closest we mortal beings can get to/to be one.

I am left with questions however. Is one allowed to disrupt the life of another for survival, or is this to be condoned? Is a single act of harming another make it impossible to ascend? Is this just a passage to the proper death, and do we repeat living until we can find the Truth?

There is only one way to find out.

What Are We?

"What is your purpose here, Arisen? If you sought to live you had naught but run and hide yourself away. But then, tell me, child of man....what does it mean to live in truth? To wage war against the passing days? To pray to the unseen for a few breaths more? To raise grand cities from stone, and spawn new life in turn? Mankind has done this, yes, and more. But is the tapestry you weave truly of your own design?"

-Grigori, Dragon's Dogma

Who am I, and what do I stand for?

What does it mean to be human? What is "human?" Is it a link in the chain of evolution? Is it a gift to the world embodying all that is good? Is it a multicellular virus with no intention or good sense to do naught but destruction and cruelty, and wipe what life has worked to long and hard to create, clean from the face of this planet? One does not necessarily have to believe in any of those things, for they are their own individual being, and they need not conform to the standards some other set before them. We are powerful in that we have will, to choose what we believe in and do as we must to maintain that stasis.

However, regardless of what you stand for, the torture and killing of all other beings should never go unpunished. Kindness, peace, and discussion should be enough to solve the problems the world has; killing one another without any regard or consent is a vile, malignant deed and will only deepen the hole we bury ourselves in with conflict. I am no aggressor; I am a guardian to those I care about, and will only engage if there is no other option, or my loved ones are endangered. Violence in all other instances is largely condoned, and it shall stay that way.

We Probably Aren't Alone In Case Anyone Was Wondering

Mitchell
The Epic Hero's Journey
9/7/2013

Things Haven't Been The Same Since

It tends to be the moments in life where everything is status quo and regular when things out of the ordinary, occur. On the days in which life is just grand, everyone is happy, and people are at peace- that's when they happen. You just see something that isn't where it belongs, or something really bad happens that just soils it all. I'm almost sure the latter happened to all of us, between all the storms, the Boston Bombing, and the war in Syria, life has been going down a bit of a sour slope for us all in that sense. But what about the former? Have you ever had an experience where something...just isn't right? The laws of the world we know-or for what of it we do- bend? 

If you haven't caught my drift so far, I'm talking about paranormality; phenomena that simply cannot be explained by science yet. Every so often, and to some people more than others, strange things happen that just shouldn't; you hear about it on the news, and people usually call it malarkey. "They're all on drugs," "It's fake," and "C'mon, it's a hoax- you can see the strings," are common comments, but that's why I'm here. I'm here to prove that wrong. By all means, you may believe what you wish, for I am not one to judge another on their thoughts, but if you wish to hear about a plane of existence unseen, untouched and largely unknown by the state we live in, please, reader, continue.

I've always had a bit of knack for the ethereal world; an afterlife, a place where souls go after they leave the material world. But, taking the whole "uncanny valley" deal into consideration, it tended to creep the ever-loving bejeesus out of me, which is why I held off from learning more about it. I was also pretty young the first time I heard about it, in the middle of 6th grade, so it became more of a fear than an interest. Turns out the joke would be on me, but in due time, reader, in due time.

I moved in to my step dad's house a couple of years back, back before he and my mom got married. I was around 15, and the place was like a mansion to me. Disclaimer, it's not huge, but pretty big nonetheless, and very old to boot; build long enough ago to be the official meeting and conference place of John Cushing and George Washington. If you aren't up to speed with your American history, that means it's pretty damn old. Anyway, it was a summer afternoon when I was milling around the place and thinking, "There must be some sort of ghost in here." My step dad haughtily responded, "Nah, they've left by now. I kicked 'em out." "Hah; good one," I responded, "it's our house now anyway." But I wouldn't be writing this if that was the case, now would I?

Flash forward a few months, and it's a warm November afternoon of my freshman year. Family's out somewhere, shopping if my memory recalls, and I was sitting at my dining room table writing out some notes for my history homework tomorrow. I took a peek at the temperature not too long ago and it read around 75 degrees. Pretty toasty for November. The following moments will go ingrained in my mind forever. My dog, relaxed, springs from his bed and begins barking at the kitchen sink, then quickly scurries back into his bed. As I look over, an ice cold chill, easily 40 degrees, passes over my shoulder and I am instantly paralyzed with fear. Not long after faint footsteps quickly hurry up the staircase not far from me. Looks like the joke's on me now, huh?

February now, I just finish trying up a huge essay, and it's well past 2 in the morning. Just as I lull into a lethargic slumber, a heinous scratching on my door awakens me and I am again frozen. This goes on for 30 minutes, with intervals of around 4-7 minutes and intensifying noise. Just as I think it's over, I can see the door move with the force of a psychokinetic pound that hits it, rivaling a football tackle in ferocity, and followed by the most terrifying noise I've ever heard in my life; a blood-curdling, purely unearthly yowl of frustration and fury. I try to scream for help in horror my voice fails me. I am at the mercy of this entity, and it is angry. I muster all of the meager courage I have left and open the door. Nothing is there aside from a slightly cool draft. the next afternoon I address the spirit and apologize for anything I had done to offend it, and nothing of the ilk ever happened again.

I am typing this now, with all of the lights off aside from the back light of my computer, and I feel his presence, this very instant. I'm wearing sweatpants, shin socks and a short sleeve t-shirt and shivering in a 68 degree house. I am certain that I'm not alone. I feel at ease with the entity now, and I know he knows no harm onto me. All it meant, for what I can speculate, is that it was not something to be joked about or deemed mythological. it wanted me to treat it just as I would another human. It goes without saying that I full heartily do now, and as a result it does so in kind onto me. You may be obliged to where you stand on the paranormal, reader, for I have no intention to change your beliefs. But just keep in mind; an experience like mine isn't something you can just shrug off and forget about. And neither is this cold. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to grab a sweater- it is seriously freezing in here.

Sleep tight!